Like a Phoenix

From the Diary of Jennifer J.B. Biggs

I will never forget the summer nights I spent racing Uncle Beau to the railroad tracks. He had no idea that I dreamed of jumping on one of the train cars, hiding in a freight car like the hobos I read about in school, and traveling to see my father in Chicago. Mama said Papa would be back soon. He was just putting his mother in a nursing home. She had Alzheimer's.

"Soon" started in the spring of ‘73 when Mama planted yellow signet marigolds. I never liked planting flowers. Dirt got under my fingernails. Another thing was, a couple of times, I watched Mama crying when she was watering marigolds in the backyard. That was when I was going to the sixth grade.

Uncle Beau, Mama's oldest brother, was a construction worker like Papa, and his latest job was helping to repair Houston railroad tracks a couple of miles away. He always wanted to play with the Atlanta Braves, he said, but life happens.

I remember long summer evenings when after work, he'd swing by our house in sweaty clothes with his hard hat in hand. He lived a block down from us. Uncle Beau would call out to me, "Hey, Lady June Bug!” I have no idea of why he called me that. “Race you to the railroad tracks!"

Delighted, I'd stop whatever I was doing and race my uncle to the tracks. Katydids were especially loud in the summer, and they ticked and rattled in distinct rhythms. To me, the katydids gave us soundtracks with music as happy as we were when we raced.

Uncle lived alone in a long shotgun house with brown composition siding. Ms. Sadie, who used to live with him, said that if you stood at the front door of his house and shot off a gun, the shell would fly straight through the house and out the back door.

I loved Ms. Sadie like she was flesh and blood. I'd known her for three years. After Mom, Dad, and Uncle Beau, she was my favorite person on the planet. Ms. Sadie always remembered my birthdays, made me fabulous dresses, that were not too frilly, on her old Singer sewing machine with a foot pedal, and told me to be patient when I confided in her about me being lonely and wanting a little brother or sister.

Ms. Sadie always smelled like her favorite perfume, Opal, except when the aroma of Southern cooking floated around her in her kitchen. She loved treating Uncle to his favorite meals like Fried Chicken, Collard Greens, Hot Water Cornbread, and Fried Apple Tarts. If I close my eyes now, I can smell her Opal perfume and "nothing-else-in-the-world-like-it" home- cooked meals. When Ms. Sadie had to go away because of her nerves–nerves was Uncle's explanation–I cried. She never came back.

One night, Mama found me sobbing into my pillow when she came to tuck me in. She'd come home after a late shift at the hospital where working as a registered nurse. Mama told me the truth about Ms. Sadie: She was an alcoholic.

A few weeks after that, I heard Mama and Uncle whispering, and they used the word "alcoholic" for Papa, too. They talked about him being gone for two reasons–to put Grandma Biggs in a nursing home because of her Alzheimer's and to give Papa a chance to discreetly check into a rehab because he was an alcoholic.

A month later, Uncle Beau and I were walking back from one of our races to the railroad tracks. During this cooldown, I was ready to ambush him with questions.

"So, Uncle, a while back, Mama and I talked about Grandma Biggs' Alzheimer's. Grandma won't get better?"

"Probably not, baby."

"Will she die soon?"

"We're all dying one way or another, June Bug. It's just some people die quick and others slow, living for a long time."

I stared sideways at Uncle but kept walking. He seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. I wondered if he missed Ms. Sadie as much as I did.

"Am I dying fast or slow?" I asked.

"Slow, I hope. Your mom and I have dreams for you, June Bug, because you're smart as a whip."

"Not that smart. I got a C as my semester grade in math."

"Book learning is not the only kind of smart. I know that you look at the whole world around you, the people and things, and you try to figure them out. You ask important questions, June Bug."

I laughed. "Mama says I ask too many questions."

Uncle chuckled. "Like now? Keep asking and listening. That's how you learn."

“Uncle Beau, have you ever heard of a phoenix?”

His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked back at me sideways. “Well, yes, June Bug, I have. They are birds that die, then rise from the ashes. Where did you hear about them?”

“In school.” I beamed, feeling smart. “Maybe somehow, people can rise after they die, like the bird.”

“I don’t know about that, baby.” We were quiet for a long time, then…

"Uncle Beau, what's an alcoholic?"

