It was summer; I remember that because of the heat. In summertime on the Texas Gulf coast the heat just sits on you like a fat man on a vinyl chair. The humidity clings to your skin, and the air is too saturated for the sweat to evaporate and cool you off. I don’t remember exactly how old I was. Four, probably. I was walking down Elm Street with Mama, headed towards Third Street and Main where the grocery store was located. Mama was pregnant, and struggling in the heat. I looked up and saw the sweat streaming down her, making the hand-me-down maternity dress cling to her belly. None of that mattered when I looked at her. She was the most beautiful Mama in the whole world, no doubt about it. That I will always remember.

     Gilliam’s was typical of small town grocery stores in the 1950s. It was a pier and beam building with wooden floors and clapboard siding. When Mama opened the door and let me go in ahead of her, the first thing I heard was the whir of fans. They were located all through the store, and like soldiers destined to lose the war, they held their positions and fought noisily against impossible odds. The next thing I heard was Miss Anne’s voice.

     “Well, hi there, Sugar. I see you brought your best helper with you today.”

     “Hi, Anne. Yes, I think he’s big enough to carry a bag home for me, don’t you?”

     Sugar was what everyone called my Mama. Someone told me years later that they called her that because she was so sweet.

     “Hi, Sugar.” It was Mr. Gilliam this time. “You sure picked the hottest part of the day to come shopping. You won’t have much competition on the aisles today, except maybe in the freezer section.”

     “Hi, Frank. You’re right. I should have come earlier, after I got done with breakfast. But I got busy with my laundry, so here I am, right in the one o’clock heat. I think I will spend some time window shopping at your freezer.”

     Mama grabbed a grocery cart, and knowing what the answer would be, I petitioned her anyway. “Can I ride in the basket?”

     “No, you may not ride in the basket, Eddie. You know you’re too old for that now.” With that admonition, we started down the first aisle. As a child I was almost cripplingly shy, and I remember following behind her, one hand on her billowy skirt, with my head tilted out at an angle so I could see where she was leading me. When we passed the cookie shelf, I released my grip on her dress and placed both hands on a package of Oreos. Mama had already reached the bread when she looked back and saw me. “Don’t take those off the shelf,” she said firmly, but without anger. I knew the rules. Turning back to what she was doing, I watched her pick up a loaf of bread. She held it in both hands and looked at it in a way I didn’t understand, then replaced it on the shelf. It was Mrs. Baird’s brand, and I knew she liked it. There must have been something wrong with that one, I guessed. She held out her hand for me, and I rejoined her as she turned the corner to continue down the next aisle. We paused at the beginning of that one, allowing the floor fan that stood against the back wall to cool us. When we started down the aisle in earnest, Mama passed right by the canned vegetables. Our garden produced all summer, so there was no need for those. She stopped again when she saw a package of dried dates. I knew how much she loved those things; they were her special treat. She had gotten a box at Christmas as a gift, and more recently on her birthday. She always shared them, but none of us liked them the way she did. She picked up the box of dates and looked at it, and this time I did understand the look on her face. I thought she would put them into our basket, which so far was still empty. She didn’t. She placed them back on the shelf with both hands, then started down the aisle again.

     When we reached the end of this one, we were at the front of the store again. Right there, in front of the register, was a rack of toys. I already knew, of course, that I was not allowed to have one. There was a cap gun right at my eye level. I already had one at home, a gift from my aunt. But there had not been any caps for it in a long time. Here they were next to the gun, a nickel for a small package. Right next to that was a slingshot, but I knew that, even if we had the money, I could not have one of those until I was six. “Come on, Eddie,” Mama chided me gently, “we’ll never get our shopping done if you stand around.” We proceeded a little further, until we came to the tuna. Mama picked up a can, looked at the top, then held it in her hand as she reached to the back of the shelf with her free hand. She brought another can from the back, examined it, then set it in the basket. We proceeded through the store like this, with Mama stopping to look at some items but not putting them in the basket, and always looking for something on the back shelf before she did decide to keep it. We skipped over some aisles to get to the butcher block, along with the dairy and frozen items. It was noticeably cooler back here, and we did not hurry to get through. I leaned over the dairy cooler and stuck my head in, letting the cool air wash over me. Mama pulled me back. “You can’t climb in it, Ed. As much as we both want to. Mind your manners.” She reached into the cooler and brought out a block of butter, but replaced it quickly. She settled on a carton of milk, and we moved on to the butcher counter.

