The Watsons Go to Birmingham--1963 Read online

  Byron got caught lighting matches again and it looked like this time Momma was going to do what she always said she would. That’s when Joetta turned on the tears and cried and begged so much that Momma let him off. She swore to him, though, that the next time he got caught starting fires she was going to burn him.

  She told us that same sad old story about how when she was a little girl her house caught on fire and for two years after that she and her brothers had to wear clothes that smelled like smoke. Even though the story made Momma and Joey get all sad and sobby it was kind of funny to me and By. We’d heard it so many times that Byron even gave it a name. He called it Momma’s Smokey the Bear story.

  “I won’t have you putting this family in danger. Just once more, Byron Watson, one more time and you’re burned.” Then, to show Byron how serious she was, Momma raised her right hand and said, “I swear that with God as my witness!”

  By got put on punishment for a month, but even before a week was gone he started up again.

  I was up in the bedroom looking at comic books when I heard Byron go into the bathroom and lock the door. I knew something was up, since he only locked the door when he had something to hide.

  I sneaked to the bathroom door and peeked through the keyhole. By was pretending he was making a movie called Nazi Parachutes Attack America and Get Shot Down over the Flint River by Captain Byron Watson and His Flamethrower of Death.

  I could see that he’d made a bunch of little toilet paper parachutes and when he yelled, “Action!” he set one of them on fire and dropped it over the toilet. The guy in the Nazi parachute screamed as he floated down in flames and landed in the water with a loud hiss. Before the parachutist was dead By would flush the toilet and the Nazi would go down the drain going, “Glub, glub, glub!”

  When the water was swirling him away Byron said the only Nazi talk that he knew, “Ya hold mine fewer, off we der same!”

  Peeking through the keyhole, I could see Byron salute to the parachute when he flushed the toilet. “Such a brave soldier deserves our respect,” he said, “so we give him a burial at sea.”

  The toilet stopped glugging and Byron said, “Not bad, but let’s have a little more screaming on the way down and how about having the Flamethrower of Death turned up a little bit?”

  He picked up another toilet paper parachute, lit two matches at the same time, set the parachute on fire, yelled, “Take two!” and sent the next Nazi screaming into the toilet. Byron was on take seven when Momma finally wondered why the toilet was being flushed so much and came upstairs to see what was going on. The whole upstairs smelled like a giant match and she knew something was fishy even before she got to the top step.

  She moved so quick and quiet that I still had my eyeball in the keyhole when she stepped into the hallway. I looked up and there she was.

  “Momma, I …”

  I knew I was going to get it for not turning Byron in but before I could say anything else Momma pushed me out of the way and hit the bathroom door with her shoulder like Eliot Ness, the cop on that Untouchables TV show!

  The door jumped out of her way and banged into the bathtub, Byron turned around and screamed, Nazi number seven hit the water with a hiss, Byron threw his hands up in the air and said, “Momma, I—,” Momma snatched Byron’s neck and, stopping just to pick up the matches that Byron had dropped, she dragged him all the way down the stairs!

  I could see that Momma had forgotten all about me so I followed right behind. As they went down, By’s feet touched the steps only one or two times. He looked like one of those ballerinas that dance just on the tips of their toes. Momma had her hand around his throat like it was a baseball bat and was holding him up in the air. I never knew Momma was so strong!

  They danced into the living room and Joey started looking nervous. She ran over and huddled up next to me.

  Momma’s eyes got slitty with the eyeballs shooting around from side to side. It was almost too scary to watch but I kept looking since I knew there was going to be some real big action this time! Joey grabbed ahold of my arm and said, “What’s going on, what’d he do?” She was starting to get jumpy because she’d never seen Momma so mad either.

  I felt kind of sorry for Byron because Momma hadn’t let go of his neck and, even though he was a lot older, we could tell he was just as scared as me and Joetta. He kept pretending he was Daddy Cool, though, and the only way you could tell he was scared to death was by looking at his eyes.

  Momma kept her hand on Byron’s neck and pushed him down on the couch and stood right in front of him. She opened the hand that hadn’t been choking him and looked at the matches she’d picked up off the bathroom floor.

