scared shitless, but eager to hear her answer.
Now you rarely catch my mom without a dip of snuff in her jaw, Tuberose, and tonight was no exception. She picked up her spit cup, an empty Maxwell House coffee can stuffed with tissues, and spit a healthy stream of tobacco juice . “Tell her what you seen, Jo seph .”
Dad is 80 and no matter how much my sister and I complain or worry about his health, he continues his daily trips to the garden during the hottest months of the summer growing vegetables to sell at the local Farmer's Market. Age is slowly creeping up on him, but when we were teenagers and watched the Tarzan movies every Sunday without fail, my sister and I were convinced he was the spitting image of Johnny Weissmuller.
“You might not believe what I’m about to tell you, but it’s the God’s honest truth , Mallory . ” He settled back in his recliner to get comfortable. “ When I was about fifteen , a bunch of us went coon hunting right back yunder behind the house in the graveyard. It was my daddy, his two brothers, and me and my br ot her . I wo n’ t never forget that night as long as I live. I was carrying a coon in a sack and walking through the woods, when we heard something running through the leaves making a terrible racket. We thought it was a coon. My daddy shined his light toward the noise. Huh! I t weren’ t no coon!"
“What was it?” Mallory asked totally engrossed in the story.
“Well, I’ ll tell you, Mallory . It was a little black boy running as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him. He would stumble and fall, git right back up and strike out running again. He looked to be about 3 year old. It was cold that night and all he was wearing was a cloth diaper. Them dogs was getting closer to him, so he stopped at the bottom of a hickor’ nut tree and looked up, then looked back at the dogs and started up that tree.”
“He had a real hard time climbing the tree, but made it to the first set of limbs. He held on to the limb above him and stood there while them dogs was barking like crazy and trying to jump up the trunk of that tree at him. When we got to the tree we shined our flashlights up into it and just watched him for a few minutes. Didn’t none of us say a word. It was hard to believe that a small child had clomb a tree that any of us would have had a hard time climbing and was standing on a limb looking at us. But he was.”
Dad shook his h ead, remembering. “He was just a crying. I guess them dogs had sceared him pret ty bad. My daddy finally said, “ Joseph , climb up that tr ee and bring that youngun down.” So I handed him my flashlight and started up the tree. I watched the little boy as I was climbing the tree. He had big ole fat tears rolling down his cheeks and he was trembling. I guess from being cold and from being sceared of the dogs.”
I watched Mallory ’ s face, as I had heard the ending to this story hundreds of times from my grandpa.
“ When I got within arms reach of him, close enough to touch him, he just disappeared right in front of my eyes. In front of all of us."
“ He disap peared?” Mallory glanced sideways at me. She was painfully aware that my parents were telling the truth, since my mom held regular conversations with God, and neither of them had ever been known to tell a lie. “What did you do?"
“ I reckon I broke some kind of speed record for climb ing back down a tree. I was fif teen, but it sceared the daylights out of me and my brother so bad we hung on Daddy’ s coattails till we got back out of them woods. To this day, I ain’ t never been as sceared as I was that night! I remember walking back home with my eyes glued to the ground. None of us was going to risk looking up in them trees and seeing that little boy again. In fact, it was several year before any of us went back in them woods again, ‘special after dark.”
“ And even now, do you still believe the little boy disappeared?”
“ I don’t
Now you rarely catch my mom without a dip of snuff in her jaw, Tuberose, and tonight was no exception. She picked up her spit cup, an empty Maxwell House coffee can stuffed with tissues, and spit a healthy stream of tobacco juice . “Tell her what you seen, Jo seph .”
Dad is 80 and no matter how much my sister and I complain or worry about his health, he continues his daily trips to the garden during the hottest months of the summer growing vegetables to sell at the local Farmer's Market. Age is slowly creeping up on him, but when we were teenagers and watched the Tarzan movies every Sunday without fail, my sister and I were convinced he was the spitting image of Johnny Weissmuller.
“You might not believe what I’m about to tell you, but it’s the God’s honest truth , Mallory . ” He settled back in his recliner to get comfortable. “ When I was about fifteen , a bunch of us went coon hunting right back yunder behind the house in the graveyard. It was my daddy, his two brothers, and me and my br ot her . I wo n’ t never forget that night as long as I live. I was carrying a coon in a sack and walking through the woods, when we heard something running through the leaves making a terrible racket. We thought it was a coon. My daddy shined his light toward the noise. Huh! I t weren’ t no coon!"
“What was it?” Mallory asked totally engrossed in the story.
“Well, I’ ll tell you, Mallory . It was a little black boy running as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him. He would stumble and fall, git right back up and strike out running again. He looked to be about 3 year old. It was cold that night and all he was wearing was a cloth diaper. Them dogs was getting closer to him, so he stopped at the bottom of a hickor’ nut tree and looked up, then looked back at the dogs and started up that tree.”
“He had a real hard time climbing the tree, but made it to the first set of limbs. He held on to the limb above him and stood there while them dogs was barking like crazy and trying to jump up the trunk of that tree at him. When we got to the tree we shined our flashlights up into it and just watched him for a few minutes. Didn’t none of us say a word. It was hard to believe that a small child had clomb a tree that any of us would have had a hard time climbing and was standing on a limb looking at us. But he was.”
Dad shook his h ead, remembering. “He was just a crying. I guess them dogs had sceared him pret ty bad. My daddy finally said, “ Joseph , climb up that tr ee and bring that youngun down.” So I handed him my flashlight and started up the tree. I watched the little boy as I was climbing the tree. He had big ole fat tears rolling down his cheeks and he was trembling. I guess from being cold and from being sceared of the dogs.”
I watched Mallory ’ s face, as I had heard the ending to this story hundreds of times from my grandpa.
“ When I got within arms reach of him, close enough to touch him, he just disappeared right in front of my eyes. In front of all of us."
“ He disap peared?” Mallory glanced sideways at me. She was painfully aware that my parents were telling the truth, since my mom held regular conversations with God, and neither of them had ever been known to tell a lie. “What did you do?"
“ I reckon I broke some kind of speed record for climb ing back down a tree. I was fif teen, but it sceared the daylights out of me and my brother so bad we hung on Daddy’ s coattails till we got back out of them woods. To this day, I ain’ t never been as sceared as I was that night! I remember walking back home with my eyes glued to the ground. None of us was going to risk looking up in them trees and seeing that little boy again. In fact, it was several year before any of us went back in them woods again, ‘special after dark.”
“ And even now, do you still believe the little boy disappeared?”
“ I don’t
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