     “Hi, Sugar. How are you and the little guy doing today?”

     “We’re fine, Jim. Just fighting the heat like everyone else. How’re Mavis and the kids?”

     “Everyone’s good. The kids are out enjoying their summer. I guess that’s what your older boys are doing today, too, right? Probably down at the river having a swim?”

     “I hope not. I worry about them being down there. But you’re probably right. It’s a good thing they’re strong swimmers.”

     “What can I get for you today, Sugar?”

     “I’d like half a pound of baloney, sliced kind of thin.”

     “Sure thing. How about some summer sausage to go with it?”

     “No, just the baloney today.”

     “Okay, sure thing. But let me slice off a couple of pieces of this sausage for you to try.”

     The sausage was chewy and appealingly cold, and the bits of peppercorn crunched in my teeth with an unanticipated burst of flavor. It only took two bites before I decided I liked it.

     “Thanks, Jim.”

     We collected our package, which was wrapped in white butcher paper, and started down the final aisle. When Mama stopped for a bag of flour, I knew what it meant. We would be having fried baloney sandwiches made with homemade bread. I could already smell the bread baking and hear the baloney frying in the pan. Before we could head back to the front of the store and start for home, another familiar voice called out from behind us.

     “Sug Hawkins, what are you doing out here in this heat in your condition?” When Elsie Johnston smiled, the whole room tended to smile with her. She was possessed of a large mouth, with two perfect rows of shining white teeth. She had large lips, and her whole face turned up when she flashed that smile. Every inch of her face smiled right along with her mouth. The eyes and nose crinkled, the cheeks rose slightly and puffed out; even her ears seemed to want to be involved. You couldn’t help but smile back at her, which Mama did. So did I, but then I quickly looked down at my feet, which was my habit as a child.

     “Hi, Elsie. You know, the world doesn’t stop turning when you get pregnant. Life goes on, and so does work.”

     “Oh, I know that’s right. And speaking of work, Miz Turner has a party coming up next weekend. She could probably use a little extra help if you’re up to it.”

     Elsie Johnston lived just four blocks south of us, but in a whole other world that was always referred to as “across the tracks,” or “the other side of the tracks.” She was Mrs. Turner’s maid, and sometimes Mama helped out when Mrs. Turner had more to do than Elsie could handle. That was how they knew each other. Elsie had been to our house one time that I knew of, but I don’t think Mama had ever been to hers.

     “I sure could use the work, Elsie.” Now she leaned closer to whisper. “Did you see these prices? I had to choose between butter and milk this week.”

     Elsie joined in the conspiratorial tone. “Girl, I know what you mean. Everything is sky high.” She paused. “I know it’s none of my business, but did Jerry come home yet?”

     “No, I haven’t heard from him. I think he must have a job somewhere. I hope so. Maybe he’ll be back soon with some money in his pocket. I do hope so.”

     Striking a blow for my independence, I eased away from my mother without her realizing it. I was back at the toy rack before I knew what had happened. The cap gun caught my eye again before it strayed to the set of ball and jacks below it. Tempting, but not as nice as the gun or slingshot. It was when my gaze drifted upward that I saw the ultimate prize. There, wrapped in plastic and shining brightly for the whole world to see, was something my four-year-old heart could not live without--a bright red fire truck. The light glistened off the thing as if it were a mirror, reflecting every beam that dared to dust its surface. It had chrome bumpers and wheels, rubber tires, and a ladder that ran down the back. It was just as real as the ones I had seen racing down the street, sirens blaring, horns honking, and lights flashing. It was so red I could not see anything other than red. It was the red of the roses next to the front porch that Mama loved so much. It was the red of her lipstick when she dressed up, and it was the red of the sunrise we had watched together this morning. Without even knowing I was doing it, I walked back to my mother and Elsie with the truck in my hand. 

