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VINES by Lindell T. Palmer Jr. Submitted to the Faculty of The VINES By Lindell T. Palmer Jr. Submitted to the Faculty of the College of Arts and Sciences of American University in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Master of Fine Arts In Creative Writing Chair: E.J. Levy Keith Leonard Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences Date 2007 American University Washington, D.C. 20016 AMERICAN UN!'/Fn<?!TYLIBRARY Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. UMI Number: 1452756 Copyright 2007 by Palmer, Lindell T., Jr. All rights reserved. INFORMATION TO USERS The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the copy submitted. Broken or indistinct print, colored or poor quality illustrations and photographs, print bleed-through, substandard margins, and improper alignment can adversely affect reproduction. In the unlikely event that the author did not send a complete manuscript and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if unauthorized copyright material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion. ® UMI UMI Microform 1452756 Copyright 2008 by ProQuest LLC. All rights reserved. This microform edition is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code. ProQuest LLC 789 E. Eisenhower Parkway PO Box 1346 Ann Arbor, Ml 48106-1346 Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. © COPYRIGHT by Lindell T. Palmer Jr. 2007 ALT. RIGHTS RESERVED Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. DEDICATION In memory of my three muses: Mamie, Joyce, and Miss Shelia. Your spirits live. Haunt. Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. VINES BY Lindell T. Palmer Jr. ABSTRACT Vines is an original novella about an African-American family haunted, both literally and figuratively, by the past. Set in the fictional town of Warren Hills, North Carolina, in 1969, a time of great change, three generations of the Taylor family deal with their own great change when the unfaithful, yet loveable, patriarch of the family passes away. Throughout the work, the Taylors attempt to cope with a series of traumatic losses while they also try to redefine home. Miss Mamie tries to come to terms with the fact that her perfect, Christian home may never be. Jackson struggles to feel at home with his homosexuality in a region and household where such is unspoken. Meanwhile, Joy, Jackson’s mother, possessing the feistiness of her father coupled with the magic of her people, continues to run away from her true family and home she has yet to accept. Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. TABLE OF CONTENTS ABSTRACT..................................................................................................................................ii Chapter 1. MID-AUGUST, 1969............................................................................................1 2. 1949....................................................................................................................... 19 3. LATE AUGUST, 1969.........................................................................................25 4. 1954....................................................................................................................... 40 5. FIRST OF SEPTEMBER, 1969..........................................................................50 6. 1964........................................................................................................................ 62 7. OCTOBER, 1969.................................................................................................. 67 8. 1959........................................................................................................................ 87 9. OCTOBER, 1969................................................................................................ 101 10. 1964.................................................................................................................... 113 11. MID-NOVEMBER, 1969.................................................................................120 12. DECEMBER, 1969........................................................................................... 126 iii Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. CHAPTER 1 MID-AUGUST 1969 Jackson had heard the story before, the one about his mother when she was ten, and the little jar of com liquor that she hid beneath the floorboard of the shed right beside her daddy's. When Jackson’s granddaddy told this story, he always laughed; but on this night, as Jackson huddled over his granddaddy fallen on the floor of the shed, the thought of the story his granddaddy had told made him depressed. The August night seemed hotter than normal, and when Jackson found his granddaddy in the shed, in almost complete darkness except for the moonlight that peered in through gaps between the clapboard walls, Jackson sweated so much that he had a hard time holding on to his granddaddy’s ashy hand. “She put the roots on me, you know, back then. Her people knew how to work them roots. That’s how she got me.” It took a minute before Jackson realized a new story had begun, one he hadn’t heard before. “Joy’s just like her. Pure magic. Know how to work them roots.” Jackson was confused. His granddaddy’s statements weren’t connecting. His mind was surely mixing up his stories, and as he became more mixed-up, his words began to ran together. Yet this time, his slurring and stumbling wasn’t caused by a trip 1 Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. down to the juice joint to visit those cheap women and expensive wines Jackson’s grandma had warned him about. This time Jackson knew his mixed up words were more serious, graver. His granddaddy sounded strange. This wasn’t even his voice. It was hard for Jackson to decipher it all. “Call Joy in here, boy. She’ll tell you. Call her home.” His granddaddy was talking nonsense. Joy was in New York, far away from Carolina, their house, this shed, Jackson tried to convince his granddaddy. Couldn’t he understand? “Go fetch Mamie.” The command was clear. “Tell her I found Joy’s stash.” Jackson was confused. “Fetch her.” The shed went quiet. The conversation was over. The story had ended a while ago. Jackson could hear Chico - his granddaddy’s hound- scratching on the door and still barking uncontrollably outside the shed, surely alerting Mamie that the problem she’d sent her grandson down to investigate was still a problem. In fact, the barking had intensified now. It was now primitive, angry. Jackson stood to his feet, but his heart sank. Looking down at him, he knew that his granddaddy was gone. He had never seen his granddaddy looking so calm. His granddaddy had always been a strong, austere, and stubborn man. Someone who always had something to say, but who usually spoke it in what his grandma referred to as the Devil’s tongue. When the doctor had told him to lay off the alcohol, and take it easy, Jackson’s granddaddy had told the man to go to hell. When the nurse had come in to Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. 3 check on him, he’d asked her, right in front of his wife, to sit on his lap and feel how hot he was. Looking down at his granddaddy now, there was nothing devilish about his expression. Though his features remained - blue-black skin, flat lips and wide nose, that Taylor chin - his granddaddy had somehow softened. Surely this man before him had never cheated on his wife, slapped his daughter, or called his grandson “peculiar” because he hadn’t fit the image of a strong young man. Chico suddenly seemed to throw his entire weight upon the door, and the sound startled Jackson. He tripped over his granddaddy’s body and fell beside him. A sharp pain pierced his knee. The floorboards were warped, splintering and Jackson was sure he was bleeding, but it was too dark to see clearly. His fall stirred up sawdust and powder that burned his eyes till they watered. Out of all the confusion, the tears and blood, the dog’s growls, he heard the name: Joy. Jackson could not determine if he’d imagine it or if the name had actually come from the lips of his granddaddy. Jackson inched closer to his granddaddy and slowly reached out and felt his neck: no pulse. He pressed his ear to his chest and felt the heat of his granddaddy’s body press back. His granddaddy’s body was still producing sounds, but no heartbeat. He was gone. Jackson found his way back to his feet. He opened the shed door and a waning moon and an anxious dog met him. Chico scampered in faster than the light, but stopped short right before the body. Chico knew death, had experienced it before. He had been the last living creature to see Uncle Sonny’s last breath a few years back. Now, before the body of yet another Taylor male, the dog simply sat and sniffed the air. Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction prohibited without permission. “Come on boy, let’s go.” Jackson whistled and patted his leg twice trying to get the dog’s attention, but the dog wouldn’t budge. “Come on, we got to go see Grandma. Come on boy.” The dog stood perfectly still, emotionless beside the body. Jackson didn’t realize that tears were still falling from
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