Hot Foot Jerri (Excerpt from Big Mama)

Sometimes declared invincibility is dangerous, and I was always a little off. I had a self-acclaimed, sane-insane sort of justification for my unwarranted mischief. I was only nine years old. Danger excited me, though I was deathly scared of the consequences. For instance, Ms. Johnson lived on Rutherford Road, a stretch of highway that curved right in front of her house. I would come down a hill that ran right smack into the curve of the road to get to her house. There were no caution signs, no traffic lights; so cars readily sped at the junction.

One day I was taking Ms. Johnson some dinner Big Ma had prepared for her. As I waited to cross the street, I began to watch the cars that sped around the curve. I deemed I was much faster than anything I’d seen, so I waited on the next approaching car. It was a sleek red Ford GTO.  Just as it drew near the curve, I shot out, right in front of it and beat it! Just like that, I outran the car and entered safely, unharmed in old Ms. Johnson’s yard.



I knew then, I was bonafide fast. I could beat any vehicle on any curve, and just to prove it, I ran back across the road the same way.

In my case, it was still being determined by a higher power whether common sense should be a part of my early years or not. Needless to say I felt I was so good, that every day I would go down the hill on the pretense that I just missed Ms. Johnson; and I enjoyed her company so much, just to outrun cars coming around the curve.

As fate would have it, my best friend, Sheila, was visiting one Sunday when Big Mama received a phone call from Ms. Johnson wanting to know what she had for dinner.



“Just a piece of bread Ms. Raysor. That will do me just fine. I’d love some of those lovely, hot buttered yeast rolls.  Do you have any made?”



Of course she knew Big Mama always had yeast rolls on Sunday, and of course, Ms. Johnson knew she was going to get just what she wanted.  The good thing was, I knew I would have to deliver them, so I invited Sheila to tag along. This was perfect. I’d been wanting someone to see me do this great, awesome, and not-to-forget, dangerous feat. As far as I was concerned, I was the only living human being great enough, and fast enough on foot, to beat a speeding car zooming around a curve—that is except for Superman.  So I said,



“Sheila, come go with me. Girl, you won’t believe what I can do.”  She was all excited and anxious.  She had no idea what I was talking about. The suspense was killing her and building me up. Big Ma put the hot buttered rolls on a plate and wrapped them in tin foil to keep them warm.



“Now hurry up gal, take these rolls to Edith.  I told her to look out for you, so don’t go playing along the way.  Now scat! Go do what I told you to do.”



With that we were on our way. Hot yeast rolls in hand, we finally reached our destination—or should I say my destination.  I was just where I wanted--just at the place where I was about to thrill my friend.  I said, “Sheila, watch this. You can count if you want to, because right before your very eyes, I’m going to beat that car coming around the curve right there.  You gon’ count girl?”



Shiela said,  “Not me. You ain’t gon’ git me in no trouble. My mama just beat me for slipping off without her telling me I could go. You lucky I’m with you now, and I ain’t gon’ git you killed. You crazy, want somebody to count for you to run out in the street—not me!”

I narrowed my eyes and poked out my lips at Sheila in disgust.  I spat out, “Chicken! That’s alright, I’ll do it myself, watch now, watch me go.”

I spotted a fast moving Cadillac heading toward my mark. I began to count.



“One for the money," 



I was rocking back and forth, I suppose, building momentum.



“Two for the show” (never knew what that meant),



Three to get ready,”  and SHOOM!!  Like a rocket, I took off just as the car was almost at us. Sheila’s eyes were stretched as wide as the Reedy River. Her mouth was open like a tunnel in the mountains. She was scared to death as she watched me run out into the street. 

BAM! Great God from Zion, that car hit me!  I do believe the good Lord must have surely felt sorry for me.  Maybe he sent a gust of wind to set me down because I landed alive in old Ms. Johnson’s yard.  I landed under her tree on my behind and with a busted knee to boot. I was dazed and a little coo coo, but alright.



Poor Ms. Johnson ran out her door. That lady was old; I didn’t know she could move so fast.



My friend, Sheila, was crying and slobbering, “Lawd, Lawd, Lawd, Oh have mercy Lawd! Ms. Cora gon’ kill me, cause I let Jerlean get kilt.”

Poor girl couldn’t see I was alright.  Her eyes were tightly shut and I do believe she was praying—in fact, she was praying like she as gon’ break out into a sermon—like my Grandpa.. Through my bewilderment I could hear Ms. Johnson say,



“Are you alright child?  Are you hurt?”



The lady driving the car had run back to where I was and she was saying, “Should we take her to the hospital?”

I said, “No! No ma’am, I’m just fine. My knee’s just a little skinned.”



I knew I was in big trouble with Big Ma, and I knew that if I was alive and I didn’t get them rolls to Ms. Johnson, I was dead anyway  Sheila was still praying,



“Lord, help me, help me to know what to tell my mama.  God, it wasn’t my fault.  You saw her Lord.  You know she wouldn’t listen. I know her grandmama, Ms. Cora, is gon’ kill me.  I know my mama is too—my butt still swollen from the last whupping. Oh Lawd, what I’m gon’ do?”

Poor child, there was no hope for her.  It was then I realized I didn’t have the rolls. Hot rolls were strewn all over Ms. Johnson’s grass. Oh Lawd, I was ready to start praying with Sheila, but only that Big Ma couldn’t find nothing to hit me with. That the Lawd would just make her too tired to beat the fool out of me. Or, that she would just be glad I didn’t get killed. But, Oh no! Marvin Mansell, who lived next door to Ms. Johnson was grabbing up them hot buttered rolls. He was blowing the dirt off and saying, humph, these things still good. Nobody was looking at him, nobody but me. They just thought I was delirious, ‘cause I was just mumbling, “Oh, no, oh no.”

Well, they carried me in Ms. Johnson’s house and I could hear her on the phone,



“Ms. Raysor, Jerlean’s been hit by a car, but she’s alright, thank the Lawd. …Yes ma’am, the lady what hit her is gon’ bring her home. Can’t get no sense in her little friend. She’s just crying and mumbling, something about you gon’ kill her ‘cause Jerlean got killed. …Yes ma’am, I’ll tell her. Bye bye now. …Oh wait --Ms. Raysor; it’s okay that I didn’t get the rolls, don’t worry about it. …Yes ma’am, some other time.”

Well, I just could have fainted dead away. I was dead. I just knew it. I should have let that lady take me to the hospital. Maybe it ain’t too late. Maybe, Oh Lord, she taking me home. I couldn’t shut my friend up, as soon as we pulled in the driveway; she shot out that car like a wild cat was behind her. She ran screaming home. I was grateful for that. Whew, thought I dodged a bullet there. But her mama just brought her right back down there and she laid her tongue on the table.



Ms. Cora, I was so scared. She told me to watch; she told me to count; she told me to—”

Boy, I said, that’s the last time I take her to see me do anything famous. I promised myself that. Well, bloody knee or not, I knew I was gon’ get it. That beating was much worse than that sore knee. I’d like to say it was a lesson well learned, but it wasn’t, the next time I tried it on my bike. Now I know what Big Mama meant when she said “The Good Lord takes care of all fools and babies.” Surely I must belong to Him, I’m still alive.