Free Precious Bones by Mika Ashley-Hollinger Page A

if the car were a rattlesnake coiled to strike. Silver let out a low growl; the hair along her back stood up like porcupine’s guills. Nolay laughed out loud and blew the horn. “Y’all come on over here. It ain’t gonna bite ya.”
    Me and the dogs broke into a run to see who would get there first. I began to circle the car, running my hands overthe smooth hot metal. The dogs sniffed the huge whitewall tires and wagged their tails. Perched on top of the hood was a shiny chrome angel poised in flight, its wings spread. I came around to the driver’s door and asked, “Nolay, what is this?”
    “It’s a 1949 Studebaker Champion, one of the finest vehicles ever put on a road.”
    “Is it ours? Can we keep it?”
    “It’s ours. We don’t own it, but we’re sure as heck gonna keep it.”
    Mama stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes drinking in the vision in front of her. She shook her head. “Nolay, where on earth did you get such a thing? And where is our truck?”
    “The truck is up at the Fish House. Ironhead’s gonna drive it down tomorrow. Don’t worry about where this car came from; just get in so we can go for a ride.”
    Mama continued to stand and stare. “Nolay, we cannot have something like this. What will people say? What will people think?”
    “I don’t give a hoot what they think or say. They’ll probably wish they had one, too. Now y’all jump on in here and let me take ya for a spin.”
    Mama rubbed her hands over her garden-soiled shirt and said, “Well, I cannot get in that car and go for a ride looking the way I do.”
    “Then, Honey Girl, go get yourself gussied up so we can go for a ride. How ’bout you, Bones, you ready?”
    “Yes, sir!”
    “Now, be careful when you open the door, don’t let them dang dogs in. They can ride in the truck, but they ain’t welcome in here.”
    I pulled open the heavy door and slid in across the slick green woven seat. I could feel the warmth of the sun-baked material seep through my dungarees. The back of the seat burned my thin T-shirt.
    Nolay lifted me onto his lap and let me grab the massive steering wheel; I pulled the headlight switch off and on, blew the thunderous horn, and flicked the spotlight back and forth in different directions. Silver jumped around and howled at the sound of the horn. The Champion was full of power and wonder.
    Mama came out dressed in clean slacks, a bright blue scarf wrapped around her head and tied neatly under her chin. She slipped in quietly beside me, looked across at Nolay, and said, “Well, let’s go out and give everybody something to talk about.”
    “Mama, ain’t this just the finest thing you ever did see?”
    Mama looked over at me. Her face was serious, but her eyes were filled with joy. “It is a thing of beauty.”
    I turned to Nolay and asked, “Can we go out and visit Little Man? I bet he’s never seen anything like this before.”
    “I reckon that’s a good place to start,” Nolay said. “What do you think, Honey Girl?”
    “Fine by me. I’ve been meaning to go out and see Miss Melba’s new gas stove.”
    Nolay turned the key, and the Champion’s engine sprang to life. He glided the car gently over our deep-rutted driveway,turned left on the county’s dull yellow marl road, and headed to Little Man’s house.
    Soon as we pulled into his yard, we were welcomed by an assortment of hunting dogs. The weathered wooden house sat like a sideways matchbox on stilts about three feet above the ground. At both ends of the house was a single door, so there was no front or back entrance.
    Little Man and his daddy, Mr. Cotton, were on the side of the house, starting a fire under a huge black pot. When they saw us, they walked toward the car. Mr. Cotton had the same bird’s nest of hair as Little Man, only his was white. He came up to the driver’s side, and his tanned face crinkled into a smile as he said, “Whoo-ee, Nolay, you done outdone yourself. That is one fine-lookin’