Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Jesup, part the eighth

and the dull gold electra two twenty five white vinyl top with a little rust showing down around the back window a little more over there right beneath the driver side door the deuce and a quarter pulled into a parking spot across the street the door opening with a squealing creak that leapt over to ron and his mom with a familiar splat followed by a long squeaky pull

kind of like a frog tongue suddenly smacking a fly across the lily pad then taking its time

reeling it in

the long low scream of the fly beneath the breeze fading fading to nothing as it approaches the waiting amphibian gulp

ron's daddy's cowboy boots stepping out one at a time boots covered by crinkled khakis going all the way up mister johnson's granddaddy longlegs hanging on to his skinny frame by a wide rawhide threaded leather belt gripping a big buckle image of a fanged fat faced drooling ugga the georgia bulldog the apostle of all that is good in the state that he serves at the pleasure of vince dooley his lord and master who will sit at the right hand of god hisself when his time comes due vince dooley of whom it is said that every win that has come during his reign is due to this special direct relationship any possible loss is the fault of satanic intervention at a magnitude against which even god's apostle has difficulty defending

ron's daddy mister johnson he looks both ways less as a matter of courtesy than out of necessity he spits he crosses the street with lanky rubber band man steps he tightens the knot of his skinny tie as he hops up the stairs kisses ron's momma on the cheek lightly but with a generosity not lost on ron he sees her eyes they sparkle just a bit through the worry he ron's dad he looks at ron he looks at ron's momma he looks back at ron he says hey now you ready to go in get this thing over with ron he nods he's still looking out across the lawn they each look out over the lawn mister johnson ron johnson's momma ron johnson they all look out over the lawn mister johnson

he says well

and they turn and walk on into the courthouse the heavy door opening inward a slit of light expanding into a framed gentle beam the ghosts of a thousand souls float and twinkle in the sudden brightness sparkling dust caught dancing in the lightest of drafts a giggling gaggle of mischievous faeries frozen fiercely en flagrante and the door closes and the elven magic disappears fades into the cruel dank coolness that is this heartless objectivity of the law

walking down the corridor to visit with saint peter himself perched up on his barstool hunched over his scrivener's desk his beard tinged on the edges with splotches of blue black ink dripped shaken splattered a bottle of bourbon cork removed sitting half empty next to the thick large ledger from which he manages the fates of all those who enter who approach who come crawling in on fraying threads of hope never mind that he is

a love supreme

he is old he may forget to forgive us this day our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us

and months before this musty courthouse stroll before the band began its august sonata the spring it would come and bring its showers and flowers and humidity and heat and memories and moonshine and love and lust and it would bring in the month of june

that month of hope that month of beginnings and endings of weddings and funerals

and ron he would travel south from the big city he would cross the line he would make his way across the creek that defined the here from the there he would broach the divide of yesterday and tomorrow of forgiveness and damnation

and ron would come home at the end of spring quarter beginning of summer break he had a job lined up he was going to work with his friend bobby over at bobby's daddy's store the jesup feed and seed

and ron would come home and bring all his belongings clean out his dorm room stuff everything he could fit into the big old trunk an army footlocker his old man had bought him at the local surplus store

and ron would come home with his belongings which besides his clothes included only a desk lamp his stereo his album collection his portable typewriter his rolled up skynrd posters his three bongs small medium and large the large one hidden in wrapped up in his sleeping bag and the other two in his back pack

and ron would come home with his belongings including his clothes two pairs of jeans two pairs of cut offs a bathing suit his momma had bought him but that he had never worn one steal your face and an assortment of punk rock emblazoned tee shirts acquired at various concerts during the year his blue jean jacket and his ten pairs each of permanently penned and john hancocked underwear tee shirts and white calf high socks

and ron would come home to jesup for the summer home again home again jiggety jig jiggety jig indeed returning to town in the backseat of the johnson family station wagon his mom and dad up front mister johnson leaning forward left ear over the steering wheel trying to detect some click some clack some serious sound seemingly hailing from beneath the dash from the front of the car but ron could hear the same burping growl coming from behind him where he knew the faux wood panel peeled from the rear door in long thin strips curling away from the muffler's gradually blackening exhaust as it parrumphed and harrumphed

belched and blew

ron johnson had returned to jesup trumpets blaring

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