Leaving Ebenezer
Bug wanted to stop at the church on the way out of town. We had barely gotten started and he wanted to slow us down already. “Dang, Bug. One of the reasons I’m doing this is so I don’t have to step foot in that place again.” I thought about that for a second. “For a while at least, I mean.” Back then, I was still a little superstitious and I didn’t want to shut any doors permanently, just in case.
He didn’t give me much choice and walked up the steps and pushed through the three-inch thick door before I could say anything else, so I stood out there by myself until I got to the fat side of feeling foolish and retraced his path. When I got in, he was sitting in the same spot he sat on Sundays by his mother. It was strange seeing him alone, so my mind created a picture of her and set it down on the pew beside him. I smiled at my miracle. It wasn’t loaves and fishes, but it didn’t seem so hard.
He wasn’t saying anything and didn’t look to be praying as his eyes were open, staring at nothing. I sat down in my usual spot in the back and looked around the building. Now, if you go there today, you’re going to be sitting on thick, red velvet cushions and the diffused light coming through the stained glass will hit your face so soft and warm you’ll swear it’s the Holy Ghost stroking your cheek. You’d also be in the new building because they moved the chapel over there in the 70s and left this hunk to remind the younger members how hard it used to be to be a Christian.
Back then, the pews were wood with no cushion at all. A hundred years of shuffling asses had worn them so thin and shiny, there wasn’t any chance for a splinter to pop out when you slid from one end to the other which was about the most fun I’d had in church for a while. I can’t remember if I told you, but mama made me go to Ebenezer three times a week and, honestly, I liked it sometimes. I got to see all my friends and look up all the dirty bits in the King James and there was always good food after every service. Most of all I think, I liked that I thought was doing something to help John and Michael. I’d pray for them and for the war to be over so they could come home every time I was in there and sometimes when I wasn’t. Even after daddy got killed at work, I kept on going and praying for his soul (which I couldn’t imagine was hanging around in there as it was probably out in the swamp fishing where his body had been most Sundays) and for my brothers and all their units.
When we got the telegram about John and after I’d recovered from drinking all of Martin’s stash, I just quit going because, what was the point? I couldn’t have prayed any harder for John and didn’t see that I was going to be doing Michael any good by alerting the higher powers of his existence. He was better off with me just pretending everything was going to be okay.
Mama got mad when I didn’t show up for a few weeks and I told her, “Mama, you’re good enough to get us both into heaven.” She got real serious when she looked at me, “Son, only you can get you into heaven.” We didn’t talk about it after that, but she always made sure my church clothes were hanging in the hallway on Saturday night so I could see them. She kept on going and praying for daddy’s and John’s souls and Michael’s safety and I know she always said a prayer for me but I couldn’t bring myself to go in with her. It felt wrong. just like it was wrong that John was dead. He was too good to be dead.
After a bit, Bug stood up and walked down the aisle to the door, “Let’s go. We gotta see that ocean by July 4th.”
I smiled and stood up. Right before I stepped outside, I turned around and looked back. I don’t know why, but under my breath, I said, “Please watch out for Michael. Daddy and John have each other but I still need him.” I stood there for a second just in case I got a response but the air didn’t move, so I turned and pulled the door behind me and stepped out to see the first big smile I’d seen on Bug’s face in a long time.
It took us four hours to get to Columbia where we were going to spend the night with Davie, one of John’s friends from high school who’d ended up at college after the army wouldn’t take him because he’d had polio as a kid. Our first ride got us to Hartsville. The driver had pulled over on the edge of Florence and said, “hop in.” We threw our bags in the back of his truck and climbed in the cab. He didn’t say much to us for the next few hours and me and Bug didn’t feel right talking without involving him so we rode mostly in silence.
He pulled up at a crossroads right before town and said, “Headed north from here, boys,” so we got out and stretched our legs. I’d been down this road a good bit. Mama’s family lived another hundred miles west and we would make the drive every summer for the family reunion. I got sad for a minute and wondered who was going to drive her there this year with everybody, including me, gone.
Bug’s voice brought me back. “Get us a pint of liquor.” I looked over and saw him staring at a package store across the road.
“You don’t even drink, Bug. What you need a pint for,” I replied.
“We need to celebrate being on the road. Getting out of that town ....” His voice trailed off and I imagined the ones he was hearing in his head that he was trying to leave behind.
“Shit, Bug. They ain’t going to sell me liquor.”
“Sure they will. Just act like it’s no big deal. They won’t care.”
I was tall for sixteen. Hell, I was tall for any age, but I hadn’t quite filled in like I would when I finally made it into the service and started getting access to all the food I wanted that I didn’t have to work so hard to get. Bug pushed me. “Give ‘em an extra dollar if they won’t sell it to you. That’ll work.”
“A dollar,” I spat. “Damn, Bug. Why don’t I just go ahead and give ‘em my left arm?” Emboldened at Bug’s ignorance about the value of money, I walked into the store like I owned it.
It was a waste of bravado. The man behind the counter didn’t even look at me while I pretended to browse the aisles intelligently. Mama didn’t let liquor in the house and daddy and my brothers had kept their bottles well hidden around the yard, so I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for. Another man came in walked directly to the spot where I was surveying the bottles full of brown and grabbed one off the shelf without a care. When he walked to another shelf, I grabbed the same thing he had and hustled to the man at the counter who finally looked at me. He opened his mouth, then paused and shut it. I started sweating and it felt like it was loud enough for him to hear it pouring out of me. He finally opened his mouth again, “Son, I can’t sell that to you. You’re not old enough.” Before I could open my mouth, he finished, “Give your money to that man over there and let him buy it for you and wait outside.” I just nodded and handed the money to the other man who took it without comment.
I shushed Bug when I walked out the door and his face fell. I stood as nonchalant and quiet as I could on the stoop of the store until the man came out and handed me a brown bag. I took it and walked down the steps and down the road a bit, Bug following behind, peppering me with questions. When we got to a group of trees shading a spot close to the road, I pulled the bottle from the bag and turned to him, “Damn, Bug. You want a drink or you want to yap?” I took a small sip and handed the bottle over. I should have warned him because I knew he hadn’t ever drunk anything before, but he was quick to turn the bottle up and take a big mouthful that went flying out almost as soon as it went in. He must’ve coughed and sputtered for five minutes while I took the bottle from him and continued to take small sips, informed by my recent blackout event, trying not to laugh too much. When he finally was able to breathe again, he looked at me. “You can keep that shit. It’s poison.”
I raised the bottle in a mock toast and took another drink, holding it at my lips for an extra second, pretending to drink more than the sip I let through. “More for me then. Let’s get back on the road.” We stepped to the edge of the gray ribbon and looked both ways, east to see if anyone was coming from our past and west to try to figure out where the hell we were going.
