Raymond Atkins - The Front Porch Prophet

They arrived at Diane’s, and he pulled up close and parked. Eugene had preened during the drive and looked more presentable. A.J. wanted to wait in the truck, but Eugene had other ideas. He seemed desperate for an ally, and A.J. relented. Together they walked up on the porch, and A.J. knocked. Diane answered almost immediately. She was wearing blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt. Her hair was tousled. She gasped. A.J. recalled that she had not seen Eugene for a while.

“Eugene, what’s happened to you? You look terrible!” Her hand went involuntarily to her mouth.

“I’ve been a little sick,” he said. “Can we come in?” She held the door, and Eugene stepped through, holding his shoe box. A.J. looked at his watch.

“I’ve got something important to take care of,” A.J. said. After being up all night, a cup of coffee was important. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he called over his shoulder as he cut a quick retreat. He had gotten Eugene to the water, but it was up to him to drink or drown.

A.J. drove down to the Thou Shall Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Spaghetti Buffet Drive-In for a cup of coffee. Most of the Saturday morning crowd was there, and word was already on the streets concerning A.J.’s realignment from employed to not. The general consensus was that A.J. had gotten the dirty end of the stick, but these things happen. There was further agreement that John McCord should be shot, but there were no volunteers and A.J. was too tired to go do it himself. Maybe later.

After an hour of pity and commiseration, he estimated he had left the Purdues alone long enough. A.J. thanked Hoghead, paid for his coffee, and exited the diner and drove slowly over to Diane’s house. He could always drive on past if things were going well, and he wanted to be nearby should gunplay erupt.

When he arrived, he saw that they were sitting on the porch swing. They seemed at ease with one another, and A.J. started to leave when Eugene waved him up to the porch. As he stepped up, he saw that Diane was softly crying. The shoe box was nowhere to be seen. Eugene arose, then bent down and kissed her gently on the cheek. She stood and held him close for many heartbeats, and then slowly, almost reluctantly, she released him for all time. She turned, went inside, and quietly closed the door.

“Take me home,” Eugene said. His voice was husky and immeasurably sad. The drive to the cabin was silent. When they arrived in the clearing, Eugene got out without a word and went up on the porch. Then he turned.

“Thank you for that,” he said quietly. “I’d like to be alone now.”

“Maybe I’d better hang around a little while,” A.J. said, concerned over his friend’s state of mind.

“Don’t worry,” replied Eugene distantly. “I won’t blow my brains out. It’s not time for that. Not yet. When are you coming back?”

“I’m unemployed. I can come more often. I’ll see you tomorrow.” A.J. drove down the road. His ears strained for the sound of the gunshot, but it did not come. Eugene was correct. It was not yet time for that.

A.J. ARRIVED HOME TO AN EMPTY FOLLY. MAGGIE and the children were due that evening from Eudora’s wedding in Atlanta, and John Robert was expected whenever he showed up. The house was quiet, a condition it did not seem comfortable with. A.J. was tired. He had endured a tedious night followed by an endless morning. Eugene’s parting with Diane had been heartbreaking and difficult to behold. Their farewells had produced in him a sadness he could not shake. Plus, he was jobless, but he found that once the initial shock had ebbed, he was not greatly concerned over this new status. It was not the first time he had been without visible means of support, and there was no guarantee it would be the last.

Ironically, A.J.’s last bout with unemployment had ended when he hired on with John McCord after he and Maggie reappeared from college. When they returned from the ivy halls, freshly scrubbed and bursting with the wisdom of the ages, Maggie landed a job as the school social worker for Cherokee County. She had shown the good sense to obtain a degree in social work, and if she worked hard and kept her nose clean, she could one day expect to command a salary on par with that drawn by Mr. Gus, the custodian at the elementary school. A.J., on the other hand, was having a hard time peddling his B.S. in Psychology to anyone for any price. He came, in time, to attribute new meanings to the initials B.S. But for all of that, he was still secretly proud of becoming a man of letters, even though it was only two.

In the interim between graduation and the delivery of Emily Charlotte about a year later, hard reality set in upon Maggie and A.J. Maggie had her low-paying job down at the school, which would become no-paying upon her commencement of maternity leave. A.J. had many irons in the fire, but his efforts to secure a permanent situation were not bearing fruit. In retrospect, he realized he should have earned a degree with more career potential, such as archaeology or astronomy. But that was water under the bridge, simply another eddy in the currents of his life.

He briefly drove a dump truck for Johnny Mack Purdue but decided he wasn’t cut out for the trade on the very day his brakes failed in a curve halfway down the Alabama side of Lookout Mountain. He was hauling twenty-five tons of gravel at the time, and the remainder of the trip down the grade was completed with authority. He resigned as soon as the truck rolled to a stop. Johnny Mack tried to rehire him, stating that anyone who could have survived that trip was a natural driver, and good boys were getting hard to find.

A.J. thanked his benefactor and sought other avenues. He worked two weeks down at the Jesus Is the Light of the Barbecue Plates Drive-In, but Hoghead was forced to apologetically let him go because he couldn’t get the coffee right. He moved on to working with John Robert out at the farm, but this resembled charity because it was, and he did not stay long. He temporarily pursued carpentry until the morning he discovered gravity’s impact on careless elevated carpenters. By this point, he was harboring thoughts of running Mr. Gus off the road so he could get his hands on that cushy janitor’s job at the school. Finally-and with a strong sense of déjà vu -he went to work dragging slabs down at John McCord’s sawmill. Ironically, he was almost passed over for his old job because now he was overqualified.

So A.J. knew what it was to be economically idle, and it gave him no pause in its current incarnation. Something would come up, and they would not starve in the meantime.

A sad rain fell, turning the air chill. A trace of coal smoke drifted up the valley. He donned his jacket and stepped onto the back porch for a smoke. The breeze tugged his collar. This was normally the kind of day he loved, but today it struck him as bleak. There was a hole in him that he was unequipped to fill, and he wished his family would come home. He needed their comforting presence the way the dying need the gods. He sat quietly in the porch rocker that had been Granmama’s. His mind wandered back in time to her final day. His memories were like fine crystal etchings, the remembrances delicate and fragile.

The call from John Robert came early on a Sunday morning. Clara had suffered a stroke and was to be transported to the hospital in Chattanooga the moment the ambulance arrived. A.J. awoke Maggie and explained what was happening, then roared into the night. He was at Granmama’s bedside in twenty minutes.