Searching for A Peaceful Place
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I played with Grandpa’s renters all my young life and never got cooters...that is what folks called head lice. Opal got them from lending her comb in sixth grade. She screamed continuously as Momma combed the cooter eggs out of her hair with a fine toothcomb. We were all a nervous wreck by the time Momma was satisfied that she’d rid Opal of the vermin.
Grandpa went around to all his renter houses driving like the hounds of hell were after him until we got to Roxy’s house. Well it was Roxy and Sam’s house, but Sam was never at home when Grandpa collected rent. Most of the time Grandpa would tell me to stay outside and play with the young ‘uns while he spoke with Miss Roxy about the rent. Roxy would be standing by the door smiling, and, even in the summer, she was the only renter who shut the door to talk about the rent.
It took considerable time for Grandpa and Roxy to get the rent straight, but when he came out he seemed a little giddy about the outcome, and we headed for the bootlegger’s house. Grandpa didn’t like to share the bootlegger. The lack of cars beside the house pleased him.
“Ah, Hugh’s got no visitors right now.” Grandpa opened the door and turned to me.
“Got to shoot the bull and tell a few lies, you sit here and I’ll be back in a minute.”
I knew that these sessions lasted until Grandpa got bootlegger’s influenza. He would always tell me, with a thick tongue, that he’d been back sooner, but they ended up trading a few watermelons. I was half grown before I realized that the only crop Hugh Hilliard grew was corn squeezin’ spiced with one hundred pounds of cane sugar.
When Grandpa came out of Hugh’s place, he was in the critical stages of a bad case of the flu. He just barely made it to the passenger side of the car and, after several tries, got the door open and fell in.
“What chew waitin’ on? “S Go on home!” Grandpa slurred.
I sat frozen for a moment between heaven and hell. I had been sitting behind the steering wheel for hours pretending I was driving, and here was my grandfather offering me the chance of a lifetime. If I told him I couldn’t drive, he might go into a drunken rage and beat my head in. A slow grin came over my face. I turned the key, put my foot on the starter of that ugly green 1938 Chevrolet, causing the motor to turn over, jerking us ahead. I quickly took my foot off the starter trying to figure out what I had done wrong.
“Put shur foot on damn clutch!” Grandpa yelled trying to rouse himself from the strong medication he’d purchased with the morning rent money. I pushed the clutch to the floor and tried the starter again. The motor caught. I let out the clutch very nearly tossing Grandpa into the back seat. Fortunately, the car was headed in the direction of home. Unfortunately, it was in first gear and I had no idea how to get it to any other. I had my foot on the gas, and we were jerking down the road in first gear with Grandpa hanging out the window throwing up and yelling, “Change the damn gear!
I drove us up the drive, stopping short of taking part of the kitchen off the house. Grandmother must have heard the grinding sound of the engine, because she came out to the car.
Grandpa looked at her with a silly grin and said, “Miz Janie, ‘feeling a little poorly.”
Grandmother would never have shown disapproval of her man in front of his grandchild, or any other earthly person. She knew God was aware of his shortcomings, and that was all that mattered to her. I, on the other hand, was having a nervous breakdown from the sheer excitement of having arrived intact. My muscles were sore from the effort of holding on to the steering wheel while trying to see through the windshield. My big toe was numb from pressing the gas peddle with its tip. Grandmother, unperturbed, was opening the car door and helping Grandpa stumble into the house. Grandpa’s effort to explain a condition that she had observed for at least a half century got no response from this patient woman. Not wanting Grandpa to mislead Grandmother...who obviously did not know about Hug’s watermelon patch...I proceeded to try and enlighten her.
“He’s not sick! He’s been to Hugh Hilliard’s drinking white lightnin’ and buying watermelons.” I yelled from the foul smelling car.
“Get the garden hose and wash off the side of the car before the paint peels Jackie.” Grandmother called over her shoulder as she assisted Grandpa’s lunge through the door.
There were two things I knew I had to do before I went with Grandpa on errands again. I had to watch daddy to see how to change the gears, and get a pillow to sit on. The next time Grandpa took me with him, I drove us home in a cloud of dust with him hanging out the window throwing up and begging me to slow down. When we got home, I washed down the car, and Grandmother left him in the car to sleep it off. That was the day I learned that women kept a wealth of knowledge behind a charming smile and sparkling eyes
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About the Book
Jackie Taylor grew up in the rural south without benefit of either a television or reliable Radio. Set in the fifties and beyond, it follows a young girl reared in the cloistered life of ultra conservative parents to coming of age in college where she found that her innocence was her worst enemy.
Jackie branched out during her first year of college by working Christmas Break at a major department store in Atlanta, onward to a summer coming of age where she found that a man can be, both gentle and intrepid. She made the difficult decision to finish her education. Her lover let her go with the promise that if she needed a Peaceful place, she would return.
Jackie had a childhood love haunting her. The two had fought their desires from the time he pulled her hair, through the exploratory phase of young lovers whose raw passion threatened to outstrip their young self control. They parted in frustration and anger, only to return to the same magnetism each time fate caused their paths to cross.
After an absence of 13 years, a family tragedy throws them together hence the story ends with a new beginning.
About the Author
Theresa Terrell Johnson spent most of her career in international business, which allowed her to travel the United States and abroad. Reared in North Alabama, she spent thirty years in Georgia, retired, and returned to her native state to pursue her life long desire to write.