Forever Country (2 page)

The school also
occasionally put on special programs. A few days or weeks before he
died in the late 1960s, an elderly world-famous violinist — was it
Mischa Elman? — performed a concert there. The students were
excited because he owned a Stradivarius, which they had heard was
worth $100,000. However, the students were disappointed when a
string broke on the Stradivarius and the violinist disappeared
behind a curtain and brought out and played a different violin. The
best part of the concert was when he played a medley of classical
music that was used in famous movies and TV shows. For example, he
played the theme from
Hitchcock
Presents
: Charles Gounod’s “Funeral March
of a Marionette.” The principal, Gerald Clutter, told
me.

This is a place where people sometimes say
“George Warshington,” “warsh rag,” “drownded,” and “Crooksville
swimming pull” — not “Crooksville swimming pool” — and lots of
people don’t pronounce the ‘g’ in -ing words, but culture still
comes here occasionally. Of course, now, with the World Wide Web
and other modern technology, culture is available anywhere modern
technology is available.

Clarence’s small store is no longer at the
bottom of my parents’ driveway. In its place is a parking lot for
the only church in Rose Farm. The village is too small for a
McDonald’s, but of course it has a church. I look up the snowy
rocky path and thank the good Lord that I rented a Chevy truck.
Otherwise, I would have to park at the bottom and walk up the
one-mile long driveway that leads to my parents’ farm. I check my
cell phone and of course, I don’t have any messages. I shut it off
and tuck it into my jacket pocket before driving up the steep
driveway.

The road is dark and rocky.
On one side of the
one-lane road is a dirt
wall, and on the other side is a cliff-sized hill. It would have
been nice — and safe — if my parents had used some of the money I
sent them over the years to install a guardrail running the length
of the driveway. It’s a dangerous drive up the hill although no one
has ever had an accident on it. Not that I know about anyway. In my
younger years, Pops always warned me about the blind spot right
around the sharp bend.
Blind spot? Is he
crazy? The entire driveway is a blind spot.

When I reach the top of the lane, the red
barn comes into view first. I look at the barn before I look past
it into the open pasture. The sun is setting and I’m not sure what
I expected, but the field is empty. The large oak trees that offer
shade for the horses and cows are now bare of their leaves. I see
no signs of farm life anywhere.

I park the rented truck and
grab my duffle bags and guitar case before heading towards the
white farmhouse with tattered black shutters. The screen door
bursts open, revealing Momma in her white apron and black dress.
She wears a smile only a mother would have for her child. I could
be a drug dealer, and she would still love me.
Behind her is Pops. He smiles as he follows close behind
her.

“
There he is — my boy’s
finally home.” Momma throws up both hands and makes her way down
the four steps leading from the large wrap-around porch.

I place the duffle bags and guitar case down
on the gravel lot and hug her tightly. Her hug is warm and
welcoming. Sadly, it’s been awhile since I’ve been home. I hug
Momma and wonder if she’s always been this small. I definitely get
my height from my Pops.

“
I missed you, Momma,” I
say, honestly.

“
You’re home and I couldn’t
be happier.” She backs away and places her small hands on my face.
She searches my face for what? Scars? Bruising? Battle wounds?
Honesty and happiness? I can’t be sure. I hunch over so she can see
my face and smile to let her know I’m okay. “I’m happier than a pig
in waller,” she says seriously.

Do people really say that?
Happier than a pig in waller.
“Huh?”

“
Oh, never mind. Are you
hungry?” she finally asks.

“
I am.”

Momma is the best cook around. Pops always
said she was an excellent cook — her food wasn’t always pretty, but
it was always delicious. I have to agree. My mouth waters at the
thought of her fried chicken and homemade biscuits.

“
Good, dinner’s almost
done. Get warshed up and I’ll finish up supper. Your brother, Levi,
and his wife, Mia, are on their way.”

I hug Pops while Momma wraps her small arms
around herself for warmth. It’s November and it’s already cold.