     “I want this.”

     “What? No, Eddie. You can’t have it. You know better than this.”

     “I want it, Mama. Buy me this, please.”

     “No! Look at this. It costs a dollar. You can’t have it, and you know better than to ask.”

     “Please, Mama. I really want it.” Now I was crying, and out of control in a way I don’t think I had ever been before. “Please let me get it, please.” I can remember how loud I was, and how hysterical. To this day, I still struggle to understand just what it was that made me act that way. I was such a quiet child, so shy, and always well behaved. How did this piece of red plastic suddenly come to represent everything I could ever have wanted in my four-year-old life? The tears were pouring out of me. I was screaming as if I were in agony. Elsie looked down at me with a shocked look on her face. Mr. Gilliam and Jim came to the end of the aisle and looked down to see what was wrong. Mama just looked down at me, no doubt feeling helpless and puzzled and somewhat angry at the same time. Finally she took my hand and dragged me to the checkout line, pushing the basket in front of her. She put the truck back on the rack and began emptying the meager contents of her basket onto the checkout counter. I was still crying, and Mama looked lost in a way that I had not seen her look before. Miss Anne rang up the contents, and gave Mama a total: three dollars and eighty-five cents.

     “That’s wrong, Anne.”

     “It’s okay, Sugar.”

     “No, it’s wrong. You didn’t ring up the milk or the eggs or the tuna. I owe you another ninety-five cents.”

     “It’s okay, Sugar. Mr. Gilliam told me to.”

     “No, it’s not okay. Here’s the money.”

     Miss Anne put the groceries into two paper bags, and we walked back out into the heat. I was still crying loudly, and the few people who were on the sidewalk turned to look. We crossed over Main Street and got under the shade of a large pecan tree that hung out over the road. Mama stopped, relishing the shade, and the cool breeze that always seemed to linger under the large trees. She led me across the small ditch to the tree trunk, not worrying that it was someone else’s yard. “Let’s rest for a minute,” she said as she set the grocery bags down. I was calming down now, still sobbing a little, but mostly spent. Mama lowered her swollen body to the ground, straining to get to a seated position. “I sure hope I can get back up.” She pulled me to her, held me against her large belly, and stroked my hair. Before long I was calm again, feeling tired from my outburst. “Are you ready to go home now?” she asked me. I nodded.

     As she was struggling to get up, Elsie pulled up across the ditch from us in her blue Oldsmobile. “Hey, Sug, how about a ride?”

     “I would dearly love a ride, Elsie. Eddie, can you carry this bag?”

     We walked back across the ditch and Mama opened the back door. Elsie’s groceries were already there, and we placed our bags next to them. Once the groceries were stowed, Mama opened the front door and let me climb in first. I sat between them on the seat.

     “I declare, Elsie. I do love this Oldsmobile.”

     “So do I, Sug. The only time I feel truly free is when I’m driving this car. If you’ll reach back there in that one bag, I got us three cold Dr. Peppers to drink. There’s an opener in the glove box.”

     Mama reached back for the bottles, and opened one for each of us. The Dr. Peppers were in the bottles that said ten, two, and four on them. I couldn’t read it, of course, but I knew what they said. And it fascinated me endlessly. Each time I looked at one of those bottles I pondered the mysteries of ten, two, and four. That day they were cold as could be, having been packed in ice at Gilliam’s. I still remember that cold bottle, and the sweet drink going down my throat.

