Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

100 ◆ Crab Orchard Review
Melanie Jennings
her chunky cheeks wiggling hard, all bunched up red with tears and
hollering. And this sin, and that sin, and what you done, and what
you ain’t done. The whole time I could feel Jerry snickering in a back
bedroom playing with another cousin’s beat-up train set, blowing the
wooden whistle he knew was my favorite toy. He was already saved so
he could be as bad as he wanted.
But there was Vena, with her hand pressed against my forehead
so I felt like I had to push with my head back at that hand until it was
a struggle between us, telling me to repeat after her, “Jesus come into
my heart and guide me. Bless me with all your glory and protect me.”
That’s the abridged version of what she said and what I repeated, like
how they highlight Jesus’s words in those red-line Bibles. She cried
and so I repeated her crying and sobbing. God was a power too strong
for me and even too strong for big old Vena. It made me choked up and
dizzy and I couldn’t hear the whistle blowing anymore, couldn’t smell
the biscuits rising that I’d helped mix earlier, couldn’t see nothing but
Vena and tears falling and her shaking and her shaking me with her.
When I could breathe again and Vena got off the couch and down on
her knees in front of me, the TV was playing H.R. Pufnstuf and Jimmy
and his magic flute danced together across the screen. Vena bowed
her head and wiped her eyes. She prayed real quiet and collected then,
like you do when church is all over and you know you can take a deep
breath because if you go outside and get hit by a train you’re going to
Heaven and ain’t nobody gonna tell you no different. No-ah. You’re
going. And that’s peace. I held her hand and wiped my eyes, took a
deep breath and imagined blowing Jerry’s whistle long and loud till I
could breathe back in again, deep and easy.
In our circle, as Pastor James began to quiet his voice and rest the
tightness in his eyes, my granddaddy began the singing. I saw the light,
I saw the light, no more darkness, no more night. Jerry, perhaps moved
by the Spirit or just trying to get the wet hair out of his eyes, flipped
his head back like a hooked bass. Water sprayed across my face. Nippy
had been on him to cut his hair before the dunking but he had refused.
Slowly, the rest of the circle began to sing and I raised my tentative
voice with them. This was my favorite song because my granddaddy
had the same kind of scratchy and old-time singing voice Hank
Williams had. I also loved it because Granddaddy harmonized so well
with his daughter, my Aunt Vena. Her album with the Velvet Crystals,
a gospel group that gave our family some fame in the Pentecostal
circuit, was just about to be released. Watching them singing, just a