“
Let’s get inside before
your Momma catches a cold.”

Pops grabs a duffle bag and helps Momma into
the house while I follow close behind with the other items.

Once we are inside, Momma tells me to put my
things in my old room. The smell of Momma’s chicken and biscuits
fills the air. It’s my favorite meal and I knew she would make it.
Since I became a boxer, I almost always only eat food on the
healthy list. Fried chicken and biscuits were never on the healthy
list. I’m looking forward to pigging out on a few home-cooked meals
while I’m here.

I walk through the kitchen, dining room, and
living room, and then into my childhood bedroom. Everything is as I
left it over ten years ago. The room is clean and smells of cedar.
I look at the white curtains, white walls, and dark hardwood
floors. My high school sports trophies are still on the bookcase
along with some medals and ribbons I won. Although I loved football
and weightlifting, I think track and wrestling were my favorites.
Momma thought after-school sports would keep me out of trouble and
it would set a high standard for Levi, my little brother. I think
she was right.

I place everything on the double-sized bed
and head into the only bathroom to wash up.

Pops is putting logs into the wood-burning
fireplace. He still wears flannel shirts and Wrangler jeans. The
house is simple and warm. A lot has changed in my life in ten
years, but not much has changed on the ole homestead. The bathoom
is just as I remember. The same white, iron claw-foot bathtub and
cast iron pedestal sink from my childhood is still in place. I
guess these things are made to last forever.

I hear a car pull up and I know Levi and Mia
are here. The long and winding driveway is not a welcome sight for
people to travel on. I quickly wash my hands and rush out to greet
my brother and sister-in-law. Levi and I were close as children,
but I think he harbored ill feelings towards me when I left
home.

Just as they did me, Momma
and Pops greet Mia and Levi outside on the porch. I open the door
and watch as they exit their truck. Levi married his high school
girlfriend right out of school. I suspected pregnancy, as did half
of the town, but time proved us all wrong.
Fortunately, no one brought diapers to Mia’s bridal shower; if
they had, I would have heard. Neither went to college, both work
hard, and they were able to buy a home in Roseville, not far from
here. Mia works as a waitress at Peaches Place and Levi works for
Shelly and Sands doing construction. His experience as a former
Navy Seabee and a construction worker helps him in his personal
life.

He sees me and smiles. Levi is my height but
not my size. I walk off the porch into the chilly night air and hug
Mia first.

“
Abel, you look
incredible,” she says, sincerely.

“
Thank you and you do, too.
I’ve missed you.” I release my hold on my sister-in-law. Mia is
small and petite with long blond hair. She’s wearing jeans, boots,
and a brown Carhartt coat.

“
We missed you, too.” She
backs away and smiles.

I turn and look my brother in the eyes. He
smiles and hugs me. His embrace is stronger than I thought it would
be.

“
I missed you, Bro,” he
says, laughing as he pats me on the back.

“
I missed you, too. You
look great, Levi.” I back away and look at him. His hair is dark
brown like mine, but it’s longer and curlier. His eyes are blue
where mine are brown. We still look a lot alike, although he’s
thinner than me. He’s wearing long johns
under his flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots.

“
Just getting off work?” I
ask in reference to his clothing.

“
No,” he says in confusion.
“We’re helping Pops cut the firewood after dinner.
Farmer’s Almanac
is
predictin’ a cold winter this year.”

“
Colder than a well
digger’s butt in January,” Momma pipes in.

Momma and Pops take turns hugging Mia and
Levi. 

“
Let’s eat while it’s still
hot,” Pops says.

Levi says grace before we eat. We sit around
the solid wood choppers block table and have dinner. It’s nothing
fancy, but it’s the best meal I’ve had in a long time. I swear I
recognize some of the serving dishes from my childhood.

