23
Link to the Past

Dad spoke aloud, as he barged in the screen door with both arms full of packages, “Tammy, where dat boy? Tells ‘em ta git out dere ‘an help takes dat stuff outta da truck.”

She nervously confirmed, “He ain’t in here Uncle Ed.”

My father compulsively began his interrogation, “What ya means, he ain’t here? Ain’t y’all come home t’gether earli’r?”

“Ed, I tells ya dat when ya pull up li’l bit ago,” Mom interjected. “You’s so busy on my case ‘bout dem darn chickens…”

“Martha! I done teld ya ‘bout ya words, now!” he snapped back. “Where dat boy done git off ta now, Tammy?”

“He ain’t gone off nowheres,” Tammy said.

Her uncle was noticeably irritated, “But, ya say he ain’t hur.”

She attempted to clarify, “No sir, I say he ain’t in here.”

His annoyance became increasingly apparent, “Child, stop all dat fool talk ‘an come straight outta ya face. Where da boy at?”

“He out back,” Tammy mumbled. “Wash’n his car. He parked there when we come in little while a’go, ‘an he out clean’n it.”

Tammy saw Dad’s brow twist like it was about to separate from his face, “He do’n what!” And started toward the door, “On my blessed grass?!”

Entering the house with my hands full of groceries seconds after his comment, “…Washing my car,” I interrupted.

The old man about blew his top, “‘An what da…on my cuss’ed grass!”

I mocked condescendingly, to intentionally bait him, “Careful Pop, you know there’s no cursing allowed under this roof.”

“Now, ya ain’t been ‘way from da house so long ya done fo’git I don’t a‘low nobody park’n on my grass,” Dad recovered.

“Well,” I started, “I figure that little part of the yard, right there beneath my window, is mine…since it is under my window. As much pushing as I’ve done with that lawn mower over the years, all the grass should be mine.”

Mom cut in to quiet him, “Now don’t da two o’ ya start dat fool stuff agin. Will, if’n ya knows ya daddy don’t likes nob’dy parkin on da grass, why ya go ‘n park dere? ‘An Ed, it ain’t like him bein dere long ‘nough ta wrainch off his car gone kill dem weeds. Lord, I tells ya, two grown-ass young-ons.”

Dad barked a warning, “Martha…!”

“What Ed!” she cut back. “What da hell pleasure ya gits outta always screamin my gosh-darned name?”

Uncharacteristic of my old man, he stopped mid-rant, lowered his gaze, and found the way to the closest exit to get away from the petite powder keg simmering in the middle of the kitchen. She then said in a near whisper, “Will.”

My response was a bit more timid, “Yes, ma’am?”

Mom simply stated, “Go moves ya car from off da grass.”

While continuing to remove items from the bags on the counter, “Yes ma’am,” I replied.

Her voice was even softer, “Will?”

I answered again, “Yes ma’am?”

“Moves da car, now!” She finished. “I ain’t gone tells ya no mo.”

I immediately turned and started toward the door to discover Tammy standing with a bewildered look on her face. It was no secret that my mom was wired emotionally backward. The more upset she became, the softer her voice. In short, no one ever had the nerve to test the little stick of dynamite beyond a whisper.

“I can moves it fo ya if’n ya wonts,” Tammy suggested.

Mom stopped her, “Tammy.”

She knew that tone warned of treading lightly, “Yes ma’am,
Aunt Martha?”

Mom quietly suggested, “Ya gots plenty thangs ta get done.”

Tammy conceded, “Yes ma’am.”

My ego was somewhat bruised when I passed out the door, but common sense advised it was nowhere near as battered as my ass would be if I so much as thought about changing words with that little woman. Though small in stature, mom could take the average man on her worst day. That was no secret and my father was always content to leave his wife to deal with herself when she got the least bit twisted. He talked much trash until she actually opened her mouth.

Outside in the car, I sat sifting through the case of CD’s until coming across a familiar companion. Within a few seconds, the legendary Muddy Waters was coaxing me back toward town. I was thinking how riding solo had me right back in my comfort zone when the cell phone chimed as the tune “Blues and Trouble” ended.

I greeted in a dry tone, “Hello.”

My cousin inquired, “Where’s ya go’n?”

I could taste the salt in my mouth, “What?”

“I means, what ya git’n ready ta do?” Tammy cleaned up the question. “I’s jest wonder’n if’n ya gone be back time fo dinner.”

I instructed her, trying to avoid the query, “If I’m not, just put my plate in the oven. I’ll eat when I get home.”

“Want comp’ny?” Tammy questioned.

“No, you’ve got things to do,” I said. “Besides…”

“B’sides what?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. You just have plenty to do at the house, and I wouldn’t want to disrupt the process,” I said.

Through her innocence, she inquired, “Disrup what process?”

“Oh get off it Tammy. You can’t tell me you’re so thick headed that you haven’t noticed the way Dad’s been riding my ass since I showed up here.”

There was a sudden silence that lasted for almost a minute before she retorted into the phone, “I ain’t gots no aprec’ation be’n called thick headed niether; I gots ta go,” she mumbled, just as the line went dead.

I held the phone momentarily in disbelief before falling back into the groove of Muddy Waters’ “Kinfolks Blues.” In classic fashion, I dismissed the issue, cranked up the volume, and set out to, literally, drive my troubles away.

