Free Sweet Dream Baby by Sterling Watson Page A

behind me.
    The red-haired boy looks at the one called Bickley P. Sifford and waits.
    Sifford is wearing a white shirt with a button-down collar, an alligator belt, penny loafers with shiny pennies and fuzzy white socks, and a pair of tight, faded jeans. I wonder if he’s cool. I think he is. I wait. His face is getting red, and I know he’s trying to think of something to say back to my Aunt Delia. Finally, he smiles, a kind of slow, evil-sneak smile, and I know he’s got something in mind. He says, “Delia, I bet you can’t spell comeuppance. I’ll bet you a ride in my car you can’t spell it. Mr. Tolbert’s got a dictionary, and after you try, we can look it up and prove I’m right. What you say, Delia? Will you go for a ride with me if I win the bet? Ronny here’ll take your nephew home, won’t you Ronny?”
    Ronny doesn’t like it much, but he smiles his own low, sneak-mean smile and says, “Sure. Sure I will, Bick.”
    I look at my Aunt Delia, and she’s thinking about it. I don’t want her to go for a ride with Bickley P. Sifford. I don’t want to ride home with his red-haired, jug-eared friend, Ronny. I like my Aunt Delia, and I want to stay with her, and it’s my birthday, and that’s our secret.
    My Aunt Delia puts her thumb under her chin and presses it there and makes a face like a little girl and thinks about it. Finally, she says, “You want to complete your list, don’t you, Mr. Bickley P. Sifford?”
    Sifford looks at her. He knows what she’s saying, and he doesn’t like it.
    â€œYour list of local girls and rides in your fancy red Oldsmobile. And then you can tell all the conceited sons of box-factory owners at Princeton that you took all the girls of Widow Rock and neighboring boroughs for a ride. That’s it, isn’t it, Mr. Bickley P. Sifford?”
    Sifford’s face is as red as his car. Mr. Tolbert is washing glasses behind us. I’m looking at Delia, and it’s strange. It’s strange because she’s saying one thing, but her eyes are saying another. They say she wants to go for a ride with Sifford. And Sifford’s eyes say he knows it, and that’s why his face is red. I think everybody here knows it, and they all knew it before I did.
    Sifford clears his throat, and his voice goes raspy when he says, “I’m starting a new list, and it’s gone have just one name on it. Yours. Why don’t we ride on out to Widow Rock. It’ll be cool out there by the river.” He looks at my Aunt Delia long and deep, and his eyes say things that make me look away at the gun rack over the counter. And I want to take down one of those guns and shoot him. I don’t look back until I feel my Aunt Delia’s hand on my shoulder. She says, “You and your bosom friend Ronny there can put your fancy red Oldsmobile in the back of his truck and ride off together. Me and Travis are on a shopping trip. Today’s his birthday, and I’m going to buy him a tennis racket.” She looks down at me and smiles. Then she reaches down and runs her hand through my hair.
    â€œHow ’bout that, Travis?”
    I’m a shortstop, not a tennis player, but I smile big and say, “That’s neato, Aunt Delia.”
    Mr. Tolbert says, “I think we got a few things you can look at, Miss Delia.”
    Delia spins her stool around to face Mr. Tolbert, and I do too. She says, “First, we’re going to get Travis a big fat birthday chocolate malted milk, and then we’re going to buy him the best tennis racket in the place.”
    Again I smile and say, “Thank you, Aunt Delia.”
    Mr. Tolbert says, “Will that be two malts, Miss Delia?”
    My Aunt Delia says yes, and we sit together watching Mr. Tolbert’s big hands scoop the ice cream and pour in the chocolate syrup and the little malt balls, and then put the shiny steel container on the little