FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 101

I opened the door of the Nova for Corrina as I had done a hundred times that summer. She didn’t get in, though. She stood there with me in the door. I looked back once more. The graveyard was now quiet; even the workers slowly lowering Mama to the ground worked in silence. I watched as they moved, almost in slow motion. I could feel Corrina watching me, but I held it together. The only peace was remembering that they could only lower Mama’s body into the ground; her spirit had long since soared safe in the arms of Jesus. I took a deep breath.

“She’s not sufferin’ anymore, Corrina,” I said, watching the outer shell of the coffin slowly disappear from view. Even in her youth, Corrina knew exactly where to put words or where it was best to lean closer to let me know she was there. She chose the latter. I leaned back against the car and watched until I was satisfied. When my mind was settled, I turned back to her, I put my hand on the small of her back to help her into the seat, then eased in beside her.

We drove slowly down that lonely graveyard road all the way back to Juniper Street. I watched the road, letting my thoughts sink in slowly, like butter on hot toast Mama made every morning. The house was empty when we got there, for which I was glad. The family had all gone to Grandma’s house where the church ladies had brought enough food to feed Gabriel and the entire angel band. Corrina began picking up the living room and kitchen the way Mama would always do when she walked in the house. She straightened the cushions on the couch and the pictures hanging above it. My daddy’s picture had hung there on the north wall of the living room for years, and it had turned slightly crooked, something that had bothered me for a while, my eye sharpened by a summer of brickwork. Corrina moved into the kitchen, continuing her work, putting washed dishes into the cupboard and washing a few others left over from breakfast.

“I’ll be right back, but you can come if you like,” I said, and her lone answer was her iconic smile.

I walked into Mama’s room and could still hear Corrina rumbling as quietly as she could in the kitchen. Mama’s bed was made. Grandma had washed the sheets and remade the bed the day after, and she put the same quilt back on the bed that Mama had quilted years ago from some of Daddy’s and their four children’s old shirts. The chair where I had sat the night before her flight was still in the same place. I sat there again, and we talked as always.

“Thanksgivin’ will be here before you know it. Grandma is goin’ to outdo even herself this year, you know how she does. I hope somebody brings the cranberry sauce because you always brought it, and the giblet gravy, too. We have a can of cranberry in the cabinet, so I can run back up here and get it if Grandma forgets. I won’t say anything, just make a little excuse and slip out.

“Of course, it won’t be like the homemade kind you always make. Grandma may be the world’s greatest cook, but Mama, there are some things you make that she jus’ never got the hang of, and those were two of ‘em. She’ll try her best, though. Trust me, you don’t have to tell me not to say anythin’. You taught me better. I wouldn’t say a word ‘bout any of it even if they put Winn Dixie grape jelly on the table thinkin’ it was cranberry sauce.”

I smiled at my own thoughts.

“Then Christmas will be here, too. I’ll be sure to put flowers on Daddy’s grave on the 12th like you always did. Mrs. Bledsoe will know exactly what kind of arrangement to make. I’ll put flowers on yours, too, I guess. I never thought of that. That doesn’t sound real at all. I won’t need to buy two because one will make good. That’s how you’ll want it. I’ll put it in the middle of the headstone, but I’ll need to get a single flower to put on each of your graves. I’ll put a lilac bloom on yours. You’ll know why. Royalty was never born that compares with you. The Queen of Sheba, with all her entourage, would come miles and miles to bow at your grave, Mama, and then proclaim that the half never was told. The angels will be guardin’ it night and day. And without you havin’ to say it, I will always feel at peace because you must’ve prayed a hundred times a day every day for a year for the Lord to send those guardian angels to guard over your baby all of his life. I don’t know if you’ll get to talk to that angel band up in Paradise, I expect you will. I know you’ll be askin’ them about me, to keep you from worrying. They say there’s no worry in heaven, but the Lord probably didn’t mean you, because He knows you. But I’m sure the angels will give a good report.

