Post by goldenmyst on Aug 26, 2018 22:58:09 GMT -6
Love Finds a Way
When Valerie and I became smitten with each other, we were sitting at the school cafeteria table. I was eating the soy burgers she always called paste.
She said, “Are you a vegetarian?”
I said, ‘Yea’”
Valerie’s follow up floored me. “You know, soy impairs a man’s yang functioning thereby decreasing his sperm count and making him unable to give a girl a baby.”
“Is this typical high school lunchroom chat?”
Valerie replied, “We’re both eighteen and adults. I can tell you if I were your wife I wouldn’t fix those funky veggie dishes for you. Our fare would be southern from grits to fried chicken.”
“You know, early man lived on nuts and berries and had children just fine,” I said.
“Yes, but animal protein enabled human populations to grow so that man could migrate across the planet.”
“True, but our modern food distribution and dietary science enable people to get the protein they need abundantly enough. And the onset of agriculture by itself replaced our dependence on animal foods. Besides, you’ll love my beans and rice and my tempeh jambalaya tops the meat version hands down. But if you haven’t tried vegetarian gumbo you’re missing out on the south’s hidden treasure.”
She said, “That sounds southern to me. Let me have a bite of your veggie patty. Mmmm. Now, that I’ve had a taste from the Garden of Eden there is no going back. Does this mean we’re going steady?”
“It does to me. Let’s just keep it under wraps because the rednecks of this town would frown upon it.”
We wandered an antebellum home property in midst of a Hollywood film production past the Civil War movie set. Replicas of scorched homes rose in blackened desolation. Her roots went back to slavery but for this night she was Scarlett O’Hara to my Rhett Butler. “Oh Rhett, marry me and take me away from here.”
“Scarlett, take my hand and I will lead you north where we’ll open an asylum for southern belles down on their luck. Eventually, we’ll find you a housekeeping job where you can start your life again.”
“Rhett, how could you? My hands are much too delicate for mopping and scrubbing. The soap will leave my skin rough and unladylike. Surely you don’t wish such a fate upon sweet little me?”
“Well, then my love you can be an usher at the theater. That way you get to see the shows for free. Once we graduate high school we’re headed deep into the southland but of Chicago where cornbread
and collards find a plate on the table for parishioners from a delta of the mind where Mississippi sharecroppers gather on city streets where the only cotton fields are snow drifts and where harmonica harmonies tell the story we left behind.”
“It sounds just like home, Rhett.”
“It will be Scarlett, just instead of the Dollar General up there they have Bloomingdale’s where you can get all dolled up like a high society lady.”
“But do they have a big woman to act as my surrogate Mama and cook me up a mess of collards when I get the homesick blues?”
“Sure do. She will also make you a plate of beans and rice seasoned with Tabasco sauce imported from Louisiana.”
Valerie says, “But my real Mom would be heartbroken. Your Dad would be too.”
Since Mom died, my Dad had become intolerable without her compassion and sweetness to balance him out. She taught him a great deal, though he would probably never admit it. She did the world and her husband a great service. Therefore, I was in for trouble when I decided to marry a black woman.
She and I had been going together in hiding since high school. I hadn’t told Dad about her though. I knew it would make him explode. Besides I was a grown man. It was my business whom I dated. I remembered when the trouble started. Dad and I were watching the news on the old Zenith in the living room. The Democratic candidate for president, Bill Clinton, was on TV giving a talk to B’nai Brith in New York. The rabbi stood at the podium after Clinton spoke about the need for a new aid package for Israel. Dad’s face turned red as a beet as he listened. He said, “The only mistake Hitler made was that he didn’t get enough of them!” I got up and began walking toward the kitchen. Dad said, “Where are you going? Stay here. I want to talk with you.”
I stood hovering over him fidgeting. Dad began one of his famous monologues. He said, “Son, a college education doesn’t cut it in this world. You need common sense. Book sense alone won’t get you anywhere in this world.”
