I shook my head.“Yeah.You suck at the bowling competition.”
“We all have our strengths and weaknesses.”
I kept licking the cold, mushy cream with the edge of my tongue.The family I saw earlier walked out of the Peach Pot with kids’ cones.The children’s eyes became huge, as they stared at their ice cream with hunger.I grinned as they walked hand in hand with their father.It reminded me of the first few summers I went there with James.
Darren laughed as I tried to keep up with my melting cone.“You have ice cream all over your face.You look like a little kid.”
With a mouth full, I said, “I know.”
He leaned over the table and used his thumb to clean my face.I felt a chill throughout my body, but it wasn’t from a brain freeze.
Chapter Six
James
Song: I Can Help—BillySwan
August 5th, 1964
Harold Hayes: And how about James?
Penny: Do I have to write about him?
Harold Hayes: Yes, you should write it.Art is pain.
When I was three years old, my father left.My momma, my sister, and I were barely making it by.We were struggling because my mom did not work.The most she ever did was sell Avon on the side.We stayed with one of her friends, hoping that something would change so we could eat something other than noodles with butter every night.
Then, she met James.James possessed a hardness to him that made him seem more mature.My mom knew of him because they went to the same high school their junior years.One day, they ran into each other in the grocery store.My momma came up short at the register, so she started putting back a can of beans when James handed her a dollar bill.“Don’t worry about it.It’s on me,” he told Momma, saving her from disgusted looks and a plain dinner.
The first time I was introduced to James, we visited the city park.In the center, a band played, trying to use their musical talents to make money.I played on the playground until I got curious enough to sit with Momma and him.My sister stayed on the playground, minding her own business.Kids screamed joyfully as they slid down slides, swung on the swings, and played hopscotch.
James grabbed my hand and walked me over to the band.
My mom waited on the bench, twirling her hair around her finger.She got a tube of lipstick out of her purse, applied it to her lips, and pressed her lips together, ending the whole scene with a pop of her mouth.
James started dancing.He spun me around and tapped his feet to the strumming of the guitar.The band cheered us on as we whirled around in circles.I chuckled as each note juddered my earlobes.
