Blood in the Woods Read online

  “Heaven, right?” I said sarcastically. “But we won’t be there with you! So how can it be a better place! Me, Momma and Hunter will still be down here, and Memaw is going to fall apart without you, Pepaw – you’re her everything! Jesus, you’re my everything! What are we going to do without you?”

  Tears flowed down my face and showed no signs of stopping, but I could feel the anger within myself at the same time; it was as if my body was confused on which emotion to express, so it had decided to do both.

  “Jody,” Pepaw said as he walked right up to me and placed his hand under my chin, “you’re going to go on and do great things in your life,” he said, his eyes filling up with tears, “I have no doubt about it; the entire state of Louisiana can’t possibly hold all the potential you have. I’m not worried about you, Bubba, but you will have to watch over your brother, and you’ll need to be there for your mother. You’ll be the man of both households when I leave, so you have to stop doing bad things, and get on the right track, son. A lot of responsibilities will come your way when I’m gone, and you have to be ready to face them with your head held high, just like I would expect you to do.”

  “I don’t want you to die, Pepaw! I don’t want you to go, please don’t go!” I cried and ran into his arms.

  Pepaw wrapped them around me nice and tight, and then dropped to his knees so he could be eye level with me. “I love you, Jody,” he said, and I felt his words go straight into my heart.

  “I love you too, Pepaw,” I sobbed, clinching my fingers into his back.

  “I’ll always be with you, and I’ll never forget the times we shared together. I promise.” Pepaw whispered into my ear, and then he broke down in tears.

  We cried there alongside Rhine Road on our knees, holding each other tightly, and wept together for the last time.

  Pepaw died four days after Christmas.

  ***

  I remember riding back from the hospital in New Orleans where Pepaw passed away, and Momma bawling at the top of her lungs with grief pretty much the entire journey back.

  “That cancer can’t chew on my Daddy anymore! He’s off to a place where there is no pain! Oh, my God, please give me the strength!” Momma yelled at the roof of the car, tears running all down her face.

  I sat in the back seat, quietly crying and trying not to pay Momma any attention; she needed to let all the built-up emotions out, just like I did that day with Pepaw by the road. I was heartbroken, and a part of me died that day along with Pepaw. I can’t explain it, but something about me changed the moment he passed away. We got back to our trailer late that night and went straight to bed. I could hear Momma crying through the walls, and I placed a pillow over my head to drown out her heart wrenching sobs. Once I fell asleep, I had a dream about Pepaw – well sort of, it was more of a memory, really.

  I was riding on the back of Pepaw’s motorcycle, a Harley Davidson of some sort, circling around the yard while Momma, Uncle Jerry and Memaw sat on the back porch of the house watching us. Hunter was chasing Rambo around the yard, and every time Pepaw and I would pass him, I would make a funny face and he would run after us. We went around the yard a couple of more times and then came back around to the back porch.

  “You think Hunter would like to have a ride, Bubba?” Pepaw asked.

  “Sure. I’d think he’d love it.”

  “Hunter-man!” Pepaw called out, waving him over to us.

  My little brother came trotting along without a care in the world, and stopped next to the bike.

  “You wanna take a ride, Hunter?” Pepaw asked.

  “Yeah!” Hunter said, nodding his head a million miles an hour.

  Pepaw reached down, picked Hunter up, and placed him between his legs at the front of the bike.

  “Jerry Jones, don’t you put that baby on that bike! You’ll give me a heart attack!” Memaw shrieked.

  “We’ll be alright, Teddie. Just sit down and let the big boys play,” Pepaw shouted back with a mischievous grin on his face.

  Memaw flung her hands down to her side and planted herself back into the chair she’d been sitting in, copping an attitude. I looked over at Uncle Jerry who waved over at me, and then turned the gesture into a thumbs up.

  “Alright, you boys ready?” Pepaw asked.

  “Yeah!” Hunter and I exclaimed.