I sat back down, sinking into the plush cushions of the couch, and resigned myself to hearing him
out. He leaned over in his chair and looked me straight in the eyes. He said, “Son, I didn’t even graduate high school, but I had college graduates working under me. I’ve seen college kids I wouldn’t hire for any job. Half of them are educated fools.”
I looked down, took a deep breath, and acknowledged his points with pithy, pained replies,
“I know Dad.”
Dad reached over to the coffee table, grasped the remote control, and turned off the TV. He went on, “Son, you’ve had how many jobs? I’ve lost count. Now you’re thirty years old and going back to college. That’s good. But get a degree in engineering or computer science. Don’t go into teaching in the public schools. You’ll get paid peanuts and all you’ll have to show for the years is early gray hair and a pension like the wages of a janitor. Teaching isn’t what it was back when your mother taught. You have notions of turning around young lives. Trust me the classroom isn’t a place of learning anymore, it is crowd control.”
I lay back sinking into the couch. I laid my hands across each other on my lap. We were silent for a moment and Dad appeared as if he were about to say something. I broke the silence saying, “I know how you feel about it Dad, but I’m doing it anyway.”
“Go then. I’ve got nothing else to say.”
Dad aimed the remote control and flipped the TV back on. Dad said over the noise of the TV, “You’re nothing but a crazy knee-jerk bleeding heart liberal.”
I yawned and muttered so softly he couldn’t hear, “And proud of it.”
Dad looked up and grasped the remote control once more. He tried to turn the television off but didn’t have much luck. He got flustered, aiming and pressing, and grimacing. Finally, the TV went off. He turned around in his chair again, and said in a soft empathetic tone, “Son, that wasn’t all I wanted to talk to you about. Don’t get married. She’ll just take you for all you’ve got and leave you high and dry.”
I looked away from him at the blank television screen and said, changing the subject, “Dad, I’ll make my own decisions, thank you.”
He said, “All right, all right. Go right ahead. Get married. But don’t come running back to me with your tail between your legs when she leaves you.”
Dad angrily pointed the remote control like a weapon and flicked the TV back on. As we sat watching the TV there was a report on the riots in South Central LA.
I cleared my throat twice and said, “Dad.”
He looked at me curling his lips and said, “What is it, son? I’m trying to watch the news.”
“What would you do if I married a black girl?”
He bellowed, “What kind of a crazy question is that? I’d kick your tail right out of this house. That’s what I’d do.”
I frowned and said, “Oh, I was just wondering.”
We were silent a moment as the TV droned on. I said, “Dad.”
In consternation, he exclaimed, “What is it, son? I’m trying to watch the news!”
I said, “Dad I’m dating a black girl.”
He grabbed the remote and swiftly clicked the TV off. He asked, “What did you say, son?”
I repeated, “I’m dating a black girl.”
He shook his head angrily and yelled, “What the hell...?”
I said, “Dad her name is Valerie and she is my childhood sweetheart. I never told you about her. She deserves some respect from you. She’s the girl I’m going to marry.”
Before I could get a word in edgewise he said, “Your mother would turn in her grave if she knew what you were doing.”
“Dad, I’m not going to marry Valerie. I am also leaving here. I can’t stand it anymore. I guess this is it, Dad. I don’t expect I’ll ever see you again.”
He whispered, “You’re serious aren’t you son?”
I said, “Dead serious.”
I said, “Dad, we have nothing more to say to each other. I’m going to start a new life for myself
out west. I’m going to marry any woman I want to, black, yellow, red, Jewish, whatever. You have no more say in my life anymore. I don’t want you to be a part of my life.”
Dad looked sad and then suddenly angry. He yelled, “Your brains are fried from all those drugs you took in the sixties. You’re a draft dodger and a fool. You never could do the right thing!”
I walked into my bedroom. I looked down at the single bed I had slept in since I was a kid so many years ago. On the wall were my trophies from swimming and track. Dad had been so proud of me when I got them. On the bed stand was a picture of my mother. I picked it up and looked at it. Dad walked in and stood looking at me.
He said, “Well, I guess you should be on your own. I’m too old to have you hanging around here. Just remember I love you no matter where you go.”
