Midsummer's Eve (27 page)

Thirteen

O
n a sweltering July evening
JoJo was working close enough to home that
he was able to take the day
off and go fishing with his grandpa.
Around suppertime
,
Dad called
f
rom the river to say they
had caught a mess of catfish and for
Mom
and me
to come to the
cabin on the river
for a fish fry
. I helped Mom load up
Dad’s old river truck and
she
headed toward the river. It was such a beautiful day, and since recently deciding that I needed to
jump back on the
ex
ercise bandwagon
, I decided to ride my bicycle and pedaled down the dusty, river road.

When we arrived at
the river, JoJo
had cut catfish into nuggets, rolled them in House Autry seasoning mix, and was dropping them into a frying pan filled with corn oil. He had already cooked French fries and hush puppies and
had them in
a covered bowl. Mom
had brought a bowl of coleslaw and I had made a large jug of tea and grabbed a cheesecake out of the freezer.

I don’
t know why, but food always tastes so much better when it’s cooked outside, especially on the riverbank.
For some reason,
I couldn’t remember being as happy and content as I was at
tha
t moment eating fish with my mom, dad, and son
on the riverbank.
Although, I had told no one about my visit with Marilyn, several had noticed a surprising change in me. The simplest way to explain it, I guess, would be to say that I no longer sweat
ed
the small stuff. I had lost that nervous, wound up tight and threatening to explode at any given minute, energy that everyone associated with me. For the first time in my ad
ult life, I wasn’t singing the
some man done me wrong
song. I still found it hard to believe
that, after forty-
five
years, I had successfully p
ut the past where it belonged. I
n the past.

M
y dad
and JoJo
practically
inhaled fish that tasted ev
en more delicious than what
you could order at our local Rocky River Springs Fish House. They were anxious to take the boat downriver to one of the deep holes where the flathead catfish lived and get in some night fishing. I had seen several fish reeled in from the river that when held in front
of a 6 feet tall man
would reach his chin.

JoJo
waved,
then faced the front of the boat steering it through dangerous clusters of underwater rocks that he knew by heart. The rocks had been the cause of many failed fishing trips, attributed to busted propellers, by boaters less skilled at navigating the hidden dangers of
Rocky River

“
Do you think JoJo will take that job in Charlotte and stop
all that
traveling?”
Mom asked, as we cleared the picnic table
and carried leftovers to the truck
.

“I don’t know. It’
s his decision and I try not to sway him one way or the other,
although I sure
would love to have him this close to
home
every day
. A
lthough
,
I try not to get down on my knees and beg
.
It’s a crazy world out there, Mom.
I worry about him doing all that traveling.
”

“
Yes, it sure is
a crazy world
, Eve.
And I’m afraid it’s going to get crazier.
We got wars and rum
ors of wars all over the world
. The Bible is fulfilling itself. Yes sir, the Bible is surely fulfilling itself. And anybody who has any doubt about it should just read Mark 13:8.”

She quoted: “For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom, against kingdom: and there shall be earthquakes in divers places, and there shall be famines and troubles: these are the beginnings of sorrows.”

“I agree, Mom. The bible does seem to spell it out and we’ve certainly had the earthqu
akes in diverse
places in the last several
years
.
And on the news yesterday they were comparing the drought we are experiencing now to the drought during the dust bowl.
”

“Yep,
it’s getting downright scary, Eve. You
can’t hardly turn on the television set no more without seeing some new disaster t
hat’s befalling this old earth.”
Then
she
gave me a big hug and
hopped
in the truck.
“Do you want to put the bike in back of the truck and ride back with me?”

I was still thinking on her prophetic words as I decided to ride my bike home
and waved to M
om as she
left in a cloud of dust
.

I sat
in a lawn chair
gazing out at the river that had been such an integral part of my life. Leaves swirled on the surface of the water and floated by on a lazy current. A woodpecker pecked noisily in a tree overhead. A trail of determined ants made their way across the cleared picnic t
able searching for crumbs.
And f
ish
that always got playful toward dusk, jumped out of the water falling back into the river with a loud plop.

The sounds provoked new memories to stir inside my head. Pleasant memories. It was like the floodgates in my mind had suddenly opened up and for the first ti
me
,
my childhood came rushing back
to greet me. I remembered Christmases, Easters, Halloweens, Birthdays and Thanksgivings. I even remembered my Valentine
’s
Days spent passing out cards at school. I remembered them all.

