Finding the Way

Abstract

Finding the Way Wesley McNair (bio) Graceland Once, in the poverty of the Ozarks,my aunt Mae's baby brother,her mother's favorite, stole a tendollar bill from his father's wallet."Tell him you done it," her mothersaid to her. "He won't whip you." But he did. Aunt Mae was nobody'sfavorite. When she stepped into stop her husband, Lyle,from punching one of their sons,Lyle went right on swinging."That's how I got my nose broke," Mae says, almost as if it was her fault,looking inside herself at the past,the arms of the fan above our headsin the lamplight, swinging. SlowlyI understand she hated my uncle Lyle,the man the neighbors loved, for years; part of her sits with me among smilingfamily portraits in her farmhouse,comparing this summer's to lastsummer's hot weather, whilethe other part is down in the cellarof her mind among old memories she's kept like preserves in the dark—here, her mother telling her to liewhen she was twelve, there, Lyle [End Page 375] beating up a son, or tryingto stare her down in the rearviewmirror on the day Mae drove him and her mother, against their will,to Graceland. "This ain't the way homefrom Wilmer's," Mae says, slow-talkinglike Lyle, enjoying how he beginsto figure out where she's taking them."I been there before," says her mother, beside him in the back seat, as upsetas he is, "and it ain't nothin'." Aunt Mae,a farm woman who only had all-daychores and big-bellied Lylewhen she first saw Elvis shake his hipson TV, must have been determined not to turn around now, butin her story it's all about Sue Ellen,her youngest daughter, in the frontof the car with her, almost peeingin her pants to get inside Elvis's mansion.Which is why Sue Ellen ends up crying her poor eyes out at the gate,Mae says, when they discover Gracelandis closed, nobody there but somefat guy in a black wig and a whitesuit trying to sell them a paintingof the King on velvet. Mae is nearly eighty-six remembering the sad momentwhen she held Sue Ellen in her arms,shutting her eyes so she couldn'tsee Lyle or her smug mother watchingfrom the car, the end of her story,though her story and mine goes on [End Page 376] to the little wonder of how she has madethe house cool for me, her weekendvisitor, despite the Missouri heat,by latching both outside doorsand opening the back window, wherethere's a chilly spot the fan pulls in around us. Mae says, "Do you feel it?"And I tell her I do, both of us silentin the pleasure of it, one light onover her chair, and one light over mine. Getting Lost I'm not proud of it, but I couldn't resistSerena, the British woman on my GPS,who understood I had better things to dowhile driving than to think about whatI was doing, and who had the most charming difficulty with her r's. I went everywherewith her, making each turn she whisperedwith that lisp of hers into my ear as I watchedthe man she had made of me on my GPS TV,a superhero in a blue car taking on the tangle of roads that tumbled out of the horizon,until Diane, my wife and former navigator,who couldn't match Serena's expertise,not to mention her modest compliance, beganto resent her. "She says 'rump' instead of 'ramp,'" Diane remarked as I made another perfectexit off the thruway, "and that thing she doeswith her r's is driving me nuts." It was wonderfulto be the source of conflict between twowomen, but then I began to consider how [End Page 377] my destination time in the lower left cornerkept adjusting itself according to my speed,a small reminder that...