Dusk discovered the Impala nearly three hours later, parked outside Harry’s Lounge, where trouble had found Tammy and me earlier today. The dark tinted windows provided a perfect cover as I, otherwise, wouldn’t have dared show my face in the place again so soon. I sat in the car taking “coping with shit” lessons from Muddy and a number of his friends for what seemed like days before recognizing two faces from my previous visit. Only, this time, they were without the presence of the beef heads that had accompanied them in the lounge this morning. As the two women exited the foyer and walked to the parking area, I pushed the door open just enough that the dome light illuminated the car’s interior. It created a soft glow against the canvas of darkness cast by the tint which inevitably summoned the attention of the two passers by. I pretended to be looking for something in the floorboard.

“Well, you either done got a hell-uv-a-lot more stupid than you used to be, or a lot more brave,” Kim said.

“Excuse me?” I pretended.

While signaling her friend, Nancy, that it was okay to leave, Kimberly said, “I ne’er knowed nobody ta return to the scene so soon after they committed a crime.”

While simultaneously scoping the surroundings for any sign of the guys, I reasoned, “Maybe that’s because there’s no place else around here interesting enough to find any trouble.”

“That what ya wonts, Willie…ta gits in some trouble?” Kimberly taunted, as she adjusted herself in the passenger’s seat and closed the door. “Ya know, they says that’s all I is.”

I sarcastically responded, “Well, I’m pretty good at getting out any trouble in the middle of which I might find myself.”

Running her right hand up my thigh to clutch the semblance of me as a Neaderthal of the male gender she discovered already in the process of waking, I was somewhat surprised when Kimberly simultaneously thrust her tongue down my throat, “That a fact?” she asked moments later.

A short drive had me pull off the highway north of town a few minutes after leaving the lounge, “I think this is the address. It looks like the place you described but there’s not much light out here.”

Kimberly was in the midst of a stroll down memory lane but redirected her thoughts long enough to utter, “Go ‘round back, pull off left o’ da driveway ‘an drive ‘round b’hind da house.”

My mind went back to a place that seemed a hundred years ago, where fantasies of a small house and white picket fence convinced me of the day she and I would return home together. Kimberly’s question demolished the picket fence and brought me back to the rear of a run-down double-wide mobile home with concrete blocks stacked to simulate steps.

“Well, ya jest gone sit there wit ya eyes poppin outta yo head or ya gone come inside?” Judging by the trodden path, I determined I wasn’t the first to receive those instructions. “Be careful goin up; I ain’t had nob’dy come ta put up no rail,” she whispered.

I informed in convincing fashion, “That’s all right, I can manage.”

“Thru da door ‘an turn right…that be my room,” she directed, before casually informing, “I gotta go up front ‘an check on da kids; I’s be back witchu in a minute.”

I went into a room with only a night light for visibility and a king-sized bed that left just enough space to slide between it and the wall. Slightly startled by what turned out to be a large stuffed animal on the bed but bore a strange resemblance to a man in the dim light, I let out a slight yell when the phone vibrated on my hip but refused to answer it.

Seconds later, Kimberly appeared at the door. “What’s da pro’lem? Why is ya makin all that fuss? I do got li’l ‘ons in da house ya knows…”

I began standing, “You know what, maybe this isn’t the right time.”

Stepping into the room and closing the door behind her, “Its likes dey says, ain’t no bet’er time dan right now,” she replied.

Sitting on the side of the bed near where I had been, Kimberly tugged at my belt and brought the buckle to her face. Methodically, she loosed the restrictions of the Levi’s button-fly 501’s and seemed to gnaw through my Hanes like a pit bull. In a matter of seconds, reason had me convinced it would be okay to let her continue this time.

Just over half an hour had passed in less time than I could imagine with me feeling the way I’d not felt in more time than I wanted to imagine. There were mixed emotions ranging, from guilt to condemnation, with me reasoning there wasn’t cause for either but still unable to make that thought make any sense.

“Now, ain’t ya feelin lots better?” she posed.

“Well…uh…yeah,” I stammered. “But what about… well… you?”

She whispered, “A’ways da consid’rate one. No, I’s okay. B’sides, my husband’ll know ‘an he won’t like dat.”

“You got a damn husband!”

“Yeah, sho nuff does…ya seent him this morn’n. Truth is,” she said, illuminating the LED face on her watch. “He oughtta be pullin up out front in ‘bout…”

At that very moment, a deep voice sounded from the front of the house and my heart skipped a beat when I heard, “Hey guys ‘an gals. Wheres ya mama?”

A little person responded, “She back dere gettin ready.”

Just then, Kimberly stepped to the door, “I gotta go. Waits a minute ‘fore ya sneaks outta da back…Bye!” She disappeared into the hallway. “Hey babe, what’s up? You’s a li’l bit early ain’t ya?”

The burly voice joked, “Thankin I’s gone sneak in ‘an catch ya wit dat other fella!”

She playfully responded and laughed the comment away, “Ya almost did.”

I was less than three feet from them on the other side of the bedroom door about to piss my pants and quietly commented to myself, “If you only knew, brother man…if you only knew.”

The sounds of the front door closing and her man’s truck leaving the driveway were two of the most relieving noises I’d ever heard. Eventually, the only sound audible was the ten o’clock news from channel eleven on the television. I peeked from the bedroom, crept to the back door of the house, and eased out unnoticed. The only thing moving faster than me getting out of that yard was my heart, which still hadn’t stopped racing.

I spoke to my reflection in the rearview mirror after several minutes on the highway, “You have done some stupid shit in your life, but this tops it all.”

That was about the time I noticed the patrol car which continued to follow almost halfway to our house before turning on the lights and pulling me over. I would have made a run for it, but knew for as long as he’d been there, the plates had already been checked and my life story probably reported back over the radio.