I recalled
that almost every weekend during the
summer
my family had camped out on this very spot,
along with my mom’
s sister and her family. I remembered sliding down the muddy riverbank and landing in the cool water with my sister and cousins giggling beside me
, along with the time M
om had lifted the cover off a platter of grilled hamburgers and found a blowfly inside. She had panicked in a major way.

Not knowing any better, she
was certain
we would
all die from maggot infestation
since w
e had snacked on the burgers most of the
day. She and my aunt had thrown every last child into my dad’s old river truck and rushed home at breakneck speed. Once there they
had
made us take a dose of Castor Oil, undoubtedly the nastiest substance on the planet, to clean out our systems.

Just remembering the horrible taste of the laxative was enough to make me gag now. I had to laugh, remembering the sleepless night my sister and brother and I had spent trotting back and forth to the bathroom. It was good to have memories again, some of them anyway. At least now I know why I have such an aversion to Castor Oil.

I cou
ld just make out the edge of Dad’
s boat going around the bend in the river i
n the growing twilight. Crap
! I had been so caught up in my onslaught of new m
emories that I hadn’
t noticed the sun slipping behind the trees. It would soon
be dark.

I hopped on my bicycle
not cherishing the thought of riding home alone, especially at night. But Mom was long gone, and since the men had taken a lantern I knew they w
ouldn’
t be returning until much later. Better leave now while there was enough fading light to still see the road.

The
narrow dirt road f
rom the river to the main road
was surrounded on both sides by cornfields. In
fact, the road twisted and turned in such a way that for most of the way out your were surrounded on all four sides by towering stalks of corn as far as the eye could see.

             
The
corn stalks rustled and
crackled,
their tasseled tops swaying
in the gentle breeze
. Wiping
the sweat from my b
row with the back of my hand I
closed my eyes for a few minutes savoring the feeling of being alone in my cacoon of corn. I breathed deeply of the cool
er
evening air realizing
that I had been
wrapped up in my own misery for so long that I had ignored the peace and tranquility right in my own back yard.        

That was
about to change. I intended to start c
ommuning with nature
. Life was good
again for the first time in a lon
g,
long time.
Laughing out
loud, I startled a cov
e
y of
about a hundred
guail
and sent them into a noisy
, scattered flight
along with a
grassh
opper that landed on my knee and
promp
t
ly spit a wad of tobacco juice on
it.

JoJo
would be coming back
home for
two weeks at
Thanksgiving
, I had a new contract
at the county offices, and crying myself to sleep at night was a thing of the past
. Huh. I suppose time
does heal all wounds.
Well, time and a good hypnotist. Amazing, since
a few short months ago
I
would have bet my last pecan log that
the wound
Adam
had inflicted on me would fill my body with enough pus and canker to
give my shattered heart gangrene
.

After twenty minutes of strenuous pedaling, I was beginning to feel the burn in my thighs
. I had forgotten
the return trip was mostly uphill.
You can believe
I was
doing some heavy breathing
and had
just
slowed down to catch my breath, when I heard a
loud
thrash
ing
in the corn
. It must be a raccoon or fox or other small creature that called the cornfields home
, but man was he ever kicking up a fuss
. The furry little critters were notorious for making a mad dash
across the road
-- I would swear they had turbo jets built into their hind legs--
causing you to slam on brakes to keep them from
an early demise. Although
in this case, with me on a bike,
if we collided
the
odds were
better
that I would be the one picking my bruised
bottom up off the ground after I took flight
ove
r the handlebars
.

I stopped the bike, squinting into the dying light and waiting for the animal to cross the road. It must be a fast little critter the way it was charging
through the cornfield
. It got closer and closer and I waited impatiently for it to emerge in front of me so I
could be on my way. But it didn’
t.
“
Come on would you! We’re losing daylight here!
”

The thrashing noise suddenly stopped and all was quiet. The animal must have spotted me and was too frightened to come out in the open. Good. I placed a foot on the pedal, when
I heard what sounded like… a giggle.
As a general rule, raccoon’s do
n’t… giggle. It had been my imagination for crying out loud.
I pushed on the petal, but then curiosity got the best of me
-- my nosiness has always been a curse
—and
I leaned
slightly
into the corn for a better look.