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Callaloo 23.4 (2000) 1183-1188



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Staying Between The Lines

Percival Everett


"Big Gus," the voice scratched over the radio in Jackson's '72 Buick Electra 225. The car had really been something when it was new. The interior plush was like the sofa in his house. And on the streets and highways, he just floated. Now, even Jackson recognized it for the awkward boat it was, but it was one of the few cars ever made into which he could squeeze his formidable bulk comfortably. "Come in, Big Gus. Do you copy?"

Jackson picked up the handset and held it sideways to his mouth, "Yeah, Louise?"

"'Bout time."

"What is it, Louise?"

"Chuckie called and said he can't get his truck started. He's supposed to be at the Gel Mar Arms at one o'clock."

Jackson looked at the digital clock Louise had glued to his dash. "Where is Leroy?" he asked.

"He's over at the clinic in Southeast."

"Well, tell him to finish up over there and get over to Adams Morgan. Tell him to meet me at the Gel Mar and not to stop and see his girlfriend on the way.

"Roger that."

Jackson put back the handset and shook his head. Louise had been with him for sixteen years. She loved the radio set. She loved war and cop movies, anything where people talked on radios and she loved to talk like she was in one. "Over and out," she would say. "What's your twenty? Do you copy? What's your ETA, Baker-Gamma." Jackson turned off the radio.

So, he would meet Leroy, the ladies' man, at the Gel Mar and together they would service the water heaters in the building. Actually, Leroy would do it. Jackson would just make sure Leroy arrived and entered the building.

Jackson had been known as Big Gus since high school in Baltimore. He played center on the football team. His wife had called him that until she died. On her death bed, she said, her angular face framed by one of the linen pillow shams she loved so much, "I love you, Big Gus. We had a fine life together, didn't we, Big Gus."

The doctor stepped between them and studied the woman's face. Jackson wanted to hear her say something else, wanted to push the doctor out of the way and touch her cheek, but he just stood back and watched the back of the doctor's head. He heard a small gasp, almost a squeal. And then the doctor straightened and turned to him, finding no need to actually make any report. [End Page 1183]

Frieda had always been lean, active, had always eaten properly, didn't smoke. Jackson was fat from birth, in love with food and constantly expanding. Frieda's heart just gave out on her. Jackson had never been sick a day in his life. He smoked cigars and ate pie. He stayed up late and drank scotch. He got fatter and older. Frieda was dead.

Jackson built a comfortable life for Frieda and his family. He worked hard, long hours, made good money and brought it home. His son William died in a jeep accident in Vietnam. Then Frieda died four years later, just stopped living. Jackson didn't understand why his family was dying. He was left with his younger son, Teddy, whom he smothered with attention and over-protected him to the point of nearly losing him. But Teddy was a good boy who, though he hated it, was able to understand his father's trying behavior. Teddy survived his terrified father and escaped to college, suffering there through nightly telephone bed-checks and surprise visits, then on to medical school. Jackson was proud of his son, but deep inside he was still without complete trust, expecting young Teddy to turn up suddenly dead.

Back in 1966, Jackson received a big contract to install and maintain new furnaces in six public schools. From then on his business had thrived. He'd gone from working with one helper to employing twelve...

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