Whistling Past the Graveyard

by Susan Crandall

My grandmother said she prays for me every day. Which was funny, because I’d only ever heard Mamie pray, “Dear Lord, give me strength.” That sure sounded like a prayer for herself—and Mrs. Knopp in Sunday school always said our prayers should only ask for things for others.

Sometimes I think she hates being my mamie—once she told me it was a shame I’d even been born, so I guess she does.

Mamie said I was gonna end up in jail someday, said she’d be happy if they throwed away the key. So I knew she’d be happy to turn me in if I went back home.

Momma was even getting to be a secret with Daddy; course she’d always been a secret with Mamie. Secrets. Secrets. Secrets. They made me feel ashamed of loving my own momma; made me do it in secret.

It was fun until one of the hens got mad and pecked me good on the hand. I told Eula I liked the grocery store better, where the farmers brought in the eggs and did all of the chicken fightin’ for me. Eula found that particular funny for some reason.

And right that minute I understood; there was something broke deep inside Eula. Like maybe she hadn’t been able to feel right in her world the same way I never felt right in mine—her without a baby and me without a momma. And I wondered if baby James could fix her.

Whistling past the graveyard. That’s what Daddy called it when you did something to keep your mind off your most worstest fear.

I don’t know how long I laid there wrapped up in that quilt, hanging somewhere between sleep and feelin’ sorry for myself. Truth be told, I didn’t have a lot of experience with feelin’ sorry for myself—not like being hoppin’ mad, or feeling like I’d come out of my skin if I didn’t try something. Those were plenty familiar. Feelin’ sorry was a place for babies and wienies. I wished I could just go to sleep for a long time, but sleep wouldn’t settle in.

Everybody knows the details color your words truth or lie, so I had to get them straight and keep them straight.

“I’m sorry I’m causin’ you so much trouble.” “Now you listen to me. I spent my whole life wantin’ to take care of children. You a blessing, not a burden.” She looked at me hard. “Don’t you go forgettin’ that.”

I wondered, what other gifts I got bottled up inside me? That question had started to gnaw on me some.

“Here’s the thing ’bout gif’s.” Eula stopped buttering her toast and looked straight at me. “A body don’t know how many the good Lord tucked inside them until the time is right. I reckon a person could go a whole life and not know. That why you gotta try lots of things, many as you can . . . experiment.”

I sat there finishing my breakfast, feeling around inside to see if my mind got curious about something. Curiosities started snapping like popcorn.

’Sides,” she said, still smiling, “love don’t need to be in the same house. There always be love inside me for you and James, no matter where we are.”

“Everybody wants equal rights, Starla. Everybody. They don’t all agree on how to make it happen . . . or about how much misery they’re willing to take on to get them. It’s a complicated world and takes dedication and a willingness to take some risk to evoke change.”

I was going to a carnival and I was gonna bring back enough good memories to share with Eula that she would get over not liking them.

“Tell us, Eula,” Miss Cyrena said, holding Eula’s hands. “We know you’re a good person . . . a caring person. The way you’ve put yourself at risk for these children is testament to that. We’re all victims of our lives. Things happen that can ruin us if we hold them in. Tell us. You need to let it out so you can be strong again.”

“You not gonna be satisfied till they burn you to the ground.” I recognized Mrs. Washington’s voice. I wanted to stomp out there and tell them it was my fault, not Miss Cyrena’s. But all the sudden the whiteness of my skin made me too ashamed.

All of the sudden it hit me why Eula was nervous as a cat in a roomful of rockers and Miss Cyrena told me to stay away from her on this trip. The law finding us wasn’t the only danger. Sometimes colored got picked on just ’cause they was colored in a white place—like eating places, carnivals, and bus seats.

couldn’t explain the tangled-up way things was making me feel. Mamie said I’d understand when I got older. But the older I was getting, the more confused I got.

I went back in the kitchen. “My daddy says that when you do somethin’ to distract you from your worstest fears, it’s like whistlin’ past the graveyard. You know, making a racket to keep the scaredness and the ghosts away. He says that’s how we get by sometimes. But it’s not weak, like hidin’ . . . it’s strong. It means you’re able to go on.” She looked up. “Your daddy sounds like a smart man.” “I think that’s what your bakin’ is, it’s your way of whistlin’. Ever’ time something really bad happens, you start bakin’ . . . like it takes your mind away from the scaredness.”

I sat there in that chair with the sharp pieces of my heart falling down and cutting my gut, my ears ringing, and my body turning to stone.

I locked the door and turned on the water to fill the tub. I made it so hot that I had to get in real slow. I wanted it to hurt; wanted my outside to feel as bad as my inside. I sat there for a long time watching my skin turn redder and redder. I thought about all of the nights I’d dreamed of the day I’d see Momma again. I thought about how stupid I’d been to think I could be happy and living with my family glued back together in a big house with laughin’ and horses and a dog and a good Christmas like the one on The Andy Williams Show.

I laid down on the floor and put my head on my pillow. I’d just closed my eyes when Eula whispered, “I feel bad for your momma.” My eyes sprung back open. “Why? She’s so awful.” “ ’Cause she’ll never know what she missin’ in not knowin’ you.” Eula’s hand come over the edge of the couch and I took it. We stayed that way, just bein’ for a while, before I finally fell asleep.

“Some of the best things in life come when you’re not planning on them. It’s important to see them for the gift they are.”

As I sat there, looking from one face to another, I thought, This is my family. These are the people who look out for me. The people I look after.

But I wasn’t gonna be too scared to love the folks that took the time to love me back, and I sure wasn’t gonna chase them that don’t. And I was gonna spend the rest of my life asking questions and looking behind everything that happened, so I could find the gifts I got tucked inside me.