Dream
A
Short Story by Mary Nico
soft dirt road. The sun beats down from a sapphire sky and moisture covers our skin in a blanket of
sweat.
We talk softly amongst ourselves as we traverse the road. What lace should we put on my
youngest’ new dress? What new gloves would my oldest like for church? Simple stuff, yet important.
The dust puffs up from under our feet, dusting the girls’ shoes and my laced up boots with a soft red
shell. Even our legs will be red by the time we reach the gathering.
“Let’s stop under that oak tree and have some water,” I suggest. “There’s a creek running behind that
hill.” I point to the huge oak standing sentinel over the road, sitting court on his throne of green
grass and crickets.
The shade is cool and a soft breeze comes
up from the water trickling quietly behind us. We remove our shoes and
stockings’, sighing as the cool air dries the sweat from our toes. We walk to
the bank of the small creek and dip our feet in the icy water, splashing our faces,
red from the sun, and quench our parched tongues. I smile as the girls giggle
at the minnows nipping at their toes. We rest quietly for a while under the
huge oak, listening in silence to the raucous of insects, birds and bees. Slowly
I rise, “Best put our shoes on and be going if we want to make it by supper
girls.”
Obediently they obey and our trek down the red dirt road continues.
The
smells reach us before we turn our last bend in the road. Laughter tinkles on
the air followed by the smells of down home food. Ham and greens, butterbeans and pinto’s,
cornbread and biscuits, sweet pies and cakes, their smells assault our senses topped with the
pungent scent of cantaloupe and fresh tomatoes, all drawing us in like fish to
a fly. Reticent smiles and gentle waves greet us as we approach, the chatter so loud there is no reason to speak.
“Betsy lost
her dad,” I hear. “Might not see her for a while; we should take her some food
before it gets late.”
A woman with a shiny black face, eyes white with jet
black centers, lips full and glossy pink shakes her head in a
sad gesture. “Um hmm, we should do that.”
The group of women seems young, although their not; yet their spirits
fill the place with joy and youth. They sing their hymns, their songs of a life
gone by as they cook and gossip. Their smooth skin, polished and unwrinkled, is
in direct opposition to the men who sit on large wooden stumps, smiling with teeth
yellowed from age and the sweet smelling tobacco they chew. Their bodies are worn down to
rails, their bones crooked and jutting, but their hearts are as sweet as the big
women who cook and sing for them.
My children have deserted me, finding
their way amongst this familiar foreign place. I hear their squeals as they
meet friends and the thud of their feet as they run into the field of tall
sweetgrass behind the gathering tent. The heavy scent of pine mixes with the
sweet scent of the grass while the chirp of crickets lends their tune to the
cacophony of the crowd.
A small wrinkled man sits upon the stump of
a tree long gone, its seat shiny from the polishing of many a bottom that has
shifted upon it. The spirit of life oozes from him, contagious and viral. There
is no fear, no: just a joyous welcome and an offering of sweet ripe berries as
big as my thumb. The juice flows down my chin, staining my mouth and hands
along with my white dress. He laughs, as do I, parts of me now as dark as he.
My youngest runs by and he claims her to
himself; she smudged with dirt and berry stains, her eyes shiny and wild, her
spirit intoxicated with the freedom of this place. An ironic gift from this
coffee colored people so long bound.
A bony hand clasps the plump fingers of my girl and
places a stone, a tiny diamond in her sweaty palm. He then closes her fingers
tightly with a wink and a half smile.
“Keep it safe, one day you will need and
you should remember my face.”
Her brilliant green eyes peer into mine as I
slowly nod approval. She slips the gift into the pocket of my dress, looking
back to the withered old man with a wisdom in her gleaming eyes too old for one
so young.
She gives him her biggest smile then dashes away.
“That little one gonna be the humbling of
that woman,” a coffee and cream colored woman with toffee eyes declares.
“No
more than her oldest!” replies the woman beside her as she stirs the greens and
checks the breads. “She may be quiet but she’s trouble brewing. That’s all I’m
saying.”
I smile softly behind my hand. All
children are doomed to lives of despair according to the multitude of cooks,
their heads adorned in brightly colored kerchiefs, the edges soaked with their
sweat.
From somewhere in the fray, my oldest has
found an old slip she’s wearing as a gown. Slender stems with leaves
gleaming in the hot southern sun have been woven into a crown that sits askew
atop her tousled curls. The old man on the wooden seat laughs, motioning her
over. She skips freely, jumping on his knee as he wraps withered arms around
her tiny waist. Her hair curls at her temples, her cheeks glow in the heat. The
wizened old man smiles gently, his eyes black puddles, red veined and yellow orbed.
“Open your hand, honey,” he tells her softly. She spreads open her hand, his
palm as white as hers; and with blackened, withered fingers he places a pearl
in the center of her palm, closing her fingers as he did her sister’s.
“This
here pearl comes from the wood. Everything comes from the wood. We cut down
these trees with our own hands. Built your house, my house, the town, it all comes
from the wood. Never forget that. These pines, they died to give us life. Every one we take, we plant one. You gotta give to get."
Here
he paused and gazed up at the tall trees, creaking as they slowly dance in the
wind. He looks at my oldest with sad eyes and a soft grin. “One day you
will need, and when you do, remember my face.”
She lifts her eyes to the tall,
thin pine trees swaying in the wind, whispering unintelligible tales. She
kisses the old mans cheek, hands me the jewel, then runs to play.
“Here miss, you come eat. We got more than
we need; you take some home with you. Take this for those girls, they too
skinny,” the beautiful ebony woman smiles, her brilliant white teeth gleaming
as she hands me a basket full of food.
“Thank you, mam,” I say as I bob my
head.
Our lives are a world apart but oh, how I wish I could find the joy and
peace that they exude. She slips a piece of coconut cake into the basket,
golden on the inside, white as angel’s wings on the outside.
“This here’s for
you. You enjoy it tonight on your porch swing while the rain falls. My knee is
telling me it’s so.”
“You are too kind,” I say.
“Nah,” she says. “It’s just the
right thing to do, that’s all. We all God’s children and all God’s children got
to eat!” Her gold flecked eyes twinkle in the fading light.
“Girls, time to go.
Don’t forget your shoes. I can’t afford new.”
I wake on warm sheets, rain falling
quietly outside. I blink, shake my head and sigh. How sweet the dream.
That's beautiful.
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