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CHAPTER ONE

Chapter One

Cissy DuPre squinted into the bright sunlight and put her foot on the gas of her Cadillac.She had just suffered through another fight with Woodrow over the “b” word as he put it.Cissy felt tears roll down her face as she thought about her baby, Benjamin.The child wasn’t in any danger of getting hurt during their fights.It wasn’t like he really existed, or even had a hope of existing if Woodrow had anything to do with it.Cissy’s talk as if they already had a little boy had driven Woodrow over the edge. “You stop talking crazy, woman,” Woodrow had yelled at her. “We don’t have children for a reason. Look at the way you dress and act. It’s your fault. If you wouldn’t spend so much money and start acting like everyone else, you could be a Mama. You so high and mighty. No wonder God hasn’t blessed you with a child.”Cissy sometimes wandered into the stores in downtown Georgetown, looking at infant clothing.The curious stares of the clerks and other employees didn’t bother her.She knew what they were thinking: “Cissy has gone crazy again.”She would sometimes light up a cigarette and blow smoke in their faces, just to get them to go away. It didn’t matter what the whole town thought, since it was Woodrow’s fault they couldn’t have a real child.Cissy was perfectly fine, but Woodrow couldn’t produce a baby even if he wanted to.He was sterile as a cut hog, but he had warned her constantly not to tell that to anyone.He was afraid he would be laughed out of town at the thought of not carrying on the family bloodline for another generation.She was so ashamed of Woodrow. She wasn’t going to share the whole details of her life with the church choir, her women’s social group or even her mother and father.”We’re still trying, yaw’ll,” she said to her family, as they ate dinner after church. She didn’t tell them about her pretend baby. It would have just worried her mother even more.Her mother nodded and gave Cissy her an extra helping of green beans.”Maybe you’re just too skinny, Cissy,” she said, looking into her daughter’s face.”Oh Mama, getting fat isn’t going to solve my problems,” she said. “It would just make things worse.”Cissy couldn’t imagine what Woodrow would say if she was fat and childless.Why, he might just throw her away. It didn’t matter he was sterile. In his peabrained little mind, it was all her fault they couldn’t have children. He could always trade her in for another, newer Cadillac, as he was always threatening to do. Cissy gave the same explanation about the lack of a baby as she got her hair fixed on Fridays or pretended to enjoy the lessons in Sunday School. She found it hard to pay attention in church, with so much on her mind. “Even Mary had a baby,” Cissy thought bitterly. “And she wasn’t even trying.”Suddenly, something running in front of her chrome bumper caused Cissy to slam on brakes. A little boy was running away, down the middle of the road. His chubby legs were pumping as fast as they could. He had tears running down his face and he was swerving back and forth, like he was going to fall down.”Why, it’s Benjamin,” Cissy thought. “He was here all along, just waiting for me.”She opened the door and called softly to the child, who had fuzzy black hair and big brown eyes.”Benny, come to Mama,” she said.Javar stopped and looked at the white woman in the big car.It wasn’t his Mama, and that wasn’t his name, but he was tired and hot. He was only three years old, and he had been running for a long time. He held out his hand to Cissy, and climbed into the big front seat.”We’re going home now, son,” Cissy said.

CHAPTER TWO 

Cissy thought  she and Woodrow had "words" before about Benjamin, it wouldn't compare to his  reaction when she got home.
She knew there would be questions, but she  already had an explanation for everything.
"Remember Benny, just keep quiet  and let Mama do the talking," she said, as the Cadillac cruised through the  tepid summer air.
The child looked out the window, towards an area of town he  was more familiar with.
"You're my cousin's child," she told him. "She always was a little
trashy. I'm just trying to do my Christian duty by taking care of you
while she's in prison."
Javar nodded slowly.
He couldn't understand  much of what she said. He knew it was something about being his cousin.  
Maybe it would be ok after all. 
He didn't want to get a whipping when he got home, but if this white
lady was his cousin, maybe his real mama's boyfriend wouldn't hit him
so hard.
Javar couldn't say so, but that's why he ran away  in the first place. 
The man in the house was always beating him over  something.
This time Javar had spilled his milk. 
The man started swatting  and Javar started running.
He just kept running until he got to the highway  near his house, then he turned left and kept on going. 
Now he was with his  white cousin, who kept calling him by a different name. 
The big car pulled  into the driveway of a nice house, in the white section of town.
A stocky man  was scowling, and the car seemed to slow down a little more as it got closer to  home.
"Cissy, I don't know where the hell you got him, but you take that  child home," Woodrow screamed as the car pulled to a halt.
"Of all the  hair-brained, dumb-ass things you have ever done, this has got to the  worst."
"Why Woodrow, this is Benjamin," Cissy said. "You know, my cousin's
child. She decided she didn't want him. She's in prison. We had to take
him in, you know. It's our Christian duty."
Woodrow looked as if he was about to  explode.
"What cousin? You never told me about a cousin like that, Cissy. Are
you crazy? Take him the hell home. Let someone else feed him. We can't
keep somebody's else kid. What will people say? He's not even the same 
 color as we are. Good Lord woman, I can't take my eyes off you a  second you don't come up with something else stupid."
"Woodrow," Cissy said,  speaking more loudly to him than she had ever spoken in her life.
"This is our child now. You will not treat me like that in front of our
son. Do you understand? You will not curse in front of Benjamin or I
will tell everyone in this town what a little man you actually are. Do
you understand. Your satan-loving ways have got to stop. Or I'm going
to tell all about  it. And when I say 'tell it,' you know what I mean."
Woodrow was so surprised, he  clamped his mouth shut.
He had never witnessed Cissy take a stand before,  especially not against him.
"Come on now, Honey," Woodrow said. "I didn't mean it that a way. I was
just asking you a question. What does he eat and all. We never had a
youngun' around here before. Especially not one that's uh, not quite
like us. Why is he so dark.  What was your cousin into, exactly?"
"Well," Cissy said, lighting a cigarette. "She obviously didn't have
the best upbringin' in the in the world, or she wouldn't have had, uh,
a child like this. I think she liked Italian men. Who knows why? We
didn't grow up in the same house. But Jesus said, welcome the little
children, Woodrow. Well, Benjamin is our child. The Lord said welcome
him, and that's what I did. Now you just shut up. Do you hear me? Not a
word  about this to anyone. This is strictly a family thing, Woodrow.
And we know about keeping family secrets, don't we."

