Subhead
“When I was a child”
BY STEVEN RAY BOWEN
Body
Dixie greeted us as we stepped into the back door with a “I can’t believe ya’ll were out there killing yourself in that rain,” her beautiful Southern twang serving as the ultimate antithesis to the jawing and grunting that had just transpired thirty feet away out on the court.
“Honey,” Pee Wee said, “every now and then you gotta take these youngsters out on the court and whip them just to show ‘em you still can.” He looked at me and grinned. “You want a Coke, Pup?”
“Sounds good,” I said, “but I’ll stand here on the rug so I won’t mess up your house.”
We talked for a minute before Dixie said, “Billy Ray, I didn’t want to interrupt your game, but your Grandma called and wanted me to tell you to be sure to come on home after ya’ll finish playing. She said it wasn’t an emergency, but it’d be good for you to come on home.”
“Okay,” I said, and I was sure they could hear the worry in my voice.
Pee Wee walked over with a concerned look on his own face and handed me my Coca-Cola.
“How’s your mama been the last couple of days, Pup?”
I shrugged. “Not too good right now. Some days are a little better than others, but even the best haven’t been too good lately.”
“We’re sorry, Billy Ray,” Dixie said, her kind voice unable to hide her hurt. She and Pee Wee had been friends with Squatlow since they were all in high school, and, by extension, with me, too.
“Thanks,” I said, “I guess I’d better go.”
The rain had picked up some more by the time I got back outside; but I was already wet, so it didn’t bother me going out to the car. I waved at Doocy, still moving firewood around in the woodshed, and told him I’d see him tomorrow. He didn’t even look up at me, but I could hear him singing at the top of his lungs. All I could make out over the twirling wind was something about the “Breeze … Pups … Ca’rina, Carina” and “summer or fall.”
I jumped in the car and started pulling off but glanced back once more at Doocy. I could tell he was grinning. Pretending to ignore me, he peered up at me subtly, showing the whites of his eyes for the thousandth time that summer. I smiled as I pulled out onto the highway to head home. Yes, I knew Doocy for sure, or, at least, knew of him.
Little rain soldiers proceeded ahead of me on the road and ushered me on home, the thunder and the lightning that accompanied them making me feel like I was a soldier, too – and in the hottest part of the battle. Climbing out of the Nova in my driveway, a gust of wind slashed rain against my face. Lord, I thought, Brooks Benton and Ray Charles were right. It really is a rainy night in Georgia.
It must be raining all over the world.
“When I was a child” continues next week
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.
- Log in or Subscribe to post comments.
