Almost Heaven (10 page)

“I would love to, Mrs. Allman, but I have a dinner date with my wife tonight. I can only stay a few minutes. I want to talk to you about your son.”

Her face fell and she sat down on the one chair with the rooster painted on it. “He's done something wrong?”

“Your son isn't in any trouble,” Buzz said, reaching a hand out and patting my mother's. “He brought his mandolin to school today and played for the class. He's very good. Exceptional talent. I invited a friend of mine to listen to him who has a gospel group. The Gospel Bluegrass Boys.”

Mama's eyes lit up. “Is that so?”

“They've been around a few years,” Buzz said. “They travel all throughout West Virginia, Ohio, Kentucky, and a little into Tennessee.”

“I've heard about their records,” Mama said, masking a smile. “But I never thought a teacher in Dogwood was part of them.”

“No, you don't understand. I'm not part of the group. But Vernon is—he's in our church—and when I heard Billy, I invited him to hear your son.”

“I see,” she said. But I could tell she didn't. Her mind wasn't all there at times. Part of that was all she'd been through and part of it wasn't.

“They play mainly in local churches and revivals. But they have done shows as far away as Cincinnati and they've opened for some name bands. It's not just a hobby; it's serious, but the music is a ministry. It touches lives and encourages people.”

“I'll just bet it does.”

“Teaching is a love of mine. Helping kids learn and grow is a passion. And when I see somebody with Billy's talent, I try to help them channel that in some positive direction.”

“Well, I appreciate all you're doing.”

“I tell you, Mrs. Allman, your son has something special. A gift. And since all good gifts come from the Father of lights, I don't think we should hide it under a bushel basket.”

Mama sat back, relaxed, like someone had given her a full-body massage. “Well, what do you think about that! I knew from the moment he was born, he was special. It's just good to hear somebody else come around.”

“You have reason to be proud,” Buzz said. “You've done a fine job raising a son who's respectful and attentive.”

“His daddy taught him the mandolin,” Mama said. “And he's good at electronics, too.”

“I know you've been through a difficult time in the past few years. And I want to make you a proposal.” He smiled and sat back. “Not that kind of proposal.”

Mama chuckled and covered her mouth with a hand. Being a woman of the hills, her teeth were not in the best shape.

“Billy made a tape of himself playing along with the band's songs. I want to take that to my friend. They lost their mandolin picker a few months ago and haven't replaced him.”

“And if they like me?” I said.

“If they approve—and I don't have any reason to believe they won't—I think they'll ask you to join them. Come to practices. And eventually go on the road with them. Vernon has to be at the church on most Sundays, so usually it's Friday and Saturday nights that they're gone.”

My mouth dropped open. Mama turned to me with a smile that didn't fit the situation. “Well, that would pretty much take him away every weekend.”

“Eventually. But he would be able to choose when he wanted to go and when you'd want him to stay. Now, their ministry is not-for-profit, so they don't actually pay their players, but they use the money from record sales and their honorarium to buy clothes and instruments and sound equipment. They'd probably get Billy some new clothes and maybe even help out here at the house with repairs you might need.”

“That's real kind of you to think of Billy, Mr. Gibson. Why don't you let us talk it over?”

“I think that's a fine idea,” Buzz said. He took a final swig of his soda, screwed on the cap, and tossed the bottle in the trash. “This would be a great opportunity for your son, ma'am. He'll gain confidence, get some great experience, and help out the group. And there's no rush. Just let me know what you think.”

I stood on the front porch and watched Buzz drive away. Mama was still sitting at the table running her hand over a crack in the plastic tablecloth. I leaned up against the wall and didn't say a word. Sometimes it was better to wait her out.

“Your daddy would be proud of you,” she said. “He always thought you had a natural talent.”

“But?”

She sighed. “People are out for themselves, Billy. What's in it for this Gibson fellow?”

I stared at her. “There's nothing in it for him. He just gives a hoot.”

She shook her head. “It doesn't work that way. People are always in it for something. You don't know people like I do.”

I looked out the window at the hill behind the house. A red squirrel flitted from one tree branch to another.

“I don't know that it's time. You have a lot of growing to do before you get into this kind of thing.”

“Mama, I may only get a chance like this once.”

“I doubt that. Maybe it's just me not able to let go. I just don't have a good feeling.”

“Good feeling? Well, if you don't have it, I do. And Daddy would let me go.”

“Now that's not fair, dragging your father into this.”

“You brought him up yourself. You said he would be proud of me.”

“You ought to be a lawyer, that's what you ought to be.” She smiled. “What would this do to your studies?”

“I'd make sure I had all my homework done before we went on the road.”

“Where do they practice? We don't even know that.”

“Probably at the church in Barboursville.”

“And how would you get down there? I can't drive you every week.”

“I can get a ride from Mr. Gibson after school. And then Mr. Turley could drive up the interstate and drop me off at the bridge. We'd work it out. No big deal.”

“You've figured it all out, haven't you? You're already counting on it.” Just as I was sitting down at the table, Mama got up. “I've got to make supper.”

I took hold of her arm and held on. She finally sat down.

“Mama, something happened to me today. I got up in front of people and played. Kids my own age. They don't even like the music and they enjoyed it. They noticed me.”

“Getting people to notice you is not a good reason to join a group. Pride goeth before the fall.”

“It's not pride. It's finding myself. I feel like I looked out a window I didn't even know was in the building. And outside was a world I could fit into.”

