Palmetto, from Black Girl in Triptych , Part 1

Abstract

Palmetto, from Black Girl in Triptych, Part 1 Dána-Ain Davis (bio) The short man muttered to himself as he limped toward his seat in the fifth car of the Palmetto leaving Charleston, South Carolina . . . the car where Negroes sat. His body was slight, wisp-like, but his mouth sounded like he was swishing seven marbles. He spoke kind of funny because apparently, he never left his Haitian accent back in Acul-du-Nord, even though he arrived in Edgefield County, South Carolina, ten years earlier. The pout of his lips, from which the accent fell, was why they called him Frenchy—a name a lot of South Carolinians called Haitians who first came to Charleston in the 1700s from Saint Dominique. Frenchy boarded the train in his gray pants and light-blue short-sleeve polo shirt. He had the collar up, and the top two buttons were undone so his gold necklace was visible. His hair was slightly conked and combed back. Such a dapper man might have had a larger suitcase, but his was just a medium-size, tan tweed and cognac-colored leather. His valise was the size of man who had left someplace in a hurry. Yet, his manicured nails—perfectly square with rounded edges—told a tale of living a well-appointed life. Those hands, almost dainty, pulled out a ticket from his pant pocket. It read “15A,” which came as a relief because it was the window seat. When Frenchy found the location, a young woman was already getting settled in 15B and was reaching over the aisle to hand the two little girls across from her, orange sections in a napkin. Frenchy sighed because now he was going to have to navigate another person taking up space in his own small world. The young lady looked up as Frenchy lingered by the arm of the seat before hoisting his suitcase to the overhead bin. The suitcase, the size of which suggested its owner did not [End Page 285] have much or did not plan to stay where he was going for very long, nestled in its place much more easily when Frenchy turned it sideways. Now came the small talk that would get him to his window seat. Ma’am that’s my seat. Ok, give me a second, she said. Frenchy waited all of five seconds for the woman to swivel her hips and legs to the right so he could inch his way past her. Frenchy made his wispy body even smaller by holding in his nonexistent stomach and side-shuffled to his seat. When his body arrived, he sat down and was so glad to be doing so. Now he could rest his head on the window instead of taking a chance that when sleep came to get him, his head would drop and lean into the aisle. That could be the job of the lady, he thought. She could create the disturbance in the aisle, not him. As soon as Frenchy sat down, one of the two little girls said, Mama, when we gonna get there? The little girl’s mother looked around, checking people’s faces against the volume of her daughter’s voice. She put a red-painted finger up to her lips and told her daughter, Gilda-girl, hush, don’t nobody wanna hear you. Gilda-girl whined, But Mama, I jus’ wanna know when we getting’ there. I can’t wait to see Cousin Do, and Pookie. Frenchy leaned over just a bit so he could see this loud child. She was dressed the part of someone leaving one place going to another but not sure about the road leading to where she was headed. Gilda-girl had on a brown coat and Frenchy could see a little pink hem peeking out of the bottom of the coat. When she stood up because she was so excited, Frenchy could see that the coat fit, but it was just “too right.” Too right—Frenchy had worn a lot of “too right” clothes over his lifetime. You know, when something fits too right, the arms don’t let you hug comfortably. Or, the seat of your...