After the Fury, Before the Storm

“The world don’t change. Not for nobody. ‘Specially you.” I can still hear my mawmaw croaking those words. I didn’t know what that meant. Surely the world does change. Over time though, I saw. The world don’t change, it’s all about how you see it.

On October 2nd, something rose up in me. Something in the woods made it all the way up my chest and started thumping. So, I ran to it. I sprung from my lawn chair and strode off down the trails we’d like to make – through the briars and all that. I was brother free this time though. He lay peacefully under a clump of dirt beneath the oak tree where our old tire swung. I glanced at the grave as I passed, as I always do.

I cracked sticks under my soles and snapped branches with my elbows, stumbling over logs. It felt like I was running out of time. I stubbed my toe on one of them big, jagged rocks that like to be proud and stand on its fellows. I yelped and fell to a pile of leaves, wrapped my fingers around the wound, and waited and winced until the tingling felt normal. During the time that I sat there, I got to thinking. I thought about Dad and what Mamaw had said about him. She said he was a bad bad man who left my mama to run away with some skank. She said he was evil and in-con-sid-er-ate. He didn’t give two licks about me. I imagined him as the devil – red scales, wings, horns, and all. I always ended up thinking about him more than Mama. I don’t remember them at all if I’m being honest. Apparently, Dad left when I was born, and Mom died about a year after that. Guess I wasn’t worth the trouble for either one.

Mawmaw talks about Mama like she was an angel. She had pretty, pale skin that sparkled with the heatwaves, soft brown hair that came down to her belly button, and big green eyes that liked to twinkle with the stars. That’s what I’m told anyway. I can’t really picture her all too well. I kind of just see a bright figure with a fuzzy face. But like I said, I don’t get to thinking about her like I do my dad. I guess the devil’s just more interesting than the angel.

While I was caught up in thought and tending to my toe. I felt something creeping on my shoulder. I don’t like crawly stuff, so any other time, I’d swat it away before thinking, but I couldn’t take my hands off my throbbing toe. I peeked at my shoulder and saw a black bug with wings. The wings were dark and edged with blue. It took me longer than it probably should have to realize it was a butterfly. I tried not to stare at it, thinking it would gouge one of my eyes out if I gave it the wrong look. She just sat there, though, swaying.

After the pain got tolerable, I put my hands against the dirt behind me as slowly as possible, trying not to disturb my little friend. She wasn’t that scary. I remembered reading something about butterflies, but I didn’t believe it. Mawmaw and I went to the doctor cause I stepped on a nail, and we were sitting in that waiting room for forever. In them God-awful chairs, I snatched one of the magazines that sit on those coffee tables. I flipped it open and saw the exact same butterfly that was on my shoulder on the page. It said it was Mississippi’s state butterfly. I guess I’m pretty lucky to see one. But, what I couldn’t imagine was that butterflies came from those little green worms on trees. How is someone gone say that they make a bundle of stuff and sit there for a while and then come out with wings? Yeah right.

In the middle of my recollection, the butterfly shuffled down my arm, seemed to look up at me, and took off. I watched her fly through the trees toward the bottom. Now disoriented, I had no real clue as to where I was initially running toward. After some chin scratching, I decided that it was where the butterfly went: Becker Bottom.

Becker Bottom is the runoff of the ole Tombigbee River that ran slap through Becker and out toward Aberdeen. I guess it’s called the bottom cause you got to go down some hills to get to it. And, there’s a boat ramp someways up the creek from where me and Mamaw stay. My brother and I used to run along the side of it every day. That is until the truancy officers came knocking. In some ways, the bottom got more magical since we had to play hooky to spend time in it. I thought going to school was bad, but not having him stand at the mailbox with me each morning kind of hurts a little extra. And, going down to the bottom just made me think about him more and more.

When I finally got to the river edge, I sat against a mound of dirt and looked across the cloudy mudwater. I saw a speck dart back and forth an inch above the ripples. After sitting a while, I figured that this was the spot that was thumping for me. My shoulders loosened and I breathed in that dense, humid mug. This felt right in some way. To be brutally honest, I think I made up that feeling just so I wouldn’t have to keep looking for something else. I really wanted to fish too.

I saw one of my poles that I left against a tree about a couple yards away, so I grabbed it, untangled the line, and got to casting. I was there about thirty minutes before I heard the hum of one of them nice boat motors. This wasn’t no trolley motor; this sounded like money. Lo and behold, an icy Grady White came barreling around a nook in the trees. Loud and proud, the thing roared as spikes of beige water shot out behind it. It was manned by a lone captain. He stood at the helm with a broad chest, the wind pulling the curtains on his receding hairline. I watched him from behind a rotten log. He zipped around, drifting like he was in a high-speed chase. He looked like me whenever I got a new toy.