  We took off on the bike, going slowly at first, but eventually we picked up some good speed. I leaned forward on the bike and let the wind hit my face and it felt great; almost as if I were flying just like Peter Pan.

  “Hold on!” Pepaw instructed.

  I held on to his waist, wrapping my arms around him tight, while Hunter gripped the handlebars. Once Pepaw saw we were as secured as we were going to get, he revved the throttle all the way down, and we took off like a rocket ship through the yard. Even over the noise of the engine, I could hear Memaw letting little shrieks slip out every time we rounded the corner by the back porch. Momma had a smile on her face and she was waving to us, and Uncle Jerry threw a fresh chew of tobacco inside his lip.

  And that was the last thing I saw before Pepaw dumped the bike over, and we all went sliding sideways through the yard.

  My life flashed before my eyes, Hunter was thrown from the bike and I was trapped beneath it with Pepaw on top of me. I could feel the heat coming off the pipes onto my skin, so I quickly shifted to avoid getting third-degree burns. Hunter had landed a good three feet away from us, but he was standing up and looking upon us like we were lifeless. Pepaw shimmied out from under the bike, got to his feet and lifted the Harley off me with just one hand. I was amazed at this feat, I honestly thought he was gonna turn green – like the Incredible Hulk. Once I was freed, Pepaw slung himself back on the bike, made sure I was okay and then extended his hand to me.

  “Don’t be scared, Bubba. Come on, get back up here,” Pepaw said.

  I just stood there and looked at my grandfather like he was crazy; there was no way I was getting back on that bike. By now, Memaw and others came running around the corner, still screaming their heads off at Pepaw as if we had just died.

  “I told you not to ride those babies on that bike!” Memaw screeched.

  Pepaw ignored her and kept his eyes focused on mine. I could tell he was a little embarrassed about what happened, but he wasn’t about to let it get to him. Momma ran over to Hunter – who was perfectly fine, not a scratch on him – scooped him up in her arms and asked him if he was all right. Pepaw still kept his eyes connected to mine, not breaking that contact for a second.

  “Riding a bike is a lot like life, Bubba. Sometimes you may fall off, but you always have to pick yourself back up to get to where you’re going,” Pepaw said. He smiled as I extended my hand to him, and he yanked me back up on the bike.

  “Now, you want to go fast or slow?” Pepaw asked me.

  I thought about it for a second, and then leaned forward. “Fast, Pepaw. I wanna go fast!” I exclaimed.

  “Alright, fast it is!” Pepaw laughed.

  We shot out into the yard once again on the motorcycle, leaving everyone eating dust and Memaw yelling bloody murder.

  That was the last dream I had of Pepaw for many years, but it was a memory that I would hold onto for a lifetime.

  We buried Pepaw two days after the wake, in his hometown of Vivian, Louisiana. He was buried toward the middle of the cemetery and right next to his head stone was one for Memaw; when her time came, she was going to be buried next to Pepaw where they could be together once more. I thought that very weird at the time, but it makes perfect sense to me now that I’m married. Love is a powerful thing, and I believe it follows us over to the next life. I don’t think the feelings you have for all your loved ones disappear once you’re gone, but that you carry them like baggage to the other side – just call me an old romantic.

  As I stood over Pepaw’s grave, I began to cry once more. Momma walked up behind me and slowly turned me around to face her.

  “Don’t cry, Bubba,” Momma said.
r />   “I can’t help it.”

  Momma leaned down in front of me so that she could look into my eyes. “You know what Pepaw told me before he died?” Momma asked.

  “No,” I said as I wiped the tears from my face.

  “He said – Sissy, don’t you cry for me when you visit my grave, because I’m not there. I’m somewhere better. A place where I can look down upon all of you, waiting for the day we can all be together again. And on that day, when we do set eyes upon each other again, it will be the most glorious day ever – that’s what he told me, Bubba,” Momma said.

  She went to walk away, but I grabbed her by the hand.

  “Momma.”

