LITMIR.BIZ

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for Mr. Blossom?”

      “I was working east of here, over in Greensboro at de planing mill and I ran into him. He told me about dis job and since I’m working my way west, I just rode over here wid him.”

      “How far west you going, Mississippi?”

      “Shoot, boy, it’s just a few miles to de Mississippi state line. I’m going a lot farther dan dat. I’m going all de way to California!”

      That sounded faraway to me since I had never been farther than twenty miles away from home. My brothers told me we had traveled all the way down to Mobile once, but I had been too little to remember. They also told me our father had worked there building ships during the world war, but I only remembered him sharecropping some land and working off and on at the sawmill.

      Jake broke my train of thought when he asked, “How old is you?”

      “I’m almost twelve.”

      “’Spect you’ll be going back to school dis fall?”

      “I guess so, unless I can figure a way out of it.”

      “Hey, you listens and listens to me good. You go to school as long as you possibly can, den go some more.”

      “How come Mr. Blossom’s going to close the sawmill?”

      “He says he ain’t making no money ’cause de cost of fuel has gone up. I think it’s really because Mrs. Blossom don’t like living out here in de middle of nowhere, but it ain’t really none of my concern.”

      “When’s he gonna close it?”

      “In a few weeks.”

      This was more bad news. That would be just about the time my mother would need money to order us shoes and clothes for school and the winter. And where would we get the money to buy lunch at school? On school days she gave each of us fifteen cents every morning for our lunch. I started trying to figure out how much that would be a week for all three of us.

      Jake interrupted my ciphering when he said, “Don’t you be worrying yo’ young head about dis old sawmill shutting down. Yo’ daddy will find something to do. Say, you want to sell one of dem Grit papers, or do you already have dem sold?”

      My spirits leaped. I was going to make another nickel. “No, I got six of them left,” I said as I eagerly reached into my bag.

      I watched as he pulled a leather purse with metal clasps from the bib pocket of his overalls and open it, then I was stunned when he said, “I’ll take all six of ’em.”

      I stared at him for a moment before I asked, “What for? They all say the same thing.”

      “Oh, I’ll read one of dem, and den I’ll have another use for it, along with the others.”

      I didn’t ask any questions. I just handed him the papers, accepted the quarter and the nickel he gave me, and placed them into my watch pocket along with the rest of my fortune, totaling eighty-five cents.

      I glanced at the sun and knew I should be heading toward home because it was already close to supper time, but I had decided I liked Jake and I wanted to talk to him some more. So I asked, “What do you do here by yourself?”

      “I read books, tell stories, play cards, and pick my guitar.”

      “Who do you tell stories to?”

      “Myself.”

      “Who do you play cards with?”

      “Myself.”

      “Will you teach me how to play cards?”

      “No way. Yo’ momma would skin me alive. But I will tell you some stories. Not today though. It’s getting late and you ought to be heading home.”

      “I guess you’ll be heading west when the sawmill closes?”

      “Not right away. Mr. Blossom’s gon’ pay me to stay until all de parts are sold and moved away. By den I’ll have me a pretty good stake, den I’ll head west.”

      “Well, I guess I better get going. Can I bring you a Grit paper next Saturday?”

      “You sho can. And you can stop by here anytime you’re around after everything has shut down for de day. I’ll tell you some good stories.”

      I got up from the ground where I had been sitting, brushed off the seat of my pants and said, “I’m glad I met you, Jake, and thank you for buying my papers.”

      “I’m glad we met, too, Ted. Remember to keep our secret ’cause it won’t do no good for nobody to know about dis old sawmill closing. Now you just walk straight up to de road instead of sneaking through dem woods. If anybody sees you, we’ll just say you came and sold me a Grit paper, which is de truth.”

      I didn’t know what else to say so I just walked away, straight up to Miss Lena’s store where I spent a nickel and bought ten peanut butter logs. They were small sticks of candy with a thin coat of peppermint on the outside and peanut butter in the inside, sealed in clear cellophane paper. I ate two and stored the others in my canvas bag.

      Just before I turned onto Friendship Road toward home I stopped for one last look down toward the sawmill and saw Jake with a big shovel transferring more hot coals to his fire. I supposed he was getting ready to cook his supper and I felt bad knowing he had to eat alone, but there was nothing I could do, so I turned the corner walking toward home.

      It wasn’t far to the first house where Earl and Merle Hicks lived, who weren’t any kin to me, but they were friends of my mother and father. I didn’t see anybody stirring about so I kept walking. Just past their house was the road to my grandfather Murphy’s house, which was farther off the road than the Hicks’. I looked down the little road and I could see him sitting in his rocking chair on the front porch. I wished I had saved a paper for him. I made a resolution not to be so selfish next Saturday and save one for him. I knew his poor vision prevented him from seeing me, and it wasn’t long before sundown, so I walked on.

      There were no more houses between there and home, just that old dirt road with thick woods hanging over it from each side, but it was only about a mile farther.

      While I was walking that mile I started thinking about Jake. He had told me where he was going, but not where he came from. I decided I would have to ask him about that sometime soon. Those faraway places he talked about made me feel very small and isolated. I knew we lived in the lower part of Alabama close to the Mississippi state line. I also knew we lived in Clarke County and that Grove Hill was the county seat, twenty miles east, and I had been there a few times.

      I had been to Coffeeville many times, which was only nine miles from Miss Lena’s store, straight on out Center Point Road which turned from dirt road into blacktop just before you got into town—that is if you wanted to call it a town. There was a store which was a lot bigger than Miss Lena’s, a gas station, a feed and seed store, and a cafe with no name.

      That was about it, except, oh yes, there was the big red brick school house where I was soon to be incarcerated. And I almost forgot, there was also the river at Coffeeville, the Tombigbee. It was a big old river, deep, wide, and muddy. On a foggy morning you couldn’t see across it. Sometimes we ate fried catfish my father caught out of it.

      When I reached the top of the big hill I noticed the sky had gotten darker, but I knew there was an hour or so of daylight left. Looking toward the west I saw a dark gathering of clouds and knew there were thunderstorms on the way. I quickened my step, descended down the big hill, and didn’t stop until I reached the top of the little hill. I had a decision to make there. I could turn off the road and take the trail through the woods, which was a shortcut to my house, or I could stay on the open road and take the long way home. I decided on the latter since the shadows were beginning to lengthen. Besides, sometimes my brother Fred hid on the trail and tried to scare me.

      When I turned off Friendship Road onto the sandy road leading toward home, I could smell supper and it reminded me how hungry I was.

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