A Journey of Souls

by Michael McKinney

  “People never talk about the good things the Klan did, do they Mr Freeman?”

  “Oh, I know. They helped a lot o’ people, kept the niggers well-behaved too. My grandfather was a member all his life. If he ever needed to deputize someone, it was always a Klansman.”

  “How long was he sheriff of Early County?”

  “Not quite twenty years, from 1912 to 1932, he got disgusted when FDR came in.”

  “I take it your grandfather didn't like Roosevelt.”

  “That's right, he didn't, me either. That's where all this civil rights hogwash came from; Roosevelt started all that. Back when my grandfather was sheriff, the niggers knew their place. Now, you can't even call them niggers. The NAACP has completely infiltrated the federal government, them and the communists.”

  “I completely agree with ya,” Billy says as Mrs Freeman returns to the porch with a cup of coffee for her guest.

  “Here ya go, Billy.”

  “Thank you ma'am. I appreciate that.”

  “You want some more, Tyler?”

  “I'm all right, thank you.”

  “Let me know if you need anything,” says Mrs Freeman as she returns inside.

  “Thank you ma'am,” Billy says as he and Mr Freeman continue their conversation.

  “Yeah, times have changed since your grandfather's day.”

  “Sure have, blacks today are so brazen. They don't know what it was like to live back then. ‘Bout every three or four months, the Klan would hang a nigger, usually a trouble maker. You can say what you want but I'll tell ya what, that kept ‘things nice and quiet.”

  “Hell, in the long run it was probably cheaper that way than usin’ the courts,” Billy says.

  “Sure it was, more effective too.”

  “I believe it.”

  “That's the way he ran this county. That was my grandfather, Nathan Bedford Freeman. Can you guess who he was named after?”

  “I would think it's Nathan Bedford Forrest.”

  “That's right, one of the greatest southerners who ever lived. That's a fact.”

  “He started the KKK.”

  “Yes he did. He was a general in the Civil War. After that he founded the Ku Klux Klan. Just say his name and a nigger would start shakin'.”

  “He was a great man, no doubt about it,” Billy nodded.

  “Those days are gone forever. This is the modern age and if you're gonna run for office, you need to know this — rule number one: you can't call a nigger a nigger. If you do your campaign is finished. They'll splash it all over TV and radio like you committed murder or somethin'.”

  “Isn't that the truth? I know exactly what you mean Mr Freeman.”

  “You don't say niggers, you say blacks. That's okay 'cause I hate blacks as much as I hate niggers.”

  “Oh absolutely, that's what freedom's all about.”

  “That's right. Well Billy, you sound like a reasonable man. You just might have a future in politics.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I'll tell you what, we'll talk again in a few weeks and see what happens. Maybe I can introduce you some of our church members who can help you. You have my number don't cha?”

  “Yes sir, I do.”

  “Give me a call, say by the tenth of next month.”

  “I will Mr Freeman and I wanna thank you for takin’ the time to talk with me today.”

  “That's quite all right.”

  Looking at his watch, Billy says, “Wow, it's after seven. I need to get home.”

  “Well I'm glad you came by.”

  After a courteous and final goodbye, Billy Edmonds gets back in his car and within minutes, he's driving back to his home thirty-six miles away. The beautiful, warm, clear day is ideal for driving but ten miles into his trip, he hears an unusual noise coming from the front end of the car and it's getting louder. It's a flat tire. As he steers his slowing vehicle to the side of the road, he glances at the time on his cell phone. It's 7:48. Though it will be dark in a half hour, he's convinced it won't take long to change the tire and get back on the road. After getting out and confirming the problem, he sees the flat is on the driver's side of the car and only five or six feet from the rush of passing traffic. He knows he must be careful.

  Minutes later, he tries to loosen the lug nuts on the tire rim and finds them so tight that his best efforts are unsuccessful. He remembers when he had tires put on several months ago, the mechanic used an air gun to tighten the lug nuts, and tighten them he did. After repeatedly trying he finds it impossible to break them loose. He stands up, looks at his problem and pauses for a moment. Then, he sees a pickup truck slowing down and pulling off the road ahead of him, with the driver showing a clear intent to offer help. Billy Edmonds sees a man of color who looks to be in his mid-twenties approaching him.

  His smile and friendly wave precede his words. “Hey, I saw you tryin’ to get yer lug nuts loose. I have a big four way wrench. If you push down on one side, an’ I pull up on the other, we can get your tire changed.”

  “I don't need your help. You get on out o’ here.”

  “Okay.” After hearing the rude rebuff, the young man simply turns around and retraces his steps back to his truck.

  Edmonds says nothing as he watches the man get back in his vehicle and drive away. Confident he can change the tire with no one’s help he returns to his task. Billy Edmonds has no way of knowing that within minutes he'll be leaving the world and the life he's known for thirty-seven years.

  Meanwhile, Brianna and her apprentice are proceeding alongside the same road close to Mr Edmonds. Cars and large trucks whip by, unnerving Calvin by their passing rush.

  “What's wrong Calvin?”

  “Those big trucks make me nervous,” he says.