  “Yes, Bubba.”

  “I’ll be looking forward to that day too,” I told her.

  “So will I,” Momma said gently, as she pulled me into her arms.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  GAME OF THE YEAR: 1992

  After Pepaw’s death, the majority of our family was still melancholy and all doom and gloom, except for me and Hunter. My eleventh birthday was decent, and ringing in the New Year was okay, I guess, and Momma kept us busy with sports and extra activities after school which made our sorrow fade away a tad quicker.

  Momma signed me up to play Biddy Basketball at Nelson Middle School which started in mid-February and tried getting me on the same team as Jack, but decided at the last minute that I needed to enjoy playing with other kids. Regardless, I was stoked and couldn’t wait to start playing.

  Memaw was still having a hard time with missing Pepaw, but Momma was there to comfort her during her times of need. Any time Memaw needed something, Momma was there in a jiffy, and eventually Memaw got better, although she was never quite the same.

  The last time I had seen Jack, other than at Pepaw’s wake, was at school and on the bus after Christmas break. Momma told me Mrs. Renee was keeping him away until our family had time to heal, which was very respectful, but this was the time I needed Jack more than ever. Being with him was like being in a different dimension – I felt no pain or sadness and if something was bothering either of us, we would each get it off our chest by spilling it to each other. I told Momma I wanted Jack to start coming back over, and she had no objections; I think that deep down inside, she knew I needed my friend.

  It was about a week into February when Jack and I got back to our normal routine of doing stuff together. We began training up and practicing for basketball every day and we were getting pretty good – as good as white boys can get down south, anyways. Mr. Shawn nailed a homemade basketball goal up in a tree next to the gravel driveway and every day Jack and I would practice our asses off. The goal had a wooden backboard, a rusted-up ring, and a chain net that wasn’t that much better than the hoop it hung on, but it was all we had at the time, and we loved it. Of course, we would parade up and down Rhine Road, practicing our dribbling skills and occasionally stopping off in the driveways of those fortunate enough to have a real basketball goal.

  And come to think of it, no one ever seemed to mind, maybe because they saw we were doing something productive, rather than our usual destructive nature – and sometimes you got to feed the beast, know what I mean? We’d practice for hours and hours every day to better ourselves as players, although in all honesty, we didn’t really need it because we were already two of the highest scorers in the league.

  On the last game of the season, Nelson Middle School’s gym was packed to the rafters with kids and families filling the bleachers, stuffing their faces with hot dogs and snicker bars from the concession stand. In the crowd, some were covered in blankets, others in flannel as they eagerly awaited the final games of the season; the gym was indoors, of course, but the Tickfaw public school system couldn’t afford a damn heater for the place, so you had to fight off the cold the best way you could.

  So, it just so happened that Jack’s team and mine were facing off against each other, which made it a game I would never forget. It would turn out to be one of the best basketball games I’d ever play in my life, and although I was heartbroken that Pepaw couldn’t be there to see me play I knew deep down he was watching, cheering me on from afar.

  The buzzer rang, ending the first quarter and I stood up from the bench, removed my jacket and glanced over at the score – we were down by twelve – and ran out onto the court. I normally played first string point guard, but Coach wanted me to start off on second string to help bring in some points in the all-important second quarter. I glanced over to the opposing teams’ bench, and lo and behold, here came none other than my blood brother, running onto the court like he owned it. I shook my head; it was a bad idea to put us up against each other. Nonethless, I made my way up to half court, stopping in the middle of the big green circle with Jack.

  “What’s goin’ on, loser?” Jack asked me with a shit-eating grin.

  “Nothing much, douche bag, just about to whoop the shit out of you and your team.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Jack said, still grinning.

  The rest of the teams formed a circle around us – pretty soon, Jack and I were going to be jumping ball against each other.

  “Come on, Jody! Get the ball! You can do it!” one of my teammates gave the war cry.

