A Sunday dinner at Pappy and
Grandma’s house at first glance was a basic affair where we gathered to eat,
talked and just enjoyed the company of family. To the untrained eye of a child,
each dinner seemed to be a repeat of the one the week before. After the
obligatory hugs, kisses, you’re just as cute as a bug in the rugs and hello
uncle somebody that I have no idea who you are; the children were exiled into
the yards to explore their imaginations. There, the youngest of the kids usually
had to suffer from the domination of the older children who dictated as to what
games to play and even which rules would be followed on that particular day.
Inside the house, the adults split
into their groups. Usually, but not always, decided by gender. The females
occupied the kitchen and the back of the house. Having never been a member of
that group, I’m positive that they have their own stories to tell. But my
ignorance of the subject dictates that I am better off not leaving any comments
on the matter.
The male species would move to the
front of the house where Pappy could keep a keen eye peeled on the comings and goings
of the neighborhood. His chair was also stationed directly beneath the thermostat.
Which made him king of the temperature control. In the various chairs and
couches, the older uncles, fathers and brothers would take up their places as befitting
the lords and under lords of the castle. Underlings, those that no longer had
to be exiled for immaturity but lacked the experience to contribute anything
worthwhile to the conversation, sat about the floor. Or if there were too many
of them, they migrated to the front porch to form their own group. They always
stayed within site of the herd in case some opening should occur in the seating
arrangement. Or some topic of conversation might justify them to speak to the
elders of the tribe. Conversation varied greatly depending on which council
members sat in judgement on any particular Sunday.
The things a young person was taught
in those hours spent were far more precious than just a free meal. Those things
would never be learned while attending any school. We learned about religion, weather,
rotating crops, which politicians were trustworthy or just downright criminals.
A question would always come along that would require some hands on training
where we would all stroll out to the garage to learn the proper way to replace
an alternator or to the garden to view the best way to fertilize tomatoes. We
learned respect for those that were more experienced. We learned the art of
conversation. No TV’s blared in the background, no cell phones lit the faces of
comatose children, and no Instant Messenger, Google, Facebook or Twitter, or games pinged
their annoyance into the ears of others. This was our social media.
When it came time to eat, there were
always two tables. The children were seated and fed first. This wasn’t about
getting them out of the way but about tradition. Stemming from the days when
food was a scarce and parents made sure that the children were fed so they
could survive.
I know that we are all searching for a way back to that simpler life. But the change is never going to be found in a 2/3rd majority vote by some congress. The change that we need is inside each of us. Perhaps a great start can be a return to that Sunday dinner. Just leave the cell phones at the door.
The radios are silent. The only music left are the sounds of frogs and the wind. The bonfires have all burned to black ashes. Smoldering bar-b-que grills fill the air with the smell of burned hot dogs. The beach is littered with wet towels, blankets and empty beer cans. I feel so alone.
Across
the beach the waning moon of August silhouettes your body as you remove your
swim suit and walk into the water. You turn to face me and a reflection of
light surrounds you. I go to you and our naked souls touch. I have been found.
We follow the
highway out to the Belcher creek turnoff and cross the train tracks. A full
moon hangs high in the cloudless Missouri sky as we approach the bridge and
stop right in the middle of the gravel road. The only people that use the
bridge anymore are a few farmers and there’s no way in hell they’re going to be
out at 11 O’clock at night.
A line of cars
pull in behind us and everyone cuts their engines. But the music from a dozen
radios still drifts through the air. I
step out of the car and gaze at the stars. I’m thinking that it would sure be a
great night to go hunting instead of pounding somebody’s head into the gravel.
Besides, I really don’t dislike Marvin. Hell, we had spent many summer days
fishing down at the ‘Pits’ or hunting rabbits together on old man Bailey’s
land. Besides, me and Beth were pretty much done with each other anyway. But
still, you can’t just go around asking another man’s girl out and not expect
some consequences.