  “There's no danger. You could walk in front of them and they wouldn't harm you or even see you. Why don't you give it a try?”

  At that moment, Calvin feels the noisy blast of air from an eighteen wheel tractor-trailer as it passes. The huge truck thunders by at seventy miles an hour and is a menacing presence. The thought of stepping in front of one runs counter to every instinct for basic self-preservation but Calvin thinks to himself, ‘This might be a test, perhaps a test of faith.’

  As he walks along the highway thinking about it, Brianna says nothing. Another large truck roars by and shakes the ground as it passes. Calvin is more than a little reluctant to walk deliberately into the traffic lane a few yards to the left. Despite the incredible things he's seen and experienced and knowing he now exists in a non-physical realm, Calvin Milner's mind is still subject to a deep, primal instinct for avoiding any possible life threatening danger. Another truck goes by and still Brianna says nothing. As Calvin looks at the road with its intermittent white lines, he thinks to himself once again; ‘this must be a test. What else could it be?’ A choice between faith and fear.

  Then Calvin starts walking out onto the road and is soon well inside the traffic lane. Moments later he hears the sudden approach of a car coming fast from behind. In an instant, he sees the flash of something passing through and all around him and just as quickly he sees the back end of a minivan speeding into the distance in front of him. Seconds later Calvin hears the roaring approach of a large truck behind him and as before, he sees something completely pass around him as if he were traveling backward through a tunnel, and as before, he sees the vehicle's rear end suddenly pulling away from him, receding in the distance ahead. In this case the truck was empty and a momentary but unmistakable image of the truck's interior flashes through Calvin's mind. He's intrigued by the strange experience and as he returns to Brianna, she smiles at him.

  “That was incredible. I actually saw what was inside that truck. It was empty. I could see inside the trailer. There were pallets. It went by so fast but I could see inside it.”

  “I'm sure you coul
d.”

  “Wow! That was a strange experience.”

  As they continue, Calvin sees a car parked alongside the road ahead and a man sorting through the trunk.

  “Somebody has a problem up there ahead.”

  “He has a flat tire. That's Billy Edmonds, but that's the least of his troubles.”

  “Is he our next arrival?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he's still alive.”

  “Yes he is but not for long.”

  “Are you gonna speak with him?” Calvin asks.

  “Just briefly.”

  “Will he be able to see you if he's still alive?”

  “He'll be able to see me but not you, Calvin. You're still the invisible apprentice.”

  “I understand.”

  As Billy Edmonds takes the tire jack and spare from the trunk of his car, he's aware that he must be careful. The flat is on the driver's side of the vehicle and only a few feet away from the ongoing traffic that's passing. Then he looks behind him and sees someone in the distance walking toward him. Within minutes, the discernible figure is recognizable. It's a woman.

  As she approaches, Billy Edmonds sees a dark skinned woman with straight black hair and disdainfully whispers under his breath, “Niggers everywhere today.”

  A few moments later she's standing only a few feet away. As she looks at him without saying anything, he doesn't try to hide his annoyance.

  “What are you lookin’ at lady?”

  “I'm, looking at a man with a problem.”

  “Yeah, well, there aint nothin’ you can do to help me so get goin'.”

  “I didn't mean your flat tire.”

  “Where are you from lady? I've never seen you before.”

  “I was born in North Africa.”

  “North Africa huh, well, well, well.”

  “Why didn't you accept the help that young man offered you a few minutes ago?”

  “That's none o’ your business, but since you asked, I'll tell ya. I don't need no help from a nigger like him and I don't need no advice from a nigger like you. Go back to Africa. How's that? Does that answer your question?”

  “Would you turn away a hand pulling you from being drowned because of its color?”

  “Yeah, if it was black I would.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Cause I'm a white man. That's why.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you stupid or somethin'? I said I'm a white man. Don't you have eyes?”

  “Yes I do and they see very clearly. Maybe you should have yours checked.”

  “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

  “You don't look white to me. I've seen white clouds, white cotton and white snow but I've never seen a white man.”

  “Well, you're lookin’ at one now.”

  “Your skin isn't white. It has color just like mine. You're a colored man.”

  “You wish.”

  “I'm just stating the obvious.”

  “No, I'm white and you're black. That's a fact.”

  “My skin is brown not black. Between the extremes of black and white, I'd say both of us are closer to the middle. So that makes me a colored woman and you a colored man. We're basically just two colored people. Don't you think?”

  “You're crazy. I'm white. I'll always be white. That's how I like it.”

  “You really don't want white skin do you?”

  “Yes I do, whiter the better.”

  “Why?”

  “Cause I'm a white man. Now go away. I don't have any more time to waste talkin’ to you.”

