Elijah’s shirt and pants clung to him as if had a taken a dunk in the bay.
He’d been emptying trash cans all day behind the downtown storefronts and hotels. There was a rush as news came from down south that an angry storm was headed their way. Some of the men complained when they couldn’t take lunch.
“Man,” Perlie said to the foreman. “There’s not a cloud in the sky. Give a fellow a break.”
“Don’t stop,” the foreman barked. “We don’t wanna have rotten food and bottles floating all over downtown. The big lake, it spilled over and washed that sugar town into the swamp. I even heard some of the workers in the field got swept into the mouths of the ‘gators.”
They worked faster.
The crew got back from the trash heap just as the wind picked up bringing a cool breeze, one that promised rain even though the fenders of the Model Ts along 5th Avenue North still gleamed in the sunlight.
The foreman stopped at 9th Street to let men jump off the truck. They all lived south of Central.
Elijah, Perlie and Titus hoofed down the sidewalk, ignoring the unwritten rule to walk through the allies. Even though the season hadn’t started, no one wanted to see a bunch of coloreds smelling of garbage on downtown streets, or so the powers of the city opined.
As they approached the new hot dog joint, Coney Island Sandwich Shop, the smell of grilled pork wafted through the open transoms.
“Can’t wait to get some of momma’s stew,” Perlie said. “She puts a whole chicken in there with a ham hock and potatoes and okra. And she fries up the beans just right, you know until they smile so hard they split. Then she adds them in. Umm Umm. I’m gonna lick that pot tonight, boys.”
Elijah said nothing. Since Fanny left, he had to fix his own dinner, which usually was a fried bologna and tomato sandwich.
Without warning, without a drop of rain, a bolt of lightning cracked the sky. Elijah’s skin tingled. In no more than a second the sky roared. It was as if God himself belched in Elijah’s ears.
The men ran, holding on to their straw hats, too breathless to swear, much less talk about dinner or where they might be going. With Perlie and Titus sprinting ahead, Elijah darted through the door of the diner, not for a second considering the consequences. He pulled the door behind him and turned to see a handful of patrons, their staring white faces reminding him of where he wasn’t supposed to be.
He pulled off his hat and held at his waist. “There’s a bad storm coming,” he said.
“So, they say,” said the cook behind the counter as he put down his cigarette and went back to the grill.
The four men at a table in the back went back to their hotdogs and sodas. But the man in the linen suit at the counter didn’t take his eyes off Elijah.
“You know you’re not allowed in here, don’t you,” he said, not so much as a question but a scolding.
“Yes, sir,” Elijah said. “But it’s lightning, sir. Lightning bad.”
“Don’t matter,” the man said. “Now move on”
Elijah gazed around the room. The men in back had stopped eating and were eying him. He looked to the cook. The man in the apron was back at the grill, whistling as he scrapped.
“Sorry, sir. I don’t mean to bother no one. I’ll be on my way,” Elijah said. He turned and left, feeling the heat of eyes on his back. He stood underneath the striped awning that billowed with the wind and peeked out at the darkening sky. How long it would take him to run seven blocks?
He took a deep breath and was to about to launch into a sprint when he heard a man’s voice coming from around the corner.
“Hey, hey. Come here. Come here!”
He followed the sound of to see the cook’s head stretching out a small window, a tiny doorway of sorts.
“Come here!”
Elijah hurried over as raindrops spotted his shirt.
“Here, take these,” the cook said holding out three wrapped hotdogs.
“I don’t have any money,” Elijah said.
“Don’t matter. Take ‘em.”
Elijah looked into the man’s eyes and saw that he meant it.
“Thank you. Thank you very much, sir. I’ll come back and pay you Friday,” Elijah said.
“No need. Take ‘em.”
Elijah took the food as water dripped from the brim of his hat. No time to eat. With hotdogs clutched to his chest he raced down 9th Street as the sky wept on the sunniest city in America.
This article appears in Apr 20-27, 2017.