Sally figured her fear and loathing of monsters (and frankly, some fascination) came from muttered conversations she heard as a child.
Her family was a sturdy bunch of scotch-irish, and true to their superstitious personalities, they would gather in the kitchen on Sundays and talk about monsters.
Or at least Sally thought that’s what they were saying.
“Cherokee Power Company is coming,” her Aunt Ida Mae would say, with a dark look outside. “Wonder how bad it will be this time?”
Sally didn’t know it was the monthly electric bill they were describing.
In Sally’s mind, Cherokee Power was a dark man carrying a tomahawk and wearing feathers in his hair.
He came when you least expected it, causing shrieks of fear among the womenfolk. Cherokee Power was one bad-ass, she knew.
Sally wasn’t supposed to say “ass,” but she couldn’t think of
another word to describe Cherokee Power.
Likewise, she had other ideas about the demons that bothered her many relatives who worked at the cotton mill.
J.B. Tisdale was another monster her parents and relatives couldn’t seem to shake off.
“That John Brown J.B. Tisdale,” her father would whisper late in the night.
Sally’s room was right next to her parents, so she knew what they were saying.
She wasn’t supposed to be listening, but she couldn’t help herself.
“I think J.B. is gonna take us all out right before Christmas,” her father said.
“Oh lord,” Sally thought. “J.B. Tisdale was going to kill her parents. Right before Christmas. No Santa this year, kids. J.B. Tisdale gonna take care of that.”
The J.B. Tisdale monster took on special significance in Sally’s mind.
She tried to imagine what sort of monster he could be.
Did he have scales and a forked tongue?
Did he have cloven feet?
It didn’t help matters that her family, in the best tradition of Scotch-Irish, had a healthy fear of hell and the devil.
Living with the boogey man was just another fact of life.
He was always hiding around the corner, waiting to get you if you smacked your sister or said a curse word.
The worst monster of all, Sally knew, was the “Surance Man,” because he actually came by the house.
He was a monster in the flesh, come to life in a tacky suit and a fake smile.
Sally thought the ‘Surance Man had fangs.
She could almost see them glistening underneath his rubbery lips.
Sometimes her Grandma Juanita would make the grandkids all play dead when the ‘Surance Man” appeared at her door.
He was just looking for the life insurance payment that was due, but Sally thought he was awful.
“Freeze,” Grandma Juanita would order to all the little kids who were playing in her living room.
Sally often wondered what the ‘Surance Man” thought when he peered in the window and saw an old lady and a bunch of younguns froze up, trying their best to look dead.
He rang the doorbell repeatedly, but sometimes he drove away.
Sally didn’t know why the devil drove an old yellow Buick, but who cared.
Grandma Juanita fought him off, most of the time.
“Begosh and begorrah,” she would mutter under her breath.
Sally thought it was a special way to get rid of the ‘Surance Man.
She would say it herself, sometimes, just to ward off monsters.
To feel better and safer, Sally lined the monsters up in her head.
There they were, Cherokee Power, J.B. Tisdale and the ‘Surance Man.
She thought about them late at night and vowed to take them down.
It wasn’t until years later her kin tried to tell her she was wrong.
“You know Sally,” her mother said, Cherokee Power was just the light bill. It wasn’t a real person. Why’d you ever think that, honey? They don’t even call it that anymore. It went out of business. Now we get real good rates because we’re over 65.”
J.B. Tisdale was a real asshole, they explained over Sunday dinner.
Tisdale once owned the mill where her parents worked, until they could retire.
J.B. Tisdale, like most monsters, was never totally gone. For right now, he was buried under the old mill.
“Buried him years ago underneath the mill,” her father said. “Then they plowed that down to make room for some apartments for poor people.”
As for the ‘Surance Man, he was just the church deacon dressed in a tacky suit, they said.
It was his weekday job to collect life insurance payments from the people in the community.
Despite their reassurances, Sally knew that these creatures were often the worst monsters of all.
She gave a shiver and thanked Jesus and crossed her fingers for keeping them away from her kin for a long time.