I said, “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
He said, “I wash my hands of you. I am disowning you as of now. Go stay with her. I won’t put up with your crap anymore. But mark my word, you’ll end up divorced and on my steps in less than a month. That is if you don’t give me a stroke.”
As I walked through the living room I told Dad, “I’ll be spending my nights with her from now on.”
Dad looked down at the floor from the throne of his recliner and said, “I don’t give a damn what you do.”
I called Valerie and meekly asked, “Can I stay at your place tonight?”
She took a deep breath and asked, “Your father?”
I said, “Yes, I told him.”
She said, “Come on over.”
I arrived at Valerie’s house and walked through the cold wet mist up to her doorstep. She greeted me with downcast eyes. I walked into where Valerie was sitting, on the bed. I sat next to her and said, “Honey, don’t worry about Dad. I love you and we can make it with or without his approval.”
“Honey, I love you too, but we need to think about this. This relationship is getting so complicated. I need some time to think.”
I said, “I understand. There’s no need to rush.”
She kissed me lightly on the forehead and said, “Honey, I just want what’s best for both of us.”
I said, “Valerie if he treats you with anything less than the dignity and respect that you deserve, I’ll never talk to him again.”
Valerie said, “I wouldn’t want that.” She was so selfless. I felt more in love with her than ever. She lay against me until I fell asleep.
I woke up before dawn and left her a note telling her I didn’t want to drag her into this situation that I loved her so much that I couldn’t bear to see her suffer.
As drove through the rainy streets it was dark. I turned the headlights on and they made a halo in the mist rising from the hot pavement. Steam formed on my window shield. I turned the defrost on. The paper mill closed now loomed huge and dark, as I passed down the fog bound forest road.
I clenched the steering wheel of the car out of desperation. The light rain had dissipated, but I plowed through the thick fog which was aglow with car lights. My heart beat furiously and sweat poured down my forehead. I wondered what would happen to us now. For so long we had pretended like love was all that mattered.
Dad’s words, “You never could do the right thing,” echoed in my mind which drifted back to when I joined to coast guard so that I wouldn’t have to go fight in Vietnam. The first day of basic training we were all standing in formation on the parade ground. The drill Sergeant inspected our uniforms and my belt buckle wasn’t aligned right.
The drill Sergeant yelled, “Get down puke and give me fifty.” I got down and did pushups till my arms got weak and I couldn’t do anymore.
The drill Sergeant yelled, “Keep going puke.”
I stood up and said, “I quit.”
The drill Sergeant stuck out his chest and bellowed, “You can’t quit the United States Coast Guard.”
I walked away. Later I faked insanity by walking around completely naked. The psychiatrist tested me, asking me all sorts of absurd questions, like, “Do you dream in color or black and white?” Finally, they gave up and I got my section eight.
I was overjoyed, but Dad wasn’t. I had given up. I just couldn’t hack it. I turned around and arrived back at Valerie’s at dawn. She greeted me with hugs and kisses. She said, “I was worried about you.”
I kissed her and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you again. I thought I was leaving for you, but really I just didn’t want to face the truth.”
The next morning we walked by the banks of the muddy Mississippi where I hunted the 19th-century ghosts. There, old glass bottles washed to shore along with rusty square nails from a time long before me. I scavenged for glass whiskey flasks and broken glass once filled with medicine with nostalgic eyes.
So we climbed the river bluffs to remember our birthplace. Feathery indigo clouds were suspended over old man rivers curve into the horizon. Tendrils of misty droplets hung in milky fronds curling toward the ground. A snowy fleece of cirrus with patches of teal sky loomed overhead.
Kudzu climbed over the box factory ruins where my great grandfather toiled in the heart of the roaring twenties whose wealth passed him by like a locomotive headed somewhere else when a nickel bought a movie and Confederate veterans still gathered at the diner. The smokestack still pointed like a steeple up at the heavens where the laborers have emigrated and where I too will go, but with that prospect far from my boyish heart.
Green shrubbery blanketed the sunken bluffs below our perch. A riverboat horn bleated through the quiet evening. A cardinal swooped out of foliage below arcing gracefully back into the thicket.