He shook his head. "I've been waiting for that question, June Bug, and dreading it. I knew you never accepted my story about Sadie's nerves. And I knew you heard your mom and me talking about why your dad was gone." His smile never reached his eyes. "Alcoholism is a kind of sickness. An alcoholic is someone who can't stop drinking liquor even when getting sicker because of it. Eventually, alcoholics needs liquor to feel normal. But they forget what normal is. Deep inside, they're hurting, baby."

I thought about the times Ms. Sadie looked happy, like when she was singing along with the radio and Gladys Knight and the Pips were singing "Midnight Train to Georgia." She was dancing that time, too. She also looked happy when Uncle Beau ate every scrap she cooked and told her how much he loved her cooking.

"Uncle, she was happy when singing and when doing special things for you that you liked."

"Out of the mouths of babes. You're right, June Bug. I needed you to remind me of that. See what I mean about you being smart?"

I was thinking, so I didn't answer.

"And Papa was happy when he was hugging Mama or me."

"Right again, Jennifer 'June Bug' Biggs. Keep talking to me, niece, for your growth and mine."

"When's Daddy coming home?" I asked, trying not to cry.

"You miss him, don't you?"

"He didn't even make it back for my birthday in June like he promised. And last week, he missed our 4th of July family barbecue, too. You smoked brisket especially for him, just in case he'd show up."

"June Bug, I guarantee your dad's trying hard to get back to you and your mom."

"Mama cries sometimes when she thinks I don't see her."

Uncle Beau sighed. "Well, guess I better do something to cheer up my two ladies. I'll work on it."

The reason I remember that summer so well is that's when I grew up. I even got my period. It scared me to death when I found blood between my legs, lots of it, but Mama comforted me and told me I was just growing up and becoming a woman. She apologized for not explaining it before it arrived and sent me into a panic.

It was also the summer I got a belated birthday gift. Uncle Beau surprised Mama and me with it. I overheard them having a small disagreement about my gift.

"Beau St. George," she intoned like a preacher, "have you and Thomas Edison Biggs lost your minds? So, he called you and asked you to buy Jennifer that?!" I pictured Mama pointing at something.

"Well, actually Sis, I called your husband. Told him it was time he took care of his family here, too."

"And that thing," Mama continued, "on my back porch is what you two came up with?"

"Just call June Bug in here, Genevieve. See her light up when she spots her gift."

"Against my better judgment," Mama said. "Jenny, baby, come in here. Uncle Beau…"

Before she could finish the sentence, I bounced into the living room.

"Hmph," Mama smiled. "Listening to grown folks' conversations, again?" Uncle laughed.

"Yes, ma'am." I did not even pretend to be ashamed of being nosey.

"Okay, Jenny, go look on the back porch," she said. "You have a gift from your dad. Your uncle brought it over."

I don't remember squealing an ear-piercing pitch after bursting through the back screen door, the way Uncle Beau said I did, but I do remember squeezing my new Golden Labrador until Mama made me turn her loose.

Uncle looked triumphant. "Told you she'd love the dog," he chided Mama. He stood on the porch grinning from ear to ear. Mama was shaking her head.

"Thank you!" I shouted. "Thank you, Uncle Beau! When will I see Papa to thank him, too?"

Uncle answered as Mama gasped. "Turn around, June Bug," he said. "Look near the elm tree."

"Papa!" I screamed.

Grabbing me in strong arms, Papa whispered, "Sorry I had to miss your birthday, baby. I promise to make up for it." He smothered me in hugs, then rushed to Mama. I had never seen them kiss so long before.

"Hey, Lady June Bug," Uncle Beau grinned, "race you to the railroad tracks!"

"Can we take my new puppy?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Does she have a name?" I was eager to know.

"Yes, Marigold."

"That's a strange name for a dog. Why Marigold?"

"Because a single, yellow marigold flower was the first gift your dad ever gave your mom. He picked it from a park garden when they were courting, before getting married. Your father didn't even have a dime to spend, but he wanted to show your mom how special she was to him. And she loved that flower."

"Now, I understand something, Uncle Beau. When Mama looked at the marigolds and cried, she was missing Papa."

"If you're done asking questions, June Bug...," Uncle Beau took off with a head start toward the railroad tracks. "... catch me if you can!" he challenged.

In a flash, Marigold and I did just what he said. We caught up with Uncle Beau.