Gold, Fire & Refinement

Chapter Eight

"Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up." ~James Baldwin

Zarah tried to ignore him, but Harvey was laughing so hard, he was impossible to ignore. She kept looking away, but his mischievous mood was contagious. "It's not that funny," she said. Then she rolled her eyes at him before taking another big sip from the can of Sprite he got for her at a roadside convenience store. Ignoring her protest, in his best "Mississippi redneck" accent, he started repeating what the store clerk said to him. It was the second time, so far, that he'd repeated it; her third time hearing it.

Laughing hysterically, Harvey was having a hard time talking. "See?" he coughed. "You should be thanking me ... for remembering to put on my shades ... and my fedora ... whenever we have to stop at a store!" After coughing and catching his breath, he laughed again, even harder. "If'n I didn't know no better," he said. "I would'a thunk you two wuz that big-time Jackson billionaire and that black girlfriend a' his. You know? The one what looks white? Even tho' she ain't white? That perty black girl on the TV? What got that blonde hair? Yur girl's pertier dough. Nas tan. She ought'ta be on the TV, 'stead of that black girl. Looks so good in them shades. Sit'n in yur convertible. M'agine how good she'd look on the TV. Perty as picture!" Trying to regain control of himself while still laughing, Harvey pulled to the side of the road when Zarah handed him napkins from the glove compartment to wipe his tears.

"Okay," she said, laughing. "So it's funny. But my question to you is, who would ever expect to hear language like that coming from the mouth of a Southern white guy. A convenience-store cashier, on I-55 North, on the way to the Mississippi Delta? Will wonders never end?" She frowned hard before joining him in his next round of laugher.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He finally stopped laughing when his phone rang. "It's mom," he said. "She wants to know if the Sprite settled your stomach."

"Tell Mary Jean I think it's working. But I haven't finished it." Taking another sip, she was still wondering why she couldn't stop slipping and sliding around on the leather seat. She swallowed the rest of the soda then untied the scarf from around her ponytail and pushed it underneath her thighs.

"Okay Mom," Harvey said. "I promise I'll tell her. Love you too. Bye." He placed his phone on the seat between them. "Mary Jean says, if you want, you can come stay with her and dad until I get back from Clarksdale."

"That's sweet," Zarah said. "But no. I have to go. See. If both of us aren't there tonight like someone promised your grandma we'd be, without asking me if I wanted to go, she'll blame me for it. You promised her two of us, dear, and she's holding you to it."

"For the fortieth time. I'm sorry I promised her without asking you. But—"

"But nothing. Thanks to you I'm going. My stomach will be fine, and I'm not giving your grandma any real reason to hate me. I don't care how many insults I have to endure from nearsighted and racist convenience-store clerks along the way. Just like I can't help looking racially ambiguous, I also can't change what you did. So just drive. And slow down. Please."

He looked at her, then he laughed again. "Yes Ma'am." He started then revved his engine.

She knew his grandmother needed him just like she knew she had to go with him. Exhaling a deep breath, she pushed back against her seat and raised her legs to let air circulate underneath her thighs. Her eyes met Harvey's when they caught a glimpse of the tail of her red scarf. Caught up in a gust of air, in a flash it was on the wind and out of the car. After stopping to retrieve it, Harvey began holding a steady cruising speed. When she leaned over to do a quick check and saw he was driving fifty miles per hour, she sent him a "thank you" look.