Valerie sat on a foliage matted bench by my side. We had passed through our high school years like this, finding silent moments to ease each other.
Her sigh was deep as the impending night. Our closeness was a second nature. With shared dreams of future happiness whispered amongst dusk sounds our golden eternity was imagined in this sanctuary of peace beyond the reach of urban hustle.
Leaves rustled in the warm breeze and saffron sunset clouds glowed angelically. Her hand was warm in my palm like a tiny sparrow with her delicate and reassuring touch. The goodness of the earth was felt deeply in this encounter with her.
She said, “Did you pop my cherry to fulfill MLK’s dream?”
“Only to let freedom ring for us two dreamers.”
“I needed to hear that you deflowered me for us not because you stood on the mountaintop and saw the Promised Land.”
I asked Valerie, “Would you consider marrying a descendant of slave owners?”
She laughed and said, “My ancestors were slaves. When we tie the knot the tables will be turned. I’ll have you wrapped around my finger.”
When we got back to the car I called Dad and invited him to the wedding. He said, “I’m watching football games this weekend.”
I said, “Dad, remember Mom. Remember how much she meant to you. Well, Valerie means that much to me. It would really mean something to me if you came.”
Dad said, “I’ll think about it.”
That weekend Valerie and I went to the justice of the peace. Dad came in right before Valerie and I said, “I do.”
After the wedding, I walked over to Dad. He looked tired and his eyes were red.
Dad said, “So you’ve done it.”
I said, “Yes.”
Dad said, “You know it was a mistake.”
I said, “No Dad. I did the right thing.”
Dad said, “I don’t like it.”
I said, “You don’t have to.”
Dad said, “Don’t expect me to babysit the children.”
“I won’t ask and Dad, thank you for coming.”
I hugged him and looked down at his face. For the first time since Mom’s burial, I saw tears in his eyes. I asked him, “Dad, why are you crying?”
He looked up at me trembling with blood streaked eyes. He said, “Every parent has a right to cry at their child’s wedding.”
When Valerie and I became smitten with each other, we were sitting at the school cafeteria table. I was eating the soy burgers she always called paste.
She said, “Are you a vegetarian?”
I said, ‘Yea’”
Valerie’s follow up floored me. “You know, soy impairs a man’s yang functioning thereby decreasing his sperm count and making him unable to give a girl a baby.”
“Is this typical high school lunchroom chat?”
Valerie replied, “We’re both eighteen and adults. I can tell you if I were your wife I wouldn’t fix those funky veggie dishes for you. Our fare would be southern from grits to fried chicken.”
“You know, early man lived on nuts and berries and had children just fine,” I said.
“Yes, but animal protein enabled human populations to grow so that man could migrate across the planet.”
“True, but our modern food distribution and dietary science enable people to get the protein they need abundantly enough. And the onset of agriculture by itself replaced our dependence on animal foods. Besides, you’ll love my beans and rice and my tempeh jambalaya tops the meat version hands down. But if you haven’t tried vegetarian gumbo you’re missing out on the south’s hidden treasure.”
She said, “That sounds southern to me. Let me have a bite of your veggie patty. Mmmm. Now, that I’ve had a taste from the Garden of Eden there is no going back. Does this mean we’re going steady?”
“It does to me. Let’s just keep it under wraps because the rednecks of this town would frown upon it.”
We wandered an antebellum home property in midst of a Hollywood film production past the Civil War movie set. Replicas of scorched homes rose in blackened desolation. Her roots went back to slavery but for this night she was Scarlett O’Hara to my Rhett Butler. “Oh Rhett, marry me and take me away from here.”
“Scarlett, take my hand and I will lead you north where we’ll open an asylum for southern belles down on their luck. Eventually, we’ll find you a housekeeping job where you can start your life again.”
“Rhett, how could you? My hands are much too delicate for mopping and scrubbing. The soap will leave my skin rough and unladylike. Surely you don’t wish such a fate upon sweet little me?”
