Momma sits on the front porch in her favorite rocking chair as I climb out of my truck and hitch my way up the steps to her. Her hands are busy stringing green beans, breaking them up and dropping them in a kettle full of water on the chair next to her.
These men are no threat to me. And this isn’t a situation where a weapon needs to be drawn.
I unclinch my fists and look at Jay.
“Good seein’ you around, man,” I say, “I’ll e-mail you my new address when I get settled.”
Jay gulps and nods back, waving with the hand still holding my burning cigar.
“You’re not going to do anything?” Holly says.
I look at her and feel nothing. She’s no longer the girl I cared for all those years ago and I’m no longer the boy she thinks I am.
“Nope,” I say and head toward the exit.
Darrel slaps the top of the bar and he and his crew erupt with laughter.
“You pussy!” Holly yells at my back. “What’d they teach you in the army? How to be a faggot!”
Her yelling and screaming continue as I walk to my truck and put another pinch of tobacco in my mouth.
It’s Sunday morning when I carry my briefcase out to my truck.
Momma sits on the porch again, breaking up more beans and listening through the open window to her favorite preacher show on the radio.
I get my stuff packed away, put in a dip and sit on the porch at her feet.
“You make sure to call me when you get to Columbus, hear?” she says.
“Yes, momma,” I say, “it’s only a couple of hours drive. I’m sure I’ll be all right.”
“You sure you got enough money?” she asks.
“I’m sure,” I say. The marines hadn’t let me go without a paycheck.
“There’s talk the truck plant will be hirin’ on real soon,” she says, still breaking beans.
I stare off at the hills, watching the morning sun spread its rays across the dry grass.
“And one of the prisons might have a guard opening,” she says.
I look down at my boots, nod and use one of the porch posts to pull myself to standing.
“I’m sure there’s some kind of work around here if I looked for it, momma,” I say, “but it’s just not the same any more.”
I look at her and she looks at me.
“It’s not anything with you or the house or daddy bein’ gone,” I say, “home is still home. But … I don’t know.
The rest of it’s all … different.”
“I understand,” she says.
I lean over and kiss her forehead.
“I love you, momma,” I say. “Tell Jay ‘hi’ for me if you see him.”
She nods and I turn and walk to my truck.
I start the engine, shift to reverse and back onto the gravel road. I glance back at the house and see momma is standing, leaning on a post, and waving.
I wave back, then drive down the road.
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