  While one hand had been strangling Byron the other hand had been strangling the matches! The matches were soaking wet because whenever Momma got scared or nervous or mad her hands got real sweaty and disgusting.

  Momma’s voice got strange, hissing like a snake.

  “Joetta, go out to the kitchen and bring me a book of matches.”

  “But Mommy …,” Joey said, starting to get all sobby.

  “Joetta, do what I told you.”

  “Mommy, I can’t …” The tears really started coming and Joey was squeezing my arm.

  “Joetta, go get those matches!”

  “Please, Mommy, he won’t do it again, will you, Byron? Promise her, promise Mommy you won’t do it again!”

  “Kenneth.” She turned to me then. “Go get some matches.”

  This is what I was afraid of. If I didn’t go get the matches I was going to be in worse trouble then I already was with Momma, and if I did go get the matches I knew Byron would kill me as soon as he got back from the hospital.

  “Momma, I—”

  “Move, young man!”

  “Momma, wait a minute, I can’t move, Joey’s got me by the arm and if I move—”

  Momma pointed her finger at Byron and said, “Don’t you move a muscle.” We all could tell Momma was super-mad ’cause she started talking in that real Southern-style accent.

  Byron nodded his head and Momma let go of his throat and stormed into the kitchen.

  Old Mr. Cool still had great big bug eyes and as soon as Momma’s hand left his neck his own hands came up and started choking him themselves.

  “Ooh, Byron, you better get out of here, go down to Buphead’s until Dad gets home, he’s probably gonna whip you, but Momma’s really gonna burn you!” I told him.

  “Please, Byron, run! Get out of here.” Joey let go of my arm and ran over to Byron and tried to pull his fingers from around his throat. “Can’t you tell, she’s not playing!”

  Joey kept pulling at his hand but it looked like Byron was hypnotized and he wouldn’t move.

  We all nearly jumped through the roof when the snake-woman voice came back into the room and said, “Joetta, move away from him.”

  Momma was carrying a piece of paper towel, a jar of Vaseline and a Band-Aid in one hand and a fresh, dry book of matches in the other.

  She wasn’t even going to take him to the hospital! She was going to set him on fire, then patch him up right at home!

  Joetta saw the Vaseline and went crazy.

  “Oh no, Mommy, let Daddy whip him, please, please!” Joey began pulling her braids and stamping her feet up and down. “Please don’t set him on fire.…”

  Her face was all wet and twisted up and she looked like a real nut.

  It was hard to do, but I kind of felt sorry for Byron, though not too sorry because I knew he deserved whatever happened, first because he had a chance to escape and didn’t take it and second because he was being a bad influence on me. Nazi Parachutes Attack America and Get Shot Down over the Flint River by Captain Byron Watson and His Flamethrower of Death looked like a real cool movie for me to make too. If Momma just gave Byron some stupid punishment, then maybe it would be worth it for me to flush some Nazis down the drain myself. But if you got set on fire for doing it the movie wasn’t worth making.

  S
o while I felt sorry for Byron because of what was going to happen to him I did want to see if Momma would keep her word and I always wondered what part of him she’d burn. His face? His hair? Maybe she’d just scare him by setting his clothes on fire while he was in them. But if she was just going to set his clothes on fire why did she need Vaseline? I knew Momma was going for skin!

  “Joetta, move away.” Momma’s voice still sounded strange.

  Joey spread her arms out to the side like a traffic cop and stood between Momma and Byron. “No, Mommy, wait …”

  Momma gently set Joey to the side but Joetta kept hopping back with her arms spread to protect Daddy Cool.

  They wrestled like this a couple of times before Momma finally set all the burning equipment down and sat on the coffee table and pulled Joey into her lap.

  She wiped Joey’s stupid tears away with the paper towel and rocked her back and forth a couple of times going, “Shhh, honey, shhh.”

  When Joey finally stopped crying and blew her nose Momma said, “Sweetheart, I’m so proud of you, I know you’re trying to protect your brother and that’s a good thing, I know you don’t want to see him get hurt, right?”

