I interviewed my dad in 1990-we drove to the town where he grew up and most of this story is filled with the memories he had as a boy growing up in Chidester, AR. I love being from the South-it has such a poetry and strength; just like all the awful things were just woven into the beautiful tapestry we call life. This is a tribute to my Father and to growing up Southern. Just so you know-I had a daughter born in Korea and I am always quick to add that she was born in South Korea.
“Michael, come right home after school or I will…”, Ma’s voice trailed off but her throwing arm was still strong. She was angry about the chicken I stole out of the hen house yesterday.
“Yes ma’am” I ducked as the wooden spoon went whizzing over my head. I vanished under the protective cover of the kitchen table and then made a run for the back door. I didn’t let the screen door hit me in the behind as I raced into the back yard. I kept on flying across the uneven ground where the garden used to be. When I landed on the makeshift road behind the house, the earth was hard packed and I was careful to run outside the wagon ruts, and to dodge the cow and horse droppings. I usually met my best friend, Tommy, out back in the woods and we would high tail it to school or plan some mischief, but not today.
I slowed down in front of the old preacher’s house. When the half-blind, old man got angry, he would begin screaming obscenities. I tried to make this happen as often as I could by attracting all the neighborhood dogs to the front yard, and then disappearing. Preacher Turner would hear the scruffy animals and begin a string of curses that brought his wife, and all of the other neighbors within earshot, to their front porches. Today was no exception-I got a pack of dogs to follow me down the road
Then I spotted her. My mother had come looking for me.
“Ma, I was on my way to school and these big ol’ dogs started sniffin’ me and following me down the road. I’m glad you come along.”
Her raised eyebrow was the only communication she had to make.
I continued running between the houses on my way to school. I wasn’t even breathing hard when I reached the one room schoolhouse. I broke in line behind my sister, Mary Rose. I missed seeing Tommy Sims standing next to my sister. He had mysteriously disappeared last spring.
All twelve of us children lined up at the ringing of the cowbell. My sis and I wandered through the woods on our way home, one of Tommy’s favorite places to go. Flies buzzed around an old log. I figured some kind of animal had died. Pulling Mary Rose by the hand, I walked over to the log and gently nudged it with the toe of my shoe. Underneath was a decomposing human body! Both of us were frozen with fear and horror. Being the older and wiser of the two, I decided to bury the body.
I was rummaging through the old shed where we kept smoked meat and canned stuff. The shovel we found was too long for me to carry so I drug it on the ground behind me. A new telephone had just been installed at the post office about a mile down the road. Mary Rose and I headed for town. We talked as we walked-I recollected that Tommy Sims had disappeared about six months before. I cranked the phone and the operator connected me to Sheriff Otto Turner’s office. Otto slurred hello into the phone and promised to meet us right away. Otto was a large man who sometimes scratched his behind with his one good arm and guided his car with his stomach leaning on the steering wheel. He lost an arm in a farming accident when he was a boy-now he was sort of a leaning drunkard. Mary Rose and I were eager to tell our story. Otto listened and peppered our tale of adventure with loud burps. He made some notes in a small notebook he kept on the seat of his car and ended the investigation by calling the county coroner.
The body was that of Tommy Sims, it was far too decomposed to pinpoint the cause of death. I became a local hero. I often wondered what Tommy Sims must have done to wind up dead.
I remembered the local manhunt right after Tommy went missing. His picture was even printed in the local paper. The nearby river had been searched for his body. But I knew he could swim and we were always careful not to swim right after we ate. I can’t remember him ever swimming alone-I was usually with him.
He spent a lot of time alone in the woods, hunting. I figured he must have been surprised by a cougar-something big enough to hide his body under a log. He was going to marry Mary Rose and I was going to marry his little sister and we were planning to be together, always. Just like best friends.
It is funny how the tears started running down my cheeks and the groans and sobs echoed all over the house. I pounded my fists into the pillow and soon mom came to my room and put her arms around me. We cried together until the hurt had passed. I knew then that life was a lot harder than I ever imagined it to be.
Tommy had a proper burial. The small church was filled with the people from the town. I could have set off a stink bomb or made some kind of loud noises to scare all the old ladies, but I didn’t. I spent most of the day staying close to my mom and dad. And remembering all the good times I had with Tommy.