Leroy and Jimmie
walk up and down the road telling everybody to shut off their radios and
headlights. Every now and again I can see them lean into a window and take a
drink of whisky or a toke from somebody’s joint. At about five till, everybody
starts making their way toward the bridge. It’s starting to look like
homecoming on a Friday night with the headlights from Jimmie’s car spotlighting
the arena. Some of the guys are cutting up, pretending to be boxing. Most of
the girls have pushed their way to the front and are leaning against the cars,
making sure they get a good look at the gladiators of the night. The crowd has
pushed in close and I’m drawing a lot of confidence from there murmurs. I peel
off my shirt and throw it on the hood. I can’t keep from smiling a little as some
of the girls start whispering about how big my shoulders are.
I can feel the
crowd starting to get a little antsy and I’m beginning to think that Marvin
isn’t going to show when a set of headlights turns the corner on the other side
of the creek and heads toward us. The red corvette stops just short of the
bridge and the door opens. The dash light reveals Marvin, with Beth practically
sitting on his lap like some bitch dog in heat. I start walking toward the
center of the bridge while Jimmie and Leroy hold back the crowd.
Beth follows
along a few steps behind Marvin. She’s wearing a tight black blouse and leather
skirt and puffing on a Virginia Slim. It gives me a little pang of longing as
she looks at me with those blue eyes.
Marvin takes off
his shirt and hands it to Beth and she goes on past us to join the crowd. I
chuckled a little at the sight of his pasty white torso. A quick thought comes
to my mind that he must have some Albino blood in him or something to be that
white. Why haven’t I ever noticed it before? Maybe it’s the way the car
headlights bounce off him. He looks a lot smaller than I remember from gym
class too and I start to feel a little sorry for him. I must admit the desire
to break his nose is beginning to fade.
But he walks
right up to me and spits into the dust at my feet and some of the anger comes
back. But I still can’t get as worked up as I was with the crowd egging me on
earlier.
“So I hear you
said city boys like to suck cow tits and have sex with sheep.” He said.
“Well, I say a
lot of things but I don’t remember saying that.” Marvin looks puzzled, like I
just took away his reason for being here in the first place.
He’s just
standing there not knowing for sure what to do next. So I point my finger at
his chest and say, “It was bull cocks and sheep dogs…City Boy.”
Marvin’s face is
getting red and I can see him double up his fist looking for the right time to
throw a punch. But he still isn’t sure if he wants to be the one to start it.
Someone yells
from the crowd, “You already took his girl Marvin…now take his teeth.” I swear
it’s Leroy’s voice.
“You know city
boy, you probably should go on back home and take your tramp with you before you
end up getting hurt.” I tell him.
Marvin replies
with another spatter of spit, only this time aimed right at my chest. I give
him a little shove, surprised at how easy it was to knock him back a step.
Marvin steps forward and takes a swing at me. I side step it fairly easily and
we walk circles around each other a few times…sizing each other up. Jimmie and
some of the other guys are yelling at me to knock his head off. So I take a
swing at him, not really wanting to hurt him but just letting him know I mean
business.
Marvin is a hell
of a lot faster than I realize and ducks it easily then pops me one in my right
eye. It hurts like hell and I know the swelling is going to come soon. I really
misread him. The next few blows don’t really make much contact but then I see
his left drop a little and I plant one on his ear. That makes him step back a
little and I can see that it’s blood red. I charge him and land a couple of
good hits. One bloodies his nose and another busts his upper lip. I start
feeling pretty proud of myself and I give him a couple more jabs thinking he’ll
back down. That’s when I see his right hand coming.
It’s headed
straight for my jaw. Everything is moving in slow motion. I watch it coming at
me, my mind is telling my body to get the hell out of the way but my body is
saying…screw you. I feel my head snap back and my legs are having trouble
keeping me upright. I can feel the blood running down my face and taste it in
my mouth. A few seconds seem eternal before my vision starts to clear. I think
he’s in shock that he hit me so hard because he’s not pressing me, so I take
advantage of it. I go after him again and I can feel a few of my jabs have some
effect. Then my right hand connects to his chin and I have him down on his
knees, staring up at me through two swelling eyes. I step back a little and
spit blood off the side of the bridge into the water below. I’m thinking how
nice it would be to jump in and let the water cover me with its coolness.