“Well, then my love you can be an usher at the theater. That way you get to see the shows for free. Once we graduate high school we’re headed deep into the southland but of Chicago where cornbread
and collards find a plate on the table for parishioners from a delta of the mind where Mississippi sharecroppers gather on city streets where the only cotton fields are snow drifts and where harmonica harmonies tell the story we left behind.”
“It sounds just like home, Rhett.”
“It will be Scarlett, just instead of the Dollar General up there they have Bloomingdale’s where you can get all dolled up like a high society lady.”
“But do they have a big woman to act as my surrogate Mama and cook me up a mess of collards when I get the homesick blues?”
“Sure do. She will also make you a plate of beans and rice seasoned with Tabasco sauce imported from Louisiana.”
Valerie says, “But my real Mom would be heartbroken. Your Dad would be too.”
Since Mom died, my Dad had become intolerable without her compassion and sweetness to balance him out. She taught him a great deal, though he would probably never admit it. She did the world and her husband a great service. Therefore, I was in for trouble when I decided to marry a black woman.
She and I had been going together in hiding since high school. I hadn’t told Dad about her though. I knew it would make him explode. Besides I was a grown man. It was my business whom I dated. I remembered when the trouble started. Dad and I were watching the news on the old Zenith in the living room. The Democratic candidate for president, Bill Clinton, was on TV giving a talk to B’nai Brith in New York. The rabbi stood at the podium after Clinton spoke about the need for a new aid package for Israel. Dad’s face turned red as a beet as he listened. He said, “The only mistake Hitler made was that he didn’t get enough of them!” I got up and began walking toward the kitchen. Dad said, “Where are you going? Stay here. I want to talk with you.”
I stood hovering over him fidgeting. Dad began one of his famous monologues. He said, “Son, a college education doesn’t cut it in this world. You need common sense. Book sense alone won’t get you anywhere in this world.”
I sat back down, sinking into the plush cushions of the couch, and resigned myself to hearing him
out. He leaned over in his chair and looked me straight in the eyes. He said, “Son, I didn’t even graduate high school, but I had college graduates working under me. I’ve seen college kids I wouldn’t hire for any job. Half of them are educated fools.”
I looked down, took a deep breath, and acknowledged his points with pithy, pained replies,
“I know Dad.”
Dad reached over to the coffee table, grasped the remote control, and turned off the TV. He went on, “Son, you’ve had how many jobs? I’ve lost count. Now you’re thirty years old and going back to college. That’s good. But get a degree in engineering or computer science. Don’t go into teaching in the public schools. You’ll get paid peanuts and all you’ll have to show for the years is early gray hair and a pension like the wages of a janitor. Teaching isn’t what it was back when your mother taught. You have notions of turning around young lives. Trust me the classroom isn’t a place of learning anymore, it is crowd control.”
I lay back sinking into the couch. I laid my hands across each other on my lap. We were silent for a moment and Dad appeared as if he were about to say something. I broke the silence saying, “I know how you feel about it Dad, but I’m doing it anyway.”
“Go then. I’ve got nothing else to say.”
Dad aimed the remote control and flipped the TV back on. Dad said over the noise of the TV, “You’re nothing but a crazy knee-jerk bleeding heart liberal.”
I yawned and muttered so softly he couldn’t hear, “And proud of it.”
Dad looked up and grasped the remote control once more. He tried to turn the television off but didn’t have much luck. He got flustered, aiming and pressing, and grimacing. Finally, the TV went off. He turned around in his chair again, and said in a soft empathetic tone, “Son, that wasn’t all I wanted to talk to you about. Don’t get married. She’ll just take you for all you’ve got and leave you high and dry.”
I looked away from him at the blank television screen and said, changing the subject, “Dad, I’ll make my own decisions, thank you.”
He said, “All right, all right. Go right ahead. Get married. But don’t come running back to me with your tail between your legs when she leaves you.”
Dad angrily pointed the remote control like a weapon and flicked the TV back on. As we sat watching the TV there was a report on the riots in South Central LA.
I cleared my throat twice and said, “Dad.”