  Joey sniffed and said, “No, Mommy.”

  “But honey, some of the time Momma has to do things she doesn’t want to do. Now you really don’t think I want to hurt Byron, do you?”

  Joey had to think about this, the matches and the first aid stuff and the crazy look Momma had in her eyes made it seem like hurting Byron was exactly what Momma wanted to do.

  After Joey didn’t say anything Momma had to answer the question herself. “No, dear, Momma doesn’t want to hurt Byron, but I don’t want you going to school smelling like smoke either, and I don’t want to see you or Kenneth or Daddy or Blackie or Tiger or Flipper or Flapper get burned up either. And if that boy”—Momma’s voice got strange again and we all looked over at Byron, who was still being held on the couch by his own hands—“if that boy sets this house on fire with his nonsense I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” Momma’s real voice was coming back. “So, Joetta, don’t you see how Momma has to help Byron understand how dangerous and painful fire can be? Don’t you see we’ve tried everything and nothing seems to get through that rock head of his?”

  Joetta thought about her stupid cat and goldfish getting burned up and looked kind of hard over at Byron.

  “But look at him, Mommy, he’s really, really scared this time, maybe he won’t—”

  “Joetta, he’s not that scared. Yet.” Then Momma dropped the bomb on Joey. “Besides, don’t you remember, sweetheart? Don’t you remember when this happened last week I swore to God that if Byron did it again I would burn him? What do you think, do you think I should break my word to God?”

  Joey was at the age when you’re real religious. She went to Sunday school three days a week.

  “Huh, honey, should I break my word to God?”

  “No, Mommy,” Joey said. Then she scrunched her face up like she was eating something sour and cried out, “Since you promised I guess you gotta do it.” She took a giant breath, then sobbed, “Go ahead, burn him up!”

  Joey climbed off Momma’s lap and Byron’s eyes got bigger and bigger but his traitor hands kept him pinned to the couch.

  “But please, Mommy, don’t burn him too bad, O.K., please, please?” Joey was starting up again.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t. I’m just going to burn his fingers enough so he won’t be tempted by fire ever again.”

  Those were like magic words; they snapped Byron right out of the spell Momma put on him. It was like his hands said, “Fingers? Did she say she was gonna burn someone’s fingers?” Because when they found out it was them that were going to get burned they let go of Byron’s throat and joined the rest of his body in deciding to wait at Buphead’s until Dad got home.

  Byron was fast.

  Momma was faster.

  He didn’t even make it out of the living room before Momma tackled him. Momma sure is a good athlete!

  She sat on his chest and said, “Not this time, buster, this time you pay.” She said “bus-tuh.”

  Byron squirmed around for a second and then did something I’d only see him do a couple of times before. He started crying.

  Momma lit a match and grabbed Byron by the wrist and said, “Put your finger out.”

  I couldn’t believe it! By’s finger popped right out! He was hypnotized all over again!

  Momma’s horrible snake-woman voice came out again and said, “If you ever, ever …” The match got closer and closer to Byron’s skinny brown finger. “… play with—no, if you ever even look at …” Byron’s hand was shaking and he was crying like a big baby but his finger still stayed out. “… another match in this house …” The match was getting closer and closer, and I knew Byron could feel the heat. “… I will personally, by myself …” It was so close now that I thought I could hear the sweat on Byron’s finger getting turned into steam and going Pssss!

  “… I will burn not just one finger, I will burn your entire hand, then send you to juvenile home!”

  Byron closed his eyes and screamed. Right when the fire was going to give him a good roasting Joetta ran across the room and, sounding like that Little Engine That Thought It Could, she blew the match out before it got him! She thought she missed, though, ’cause she stood there huffing and puffing and patoohing at the match even after it went out. Momma’s hand, Byron’s finger and the match were soaked with Joey’s slob.

  “Honey, we agreed, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, Mommy,” Joey looked down and said, “but I thought you got him.”

  “Not yet, sweetheart, but I’m going to.”

