Hometown Favorite: A Novel

by BILL BARTON

  "He told me the pain just would not go away," Cherie said. "I see him at the factory from time to time, favoring his right leg, but I think he tries to avoid me. He never comes over anymore, and I hear that .. "

  Cherie's voice faded as she began to pour more sweet tea. She was afraid she might be going too far with information she could not substantiate with a firsthand account, so she hoped the splash of tea over the ice in Rosella's tall glass would obscure her last words.

  "Hear what, Miss Cherie?"

  Rosella's polite innocence forced Cherie to finish what she had begun.

  "Well, I shouldn't have even started;" Cherie said. "I mean, it's like I've never seen him do what they say..

  "What are you talking about, Mama?"

  "It's gossip. It could just be gossip;" Cherie said, frustrated she had been compelled to participate in a vice she detested. "But I worry about him."

  "You haven't told us anything to be worried about yet;" Sly said.

  Both boys glared at her with a "come clean" look, and she could not escape the inquisition.

  "Word is he's drinking a lot. That's what they say, but like I said, I've never seen him take a drop of anything but my sweet tea. All I know is when I see him at the factory, he's not the same boy who used to eat at my table."

  Sly and Dewayne halted their consumption of food. Sly let the prongs of his fork rest on his plate, and Dewayne leaned back in his chair and slowed his chewing. Cherie's news had interrupted a happy reunion, and the two of them needed a second to process the startling information, be it hearsay or truth.

  "You boys can't leave here without seeing your friend;" Cherie said, not giving them much time to reflect.

  "But I've got to leave for Miami bright and early in the morning," Sly said.

  "Then you find him tonight," Cherie insisted.

  With Cherie's word as their mandate, Sly and Dewayne cruised the streets of Springdale in Sly's Tahoe in search of Jesse. They had left Rosella and Cherie to their girl talk.

  "This fool could be anywhere," Sly said, unable to keep the tone of complaint from influencing his words. "I mean, why do we have to do this?"

  Dewayne looked at him as if he'd had a moment of temporary insanity.

  "You forget who gave us the order? We'll find him," Dewayne said. "Springdale's no bigger than the way we left it."

  If Jesse was working late at the factory, then they would go there first. As they circled the town square and headed out the highway leading to Webb Furniture, they saw the yellow Hummer dominating a long line of cars and pickups in front of the Rebel Rouser Sports Bar. Sly swung the Tahoe into the first open space in front of the bar, and they went inside.

  It was hard to ignore two strapping African-American football players striding into a bar, and the habitues recognized the local celebrities at once. The owner of the Rebel Rouser had framed pictures on the wall of each senior the year they had gone to the state championship game, and circling a large group shot of the entire team and coaching staff was a drooping banner painted in school colors that read SPRINGDALE TIGERS DISTRICT CHAMPIONS. It was the owner's way of remembering the glory. The two boys responded in kind to the warm greetings as they passed through the crowd on their way to the shooting gallery where Jesse was playing pool.

  The back room was cramped, the atmosphere soured from years of cigarettes smoked and alcohol consumed. REBEL ROUSER in bright red neon and the green glow of shaded bulbs over the pool tables lighted the space. Photographs of Mississippi veterans from the Civil War to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan interspersed with posters of scantily clad women posing with automobiles and handyman tools haphazardly plastered the peeling walls.

  Dewayne grabbed Sly's arm, stopping him from interrupting Jesse while in the middle of a game. From a distance, unnoticed in the murky light, they watched their friend run the table in a game of eight ball surrounded by a juiced crowd fascinated by the wonder of Jesse's skill. Between each shot Jesse gulped down a swig of beer, his bottle held for him by a former Tigers cheerleader. Even in the diffused illumination, the friends could see that Jesse had lost significant weight, and indeed, he did favor his right leg as he maneuvered around the table. When Jesse sank the eight ball with a hard smash as though he had fired it from a gun, the cheerleader performed a Tiger acrobatic leap and a ludicrously extended kiss. Sly was ready to walk out the door and willingly lie to Cherie, but Dewayne led him out of the shadows into the smoky, muted light.