“And, Mama, it won’t be long anyway. You know how life has given us more than we needed to bear – you, havin’ to deal with Daddy’s illness, then losin’ him the way you did, right here in this room, right by the door.”

I pointed to the area between the two doors on either side of the room. The old white door on the right led to the living room, and the other led to a short hallway to the back door. When I looked that way, Corrina was standing in the doorway to the left. I had told her she could come in, if she liked, but she only came to the door. She understood.

Having Corrina there didn’t affect what I needed to say. I nodded. She knew it was okay. It was still Mama and me having our little talk, but she was always welcome, just as before. Corrina walked in stealthily and sat at the foot of Mama’s bed, a Kleenex in her hand.

I needed to tell Mama something, too, something we had not talked about.

“Mama, Buelah Mae talked to the coach in Texas nearby where they live. He said he would have a place for me if I wanted to go to Texas and play basketball this year. I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout that. I think I’m gonna go. It’s a tough decision for a 16-year-old boy to make – well, 17 now, I guess, I keep forgettin’. I am sure gonna miss everybody – Uncle River and Aunt Gracie, all the ladies at church, Coca-Cola Phil, Uncle Willie next door and the Rowe’s, especially Goodnight Irene.”

I laughed, remembering the day I first heard that song and started calling the beautiful Irene “Goodnight.” Sometimes if I just said “Goodnight,” she would not know whether I was telling her good night or calling her name to tell her something.

“Mama, who’s gonna fuss at me when I drive up and see Irene outside hangin’ out clothes, and I start singin’ “Goodnight Irene” like I didn’t see her, and Irene says, ‘Billy Boy, you better run or I’m gonna skin you’ – and I run to the door laughin’, unless I’d go give her a hug, which I did sometimes; but, if not, Irene’d holler across the yard and ask you if she can whip me if she catches me; and you always say, ‘Yes ma’am, and I’ll help you.’

“But today you’d been so proud, because Irene sang her beautiful, rich alto with Lew and the Prince singers, the way you know she does. She had tears runnin’ down her face the whole time. She loved you so. I think she’s one of the few people I know who almost measures up to you – her, Miss Billie, Mrs. Mac, then your favorite, Miss Corrina.”

I looked over at Corrina, but she staring down at the quilt as I talked, taking it in.

“When I go to Texas,” I said – this as much for Corrina’s sake as Mama’s, “I’ll have to go pretty quick. School starts out there in two weeks, and the coach said it’d be good when I got there for me to come in and work out with their players and get to know them. I guess I’ll do that, but, Mama, I’ll be home for Christmas. I won’t ever miss a Christmas from bein’ home.”

I paused and glanced out of the window and noticed the Lilac bush blooming over by the road.

“Do you remember Corrina singin’ those Christmas songs with us the other day?” I went on. I looked back at Corrina on the edge of the bed. She felt my eyes on her and looked up at me and took a deep breath. It was easy to see her diaphragm going in and out with her being so thin. Then she started to sing, just like the three of us had sung earlier on a midsummer night.

“Away in a manger …”

I knew she had to dig down to get every ounce of her strength to get those words out, but she did.

And she sang, “Silent night.”

I tried to sing with her, but only a few words seemed willing to come out. We made it through a few of our favorites, “Silver Bells,” then “Downtown,” singing a line or two of each, then going to another, like pushing the buttons on the radio and changing stations every ten seconds.

Then we finished with “I’ll be home for Christmas.” The reason was clear.

My Corrina Belle sang as softly and beautifully as she had that night, even with her voice quivering through every song, but she wouldn’t quit until I got up and sat at the end of the bed. It was hard to know who was comforting whom as I put my arms around her, feeling her song giving way immediately to sobs. We leaned back together, holding each other for the first time since the night in her backyard, and we lay there until two empty hearts drifted off to sleep.

Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com.