Dead Eyes in Late Summer

INNIS CRAWFORD—THE BOY

A dark-eyed devil, Adelyn’s mother had called him back when; yet even she herself smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him just like all the other women whenever he looked their way. And she meant what she said when he openly courted sixteen-year-old Adelyn. Older by two years than Garnett, Innis worked to be the best at whatever he took a mind to do or be. All the young men on campus held him up as their ideal. His mother would remember and say that he first came to prominence at the age of seven. Innis told the story, and so did his mother, and in their smaller world, Adelyn’s family, the Jacksons, all knew about Innis Crawford from back then.

“Innis Crawford, you will be the death of me and you before long.” His mother scolded as she took a warm wet cloth to his face and neck.

“Because you’ll take sick with some exotic bug bite, for sure.” His mother continued to tug at him, straightening his belt, pulling his knickers from just below his knee to where his stockings could be tucked inside of them.

“And what will you die of, Mama?” His grave face showed concern, and though seven years old and perfectly capable of straightening his own clothes, he knew she loved to fuss about him, so he let her continue. Any other boy would worry after someone seeing him being treated like just a young child, but Innis believed that if he were indeed a young boy still, then he felt no shame to be treated as one.

Mrs. Crawford turned him to face her, and he could see she accepted that his neck would pass inspection at the Citadel. He saw her pause and knew he caught her off guard with his question. What would she die of?

“For the love of you, my darling. Just for you.” And it would be as she said. From the moment his heart stopped, his mother ceased to draw breath. Long before the sheriff and the town mayor clambered up the front steps on that sad day, with their heavy boots sounding hollow on the veranda, Sarah May Crawford felt a fist reach into her heart, turn it cold, and stop its beat. She lived only two months longer, some said to mother Garnett, but like the husk off corn, she drifted free and left us all in her sleep.

Innis reached around his mother’s waist to hold her closer and shivered, and she felt the tremor.

“Did someone walk on your grave just now, darling?” Though only twenty-eight, his mother saw his sparkling eyes and wished, for a moment, to revisit her own youth. Wished to be in a time when her eyes shone as brightly as his.

“Now you go in there to speak with your father and tell him what happened in Mrs. Harper’s classroom today.” She scooted him toward the door to the living room where his father read the evening newspaper and where his brother, Garnett, lay on his belly quietly flicking his marbles into a cardboard box five feet from him. Innis raised an eyebrow to show his brother he impressed him with the effort and then, when Garnett missed, he snickered.

“Son, you want to talk to me?” His father looked up from his paper.

“Yessir. I’m to tell you about Mrs. Harper at school today.” Innis believed his father to be a fair man but one who had high expectations of his sons and how they acted in public.

“Am I to believe that you sassed your teacher today?” Innis heard an even tone, which relaxed him so he could relive the entire event, self-righteous indignation and all.

“All I said was that she was wrong, that Columbus was not the first to land on American soil, that it wasn’t even here, but somewhere south and below, in the Caribbean where he first set foot. Why, she was goin’ on like he stopped in Plymouth up north before he floated down to South Carolina, or something.”

“And you said all this in the same way you’re telling me now?” Will Crawford had loosened his tie and rolled his sleeves neatly up to his elbows. A lawyer who mainly worked in wills and trusts, he figured out the property rights of townspeople who had one idea of what they had to bequeath that often didn’t match with the city hall and sometimes state records. He loved to research the lands and could see them all stretched out around him as he read from dusty old record books. When Innis did not answer, he lowered his paper to see his son.

“No, sir.” Innis’s answer came slowly. “I raised my hand, and when she nodded at me, I stood like we’re told, and I excused myself and said that I liked the Columbus stories so I read some at the library and then told her what I had read.”

Sarah Crawford stood against the door jamb of the high-ceilinged room, drawn by her son’s soft and plaintive voice. She did not look at her husband but at Garnett who smiled up at her now and pointed to his marbles, most of which landed inside the Crayola box perched on its side to catch them.

“Well, son, if you spoke politely and presented your evidence, as you say you did, can you explain why Mrs. Harper might be so upset?” Bill waited, and then offered, “She was embarrassed by your knowing a bit more than she did about the subject. So I want to ask you to hold onto the information until you can tell her with none of the other children there to hear. Okay?”

Innis saw the situation as his father had revealed it, clear and simple. No need to show everyone what he knew, maybe not even tell Mrs. Harper. There would be time to let others know.

“Why don’t you just go see your teacher first thing tomorrow, and tell her you’re sorry and meant no disrespect? No need to say more.”

Innis nodded, having already concluded this was what his father would say. His smile lit up his face and, of course, his mother’s.