FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 93

Those memories flashed back that Monday on the job as soon as I heard the opening music of Vicki Lawrence’s song, and they made me feel good, at least initially.

But the further she got into the song, the tone and tragedy of the song hit me, and I had to find a place where the boys couldn’t see me.

I already had my lunch in my hand and was walking toward the pine tree where the rest of the crew were gathered, but about the time Miss Lawrence got to the chorus it hit me, so I turned and mumbled, “Oh, I forgot somethin’” and went back into the garage, then out the backdoor by the fireplace, finding a quiet place in back of the house where nobody could see me.

I found a soft spot on the ground, then leaned back against the brick over which we had slaved the first few days on the job, and thought back to what all had happened on Friday.

Mama had fallen asleep after our tearful prayer that night, so as soon as we made sure Mama was asleep Corrina and I slipped out so I could get her home before it was too late.

The realization that Mama had gone blind hit me harder when I got in the car, so I plugged in the “Best of the 70s” about the time we turned off of Juniper onto Dallis Avenue. I could sense that Corrina was keeping an eye on me, much like Doocy did on the job.

“I know it’s tough, Pup,” she said, finally, “to see your mama lose her eyesight and not even be able to see you. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say, I feel so helpless.”

I smiled.

We drove quietly for a ways, and I glanced over occasionally at Corrina, sensing something was on her mind. We had just pulled out onto the Roanoke Road when she said, “Can we talk tonight, Pup?”

I nodded but didn’t want to get her home too late, so we put the talk off until her mama and daddy could see she was safely home.

Despite the emotional evening, I could feel that this was just one of those nights, a night where the world seemed to stand still and you and a dark-haired girl could drive down the road and soak in all of life’s little miracles.

I don’t know the words to put it in. We listened quietly to the music of the 70s and enjoyed the cool breeze that was blowing through the cracked windows. At her house, Corrina had me come in to say hey to her parents and speak to Alane. I always had to give the sweet tomboy sister some attention, or she’d peek around the corner at Corrina and me every chance she got, or she’d play her flute loudly nearby where we couldn’t see her, anything she could to distract me from Corrina.

That night I told little Alane a joke about a gorilla walking into a bar, and that got her to laughing. She high-fived me and gave me a gentle hug that told me that little attention was just what she needed. Corrina rolled her eyes at her playfully, then took me by the hand and led me back to our basketball court, saying, “Daddy, we’ll be back here. I’ll turn the backlight on.”

We sat and swung quietly for a minute, and I decided to break the ice.

“Corrina Belle,” I said, “I know your feelings are mixed up a little right now …”

I searched for the right words, but Corrina saved me from myself and put her hand on my arm, turning towards me in the swing. It was right in that moment that she gave me what may have been the best speech of the summer. The one who usually was the listener had things weighing on her heart, and I am not sure even now I understand.

“Pup, my feelings are not mixed up,” she said with conviction, “not the way you think. You know I love you, just as I said the other night. That’s not going to change, not in a million years. This summer is not going to change, either, it will always be here, it will always be a part of who I am and what I am. I owe you for that, I’ll always owe you. Maybe we’re too young to be ‘in love’ right now, maybe we’re not, I guess I struggle with that.”

What she said next shook my world, in a good way. “But if you think,” she said, “if you think that anybody in the world even comes close to what you are, of how I feel, then you’ve got all the stars in your head all lined up wrong. You can’t teach what I have inside here, and you can’t force me not to feel or try to convince me that there is something else I should feel. When you turn 16, you start to learn some things about womanhood. You wouldn’t understand that …”

I chuckled, “That’s the understatement of the year, ma’am. Not only do I know nothin’, I think I know less than nothin’.”

She smiled, but the interruption didn’t deter from her stream of thought, even though I saw she almost paused to disagree.

“Mama and I talk about this, we talk about you,” she said. “Mama has asked me, ‘Cori Belle, how do you feel about Billy Ray?’ And, Pup, I don’t have to stop and think about it and go searching way down in my mind to figure it out. It’s right on the surface, and it goes way deep, too. I tell Mama that I have a love for you that I’ve never had before, and I tell her that’s why I’m being so careful. I can’t go too fast, because if I do, and something happens beyond our control, what will that do to you? Look at what you’re going through.”

Corrina scooted closer. She knew how to calculate exactly where she needed to be every moment. “Pup,” she said, slowing down her rhythm, “tonight, when you went to shower, your Mama waited for the door to close and to make sure that you had gone. She reached over and took my hand, but not in the way she usually did. It was firm, and I could see in her face that she had something she needed to say and only a few minutes to say it. Maybe that’s why your Mama and I grew so close so fast. Women can see where others can’t. I’m not there exactly, but your mama is, and she helped me get there, too.

