Read Online A Place Called Wiregrass by Michael Morris - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Morris
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I’da thought it would’ve been when we first moved down here. Dread brewed in my chest. Some things aren’t fitting to talk to others about, and most the time nobody really cares anyway. So I sat there in the passenger seat of Sammy’s black El Camino, letting the Wiregrass sun pour on me as I listened to the ailments of Spooksie.
The clanging of the piano drifted onto the street. Richard was sitting on the side-porch steps reading a book. Learning more about the Bermuda Triangle, I figured. As I drew closer, the noise of the piano increased. It sounded like the old-timey piano playing at Aunt Stella’s church. The rhythm had a one-two-three, one-two-three tempo. The song even seemed familiar.
“Mama’s getting ready for Carnegie Hall,” Richard said, squinting his eyes together and laughing.
I didn’t even bother with one of my usual fake grins. His silliness was not finding me in good humor today. The old fool didn’t even realize somebody had dropped me off. I decided when it got time for me to go, I was going to have to come out and directly ask Richard for a ride home.
When I began to walk past him, Richard blocked me by stretching his left arm across the concrete step. Stroking his thin black book, he said, “I’m reading about the domestication of modern-day cats in the Egyptian world. It’s just fascinating. Erma Lee, did you know that Cleopatra…”
“Oh, goodness. I think I hear Miss Claudia needing some help.” I stepped over his arm and continued up the porch. Too bad Sammy and Richard couldn’t get together, I thought. With all Richard’s so-called knowledge, maybe he could save Sammy a vet bill by diagnosing what ailed Spooksie .
The one-two-three rhythm engulfed me when I walked into the living room. With her eyes closed and swaying like Ray Charles, Miss Claudia hummed some song, and I fished for the name in the deepest corner of my mind. Her cane was propped up against the big black piano. I wondered how she ever learned to play with such an awful childhood. I knew that trashy stepdaddy of hers didn’t pay for any lessons.
With the last touch of the ivory, I forced my mind to dump the image of Bozo, drunk, with a loaded shotgun. Instead, I clapped my hands. As bad as my day had been and with my life now ending, I hoped her home with its warm colors and fancy paintings would offer a refuge.
“Good gracious alive.” She clamped her hand to the periwinkle blouse. Her hair was done, and her makeup dewy fresh. “I didn’t know I had an audience.”
I began picking up pieces of Richard’s trademarks: sections of the newspaper scattered on the floor near the sofa. “I mean to tell you, you’re good now.” I continued to work and talk. With a talker like Miss Claudia it’s the only way I could get my work done and be able to visit at the same time. After Easter, I’d come to realize part of my duties was to keep her entertained. Patricia never came right out and said it, but even Miss Claudia claimed me as her companion. “How long you been playing the piano?”
She flipped through the faded green hymnal and shook her head ever so gently. “I declare. Let’s see. Missoura taught me back when I was seventeen, somers in there. Here we go. How about ‘How Great Thou Art’?”
Some of my favorite things in the home on Elm Drive were the cobalt blue glasses stored in the white living-room shelves. Miss Claudia had told me her late husband, Wade, had given her the antique glasses as a wedding gift. After a good dusting, I always loved standing back and watching the sun seep inside the swirls of blue and teal.
As I inched the dust rag inside each glass, I found myself humming along with Miss Claudia to the steady rhythm. Then, as clear as the pictures Miss Claudia made with her instant Polaroid, I remembered where I had heard the song. I remembered the flowers, the preacher, and the sweet one-two-three rhythm of that old-timey piano just like it was yesterday. But Aunt
The clanging of the piano drifted onto the street. Richard was sitting on the side-porch steps reading a book. Learning more about the Bermuda Triangle, I figured. As I drew closer, the noise of the piano increased. It sounded like the old-timey piano playing at Aunt Stella’s church. The rhythm had a one-two-three, one-two-three tempo. The song even seemed familiar.
“Mama’s getting ready for Carnegie Hall,” Richard said, squinting his eyes together and laughing.
I didn’t even bother with one of my usual fake grins. His silliness was not finding me in good humor today. The old fool didn’t even realize somebody had dropped me off. I decided when it got time for me to go, I was going to have to come out and directly ask Richard for a ride home.
When I began to walk past him, Richard blocked me by stretching his left arm across the concrete step. Stroking his thin black book, he said, “I’m reading about the domestication of modern-day cats in the Egyptian world. It’s just fascinating. Erma Lee, did you know that Cleopatra…”
“Oh, goodness. I think I hear Miss Claudia needing some help.” I stepped over his arm and continued up the porch. Too bad Sammy and Richard couldn’t get together, I thought. With all Richard’s so-called knowledge, maybe he could save Sammy a vet bill by diagnosing what ailed Spooksie .
The one-two-three rhythm engulfed me when I walked into the living room. With her eyes closed and swaying like Ray Charles, Miss Claudia hummed some song, and I fished for the name in the deepest corner of my mind. Her cane was propped up against the big black piano. I wondered how she ever learned to play with such an awful childhood. I knew that trashy stepdaddy of hers didn’t pay for any lessons.
With the last touch of the ivory, I forced my mind to dump the image of Bozo, drunk, with a loaded shotgun. Instead, I clapped my hands. As bad as my day had been and with my life now ending, I hoped her home with its warm colors and fancy paintings would offer a refuge.
“Good gracious alive.” She clamped her hand to the periwinkle blouse. Her hair was done, and her makeup dewy fresh. “I didn’t know I had an audience.”
I began picking up pieces of Richard’s trademarks: sections of the newspaper scattered on the floor near the sofa. “I mean to tell you, you’re good now.” I continued to work and talk. With a talker like Miss Claudia it’s the only way I could get my work done and be able to visit at the same time. After Easter, I’d come to realize part of my duties was to keep her entertained. Patricia never came right out and said it, but even Miss Claudia claimed me as her companion. “How long you been playing the piano?”
She flipped through the faded green hymnal and shook her head ever so gently. “I declare. Let’s see. Missoura taught me back when I was seventeen, somers in there. Here we go. How about ‘How Great Thou Art’?”
Some of my favorite things in the home on Elm Drive were the cobalt blue glasses stored in the white living-room shelves. Miss Claudia had told me her late husband, Wade, had given her the antique glasses as a wedding gift. After a good dusting, I always loved standing back and watching the sun seep inside the swirls of blue and teal.
As I inched the dust rag inside each glass, I found myself humming along with Miss Claudia to the steady rhythm. Then, as clear as the pictures Miss Claudia made with her instant Polaroid, I remembered where I had heard the song. I remembered the flowers, the preacher, and the sweet one-two-three rhythm of that old-timey piano just like it was yesterday. But Aunt
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