  Jesse was about to light a cigarette when his friends appeared at the end of the table like black apparitions staring at him with a prophet's insight. The cigarette dangled off his lip and fell to the floor. Were he not in a public place, he might have burst into tears at the sight of his friends. Instead, he covered the impulse with a loud guffaw and hobbled toward them, falling into their arms like a penitent.

  "Man, it's good to see you boys;" Jesse said, a strength returning to him that had not pulsed through his body for a long time.

  "Yeah, yeah, you too, my man," Sly said.

  Dewayne said nothing. He nodded to the crowd, who waved and smiled in return but did not want to participate in this private moment, and they dispersed to other tables and other games. Even the cheerleader knew there would be no invitation to join this trio, and she became a part of the human stream keeping their distance from this privileged encounter. Jesse was unable to release his friends. It was as though the power he received from their touch had brought him back to life.

  "Is this your idea of working late?"

  Jesse knew it was a subtle chastisement for being a no-show at dinner. "Yeah, it was lame. I just..

  He wanted to explain, but the truth remained aloof and he released the grip on his friends.

  "We missed you, that's all," Dewayne said, rubbing a hand down Jesse's side, his friend's weight loss noticeable to the touch. "You know you never need an invitation."

  "Yeah, I know that" Jesse was careful not to make direct eye contact.

  "You missed meeting D-man's girl;" Sly said, giving Dewayne an elbow. "He not careful, that girl is gonna end up in Miami."

  Dewayne returned the elbow to Sly's ribs and laughed. "He's all talk. Nothing's changed with this boy."

  "I keep up with you in the papers and the sports channels;' Jesse said. "You're superstars. You're making Springdale proud"

  "We miss seeing you, brother;" Dewayne said.

  "Yeah ... ancient history." Jesse fumbled his cigarette pack out of his shirt pocket. "I guess you heard about my bad luck:'

  "I thought you'd get back in the game once your leg healed," Dewayne said.

  "I thought so too." Jesse rubbed the spot on his thigh where the femur had been shattered. "The game had been knocked out of me. I saw no reason to keep going."

  Dewayne nodded his head toward Jesse's leg. "I see you're still hobbling."

  "Never fully healed. Guess I'll be a gimp the rest of my days."

  "You drop out of school and come home to this?" Sly said, indicating the room with his hand.

  Jesse had secured a cigarette from his pack, and in the time it took to light it, he found the backbone to look Sly in the eye.

  "Nothing changes with you, man" Jesse smiled and pointed his finger toward Sly's face. "You know how to cut through it. I came home to this because this is my place, and I know my place:"

  "Hey, ain't no judgment allowed between us." Dewayne gave Sly a second jab with his elbow-but this time he didn't accompany the playful gesture with laughter. "We're here just to encourage you, brother."

  "I'm encouraged, my man. Let me buy you a beer."

  Jesse lifted his hand toward the bartender, but Dewayne shook his head.

  "Not tonight, Jesse. Maybe next time."

  Sly begged off because of the next day's early departure, and Dewayne allowed the snub to cover his own desire to exit. The pair dared not confront Jesse with the truth of how they saw the downfall of a best friend. Neither of them had a magic solution. They had not left Springdale
to become miracle workers. And they could not join him to drink from his fountain of anguish. The agony would have to curdle in Jesse's gut alone. So after another group embrace and the exchanged lies of promised future reunions, one last plea from Jesse accompanied their exit.

  "Hey, if you stick around, you might see Coach Hopper," he said, his cheerleader friend returning to his side with a fresh beer. "He's here most nights"

  But the cry had come from too far away. The faintness of its echo failed to register on ears that had gone deaf to the past. Sly and Dewayne gave a last wave of recognition as though Jesse was a mere fan, and they faded out of his sight as startlingly as they had appeared. Sly backed out of the parking lot in his Tahoe and mumbled a bitter critique of their onetime inseparable friend.

  "Jesse never did have the sense God gave a turnip;" he said, and Dewayne offered no rebuttal.

