THE FALL

THE FALL
1


It was October 30th, 1966 when I was five years old and I was so excited about Halloween that I could burst. We were going trick-or-treating and I was coming along. My brother’s were going as army men or something that required camouflage and army boots and of course paint on their faces, but Mom said I could go as a witch this year and she was going to make my costume out of crape paper, she promised. We went by the five and dime beside the Bi-Lo in downtown Weaverville to get what we needed to complete the task, black tights were included and luckily we were able to find a little witch’s hat for a what mom had set aside in her budget. Then we went for straight for the house. We lived out in the country where working farms and cows were next door. So the fact that Weaverville had all of two stop lights a drug store and a Funeral Home, going into town was a big ordeal, or at least for me as a five year old. It was exciting to me. The Presbyterian Church was pretty too with stained glass and rich dark oak. At Christmas it played chimes. I liked that. When you’re used to the sounds of nature, cows mooing, birds singing their unique songs, and crickets at night, every sound seemed to capture my attention. They were different from the noises I had grown accustom. Though small in comparison to most towns; the main street was filled with the busyness of the day and on shoppers walking up and down the sidewalk. Someone’s horn was honking and the roar of trucks as the rev up their motor at the gas station. Weaverville was a quaint little town, and as I sat with my nose pressed up against the window to take in as much of it in as possible I got the feeling that our little outing was coming to an end. Traffic that day seems light and as we pulled out of the parking lot of the Bi-Lo, mama reached over and patted my knee.
Our house had a big front yard to play in and lots of trees, which I loved. Our house was red brick with a carport and little front stoup that I claimed was mine. I liked to go out there and dance and sing in the refection of myself in glass of the door which kept me entertained for hours on end. As I sat thinking of home in the seat next to my mother I remember my mom’s hands and the tight grip that she maintained on the stirring wheel. She was obviously in a hurry that day with a lot on her mind. The olive and gold printed blouse that she wore made her green eyes sparkle. Mama worked for a place called Hadley’s. It was a sewing factory and she made the most beautiful sweaters that I’d ever seen. Once in awhile mama would get to bring home a second hand sweater like today and the gold cashmere looked and felt so wonderful to touch lying beside me on the leather seat. Mom said “We have to get through with dinner first before I can start, okay” and that was just fine with me as I sat beside her and nodded my head with excitement. My mother had soft brown wavy curls and a fair complexion, small frame and was inequitably shy. She was open to only a few close childhood friends and family, but to the public was very self aware and quiet.
As we pulled up into our white graveled driveway, my brother Jeff was out front in his old blue jeans and blue flannel shirt playing with our white mutt Chipper throwing a baseball back and forth our brick wall for her to play catch with him. Jeff loved beginning out of doors and doing anything with animals. He was five years older than me and very athletic, he never could sit still. He loved baseball, basketball, tennis, anything with a ball attached to the sport and Jeff could do it. His blonde hair was straight as a stick, just like mamas when she was a girl, or that’s what she told him, He had the big brown eyes and longest eyelashes anyone had ever seen on a boy that they even curled at the ends. Jeff hated it when anyone would tease him about how pretty his eyes were. But it was more than that, they were kind eyes. He was the best big brother anyone could have. I used to just sit and watch him and we would talk until dark. Catching lightning bugs was another favorite of ours and did just that whenever we could and time allowed. Mama would give us one of her jars with a nice tight lid and we would chase lightning bugs for hours. The thing that I loved most about Jeff was that he didn’t seem to mind spending time with me. Just because I wasn’t the same age or I was a girl, it didn’t seem to matter. I was his sister. He and I had a bond. We took up for one another when we needed too. There was always times when we needed time apart, but on the grand scheme of the things I always felt Jeff’s loyalty.
Jeff came running up to the car and the engine shut off and I scooted out sideways. He wanted to know all the details of where we had been and what we had done. Jeff met me around on my side of the car and pulled on my pigtail. I proceeded to tell him all that I had seen and heard from the big town of Weaverville and the Halloween outfit that and mama was indeed going to make for me. Mama wanted to know right off where everyone was and what they had been up too, and she bent down to kissed Jeff’s check. Tonight was club night for scouts, and Dad was in charge of making a sign for the boy’s troop. With a worried look on her face like she was in trouble or something, “Well, let’s go inside and see what they’ve gotten themselves into.
Daddy liked to tinker with ole radios, televisions, and lawn mowers and our basement had become like a hardware store of old spare parts from garage sales that he had gone to over the years and he could never, never throw anything away. This would later drive my mother insane. He would go down there and put on one of the radios he had just fixed and listen to an ole time gospel hour and sing the bass line with the best of them. It smelled of mildew, rust from the old parts, turpentine, and of course Aqua Velva. I didn’t mind the smell, to me it was interesting. I wanted to know what he was doing and what all these little things were and what their purpose was. There were jars with nails of all sizes, hooks, hammers, pliers, and every other kind of tool you could possibly think of. He would set me up on his work bench and show me all of his treasures and begin his story of how and where he found each and every one and how much he had paid for his trouble. Saws and screwdrivers with different colored handle and then of course you had all the devices and parts that went into the radios speakers with their wires all exposed. He definitely had prized bits and pieces, tools that his father had given to him that meant a lot to him. If you ever got a hold one such item, he would stop what he was doing and run over and return it to its rightful place. Dwight Harron was a tall slender man with an olive complexion and in his younger years had turned every girls head in high school. Dark wavy hair, brown eyes, and a little bit of a flirt. He and my mama had been sweethearts since the second grade and had gotten married right out of high school. Had Steve, then Jeff two years later, built their own house and all the while working full-time jobs. Then five years later I came along. Hardly time enough to catch your breath. My parents were hard workers no one could dispute that fact, no one. Their stories of building their house were admirable as were they.