“She took my hand, and said, ‘Miss Corrina, you know I’m not going to be here long,’ and I struggled to say anything. She could feel it, and she said, ‘It’s okay, you’re awfully young, and I am not going to put anything on you. You’ve got to grow up, too, just like Billy Ray. But I wanted to tell you thank you for being there for my baby, for my son this summer. He has gone out a few times with a girl here and there, but nothing like this, nobody like you. He is kind of smitten, you know.’

“And, Pup, I just smiled, and I wanted to tell you that, even though I know I’m nothing to be smitten over. But she just thanked me for being there for you during this summer. I told Miss Louise that you were there for me as much as I was for you. That was when she said something that struck me.

“She said, ‘As young as you two are, you both have a great deal ahead of you, there’s a lot of water to flow under the bridge yet, but as I lie here day after day, I pray for all my family and my children, and especially for Billy Ray. And I’ve prayed every day that when he finds somebody – if life takes you two where it doesn’t turn out to be you – I’ve prayed it will be somebody just like you, as kind as you, gentle, and beautiful. That’s what I’ve been praying every day, every night since the first time I saw you. And I still pray it, even now that I can’t see you, not with my eyes; but, know young lady, know that I see you probably better than anybody, except maybe your mama, because mamas can see things in their sons and daughters that nobody else can see.’”

Corrina paused to let it all sink in, and to measure her words.

“Then she said, ‘There’s something else, Corrina. I’ve prayed the same thing for you. I’ve prayed for you – if the two of you happen to get separated and life takes you down two different roads, that can happen, you know – I’ve prayed that you will find somebody just like Billy Ray because I don’t think you’ll ever find anybody with a better heart than what he has. He’s always had a good heart, since the day he arrived and the day we brought him home there on Lonely Street.’

“I had to smile there, Billy Ray, because we had just talked about it. It’s almost as if she had a premonition or something. Pup, your Mama made sure that I didn’t feel any pressure. She said, ‘You go on, hon, you go on with your life, you grow up to be a lovely lady, like you are, but grow into all you can be. Don’t ever forget this summer, because the Lord brought you to Billy Ray – he’s your Pup, too, just like he’s mine – and the Lord brought you to me.’”

Corrina breathed deeply, and looked out as if she were studying the basketball goal again, but I knew she wasn’t.

“Billy Ray,” she said, “then your mama softened her hand, and told me something I’ll never forget. She said, ‘Come a little closer, hon,’ and she put her hands on my face. I leaned down really close to where I could look right into her crystal blue eyes, making me wonder why light would be darkened from such beautiful eyes. But she put her hands on my face, leaned up as far as she could and kissed me on the face. And I sat there, Pup, and I watched tears flow down her precious cheeks. She kissed me, and said, ‘In heaven, I won’t be blind any more, and, sweetheart, I look so forward to seeing you there.’

“She leaned her head back down, although I could barely see her because of my misty eyes, but I heard her last words to me. She laid her head back, and said, ‘I love you like my own little daughter, Corrina.’

“I don’t know if anybody besides my mama has ever told me they loved me quite the way your mama did, I mean from way down deep in her heart so that there can be no mistaking where it came from.

“That’s what Miss Louise gave me, Pup. That’s how she changed me. I won’t ever be the same.”

I was surprised that Corrina made it through all that speech without breaking down, but she kept it together. She was like Mama that way. And when she finished telling me her story, she leaned close to me, laid her head on my shoulder, and we just swung the night out.

Pretty soon we knew it was time to go in. Alane had already started playing her flute from around the corner, which I knew was our summons. Corrina took me by the hand and led me to say goodnight to her mama and daddy, and I had to tell another joke to Alane or she would’ve busted, this one about a duck walking into a hardware store asking for nails, which was appropriate since the McClains owned a hardware store themselves. That satisfied my little tomboy friend, and she ran over bashfully and gave me another little hug as Corrina saw me to the door.

She walked out on the porch with me, and hugged me, too, in a different way than Alane, of course. I let her control that territory more than before to make sure she was comfortable. She held the hug longer than usual, then stood on the porch watching me make my way down the herringbone walkway toward the Nova.

I hadn’t gone far until I turned back, “Oh, Corrina, by the way, I loved your speech. It was the best of the summer.”

“You think?” she said, laughing.

“Well, except for Doocy’s,” I said, putting my hand over my heart, “but besides that, yours was the best.”

I laughed as I skipped joyfully to the Nova but had to dodge the small pebble Corrina found in her Mama’s flowerpot by the steps and slung my way.

As I pulled away and headed home, I glanced once more and saw her still standing on the porch next to her Mama’s Silver Falls plant.

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.