  Jack’s team yelled out their encouragement to him, too, and then the referee entered the circle with the basketball, twirling it on his finger like he was Michael Jordan. “All right, gentlemen, I want a clean jump, and no funny stuff,” the ref said. He stuck the whistle in his mouth, gave it a good, hard blow and threw the ball in the air.

  I leapt from the ground as high as I could, my right arm fully extended, fingers stretched as far as possible and smacked the ball in the direction of my teammates.

  “I let you get that,” Jack said smugly, and took off after my team.

  I ran down the court and signaled for the ball. It was passed to me, but before I knew it, Jack was on me like white on rice.

  “Where ya gonna go?” Jack asked as I turned my back to him and kept on dribbling.

  “I’m going left and to the goal.”

  “No, go right and to the goal. That big guy over there’s a retard and has no skills whatsoever.”

  “Sweet,” I said and shot off to the right. Jack was quickly picked off by one of my teammates and I went right for the big kid, spun around him and scored a lay-up.

  The crowd went wild.

  I got back to half court as soon as Jack brought the ball down. I ran up to him and he put his back to me, dribbling the ball closely to the court.

  “Go to my left. I’ll fake a fall,” I whispered.

  “Sounds good.” Jack spun left and I went down, faking one of the best falls of my life. As I pushed myself up from the court, I heard a roar of applause and I knew that my friend had scored.

  That’s how the second quarter went down, with Jack and I giving one another helpful hints; although occasionally our competitive sides would come to the fore and we would actually play hard against each other. When we did that, neither of us scored, but hell, we knew each other’s moves all too well.

  Late in the fourth quarter, one of my teammates got fouled and went to the free-throw line. Jack and I retreated to the half court line to make a wager.

  “I bet five bucks he doesn’t make it,” Jack said.

  “I bet you ten dollars he makes one of the two.”

  “Blow me. You don’t even have ten dollars,” Jack was derisive.

  “And your sorry ass doesn’t have five dollars.”

  “Whatever, let’s just see what happens,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  And so, we stood back and watched the dumb kid miss both free throws.

  “You owe me five bucks!” Jack said as he ran back to his team.

  “Hey, Jack,” I yelled after him, and when he turned around I bellowed, “lick a nut!”

  Jack smiled, reached down, grabbed his crotch and gave it a good squeeze while at the same time thrusting it at me. I laughed at that, and couldn’t stop for the re
mainder of the game.

  In the final moments, the clock counting down each second, I searched the crowd for Momma, spotting her in the middle of the bleachers. She was sitting next to Mrs. Renee and they were talking about God knows what and sharing a bucket of popcorn together. I looked a couple of rows up from Momma and saw Angela sitting with Krystle; heads together and giggling as per usual – they had recently become really good friends. And when I glanced back at the confounded clock, the buzzer sounded.

  We’d lost – again; final score 42-34.

  Jack had scored twenty of those winning points, and I had scored sixteen of the losing ones. Nevertheless, it was the best basketball game I played that season, and it was my second highest scoring game of all time.

  The court was overrun by people giving out hugs and kisses, congratulations and maybe next time son, you know, the typical shit parents say after a game. What did catch me by total surprise was the hug I got from Angela, when her skinny little arms wrapped around my sweaty neck, I initially had the urge to push her away – ‘cause I knew I stunk – but didn’t want to, I liked it way too much.

  “Good game, Jody,” Angela said as she slowly released me from that delicious hug.

  “Yeah, good game, Jody,” Krystle chipped in.

  “It wasn’t all that good, but thanks.” I gave them a half-smile. “Did you guys watch the entire game?”

  “Well, we sort of had to. Krystle’s parents aren’t picking us up ‘til four.”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed – I was kind of hoping Angela had been there just to see me play.

  “You and Jack are crazy. We saw you guys cutting up at the half court line. What were you guys talking about?”

  “Oh yeah, that, umm – we bet on that kid making the free throw shots. And he didn’t, so Jack won.”