  “Well you must be a white man Mr Edmonds, and you will be a white man. Rest assured.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  Before he can hear an answer to his question, Billy Edmonds hears something else, the loud air horn of a tractor-trailer whizzing by to remind him of where he's standing. He turns to see the semi quickly receding in the distance. When he looks back at the strange woman who was standing only a few feet away, he sees nothing. Her sudden disappearance is mysterious and the question of how she knew his name is strangely unsettling. He stands for a moment and wonders who she could be but the abrupt sensation of a speeding car going by prompts him to shake off his thoughts of her and return to his immediate task. Besides’ it's getting dark and time is passing. He resolves once more to break loose the over tightened lug nuts. Once that's done, the tire can be changed in minutes. He doesn't want to call for a service truck and have somebody else do something he thinks he should do for himself and so he makes one final attempt. He has just enough light left in the day to change the tire and get back on the road and that's what he intends to do.

  As he gets into position, he remembers that his four-way caution lights are not on but thinks little of it because if he can't loosen the first lug nut, he'll have no choice but to call for help. He'll know in seconds what he has to do. He's confident that this last exertion will get it done. Placing the lug wrench in position, he summons his physical strength and lifts with all his power. Then at maximum strain the wrench slips off center and all the pent up force of his strength is released.

  The sudden impact of his right hand finger hitting the unyielding metal of the wheel well is excruciating. The pain is immediate and searing in its intensity. He reacts by jumping up and back and in an unthinking reflexive response to his pain makes a fatal error in judgment. Billy Edmonds turns to see the headlight of the truck, but it's too late. The driver simply doesn't have enough time to avoid the catastrophic impact, an impact that is sudden and fatal. As a result, the earthly life of Billy Edmonds comes to its close.

  In a remote corner of a dry, arid landscape that looks very much like the desert regions of the American southwest, a man lies recumbent on the ground as if in a deep torpor of sleep. His motionless frame appears lifeless but as a gust of wind washes over his face, he opens his eyes. Billy Edmonds wakes to find himself in a hot, dry landscape devoid of any trees or green plants. The sun is intense, and the air is bone-dry. Looking around him, the recognizable shapes of a few cacti in the foreground can be seen. Billy Edmonds knows he's in a desert but how and why is beyond him.

  Through his blurry vision, he spots someone in the distance or is it a mirage? Maybe it's just the play of floating heat waves dancing in the air but as he stands and focuses, a visible human form becomes discernible. As the figure gets closer, he sees an older man walking toward him. His face seems strangely familiar though it's not clear why. Minutes later he's face to face with him.

  “Hey, how are ya?” the stranger says.

  “I don't really know. Where am I?”

  “You're in the desert.”

  “I can see that but where? What desert?”

  “They're all about the same, aren't they? Does it make a difference?”

  “It does to me. I wanna get back home. How did you get here?”

  “I don't know. It's been so long, I don't remember.”

  “Who are you?” Billy asks

  “I'm just an old southern boy like you who's tryin’ to get home.”

  “Well, that makes two of us. I wanna get back home too. You know the way out o’ here?”

  “Sure do. There's a road right over there in that direction. All we gotta do is flag somebody down who's drivin’ through and get a ride to the nearest town.”

  “Good, then we can find out where we are and get back home.”

  “What do ya think?” the stranger asks.

  “Yeah sure, sounds like a plan to me. How far is that road?”

  “It's about two miles away.”

  “Well let's start walkin'. We should be there in about thirty minutes.”

  Billy Edmonds looks down at his feet and sees for some reason he's not wearing any shoes. He knows the two mile walk will be a
nything but easy and within minutes it becomes increasingly painful as he trudges onward.

  “Is it far?”

  “Bout another fifteen minutes.”

  “My feet are killin’ me. I don't know how much farther I can go.”

  “We'll make it.”

  “I don't know how I lost my shoes,” Billy says.

  “After we get a ride into town, you can get another pair.”

  “Yeah, I hope so. You say you're a southern boy, whereabouts?”

  “I was born in Georgia,” the stranger says.

  “Oh really, that's where I'm from. Where at in Georgia?”

  “Southeast near Alabama.”

  “Well, you must know Early County. That's where I'm from.”

  “I sure do. I know Early County real well.”

  “What's your name?” Billy asks.

  “Williams, Ed Williams.”

  “What a coincidence; we're from the same place. Have you seen anyone else around here?”

  “Just people on the highway drivin’ through. That's one good thing about this place.”

  “What do ya mean? I don't see anything good about this place.”

  “I'll tell ya what's good about it, you don't have to put up with anyone botherin’ ya like they do in the city, all them niggers runnin’ around, goin’ wild. Aint no niggers out here. I'll tell ya that, only scorpions, rattle snakes and spiders.”

  “Yeah, isn't that nice? How do you manage by yourself?”

  “I get by. Nobody likes me but that don't bother me. I'd rather live out here with the rattle snakes than livin’ in some apartment with a bunch o’ blacks for neighbors.”

  “I can't say that I blame ya,” Billy says.

  “That's cause you're a white man. We think alike. You an' me, we could straighten this country out. Any nigger that don't volunteer to leave the country should be shot.”

  “That would solve a lot o’ problems, wouldn't it?”

  “Sure would. I got a simple rule I live by, if it's black, it's evil. The bible even tells you that.”

  “That's right. It does. I have to agree with you on that,” Billy says.

  “That's cause you're a white man, a good white man.”