There’s a stake
in your fat black heart
daddy
daddy
you bastard
I’m through.
-from “Daddy” by Sylvia Plath
Fried chicken, casseroles. Quarts of sweet tea. Folks payin’ their respects. Kinda funny when you think about it. Bringing sweet tea.
They all squeezed my hand and said, oh you poor thing. That old Miz Snow kinda gave me a look, but that’s just her way. Miz Snow’s worked at Brantley’s since...I ‘spect since they started having funerals.
Pastor went on and on, what a good man he was. Come up to me afterwards, said, a fine man your daddy. I said, yeah...I didn’t say nothing after that. ‘Cause once you agree with ‘em people stop listening.
I think he’d speak different, if he stood in my shoes. If he knew the man in the heart, like I did.
Used to come up behind me when I was in the kitchen. Tired, and sweatin’ and trying to make dinner and he’d come and he’d...then he’d say, whatcha making there girl? More of them hope biscuits?
Called ‘em hope biscuits. Said I didn’t put near enough baking powder in ‘em. What you expect ‘em to rise on, girl? Hope?
I never, ever, saw Daddy make biscuits. Mama and me, we did all the cooking. He talked that talk though. Like he made biscuits every morning of his life.
Girl bring me some that sweet tea, he’d say...smack my behind and...then he’d laugh, and Mama watching out the corner of her eye. I know she saw but she never said nothing. Wasn’t how she was. Daddy did all the talking.
I tried to tell her many a time. I’d start and she’d say, that’s a pretty little dress. Or say how good my hair looked all curled up that way. Just running away from it, is all that was.
Cain’t blame Mama though. She was trying to get by, like most people do. Wasn’t easy either, Daddy always hollering, bring me this, bring me that. Bring me some of that sweet tea in here girl. You make them hope biscuits? Bring me some them too.
I told him one time, get ‘em your own damn self, I said, and I raised my hand to him. Like I was about to knock him out the chair. Don’t know what I was thinking. Daddy just laughed. Said, ought not to start what you know you cain’t finish.
He was right. I couldn’t. Shames me to say it but I took my hand down. Felt like I was something that was stuck to his shoe.
I studied on that, rest of the night and all the next day. Them memories running like a rabbit through my brain. The way he would...then try to explain. But some things you cain’t. Ain’t no words for some things. How you walk through this world says more than words say.
I can see ‘em through the window, laying out there now. All them old car parts, lawn mowers. Old air conditioners. Daddy thought of hisself as a real handy man. Took things apart. Couldn’t be bothered to fit ‘em back together.
That’s how come Jinxie...my fat yellow tabby. Daddy working on the radiator on one of them old cars. Old Buick Skylark. Left a pie plate full of Valvoline laying in the yard. I found Jinxie later. Pitiful still and eyes big as moons.
I fixed him some biscuits. Fixed Daddy some tea. He drank it right down. Said, bring me some more, my mouth is so dry. What you grinning about girl? You lost your damn mind?
It’s green but it’s clear and I hear it tastes sweet. I know Mama saw but she never said nothing. It just ain’t her way. Like old Miz Snow, over at Brantley’s. Gave me that look, but didn’t say nothing either. Put that make-up on Daddy, thick as rhinoceros hide.
They squeezed my hand. Said, your daddy’s in heaven. I said, yeah...then I didn’t say nothing. Afterlife and such, them’s just pastor words. Besides, if I’m wrong, I know where he’s going. Mouth open wide and eyes just like Jinxie’s.
I hope they got biscuits down there for you Daddy. You hear me now Daddy? ‘Course you cain’t hear me. You wasn’t listening when you was here. People come up to me when the service was over. Said, oh you poor thing. They didn’t know Daddy in the heart like I did, but they all got ideas. Ain’t no shaking ‘em loose. You tell ‘em different and people stop listening.