The table is full of food. Fried chicken,
mashed potatoes, cheesy grits, creamed corn, homemade biscuits, and
milk. While most Yankees don’t eat grits, we do. I developed a love
for them in my early years. Momma met Pops when he was in the Air
Force while stationed in Savannah, Georgia. Momma’s name is Nell,
but he calls her “Belle.” It’s a nickname, short for his Southern
Belle. Sometimes he’ll call her Nelly; it all depends on his mood,
and her mood, too. Often, Momma calls Pops “Bud.” So do other
people.

Dinner is filled with light conversation and
friendly smiles. Mia talks about her customers at work, Levi tells
an anecdote about his days in the Seabees, and Pops talks about the
homemade blackberry pie he helped Momma make.

Mia talks about something that happened last
year just before Christmas. Someone called Peaches Place and said,
“Oops! Wrong number! I have you guys on speed dial.” The person was
a regular customer who came in about 15 minutes later with a big
container of homemade muffins for the people who worked there. She
said, ‘You have been serving me good food all year and I thought I
would return the favor.’”

Levi learned construction when he was a Navy
Seabee — soldiers have battalions; the Seabees are members of
construction battalions. He says that the Seabees are not greatly
impressed by rank. What impresses them is competence. One Seabee
met an Admiral and told him, “You’ve got an important job, sir,
don’t mess it up.”

After hearing Pops talk
about helping with the homemade blackberry pie,
Momma laughs and corrects him. “Bud, you ate the berries as I
was preparin’ them for the pie.”

“
Belle, I only ate the bad
ones—” he begins to say with a chuckle.

“—
and some good ones,” she
teases.

“
Okay, and some mighty
tasty good ones.”

I’m relieved when the
conversation doesn’t get directed at me. Since my retirement from
professional boxing, I have no plans. I know I need to do
something, I just don’t know what. Momma probably wants a
daughter-in-law and some grandbabies, but I’m not sure that’s what
I want. I know my time here on the farm is limited. I don’t see
this lifestyle for me long term. I’ll stay through Christmas, help
out as much as I can, and hopefully, talk my folks into
accepting some money from me

After dinner, Momma and Mia clean up and the
guys go outside to cut and haul some firewood from the barn to the
front porch. It’s definitely work, and I soon realize I’ll need
some flannel shirts, a work coat, work gloves, and work boots.

Before Mia and Levi leave,
they make plans to meet up on Saturday to winterize the farm for
the bitter winter.
I had forgotten that
people do that. I remember from when I was a child Pops covering
all of the windows in plastic.
Do people
still do that? Use plastic for insulation? Time will
tell.

I throw on a jacket and walk Mia and Levi out
to their truck. It’s dark and I notice that the light over the barn
isn’t on. I’ll see if it’s burnt out in the morning. If memory
serves, the light was set on an automatic timer. When that light
came on, it meant to get your tail home.

“
How long ya staying for,
Abel?” Mia asks as she pulls her coat tighter around
her.

“
I’ll be here through
Christmas.”

She snaps her head up and looks at me. “You
aren’t stayin’ for New Year’s?”

“
Not really planning on
it.”

“
Your momma know
that?”

“
Not sure, it hasn’t come
up.”

“
Abel, you think about that
long and hard before you go tellin’ her and breakin’ her heart.”
Mia leans in and hugs me. “I’ll be in the truck while you two
talk.”

I watch as she gets into the truck and starts
it up. “She all right?”

Levi looks at me, and then to Mia. “She’s
okay. She doesn’t want Momma to be disappointed when you leave
again.”

“
Levi, look.” I shift my
feet in the dirt driveway and say, “I left the farm, but I didn’t
leave my family.”

“
Didn’t you?”

“
No. As soon as I found my
way in the world, I sent money. A lot of money.”

“
Did you ever think it
wasn’t about the money? Bro, some people in these parts don’t care
much about money. As long as Momma and Pops have food on the table,
gas in the car, and a roof over their head, that’s all they care
about.”

“
I understand that, but the
money would have lightened their load. Made life easier for
them.”