     “Why don’t we drive around and cool off a little? Driving with the windows down, it’s not too bad. A lot cooler than my house right now. We can drive down to the river and park under the bridge. I bet there’s a cool breeze down there about this time.”

     “Sure, it’ll give us a chance to finish our Dr. Peppers, anyway.” Mama smiled, and I knew she was starting to relax again. I was starting to relax as well.

     Driving to the river, they talked about working for Mrs. Turner, about my father and Elsie’s husband. I didn’t listen much, just enjoyed the cool feel of the bottle in my hand, and let the wind blow across my body from the open windows.

     Once we got to the river, though, Elsie had another surprise. “Let’s get out and sit on the hood,” she said. “Sug, grab that knife from the glove box. I’ve got some summer sausage, Ritz crackers, and rat cheese back here in this bag. We might as well have a little picnic."

     And so we did. Elsie had a sausage as long as my arm, and she kept cutting from it until everyone was full. Mama laughed and smiled and looked happier than I had seen her look in a long time. Everyone always seemed to be happy around Elsie; she wouldn’t have it any other way. We ate, drank, and watched the brown water of the San Bernard drift by, neither the river nor us in any hurry to get anywhere.

     Then the old pickup pulled up and parked a short distance from us.

     “Uh, oh,” said Elsie. “We better get up and go.”

     Mama didn’t argue; she just got up and helped me to the ground. Elsie had already gathered the remnants of our picnic, and tossed them hastily into the back seat. Just as Mama was getting into the car with me, her name was called.

     “Sugar Hawkins, what the hell do you think you’re doin’?” It was Elmer Watson and his brother, Billy.

     “I’m not doing anything, Elmer. Just going home.”

     “You know what I mean. What the hell you doin’ hangin’ out with that nigger gal?”

     “I’m not hanging out with her. Elsie’s just giving us a ride home.”

     “Well you better git home now, girl. There’s gonna be hell to pay if Jerry finds out about this. I got half a mind to tell him.”

     “You don’t need to tell Jerry anything. It’s just a ride home.”

     “Sugar, let’s go. Ain’t no use to argue with them. Let’s just go.”

     Mama closed her door and we drove off. I realize now that we drove off just about as fast as Elsie dared. Not enough to rile them up further, but we didn’t waste any time, either. The mood was different now, no laughing, no talking, and even Elsie wasn’t smiling.

     Finally Mama spoke up. “I’m sorry, Elsie.”

     “Nothing to be sorry about, Sugar. Not much two women can do about a couple of ignorant, cracker-ass rednecks.”

 

     No more words were spoken until Elsie pulled up in our rutted driveway.

     Mama tried again. “I really am sorry, Elsie.” Right at that moment, I think Mama would have given most anything to see that sunrise of a smile spread across Elsie’s face. It wasn’t to be.

     “It’s all right, Sugar. Oh, wait a minute. I almost forgot.” She reached into the back and pulled the fire truck out of one of the bags. “Let him have this, Sug. You can pay me back when you work at Miz Turner’s again if you want to. But I really don’t want to be paid back. The Good Lord didn’t bless me with kids. I don’t have one of my own to buy for.”

     “Elsie, you shouldn’t have.”

     I looked at Mama and was afraid she was going to give it back, but she didn’t. She handed it to me.

     “What do you say, Eddie?”

     “Thanks, Miss Elsie.”

     “You’re welcome, Eddie.”

     “I’m really sorry, Elsie.”

     “Bye, Sug.”

 

     I ran off to play with the truck as soon as I stepped out of the car. I was excited, but not like I should have been. Somehow, the actual possession did not measure up to the anticipation. I rolled it around in the loose dirt, and imitated the sounds I had heard from the real fire engines. But when I stopped, I heard an unfamiliar sound. Looking up, I saw Mama at the front window. She had probably been watching me, but now she wasn’t. I could barely see her through the window screen. She had her head down and was crying quietly. I turned back to the truck and pushed it harder, digging ruts in the dirt with the rubber tires.