  Four more times Momma lit a match and four more times Joey patoohed them out. Finally Momma got sick of having slob all over her hand and gave up. That night Byron had to deal with Dad. No picnic, but a lot better ending to his Nazi parachutes movie than Captain Byron Watson Gets Captured and Burned Alive by the Evil Snake Woman with His Own Flamethrower of Death.

  6. Swedish Cremes and Welfare Cheese

  Momma stuck her head into the living room and said, “Byron, I want you and Kenny to go up to Mitchell’s and get some milk, a loaf of bread and a can of tomato paste for dinner.” She waved a little piece of paper at us that had the grocery list written on it.

  “How come Kenny can’t go by hisself?”

  “Byron, I want a half gallon of milk, a loaf of bread and a small can of tomato paste.”

  If you asked Momma why you had to do something and she didn’t feel like explaining she just repeated herself. She was chopping up onions for spaghetti sauce and I guess the tears made it so she didn’t feel like talking. If you were stupid enough to ask your question again there would be the loudest quiet in the world coming from Momma. If you went totally crazy and asked the question a third time you might as well tie yourself to a tree and say, “Ready, aim, fire!”

  Byron got the message and jerked up off the couch and walked over to the TV and punched the “Off” knob. I knew this wasn’t going to be a fun walk up to Mitchell’s. We went into the kitchen.

  “Gimme the money.”

  “Just sign for it.”

  “Just what?”

  “Just tell Mr. Mitchell you want to sign for it.”

  Momma kept whacking the onions.

  “What, just go in there and tell Mr. Mitchell I wanna sign for some food?”

  “Your daddy and me made all the arrangements last weekend, Byron. Mr. Mitchell will let us sign for groceries until payday. Lots of people do it. A half gallon of milk, a loaf of bread and a small can of tomato paste.” Momma started chopping the onions a little harder.

  “So I ain’t gotta give him no cash?”

  Whack, whack, whack.

  All of a sudden Byron’s face jumped like a bell went off in his head. “Wait a minute! I know what this mean—we on welfare, ain’t we?”

  I held my breath. If I found out we were on welfare I was
going to really have to get ready to be teased.

  “No. We’re not on welfare.”

  “I can’t believe it. You really gonna start serving welfare food in this house? You really gonna make me go embarrass myself by signing a welfare list for some groceries like a blanged peon?”

  I guess By hadn’t been counting how many times Momma had repeated herself. She smacked the knife on the kitchen counter and jumped right up in By’s face.

  “Listen here, Mr. High and Mighty, since you just got to know, food is food. You’ve eaten welfare food in this house before and if need be you’ll eat it again. Don’t come playin’ that nonsense with me. I already told you, this is not welfare food. You’ve got about five seconds to have that door hit you in the back. Kenny, move.”

  By pouted and walked real fast up to Mitchell’s so I had to kind of run along to keep up with him.

  He didn’t say anything while we got the stuff Momma wanted, he just snatched the things off the shelves. Then he dropped the bomb on me. “You go get in line and hold our spot, I’ma look at some comics for a minute. When you get up to the register I’ll come and tell ’em how we gonna pay.”

  Aww, man! I knew what that meant, By’d figured out a way not to get embarrassed. He was going to hide until after I’d signed for the groceries, I was going to be the one who got embarrassed. I couldn’t argue or anything so now it was me who was pouting.

  Byron disappeared around the comic-book rack.

  “Hi, Kenny.”

  “Hi, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “This all you want?”

  “Uh-huh.” He took the groceries and rang them up on the cash register.

  “That’s a dollar and twenty-three cents.” I saw By’s head come peeking around the comics.

  “Uh, this has gotta go on the welfare list,” I said kind of quiet.

  Mr. Mitchell twisted his face up. “On the what?”

  I said real low so only Mr. Mitchell could hear, “We just found out we got put on welfare and we’ve gotta sign this food up on the welfare list.” Byron’s head disappeared again.

  Mr. Mitchell laughed. “Kenny, this isn’t a welfare list, it just means your daddy’s gonna pay all at once instead of a few times every week.”