Marvin regains
his footing and we circle each other again. I throw a few more punches but they
have nothing to them. Suddenly, Marvin drops his guard and I prime my arm for
the kill shot. But I don’t want to deliver it and I think he knows it so he
drops both hands to his sides and he’s just standing there. I’m listening to
the jeers coming from the crowd. I see a little quiver run through his entire
body and he shakes his head slightly. He lifts his hand toward me. I realize
that I want nothing to do with the whole damn thing anymore either so I take it.
I stare at him, as he walks back to his car and gets in on the passenger side. Beth closes the door and runs around to get in on the driver’s side. Her ass swinging in her tight skirt and tits heaving in her blouse. I can tell, she’s about to cry and I can’ help but wonder if anybody really won. Maybe it makes no difference but I think I’m going to miss her.
Like he’d done for 40 years, he placed their breakfast on the table. Since the stroke his wife had little appetite for food. He watched the morning news and she stared out the window. Later, in the garden he picked tomatoes and she watched the sun fall below an orange horizon. He said, “I love you.” She had no reply. As darkness crept in, they undressed and went to bed. When he awoke the next morning she was not at his side. In his frantic search, he found the check from the life insurance company lying unopened on the table
1969 started on a Wednesday and ended on a Wednesday. We should have known something unusual was about to happen when Richard Nixon (later to become the infamous ‘Tricky Dicky’) crawled out of political oblivion to capture the presidency from Humphrey and Wallace. You can understand how he squirmed past us. We were still smack dab in the middle of the Vietnam War. Women inequality and racial discrimination ran rampant through the crew cut heads of white supremacy know as the government. Every street corner became a soap box and every town meeting a cry for revolution.
Things were about to come to a head when down in Hampton, Georgia Chris Cowing, Robin Conant and Alex Cooley had a brilliant solution. They would give us a release from the stress of it all by just giving us the things we did best. So we all traveled to the outskirts of the cities to commune with nature and enjoy some loud Rock and Roll music, lots of marijuana and free love. Thus, on July 4th was born the Atlanta International Pop Festival.
Now I know what you’re saying right
now, “wait a minute ‘Backyard’ we all know that 1969 is known for two things…”That’s
one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” and “Woodstock.” Yes, what
Neil and Buzz accomplished has never been topped for sure. But there were so
many other, and if I might add, more successful concerts across our great
nation. August 30th’s Wight
Festival, September 13th Toronto Rock and Roll Revival and the famous
Altamont Speedway.
Don’t get me wrong, not everything was peace, weed and sex. 1969 had its low points too. The biggest blow to the music industry came in early 1969 when the Beatles played their last show atop the Apple Studio in London. So unfortunately, if for some reason, you hadn’t had a chance to catch them in concert, it was now too late. Meanwhile, out in California, some weird shit was going down. Crazy ass Charles Manson and his merry band of loonies were running around murdering people in their sleep. While back east one of the white male elite senators drove his 67 Olds right into the Pouch Pond Inlet and left Mary Jo Kopechne trapped in the car to drown. Eddy ‘Ted’ Kennedy just goes home and crawls into bed like nothing happened. He gets two months suspension and elected to the senate in every race until his death in 2009.
On the bright side, the Supreme Court ruled that we could keep our porn. Canada’s Montreal Expos joined MLB along with the Padres, Royals and the renowned Seattle Pilots. Also, ATM’s get their foot in the banking door while ARPANET starts the internet race. Oh yes, the US Government declared that there are no little green men visiting us. But come on people, we were all so stoned that there was no way we could come up with the internet, Supersonic jets and ATM’s. We were too busy thinking about the important things like; “Man, you ever wonder if maybe the earth is just a speck of dust floating around in somebody’s living room?” Hell, the little green guys probably flew off across the universe laughing their asses off at how screwed up humans are.
Life is a patchwork of moments — laughter, solitude, everyday joys, and quiet aches. Through scribbled stories, I explore travels both far and inward, from sunrise over unfamiliar streets to the comfort of home. This is life as I see it, captured in ink and memory. Stick around; let's wander together.
Jerry Brotherton 