He ended up settling down and started fishing in the main channel. I eased from my spot and got to fishing myself. After some time, I heard grunting near me. I knew that the man got close to my coast, so I snuck over to see what the fuss was about. He got his line stuck in a tree. I giggled seeing him leaning off the port, jerking at the mile-high branch. That big ole boat and that stainless rod, and the trees still hold the power. I guessed I was feeling froggy cause I walked out from my tree.

“Oh!” the man said upon seeing me. He nearly slipped over the gunwale. “Son, you bout scared me half to death!”

I jumped onto a rock next to the tree where his line was stuck. I grabbed the branch and swung myself up and over, releasing the hook.

“Thank you, son!” the man said before looking at me real hard. I got uncomfortable by his staring, so I started walking off, but he said, “Hey, kid! You live around here?”

“Yes sir.”

He looked around with a stern face, hands on his hips. I could tell he was looking at my ragged overalls, nappy hair, and dirt-clumped skin.

“You fish?” he asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Why don’t you hop in and fish with me! I got an extra pole!”

While it did sound tempting, I said, “No sir. I can’t unless my mawmaw knows.”

He scratched his chin and got back to looking stern. He stared at my lack of shoes and then scanned up to my hair.

“Well,” he said. “How about you ask your mawmaw if you can fish with me tomorrow and I’ll be back here at the same time?”

I just nodded, not sure how to answer, and ran back to the house. I crept through the fragile screen door and found Mawmaw sitting in her recliner, watching her show. I asked her if I could go fishing with the man tomorrow, and she blew up on me. She start waving her crooked finger at my nose, cursing, saying I don’t need to talk to strangers. So, I thought long and hard about it in my room and decided to hell with it. I wanted to go fishing, so I was gone go.

After school, the next day, I rushed back to the bottom, hoping that Grady White was humming. I heard it about a mile away.

“Hey!” the man called out. “Hop in!”

We got to riding around, fishing, and checking trotlines. I was pretty nervous about scratching any of the white polish, but I felt better once a noticed a couple marks already on the inside. I saw new parts of the river I hadn’t ever seen before. He even let me use of one his fancy poles with them little colorful worms that move in the water for bait. I went fishing with him almost every day for about two weeks. I guess Mawmaw just thought I was in the backyard the whole time. The man would even bring sandwiches for me to eat while we was fishing. He gave me some spending money too, and I assume he made enough not to care about no job, since he’d always be at the bottom at the same time. I didn’t ask much about him though, I figured that’d make things weird. That didn’t stop him from asking me though.

He starts asking me about Mawmaw, my last name, where I was from, my mom and dad, where I went to school, and even my brother. I won’t lie, it was kind of strange how much he was asking, but I really didn’t mind. I was having the time of my life in that boat. He was very careful though before he asked anything. He was a thinking man. He’d scratch the scruff on his dimpled chin and look around once or twice before opening his mouth. I couldn’t quite read him, but as I said, it didn’t matter all too much to me.

One day, Mawmaw caught me coming through the woods with one of the man’s poles. She growled at me like a pit bull, snatched the pole from my hands, and shook it with fury. She yelled about me being gone so much, how she knew I’d been sneaking off to go fishing with that man, and how much trouble I was in. I was completely deflated. I was grounded for a whole week. The worst part was that I couldn’t give the pole back to him. He probably thought I done stole it and pawned it off. There went my chances of keeping that gig.

After that week, I carefully snuck off to the bottom once more, just to see if he’d still be there. He was motoring all right. I stood at the cove we always met at, but he didn’t come over. I could have sworn he saw me. It honestly felt like he was ignoring me. I sat there till I saw those water spikes shoot out from the Grady. He left without saying a word to me.

The next day, I sat in my lawn chair at the house, thinking about the man and how nice he was to me. I thought about how I couldn’t stand my mawmaw for making me stay at home. Now I look like a criminal – like a thief. Ain’t nothing worse than a thief. Right then and there, something came swooping down and landed on my hand. It was the same blue-tinted butterfly I done seen weeks ago. She looked me square in the eyes, turned to the wide open screen door, and flew right into the house. I got up and chased her, eventually running into the living room, where Mawmaw stood at the door, talking to someone.

I jumped back and looked through the blinds of a window around the corner. There were a couple men with badges and guns posted up with their sunglasses and big chests. Behind them was the man I’d been fishing with. I rushed back to the living room to eavesdrop.

“That is my son and you’re holding him here against his will!”

“You don’t have any right to be comin’ here thinkin’ I owe you nothing!”

“Ma’am, you have unlawfully taken custody.”

“What law? To hell with your laws!”

“Ma’am, if you resist this, you will be under arrest.”

Mawmaw slapped one of the officers upside the head, which ended up putting her in handcuffs facedown in the mud. I ran out to see if she was okay, but the other big man put a hand over my chest. He said everything was gone be alright. Once they got her up and in the flashing car, the fishing man came up to me and said some words I’ll never forget.

“Hey, son.”