Leaving Atlanta by Tayari Jones

Author:Tayari Jones [Jones, Tayari]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literary, Adult, Historical, Thriller, Fiction
ISBN: 9788496501010
Google: 2XH2nQEACAAJ
Amazon: 0446690899
Publisher: Ediciones El Cobre
Published: 2003-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

On Wednesday morning, your full bladder forces you out of bed. You open your bedroom door and dart across the hall to the bathroom. In the clean and bright room, you use the toilet, being careful not to splash the green tile. Mother has complained to Father about your bad aim. “Get a little closer next time,” he told you, as you rubbed the floor with a soapy sponge. “It’s not as long as you think it is.”

You are on your way back to bed when your parents’ door opens. Father is ready for breakfast.

“Well, looka here,” he says. “What you doing up?”

You point at the bathroom door and stare longingly at your bedroom.

“Come on in the kitchen and talk to me while I get me some breakfast.”

You stand in the hallway barefoot and vulnerable in your Snoopy pajamas. He smiles as if he hadn’t hit you with his belt just hours earlier. Will he swing it again if you refuse his invitation?

“Okay,” you say.

Father is cheerful as he turns on the radio and shuts it off again. “Don’t need that since I got my boy to talk to this morning.”

The teakettle shrieks and Father turns brown pebbles into coffee. “Kids don’t like coffee, right?”

You don’t.

“What it is y’all drink? Hot chocolate? Tea?”

“Hot chocolate is okay.”

He rummages in the cabinet. “I don’t see none. How about a Coke?”

You shrug. You have not brushed your teeth yet; whatever you drink will taste terrible.

You watch Father’s broad back as he breaks three eggs into a little bowl and beats them with a fork. He slurps coffee while dotting slices of white bread with golden margarine. He doesn’t turn around before he starts to speak.

“My daddy worked in the sawmill. He couldn’t read. He would turn over in his grave if he could hear me because he worked so hard to keep people from knowing. Daddy could write his name as good as a schoolteacher. But that was all.” Now Father turns to look at you. “I hate that he died before you could get to know him.”

“Yes sir,” you say.

“The reason I know that he couldn’t read, is that he used to bring me books when I was a boy. I don’t even want to think about where he must’ve gotten them from.” Father stirs the eggs in the little black skillet, shaking his head gently from side to side. He takes a big gulp from his mug. “But the reason I know he couldn’t read those books is that some of them were straight pornography.” He turns and grins at you before lifting perfect slices of toast from the oven. Yellow splotches make the bread look like dice. He hands you two slices on a white saucer trimmed in silver.

“Jelly?” he asks.

“No sir.”

“I thought kids were supposed to like sweet stuff.” Sitting at the table, he chases his eggs around the plate with the perfect toast. There are crumbs in his mustache.

“Now Daddy was a religious man—we spent all day Sunday in church.

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