Is this place okay? Mama asks Daddy in her you-better-be-careful voice.

It has to be. We need gas.

Out the side window I see the gas station man make a funny look when Daddy pulls up to the pump. He has skinny lips and they disappear from his face when he sees Mama's afro.

Daddy just got our new Lincoln Mercury three days ago. When we packed up the car he set me down on the black leather backseat. I leaned over and pressed my nose right down into that still new smell. Then Daddy gave me a big red pillow. I sunk my nose into that, too. It smelled like him, all fresh cut grass and Dial soap.

Daddy sat in the driver's seat and hugged the steering wheel. He had that look on his face that he gets whenever Mama comes back from Say It Loud Beauty Salon with her hair all puffed out like Angela Davis. Last time she went she bought an afro pic and promised to make my hair look proud, too.

After she locked up the house, Mama smiled and said shotgun when she got in the front seat. She turned around and handed me a basket with enough food in it to last a long time. My eyes got real big and she said this way we won't have to stop. Daddy looked at me through the rearview mirror. Driving straight through from New York to South Carolina. Mama turned around again and showed me an empty half gallon milk carton with the top cut off. For when you have to pee.

I looked around the pretty backseat and wondered why somebody would want to pee in their brand new car. I saw how Daddy washed it yesterday even though it was already clean. And you should have heard him talking so happy to Mr. O'Neill about it. Check out the grille, man. He said something else about the air in the car, about its vent-ila-tion but I didn't know what that meant.

When it was time to go, Daddy started the car and turned on the radio. Mama snapped her fingers in time with the music. That's my song. Turn it up. We rode down our street, Daddy driving with one hand and smiling so wide. Me and Mama singing along to "The Way You Do The Things You Do." I could see everything from my spot on that backseat—Miss Thelma watering her geraniums, JoJo walking his dog, Mr. Bentley playing chess all by himself on his stoop. Everybody glad to see us.


It was quiet when I woke up. Are we still in New York?

Daddy said no. He had both of his hands on the steering wheel and Mama turned the low voice on the radio all the way off.

No more singing?

Daddy said no again. We're in Maryland now. A whole different country.

We're driving to Mexico? I shouted it out and leaned over Mama's seat. She reached back and laid her hand on my shoulder.

We're not going to Mexico. Now quiet down. I sat back on the red pillow but I saw Mama and Daddy give each other that look that they do when they think I can't see it.

Now, Mama's worried about stopping.

Daddy sticks his head out the window. Afternoon. We need some gas.

There aren't any other cars waiting but the man just stands there wiping his pink hands on a dirty rag until another car pulls in. He goes to the car where a white lady's driving. Can I help you? Two more cars pull in with white people. Can I help you? The man gives gas to everybody but us.

We need some gas, Daddy says again.

The gas station man sticks his hands in the pockets of his blue overalls. I'll get to you when I feel like it.

Daddy's shoulders straighten and he takes off his sunglasses. He starts to get out of the car but Mama touches his leg. Her hand says wait even though she doesn't open her mouth. Daddy keeps looking at the gas station man who isn't leaning on the gas pump anymore.

My legs slide off the red pillow and get stuck to the hot black leather.

An old beat up truck pulls in on the other side. Two white men are in the front seat. Their eyes bug out of their heads when they see the Lincoln Mercury.

Don't look scared, Daddy says. He's feeling around under his seat for something. Mama acts like she's studying the map, moving her finger along the road we're on. All the windows are rolled down and a mosquito buzzes by my ear. I try to smack it away. Be still, Daddy says.

The gas station man goes over to the truck. What can I do for you fellas?

You can get that shit outta here so we don't have to look at it. The man driving the truck jerks his whole body around to stare at us. His yellow hair sticks to his forehead.

The gas station man starts laughing. Right? he says. For you I can do that.

He yanks the pump out and starts giving us gas. The numbers over the pump keep going up and up and up. So high like they're going straight to the sky. I try to count the flying numbers but they make me dizzy. I turn back to Mama. She looks like a church lady, fanning herself with the map. Daddy hands some money to the gas station man who snatches it away. He doesn't even say thank you.

My head hurts from the gas smell and the flying numbers and the too hot leather. I put the red pillow on the floor and lie down behind the driver's seat. Smells like Daddy, all fresh cut grass and Dial soap.



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