  Cherie and Rosella had spent their evening together sitting on Dewayne's bed as Cherie gave a rambling saga of Dewayne's life represented by specific objects: painted handprints from elementary school-God's first visual sign of his future in football; a piggybank of the Bible where he squirreled away his coins; a picture of his father with a collage of pictures of Dewayne at different ages, cut out and glued in a circle around Robert's smiling face; an African mask he had made from beans, beads, buttons, and safety pins, revealing a creative side of Dewayne that Rosella never suspected; a Best Sportsman award given in his junior year in high school and the only one on display in the room, the other trophies boxed up and hidden away in his closet; a bronze casting of a cross with the inscription "No Greater Love" at the base, given him on the day of his baptism. Rosella absorbed it all in rapt attention, and by the end of the evening, Cherie told Rosella that if she ever heard her son was not treating her with proper respect, she would be on the first bus to California prepared to visit upon him divine wrath. Rosella assured her such a trip would not be necessary.

  When Dewayne got home, he heard the ladies cackling before he unlocked the door and followed the laughter into his bedroom to find Rosella modeling his high school helmet and shoulder pads. Both women screamed when Dewayne said hello, and Rosella, her adrenaline racing, charged him with lowered head, only to bounce off his laughing abdomen like a coin off the head of a drum. Dewayne and his mother were laughing so hard, neither could help Rosella to her feet.

  Dewayne gave a minimalist explanation of his time with Jesse, avoiding any details of how he and Sly had found him or any mention of the disquieted feelings he was still trying to process. Given the late hour, Cherie had not pried, so after the exchange of "good nights," Rosella was the first to climb into bed and turn out the light in Cherie's room. Dewayne came out of the bathroom and saw his mother spreading her blankets across the sofa. He looked under Cherie's bedroom door to be sure it was dark before speaking.

  "What do you think?" he whispered, nodding his head in Rosella's direction.

  "I believe you wouldn't have brought her home if you thought she would not have met my approval;' Cherie said.

  "You approve then?"

  "What I approve of is your heart and your mind and your God-given ability to make a good decision. I trust your judgment, just like I trusted mine when it came time to decide about your father"

  "But I want your blessing too. Rosella just might be ... just might be your daughter-in-law."

  "Son, my blessing is freely given."

  Cherie approached Dewayne and wrapped her arms around him. When she pulled away, she invited him to sit down in the recliner, and she took her place on the sofa.

  "In your letters you've been talking about being in love with this girl, and you said that Rosella comes from money. It's all right she comes from money cause from what you've said and from what I see, money hasn't corrupted her. I can tell when folks are condescending. I got the intuition to know when people can't see beyond the end of their nose. She's not trying to hide any airs, and I got no sense she was just doing the time so she could impress the boyfriend's mother. She's real."

  Dewayne released a sigh of relief. Cherie's appraisal of Rosella was vital, and in this case, welcome, because it matched his own.

  "Now as for her daddy, don't let him get you riled. You keep on loving his daughter like the gentleman you are, and you'll win him over. You want her parents' blessing. You want that spiritual covering when you start your own life together. That's God's way of handing down blessing from one generation to the next. You must not take that for granted. Are you hearing me?"

  "Yes, ma'am"

  "So have you broached the subject yet?"

  "We've talked about it, but I haven't asked her. I think she's ready, but I wanted to talk to you first, and I was thinking once I got your blessing, I might ask her here, where I grew up, where I'm most comfortable.'

  "I approve, and I got one more thing to add. Have you got something to offer her?"

  "What do you mean?" Dewayne asked, eyeing her with playful misgiving.

  Cherie pulled a black jewelry box out of the pocket of her bathrobe and waved for him to move closer. Dewayne slipped out of the recliner and knelt beside his mother.

  "You've never seen this until now," she said, opening the lid to reveal an engagement ring encircled with diamond chips. "It's not fancy or pricey by today's standards, though it set us back a couple of house payments back in the day, but if a man is going to ask a lady to marry him, he should offer a token of his love"

  "Mama, this is beautiful! But why don't you ever wear it?"