He looked at me curling his lips and said, “What is it, son? I’m trying to watch the news.”
“What would you do if I married a black girl?”
He bellowed, “What kind of a crazy question is that? I’d kick your tail right out of this house. That’s what I’d do.”
I frowned and said, “Oh, I was just wondering.”
We were silent a moment as the TV droned on. I said, “Dad.”
In consternation, he exclaimed, “What is it, son? I’m trying to watch the news!”
I said, “Dad I’m dating a black girl.”
He grabbed the remote and swiftly clicked the TV off. He asked, “What did you say, son?”
I repeated, “I’m dating a black girl.”
He shook his head angrily and yelled, “What the hell...?”
I said, “Dad her name is Valerie and she is my childhood sweetheart. I never told you about her. She deserves some respect from you. She’s the girl I’m going to marry.”
Before I could get a word in edgewise he said, “Your mother would turn in her grave if she knew what you were doing.”
“Dad, I’m not going to marry Valerie. I am also leaving here. I can’t stand it anymore. I guess this is it, Dad. I don’t expect I’ll ever see you again.”
He whispered, “You’re serious aren’t you son?”
I said, “Dead serious.”
I said, “Dad, we have nothing more to say to each other. I’m going to start a new life for myself
out west. I’m going to marry any woman I want to, black, yellow, red, Jewish, whatever. You have no more say in my life anymore. I don’t want you to be a part of my life.”
Dad looked sad and then suddenly angry. He yelled, “Your brains are fried from all those drugs you took in the sixties. You’re a draft dodger and a fool. You never could do the right thing!”
I walked into my bedroom. I looked down at the single bed I had slept in since I was a kid so many years ago. On the wall were my trophies from swimming and track. Dad had been so proud of me when I got them. On the bed stand was a picture of my mother. I picked it up and looked at it. Dad walked in and stood looking at me.
He said, “Well, I guess you should be on your own. I’m too old to have you hanging around here. Just remember I love you no matter where you go.”
I said, “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
He said, “I wash my hands of you. I am disowning you as of now. Go stay with her. I won’t put up with your crap anymore. But mark my word, you’ll end up divorced and on my steps in less than a month. That is if you don’t give me a stroke.”
As I walked through the living room I told Dad, “I’ll be spending my nights with her from now on.”
Dad looked down at the floor from the throne of his recliner and said, “I don’t give a damn what you do.”
I called Valerie and meekly asked, “Can I stay at your place tonight?”
She took a deep breath and asked, “Your father?”
I said, “Yes, I told him.”
She said, “Come on over.”
I arrived at Valerie’s house and walked through the cold wet mist up to her doorstep. She greeted me with downcast eyes. I walked into where Valerie was sitting, on the bed. I sat next to her and said, “Honey, don’t worry about Dad. I love you and we can make it with or without his approval.”
“Honey, I love you too, but we need to think about this. This relationship is getting so complicated. I need some time to think.”
I said, “I understand. There’s no need to rush.”
She kissed me lightly on the forehead and said, “Honey, I just want what’s best for both of us.”
I said, “Valerie if he treats you with anything less than the dignity and respect that you deserve, I’ll never talk to him again.”
Valerie said, “I wouldn’t want that.” She was so selfless. I felt more in love with her than ever. She lay against me until I fell asleep.
I woke up before dawn and left her a note telling her I didn’t want to drag her into this situation that I loved her so much that I couldn’t bear to see her suffer.
As drove through the rainy streets it was dark. I turned the headlights on and they made a halo in the mist rising from the hot pavement. Steam formed on my window shield. I turned the defrost on. The paper mill closed now loomed huge and dark, as I passed down the fog bound forest road.
I clenched the steering wheel of the car out of desperation. The light rain had dissipated, but I plowed through the thick fog which was aglow with car lights. My heart beat furiously and sweat poured down my forehead. I wondered what would happen to us now. For so long we had pretended like love was all that mattered.
Dad’s words, “You never could do the right thing,” echoed in my mind which drifted back to when I joined to coast guard so that I wouldn’t have to go fight in Vietnam. The first day of basic training we were all standing in formation on the parade ground. The drill Sergeant inspected our uniforms and my belt buckle wasn’t aligned right.
