Raymond Atkins: The Front Porch Prophet

To be honest, Diane and A.J. had been somewhat attracted to each other in high school, where they had once attempted to consummate their relationship. Technically speaking, both had still been virgins afterward thanks to the high state of excitement achieved by A.J. during the short foreplay period, and a rematch had never been attempted.

“What do you suppose Eugene wants?” A.J. asked, leaning on the fender of Diane’s car. It was a calm, cool autumn day. He needed to be heading on to work but had no great urge to do so. He hated his job only slightly less than he would hate watching his children starve. He was not politically astute in the workplace, and the lack of diplomatic acumen had not had an enhancing effect on his career. He was relegated to the nether realms and occupied the position of permanent night shift supervisor at the sawmill.

“He wouldn’t say what he wanted,” Diane replied. “You know how he is. He just said to tell you that he really needed to talk to you.” She leaned up against the LTD beside A.J., sipping on a cold Coke. She was a little over five feet tall and was ten pounds to the right of slim. She was pretty, not beautiful, with the coal-black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and high cheekbones that were common traits in the area. The high valley was once Cherokee land, until Old Hickory himself-Andrew Jackson-had decided the proud mountain and forest tribe would be happier romping on a government reservation in the Oklahoma Territory, which was where he sent them. They left behind their names, their genes, and some of the prettiest country ever stolen by the white eyes.

“Anyway, what are you doing talking to Eugene?” A.J. asked. “Did hell freeze over?” At the divorce hearing, Diane had specified that date as the next time she would willingly lay eyes on Eugene. She had then gone out to his Jeep parked in front of the courthouse and shot out all four tires plus the spare to finalize the arrangement. The incident caused a stir, but Eugene declined to press charges and the judge admired a spirited woman, so no legalities ensued. Diane had not seen Eugene since. His intermittent child support payments arrived courtesy of the U.S. Mail, in a manner of speaking. Eugene would periodically drive down to the highway and hand over an envelope full of cash to the town’s ancient postman, Ogden Abney. Ogden would personally deliver the envelope to Diane later in the day after first removing one dollar for postage.

“No, it didn’t freeze, but I could have waited,” she said with a ghost of a smile. “The boys wanted to see him.” Diane had loved Eugene when they married, but fifteen years of life with him had laid that love in an unmarked grave. She had endured the marriage for the sake of the children until the day Eugene’s occasional verbal abuse turned physical and he slammed his fist into the wall beside her head, breaking three knuckles and creating a fairly large hole in the wall. Then he had stormed out of the house.

He had returned three days later feeling sheepish, a feeling that intensified exponentially upon his discovery of a totally empty house. Diane and the boys were gone, as was the furniture, the carpets off the floor, and the light bulbs from the fixtures. Eugene contemplated the sorry state of affairs while consuming a fifth of bourbon and arrived at the conclusion that it was no longer possible to find a good woman, one who would stick by a man. Then he burned the house down. When Diane heard the news, she was surprised to discover that she really didn’t care. Her life with Eugene was over. It had ended during the fight when she saw Eugene’s fist change trajectory ever so slightly right before it whizzed past her left ear. His gaze at that instant was lethal, as if his eyes were made of cobalt.

“How did the visit go?” A.J. asked Diane. “You didn’t shoot out his tires again, did you? I loved that.” He smiled and punched her softly on the shoulder.

“No, I didn’t have to shoot anything,” she replied. “He behaved himself all day. We rode up there last Saturday on Jackie’s horses. The boys were really excited about seeing their father.”

“I don’t guess you were all that excited,” A.J. commented. He looked up and noted a small flock of geese tacking across the azure sky.

“You know for a fact I didn’t want to go up there,” she replied, shrugging. “But I can’t keep the boys away from him forever. It was a strange day. He actually spoke to me a little, and he was good with the boys the whole time. They went fishing down in the canyon, and later on he showed them how to shoot. Do you remember his matched pair of shotguns? The ones he bought in Memphis? He gave one to each of the boys. Later, when we got to the bottom of the mountain, Cody handed me an envelope. He said his daddy told him to give it to me after we were down.” She looked over at A.J. “There was five thousand dollars in that envelope and a note telling me to make sure the boys had a real good Christmas.” She shook her head. Her long hair blew gently in the breeze.

“You’re sure you were at Eugene’s place?” A.J. asked. “Maybe you went up the wrong mountain.” A.J. thought it was unlikely, but so was the Big Bang, and it had certainly received its share of the press.

“No, it was him,” she replied. “I know the face. He looked bad, though, like maybe he’s been sick.” They were quiet for a moment. Then she spoke again. “I’m just not used to him acting nice. It hasn’t come up that often.”

“Maybe he’s trying to win you back,” A.J. suggested. “A girl could do worse than a nice cabin, two custom shotguns, and envelopes full of money lying around everywhere.”

“The cabin is not that nice, there are not enough envelopes in the world, and I’d end up using both shotguns on him. No thanks.” She seemed adamant.

“Well, I guess that’s your choice,” A.J. said dubiously. He shrugged. “So, what did you do all day while Eugene played with the boys?”

“I sat on the porch and read my book. Rufus sat and watched.” The book in question was Diane’s dog-eared copy of The Happy Hooker, a cult classic she had been reading for about fourteen years. A.J. once saw her finish the saga, shut the book for a moment, then open it back up to page one and begin again. Out of curiosity, he had also read the book, and although it contained some compelling passages, he was relieved to discover he had no compulsive urge to reread the tome for eternity.

“Rufus was there?” A.J. asked. He disliked Rufus and had heard he was dead. He was disappointed to hear it wasn’t so. “You’re lucky that dog didn’t drag off one of the horses.”

“I don’t know why you don’t like Rufus,” Diane replied, opening the car door and climbing in. “He’s really a pretty good dog.”

“Call me sensitive,” A.J. said, shutting the door for her. “I don’t like him because every time I see him he tries to kill me.” It was true. Rufus had been the scourge of the food chain up on Eugene’s Mountain for a long, long time, but the only human he ever bothered was A.J. Small children could ride the dog like a pony, but he transformed into the Hound of the Baskervilles if he ever caught A.J.’s scent.

“He doesn’t seem to care for your company all that much,” Diane agreed, firing up the old LTD. It chugged quietly, sending up light blue exhaust to foul the clear mountain air. “Maybe you could take him a biscuit or something,” she proposed. “You know, make friends with him.”

“I’d rather just keep on hating him,” A.J. said. “We’re both used to it, and I don’t like new things.”

Diane waved and motored off.

A.J. crossed the cracked concrete in front of the garage. He raised the lid of the old cold drink box, dropped in two quarters, and retrieved a grape Nehi that was mostly slush. He sat on the weathered bench in front of Billy’s to sip and consider. A.J. put a lot of store in fate, and as fate would have it, the bad blood with Eugene had been heavy on his mind. He had already decided prior to his encounter with Diane that a visit to his old friend was in order. It was time to bury the hatchet.