Maybe You Never Cry Again Read Online Free PDF Page B

never really knew my father. He only came to see me three, four times my whole life. His name was Bernard Jeffrey Harrison, but I took my mother’s name, McCullough, since he was a stranger to me.
    Early one Saturday, I heard my mother on the phone, talking like she’s tense about something, keeping it under her breath. When she hangs up, she comes lookin’ for me, tells me, “Put your little suit on. You father’s comin’ to see you.”
    â€œMy father?”
    â€œThat was him on the phone. He’s gonna take you for ice cream. Get dressed right quick.”
    I had this little suit I only wore Sundays, to church, with my starchy shirt, and I put it on and went and sat in the living room, my hands quiet in my lap, my eyes glued to the front door. I didn’t move a muscle. My daddy was coming! My daddy loved me! My daddy was gonna take me out for treats!
    Hours go by. Three o’clock, four, five, six. No Daddy. My mother comes in from time to time, looks at me, feelin’ for me, getting angry and trying hard to hide it. Finally, she can’t take it anymore. She tells me to change out of my little suit. “Your daddy’s not comin’, Beanie.” I start crying. I tell her she’s wrong, I tell her he’s coming for sure. “I’m not changin’!” I want my daddy to see me in my Sunday best.
    She just shakes her head, all brokenhearted for me, says we’re out of milk. She’s going to the store, she tells me. “Be right back.”
    I sit there, wipin’ the tears, and when I look up I hear something at the door. I think it’s my mama; that maybe she forgot something. But it’s not. It’s my daddy. I’m grinning so hard my jaw aches. I about float right off that couch. My daddy smiles down at me.
    â€œWell, well, well. Can this really be Bernard Junior?”
    Big man. Six-three, two hundred–some pounds. He didn’t hug me or nothin’, like maybe he didn’t know how, so I jumped up and grabbed him around the waist till my arms were achin’. He was laughin’, patting me on the head like I’m a little dog.
    â€œI thought you wasn’t coming!” I say.
    â€œMe? Not comin’? You really think I’d let you down?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œI know I’m late, son,” he says. “But there’s a reason I’m late.” He holds up a set of keys and jiggles them and takes me over to the window. I look outside. Car out there, right in front. “See that car? That your car.”
    â€œ My car?”
    â€œSure is. I bought that car for you, son.”
    I’m ten years old. Maybe he jumped the gun a little. But I’m not thinking about that. I’m so excited. My daddy bought me a car!
    â€œOnly one thing, see,” my father says, and he crouches low, gets right in my face, big smile. “I spent all my money on the car. So I don’t have money for gas. And without gas money, I can’t take you nowhere.”
    â€œI got some money, Daddy!”
    â€œYou do?”
    â€œI’ve been saving and saving!”
    I did chores around the neighborhood. I helped the old lady across the street with her garbage. I used to walk my neighbor’s dog. I shoveled snow. Washed cars.
    I’d been planning on getting a bike, but this was different. This was for my daddy. This was important. I went and got my piggy bank. There was forty-seven dollars inside. My daddy’s beamin’, and I feel so proud I’m like floating all over again. But just then my mama walks in with her carton of milk, and she can’t believe her eyes.
    â€œWhat’s going on here?” she says.
    I see my daddy take the money and shove it deep into the pocket of his pants. “Nothin’,” he says. “The boy and I are talkin’.”
    â€œAre you taking Bernie’s money?”
    He doesn’t answer. Instead, he moves toward the door.