Read Online Going Home by Angery American - Free Book Online Page B

and laid it on the sink in the bathroom. I finally found a five-gallon bucket outside and brought it back to the hot water heater. Filling it about half full, I took it to the bathroom; after plugging the sink, I poured it full. On a shelf was a can of shaving cream, and I found a clean washcloth under the sink. I stripped down bare-assed. Using the bar of soap on the sink, I proceeded to wash my stinkin’ ass. For washing in a sink, I thought I did a pretty good job; I certainly felt better. After draining the sink and refilling it, I soaked the cloth in the water and then wrapped it around my face. After letting it soak, I lathered my face and shaved. It was a little tough; the water wasn’t really hot enough, but it was a damn sight better than a cold shave.
    After dressing in a clean change of clothes, I went through all the pockets of what I had been wearing for the last four days and dropped them into the bucket, even digging out the crusty socks from the day before. Lastly, I dropped the bandana I used for a sweat rag on top. Carrying the bucket and the bar of soap back to the water heater, I filled it till the clothes were covered and dropped the soap in on top. From a kitchen drawer, I took a potato masher and agitated the water and then removed the soap and let it set. I put on fresh socks and my Merrell’s—I needed a break from those boots—and walked next door.
    Knocking on the door, I was told, “It’s open. Come on in.” I walked into a tidy little house. From the front door, I could see the kitchen and the table set for dinner. I walked into the kitchen and was surprised by the spread I saw on the table. With a rush, bygone days of my youth came back to me in a flash. For many years, I lived next door to my grandmother. She was the sweetest lady that ever lived, from the mountains of North Carolina, and solid as stone.
    On the table was a cake of cornbread, real cornbread, not that yellow cake shit from a box. There was a water glass with green onions in it, a plate with sliced cucumber and sliced tomatoes, a bowl full of green beans with large chunks of bacon throughout, and another bowl full of steaming stew beef. Edith was at the stove and turned to me. “Well, sit down. It ain’t much but it’ll do.”
    “Miss Edith, this looks wonderful. Reminds me of my granny.” I took a seat at the table as James walked in.
    “Good thing you’s on time. That ole woman’s mean as a cottonmouth,” he said while poking a thumb her direction.
    “Knock it off, you old geezer!” she barked and threw a dish towel at him. He ducked like she was flinging a skillet at him.
    “See what I gotta put up with?” You could tell these two old people were still in love. Actually it was more than that; they were two parts to one soul, inseparable. Edith walked over to the table and sat down, knocking James’s elbows off the table when she did.
    “Mind yer manners, ole man, an’ say grace.” They each folded their hands and bowed their heads. I’m not a religious man, but I followed suit.
    “Lord, thank you for the bounty before us. May it nourish our bodies, an’ thank you for Morgan showing up when he did. Lord, please keep Mandy and the youngins safe. An’, Lord, watch over Morgan on his travels. Amen.” And in true Baptist tradition, he continued, “Let’s eat!”
    Supper was awesome. Everything we had was grown on the land they owned. The beef was from a steer that Mr. James bought and butchered himself. He explained he bought one every year from a fella down the road and processed it himself. Some of it they canned; some they froze. This was from what had been in the freezer; Ms. Edith went to canning everything as soon as the power went out. They had a propane stove; but as Mr. James explained, they had a wood cookstove that belonged to his grandmother out in the barn that he would put in when the gas ran out. The talk was light and enjoyable, like eating with a couple of old friends. The hard veneer