“A world of fame and fortune?”

“This is not about becoming famous. It's about doing what God made me to do. When I got up there with the mandolin, I thought, this is the thing that makes me feel alive.”

“What about electronics and building things?”

“They go hand in hand,” I said. “Don't you see? I could probably help the group with their sound system. I could wrap cables and repair instruments if they need it. Please, Mama. I want to do this.”

She looked out the back door and a mist came over her eyes. “Maybe it
is
the right thing to do, to let you fly and try out your wings.”

“I think the Lord has ordered all this. What are the chances that Mr. Gibson would teach at Dogwood High and he'd overhear me playing in the back room? and then talk to Mr. Turley?”

“Now there's where you need a little bit of faith,” she said. “The Lord doesn't need Gibson or Turley to help him find you. He can do that by himself.”

“I'm just saying it feels like something God designed. He can use people like me if we'll yield to his will.”

Mama stared hard at me. “That sounds like something an old man would say. Do you trust this Turley fellow? That Gibson seemed kind of squirrelly. Nice, don't get me wrong, but squirrelly.”

“He's one of the best teachers at the school and well-liked. I always learn a lot from him.” That wasn't totally true, but I said it anyway.

“Let me pray on it,” she said. “You go cut us some firewood.”

As I went through the screen door, she yelled, “And take a jacket; it's cold out.”

I kept going in my shirtsleeves, unhindered by the chill in the air, almost floating, imagining what traveling with the group would be like. We'd probably eat at restaurants. Practices would be a lot of fun. And I wondered about the clothes. Would I be able to wear them to school?

I broke a sweat swinging the ax and chopped enough wood for the two of us. It was the time of year when you could sense the turning of the earth from casket to incubator. The trees were bare, but I knew the buds would soon be breaking out and the green would replace the gray and brown.

I brought an armload of firewood to the back of the house. Mama was standing in the kitchen with her hand against a hip, stirring a pot of macaroni on the stove, looking out the window. Tears streaked her face.

“What's wrong now?” I said.

She shook her head. “Just another spell, I guess. All these thoughts swirling around in my head.”

Ever since Daddy had taken his life, Mama had been going downhill. It was as if her mind was so full of things that they overflowed at times and bubbled up like macaroni that's been turned too high on the stove. He had left her a miner's pension and a little from Social Security and me. That put everything on her, and the weight of it made her a different person at times. I'd catch her talking to herself in her bedroom, brushing out her hair until there were clumps of it in the brush. I just chalked it up to all the shock she'd been through.

“You'll probably be bringing young ladies around now, won't you?” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“That pretty thing you sit by on the bus. What's her name?”

“How do you know who I sit beside?”

She rolled her eyes. “Doesn't take Dick Tracy to know you're growing up, Son. And I work at a beauty salon. What's her name?”

I told her. “But she's not my girlfriend or anything. She's in another league.”

“Don't sell yourself short, Billy Allman. You belong in any league you choose, you hear?”

“Then can I be in the league with the Gospel Bluegrass Boys?”

She started to cry. Finally she said, “Letting go is always hard. I thought it was hard with your daddy and with Harless, but it's even harder with you.”

“Does that mean I can be part of the group?”

“It means you can think about it. I'm not giving my blessing yet, but you can think about it.”

I hugged her so tight she came up off the floor and dripped hot water on my shirt. “Don't worry; maybe the guys won't like me,” I said.

“There's not a chance of that,” she said. “Get washed up for supper.”

We ate together and watched TV all evening. I was only half-there because I wondered what the group thought of me. I rehearsed what I was going to say to Pastor Turley if he called. That night I dreamed I was onstage at the Grand Ole Opry and Ernest Tubb introduced our group, only it wasn't the Gospel Bluegrass Boys taking the stage; it was Billy's Gospel Bluegrass Band. The crowd went wild as we stepped up to the microphones, and by the time I was finished, smoke was coming off my fingers and the crowd loved every song. It was a nice dream.

Of course, it didn't work out that way. Life generally doesn't. I wish it would have, but I guess God had a different plan. What he was thinking and doing about that time of my life, I don't know. I don't think I'll ever know. And part of me doesn't even want to know.

7

I observed many subtle personality shifts in Billy during high school. His interaction with peers was not affected as much as their interaction with him. They presented a limited acceptance that surprised me. Among these was his interaction with “the girl.” And he developed a deepening disdain for bullies who tread upon lower life forms.

All of this fascinated me because I knew the truth. There was something different about him, something the Almighty would use, but his classmates could not get past their makeup and fleeting athletic prowess. Their crowns and achievements were meager, but they clung to trophies and memories as if they were truly an eternal weight of glory. This is the malady of the humans, that they can hold on to that which is fleeting and of little consequence and call it everlasting. They focus on awards, achievements, and what can be done in their own strength while the Almighty desires to work through their weakness. Very few humans, from what I have observed, ever realize how weak they really are, let alone surrender their limited abilities to the power of the One who can transform that weakness into spiritual strength that can alter the world. Billy was such a man, though from an earthly perspective, he did not have much to show for his submission.

I also observed Billy's growing fascination with music and performance. The pastor who befriended him allowed Billy to practice, travel, and play with their group, but there was something about him that troubled me. In the small settings of mold-ridden sanctuaries, Billy used his gift to praise the One who had given it. His shell began to break a little more each time he stepped to the microphone. Still, I wondered if this was the best use of his talent.