The drill Sergeant yelled, “Get down puke and give me fifty.” I got down and did pushups till my arms got weak and I couldn’t do anymore.
The drill Sergeant yelled, “Keep going puke.”
I stood up and said, “I quit.”
The drill Sergeant stuck out his chest and bellowed, “You can’t quit the United States Coast Guard.”
I walked away. Later I faked insanity by walking around completely naked. The psychiatrist tested me, asking me all sorts of absurd questions, like, “Do you dream in color or black and white?” Finally, they gave up and I got my section eight.
I was overjoyed, but Dad wasn’t. I had given up. I just couldn’t hack it. I turned around and arrived back at Valerie’s at dawn. She greeted me with hugs and kisses. She said, “I was worried about you.”
I kissed her and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you again. I thought I was leaving for you, but really I just didn’t want to face the truth.”
The next morning we walked by the banks of the muddy Mississippi where I hunted the 19th-century ghosts. There, old glass bottles washed to shore along with rusty square nails from a time long before me. I scavenged for glass whiskey flasks and broken glass once filled with medicine with nostalgic eyes.
So we climbed the river bluffs to remember our birthplace. Feathery indigo clouds were suspended over old man rivers curve into the horizon. Tendrils of misty droplets hung in milky fronds curling toward the ground. A snowy fleece of cirrus with patches of teal sky loomed overhead.
Kudzu climbed over the box factory ruins where my great grandfather toiled in the heart of the roaring twenties whose wealth passed him by like a locomotive headed somewhere else when a nickel bought a movie and Confederate veterans still gathered at the diner. The smokestack still pointed like a steeple up at the heavens where the laborers have emigrated and where I too will go, but with that prospect far from my boyish heart.
Green shrubbery blanketed the sunken bluffs below our perch. A riverboat horn bleated through the quiet evening. A cardinal swooped out of foliage below arcing gracefully back into the thicket.
Valerie sat on a foliage matted bench by my side. We had passed through our high school years like this, finding silent moments to ease each other.
Her sigh was deep as the impending night. Our closeness was a second nature. With shared dreams of future happiness whispered amongst dusk sounds our golden eternity was imagined in this sanctuary of peace beyond the reach of urban hustle.
Leaves rustled in the warm breeze and saffron sunset clouds glowed angelically. Her hand was warm in my palm like a tiny sparrow with her delicate and reassuring touch. The goodness of the earth was felt deeply in this encounter with her.
She said, “Did you pop my cherry to fulfill MLK’s dream?”
“Only to let freedom ring for us two dreamers.”
“I needed to hear that you deflowered me for us not because you stood on the mountaintop and saw the Promised Land.”
I asked Valerie, “Would you consider marrying a descendant of slave owners?”
She laughed and said, “My ancestors were slaves. When we tie the knot the tables will be turned. I’ll have you wrapped around my finger.”
When we got back to the car I called Dad and invited him to the wedding. He said, “I’m watching football games this weekend.”
I said, “Dad, remember Mom. Remember how much she meant to you. Well, Valerie means that much to me. It would really mean something to me if you came.”
Dad said, “I’ll think about it.”
That weekend Valerie and I went to the justice of the peace. Dad came in right before Valerie and I said, “I do.”
After the wedding, I walked over to Dad. He looked tired and his eyes were red.
Dad said, “So you’ve done it.”
I said, “Yes.”
Dad said, “You know it was a mistake.”
I said, “No Dad. I did the right thing.”
Dad said, “I don’t like it.”
I said, “You don’t have to.”
Dad said, “Don’t expect me to babysit the children.”
“I won’t ask and Dad, thank you for coming.”
I hugged him and looked down at his face. For the first time since Mom’s burial, I saw tears in his eyes. I asked him, “Dad, why are you crying?”
He looked up at me trembling with blood streaked eyes. He said, “Every parent has a right to cry at their child’s wedding.”
Everyone have a great weekend!!!!