Life, Death, Up, Down : Southern Exposure by jim vecchio
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I had laid my wife, Anna, in the ground. I swallowed a big gulp, trying to put an end to my flood of tears. I had no sleep that night. I never felt so lonely in my life. Her face, her fragrance, her touch, they were all around the room. I took out all the things hanging around and hadn’t worn awhile, whisked off the lint and neatly placed them in a suitcase. I took off in my Ford. To go anywhere. Just anywhere. Nothing more to tie me down here. Between the rain and my tears, I somehow lost my bearings. No matter. There are times when you just have to keep on going. The last place I remember passing through was Texarkana, before I jumped on those little, seldom-used roads where I could be alone with my aching spirit. Sometimes in the night, I could her Anna’s voice telling me she’d wait for me, that my life wasn’t over, that it’s alright for me to search for romance once more. But I didn’t want anyone else, and I’m sorry if this sounds cruel (I don’t mean it to be), but the last thing I wanted was some old maid, clutching at straws, seeking just anyone for a mate. I had known true love, and my broken heart told me I’d never meet another such love again. I felt like in Life's game of poker, I had lost all my chips. I was hoping to find the edge of the world so I could drive off it. As it was, I found myself on the edge of an unknown road in an unknown town. That was when the rain really began to pour and, of course, my engine began stuttering. Just when the car was almost completely stalled, I came to a small white church. There were autos parked at various angles around it in no particular order, so when I finally left my car, it didn’t seem out of place at all. I raced into the church hall, rain dripping all over. I was greeted by a group of warm, smiling faces. “Welcome to Road’s End Baptist,” said one. “Another said, “We call it that because it’s at the end of the road!” I acknowledged their greeting and asked, “Can you tell me what road that is?” One of the older men answered, “That’s a good question. There’s them what calls it Straight Street and them what calls it Route 3. Even the maps are confused about it.” “Well, come on in!” shouted a short, bald gentleman from the sanctuary. He looked like quite the character, in an oversize suit and a bright red bow tie., and sporting thick sunglasses and also a cane. “That’s Pastor Paul.” one of the congregation whispered to me, “He’s almost blind. Come in, he’s a real old- fashioned preacher!” I joined the congregation in one of the pews. The Pastor preached about his blindness, how he didn’t understand it as a curse, but rather, a blessing, as the first face he would see would be that of Christ. He preached The Lord is a Lord of second chances, never to give up, and to follow Him always, even in the toughest of times. I truly was inspired and love seemed to radiate within that sanctuary. When the meeting was over, there was an ice cream social with real home -made ice cream! I hadn’t tasted anything like that since I was a kid. One of the churchmen asked where I was from, where I was going. It was then that reality hit me. I’m from my home, and have no idea where I’m going, and, for the moment, no car to get me there. I explained I had lost my wife and was just driving around with no particular plans and a stalled car. An elderly couple, whom I learned were Ed and Lorraine Prophet, invited me to stay overnight till I got things squared away. “It’s no trouble,” said Lorraine. “We keep a chamber ready for visitors.” “You might say it’s a Prophet’s Chamber,” Ed laughed. “And-” Lorraine added, “Tomorrow you can be our guest at the annual Church Picnic and Livestock Exhibition!” I spent a very pleasant evening with the Prophets. In the morning, his wife and I were passengers in his Chevy pickup. “You should really get yourself one of these,” Ed joked, “You’ve heard the old saying, “’I’d rather push my Chevy than drive a Ford!’” “Wait till you get a taste of real Southern cooking here,” said Lorraine. “Let’s see…Farm raised chicken and eggs, potato salad, homemade biscuits oozing with butter and honey, and wait till you sink your teeth into one of our fried pies!” Ed interjected, “Don’t forget, hon, the cabbage and cornbread!” In a short while, we arrived at the church fair grounds. The car was parked and we walked over to a small red and white tent. There was an opening, and I thought this is where we would pay for our tickets. But, instead of us giving the attendant our money, we were given a sample of homemade fudge and a schedule of the day’s events. We took a seat in the bleachers to watch as some cowboys tried to ride some bulls. “Doesn’t this hurt the bull?” I asked. “No sir,” answered Ed. “Bull-FIGHTING, now, that’s a different story! It’s unfair to go one-on-one with an animal knowing you have sharp objects to stick into him! These are just plain old countryfolk trying to ride a bull, as they would a horse.” When the last cowboy had been thrown, the Prophets walked over to another nearby tent. They told me they had to see a judge about a preserve canning contest and would be right back. I decided to take a stroll around the grounds by myself. I found myself at a huge pen enclosing prize pigs. As I was admiring them, one of the judges nudged me and said, “Did you know pigs is as smart as dogs? It's true. I knew this guy in El Capitan who taught his pig to bark at strangers.”* “No kiddin’?” “Naw, he’s just joshin’ you!” laughed another. “These pigs sure are fat ones,” I said. “What-er-breed?-are they?” The first one replied, “Let’s see now, we got us some Durocs, and some Hampshires, and-that one over there!-He’s a Large White” I strolled around a bit more, then returned to the bleachers. Ed and Lorraine were seated next to a comely redhead, about my age. “So, what do you think of our little fair? Ed asked. “Everything here is so fresh, so beautiful,” I responded. “The way I imagined the world could be…” My voice sank. Ed said, “He lost his wife. We need to do something to cheer him up.” “I’m Marjorie,” the redhead said, “Welcome to our little town!” “Pleased to meet you,” I responded, offering her my hand. She gave it an endearing touch. I sat next to her. “Have you had a chance yet to try our country cooking?” “Sure beats McDonald’s!” I said. There was a moment of awkward silence. Then, she spoke. “My husband was a cowboy. Got throwed off.” “I’m so sorry,” I said. “It was long ago… I still miss him so much!” “Marjorie, that’s how I feel about Anna." “Let’s face it,” said Marjorie, “We aint none of us ever gonna forget our first loves.” “It’s crazy, I know,” was my response. “But I sometimes still feel her hand in mine.” “And I feel his comforting touch when things get a little rough.” Marjorie shed a tear, then continued, “Sorry. Things right now are a little tough.” I felt the tender grasp of her hand in mine once more. I stumbled for words. I decided to sit back and savor the moment. -1292 words! *These words were spoken by Charley Bowdre in “Young Guns.”
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