Daddy had the radio on so loud they couldn’t hear us when we came in so Mama and I went downstairs to see Daddy and Steve. The familiar smells arose up until it made me sneeze and got the attention of the two standing above the wood-burning device intended for adults going to the scout meeting later on this evening. “Hey, how’s about some dinner, we’re about to get hungry.” Sorry, bout that, Mama said we had a little shopping’ to do after work today. Steve just looked at me and snarled, like it was all my fault dinner was late and he wasn’t getting his dinner on time. He was trying to build up his muscles and prove he was an even bigger man on the football team by lifting weights and putting away all the food he could. He played tackle for and he intended to play in high school, as well. Steve and I didn’t get along from the very start. It seemed like we just didn’t mesh. He used to tell me that I was left on the front door stoop from the black family down the road and that I really didn’t belong to our family, mama just took me in because she felt sorry for me. He loved the challenge of seeing if he could he could break me down and make me cry. I think that one reason why I’m so stubborn to this day. With insults and pranks, I grew a thick skin which was needed if you lived in our house. He was jealous of me that I was the baby. He always said I got whatever I wanted, which wasn’t true, none of us did, and he knew it. Steve, being the firstborn was confident, used to getting his own way and would use any measure to make sure he did so. When that didn’t work he would weave one of his troubled lies, whatever he could fathom that day to fit the crime in which he was trying to weasel out of. This particular trait would become a fault that would follow him and haunt him for years. He was as different from Jeff as night was from day. But oh how he could sing and play the guitar. From early on Steve showed musical talent like my dad. He had inherited his talent for music and his good looks; one would think a successful person is inside of this handsome, popular guy. He wasn’t what he seemed, at all. He had such a way about him that sort of sucked you in that really made you want to like him. The clear tone of his voice when he sang still gives me a chill, maybe that’s not such a good thing. They say hind sight is twenty-twenty. He had mama heart on a string as well, but what mother doesn’t believe the best, want the best, and hold out to the bitter end for her child. Particularly, her firstborn son, he was her trophy on the shelf.
“Dinner’s ready,” mama said as I sat quietly in my chair, waiting for everyone to come to the table. Biscuits are all done and the pork chops and gravy are on the stove. Joy, I’ll fill your plate for you. You sit still; now tell what you want though. “I want some apple sauce.” “Okay and a little bit of everything else alright with you, and as she laid my plate down in front of me, her hand brushed over the back of my hair. Then the boys showed up, and ate like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. But then again, it was my mamas cooking. It was Weaverville, North Carolina. In the Blue Ridge Mountains and she had been cooking since she was in high school. Good southern cooks had to make a name for themselves and my mama did just that. She could cook, sew, plant a garden, work a full-time job and still clean a house better than anybody else I ever seen. She made the best biscuits and strawberry preserves in three counties. Not to mention her cakes and pies. As we sat there as a family of southern values and beliefs, it was hard to believe that anything but good things would happen between the five of us sitting there. The conversation of the day was of work and what had to get done around the house before winter. Gutters needing to be cleaned out, we needed to paint but that would have to wait until next year and then mama brought up the basement full of things that could be thrown away and that didn’t go over to well. Daddy agreed that he should go through some things. As usual the list became too long for one Saturday afternoon activities. They always did too much.
The gentleness of the fall air came in through the window and I could smell someone’s fireplace burning in the distance. Up the road Daddy said they were going to be making molasses this weekend and I didn’t want to miss that. They always gave us a jar to take home, and I loved it with mama’s biscuits. As we were finishing up dinner, I took my sweatshirt sleeve to whip my mouth and my daddy grew very upset with me and my mama. He yelled at me and mother. Lucy, can’t you teach her no better than that. Girls gotta have manners,’ as I watched his temper flare up, it scared me so. Mama just took her napkin and handed it to me to finish up with. It was like raising a family was just too much pressure or maybe his daddy was like that to him. At any rate, the anger was there. My father hurried the boys along as to get them ready for the scout meeting and said they would be back in an hour or so. They hurried out the door, Jeff grabbed his cap and so did Steve. Away they went, mom just signed as the lights backed out of the driveway. Daddy was such a good man but when he got mad it was a different story. Something came over him that he simply couldn’t control. It truly made my heart jump into my throat at times. The yelling and constant hitting on the boys, when would it be my turn?
After mama had cleared away all the dishes, she then went into her room for the straight pins. I had found myself busy in my room with my paper dolls to play with. I was folding one of the outfits on when I heard her call my name. “Joy Lynne, I’m ready for you.” The bathroom had the best lighting and she sat me up on the counter. The counter was long and white with one sink right in the middle. The mirror held my attention as I made silly faces and enormous smiles to my mother. Her nibble finger worked the magic that was needed to quickly put together a simple Childs Halloween costume on dancing four year old. It was coming together nicely when she needed just a couple more straight pins. First, she pulled out her make-up drawer. Nothing there pulled out Daddy’s shaving drawer, no luck there either. Then, she tried the last drawer, the wash cloth drawer. All the while I was doing my best impression of a ballet dancer in a witches outfit. Mama still found nothing. Washing her hands in the sink, she suddenly remembered and said “oh, I have some in my jewelry box, I’ll be right back.’ As I continue to dance across the white stage that I that I had manifested for myself being a ballerina one does not notice that the water had dropped from my mother’s hands and onto the counter. With one quick step inside the wet sink my outstretched arms the stage would become a life altering perch into a place of doctor’s offices, a lifetime of taking medicine and seizures. As I began my fall, the first blow came on the countertop, then the opened drawer, and then I felt the cold, hard, bathroom tile and went limp while I somehow heard the scream of my mama’s voice.