  "I wear the band, and that's enough. I figured when this day arrived, I would make a bequest along with my blessing. That is, if you like it and think Rosella might."

  "I love it, and I believe she will"

  Cherie dropped the box into his open palm. He looked at the ring as if he'd been handed Solomon's treasure.

  "I held her hand tonight as we said the blessing and felt her ring finger ... should be a perfect fit:'

  Dewayne's jaw dropped with a short guffaw. "Mama, I should start calling you `Sly."'

  "Conniving for a good cause is the way I look at it."

  They had to hush each other so as not to wake Rosella with their laughter and be caught in their conspiracy. Then Cherie took her son's face into her hands. Her laughter had subsided, replaced with an earnestness that silenced the last of Dewayne's laughter.

  "Son, one last thing. I too think Rosella is the type to cherish this small ring, but it's a test" She gently patted the sides of Dewayne's face to assure him she did not mean to hurt him or insult Rosella. "This is not a judgment. There is nothing wrong with being raised in a high-dollar lifestyle, but it's a world where you will have to find your feet. You'll grow into it, and Rosella will be your guide. This ring will link you to your past and your future."

  "Thanks, Mama," Dewayne said, and then kissed Cherie on the cheek before going to bed.

  Cherie had taken a personal day from her job so she could spend it with Dewayne and Rosella touring the sights of Springdale. It was another test Cherie had concocted. She wanted to appraise the authenticity of Rosella's reactions when she saw the disparity of upbringing between Dewayne and her. It began at Webb Furniture.

  "The place of my boy's birth;" Cherie said, her air of pride evident as they walked across the factory floor. "Most babies are born in a hospital. Mine came on a conveyer belt:"

  Cherie pointed to the spot beside her workstation, the one she'd had for over twenty years. A drop of sweat bubbled to the center of her forehead and trickled down to the bridge of her nose. She wiped it away.

  "It was as hot a day as today, and I felt like I was roasting my baby. The heat was stifling and nobody seemed to know how bad I was feeling"

  Rosella scanned the workers-human humidifiers performing their assigned tasks with mechanized precision.

  "Making recliners for the fat man is what we do"

  Cherie nodded at her girlfriends around her workstation. It was near break time and the ladies were ready for hugs and int
roductions.

  "It's what we do, and we do it well;" Cherie said, and the bell for the ten-minute break clanged and the amplified sound of the mass assemblage of cheap recliners for furniture outlet stores all across America shut down.

  Cherie introduced Rosella to her co-workers, and she greeted each of them warmly, with no politician's glad-handing. It was Cherie's friends who embarrassed her, going on about what a fine catch Dewayne was, all the time rubbing and patting him as if he was some mammoth pet with Rosella standing in plain sight.

  Amused by the gushing feminine affection given Dewayne, Rosella said with a smile, "The man is taken"

  In Cherie's mind, Rosella was passing her covert test.

  They circled the town square three times to give needed focus for points of interest. They saw the church where Dewayne grew up and Cherie was still a faithful member-it remained unlocked day or night, for who knew when God might call a sinner to his house to repair a relationship. They ate lunch at their favorite diner, where many of the locals were happy to see the hometown boy, and ordered a meat and three-vegetable combination for Rosella whose refined palette was unaccustomed to such southern cuisine. It took a few moments for her taste buds to accept the unusual flavors, but the food went down smooth.

  Their final stop was the cemetery to pay their respects to Robert Dewayne Jobe.

  "I don't come as often as I should;' Cherie said, linking all three together with an arm around each one. "A part of me just never wants to accept he's gone. I don't believe the good Lord is a thief, but from time to time, in the dark quiet moments, I do believe I was robbed of this man"

  Rosella laid her arm over Cherie's shoulder, and Cherie raised her hand to brush her fingers over Rosella's cheek.

  "Except for his size, you're looking at the spitting image of his daddy;" Cherie said. "No scientific explanation as to why he's so big, but I love every ounce of him"