It was the late 1970's,
Del Rio, Texas . We were living in an old servants
shack on what had once been a fine pecan plantation. My mother, her mate Jean,
my younger sister Pepper and me.
By now it
was no longer fine at all. Most of the pecans fell and laid unwanted to rot on
the ground. Many of the stately trees had died long ago and left empty spaces in
the neat rows. The big house, at the front of the property, had fallen into
disrepair, no longer white and grand, it was gray and dirty, the paint chipping
away and the shutters falling off.
The current
occupant and owner of the place was an elder woman named Mame (pronounced with a
long A and a y at the end). She lived alone in the main house with her little
decrepit little dog. The plantation had been in Mame's family for many
generations and, at one time, our house had housed slaves.
The main
house, was at the front of the property near the main road. Our house was down a
long driveway (just under a mile, I believe), that curved around to the back of
the property. On one side of the drive was dense overgrown pine forest that now
belonged to someone else. On the other side was row after row of giant pecan
trees, what was left of the main orchard.
I'm not
sure how long we lived there, many things happened to us in relatively small
spans of time, so that a month's worth of adventure for us might seem like a
year or more. We rarely lived in the same place for more than a few months and I
this place was no different.
I was 7 or
8, and Pepper and I spent our days swinging from grapevines, hiding in
honeysuckle forts and riding the neighbors goats. It was a great place for high
adventure, some of it quite dangerous for two little girls but, there wasn't
much I feared. Except the old lady and her house.
She really
did seem nice enough, from what I remember. Aside from terrifying us by standing
at the gate and throwing rocks on the tin roof of our house to get my mother to
come out. I can't remember anything in particular that would have made me fear
her, but fear her I did.
She was a
long time widow, her and a little dog had lived by themselves there for many
years. She had one child, an adult son who rarely, if ever, visited her (I never
saw him). But she did go on about him and seemed to love him very much. She also spoke to my mother about him often, in
an odd, hushed way.
The house
itself always had an odd and terrible smell to me, it burned my nose and made my
eyes water. It smelled of decay and ruin. And it was filled so full of stuff it
was hard to walk or move and there was no place at all to sit down. There was
also a garage which my sister and I were never allowed in. But we knew about one
of the secrets it held. Locked away in the garage, was kept a very special car,
which she Mame talked of often but, we never saw
it.
The car had
belonged to her late husband, Henry. Which is also what she called the car,
Henry. Although we were never allowed to see it, my mother was charged with the
task of starting Henry a few times a week and she would often make us go with
her and stay in the house with Mame while she did it.
Once or
twice every week we would trudge through the pecan orchard up to her house. And it
indeed seemed like trudging because I dreaded it so much. I can't remember what
we did there while we waited for my mom but after a while we would go back home
and Pepper and I would race ahead through the trees as fast as we could go. As much
as I was fascinated by the idea of Henry, my only thoughts while we were there,
were of getting away as soon as we could.
One day,
many months later, my mother told us that Mame had died. I felt terrible for her
and worse for her little dog. I also felt a bit guilty because I shamefully was
a little glad that I would never have to visit her again. But mostly I cried for
her little dog.
About a
month after that, my mother told us that Mame had left Henry, the car, to my
mother. Apparently, Mame's son didn't want us to have the car and he was going
to court to try and prevent it. Whatever happened, my mother ended up with
Henry.
Henry was
actually a very cool car, I thought so even then. An antique my mother said,
black and very shiny. She said she thought that Henry the car housed Henry the
man's spirit. So we thought of the car like a grandpa. We all loved him and
talked to him often. He seemed so very fancy to us. Mame had taken good care of
him, there wasn't a scratch or dent or tear or smudge anywhere and when my
mother first turned the key he started immediately. Tho Henry was very old, he
was also like brand new.
Right away
my mother wanted us to go joyriding. I'm not sure if other people do that or not
but we did it often and I still do it today (when the gas can be afforded). We
loved joyriding so we all excitedly hopped in to go. And it seemed almost
instantly that we all went from jovial and excited to very solemn and
uncomfortable. Pepper and I decided we wanted to stay home and not go at all.
But my mother laughed it off saying we just weren't used to it yet, and away we
went.
I don't
remember what all we did while it was light but as soon as the sun begin to set
my mother decided we should drive to the cemetery and drink to Mame. Pepper and
I just wanted to go home. But, off to the cemetery we
went.
Upon
arriving, the first thing I remember thinking was how many plastic flowers there
must have been. Not just on Mame's grave but everywhere. Hundreds and hundreds
of them, in every color and shape imaginable. That seemed very odd to me and
gave me the creeps, I wondered if we were in the right place. But soon enough my
mother confirmed that we were by making a toast to Mame and thanking her for
giving us Henry. We all toasted and thanked her.
Then we all
fell silent and no one said a thing for some time. We just sat there quietly,
seemingly frozen in time, no one speaking or moving. Like zombies, we just
stared into space.
The silence
was finally broken when Jean said it was late and she thought we should go home
now. My mother scoffed at the idea and thought we should stay longer. She
started talking loudly and seemed to get more excited by the second until she
was suddenly interrupted by Henry's radio and headlights coming on. That's when
I remember looking out the front windshield and seeing that we were parked
almost right on top of Mame's grave. The car headlights shown brightly on her
headstone just inches away and it dawned on me that none of this was
right.
Amidst the
blaring radio I took Jean's cue and started asking to go home. Pepper, generally
doing anything I did, also started asking to go. Soon we were on our way
home.
The ride
home was uneventful and Pepper and I may have even fallen asleep in the
backseat. Everything changed as soon as we pulled into the long
driveway.
As soon as
Henry's tires touched the driveway the radio came on, blasting away into the
night. Shaking the old speakers and hurting our ears and our heads. My mother
quickly fumbled for the knob and switched it off. But before any of us could say
anything it was back on again. My mother reached for the switch again but this
time she yanked her hand back quickly and cried out, "it's still turned
off!".
We were
still moving the whole time, just coasting but never stopping. The big house was
a little ways off to the left and back a little ways from the main road. As we
coasted closer and came up to being even with the front of the house the
headlights begin to flash. Off, on, off, on, off, on..... Sometimes staying off
a little longer making us think they weren't coming back on but when my mother
would start to brake they would come right back on. Like Henry didn't want her
to stop completely.
As we came
up even with the house the horn begin to honk, beep beep ...... beep beep beep.
Intervals of 2 and 3 honks with a few seconds between. We could barely here it
over the radio but it was certainly loud enough to be sure of what it
was.
As we began
to finally pass the house, the inside dome light came on. It seemed unnaturally
bright and I could have sworn I could hear the electrical buzz of it over our
heads. We begin to cry to be let out, but my mother wouldn't stop
driving.
We were
just past Mame's house when my mother yelled "OK, I'll give it back!". The
headlights stopped flashing, the horn stopped honking and, tho the radio stayed
on, the volume went down and we could barely hear it in the background of our
crying. The dome light stayed on until we pulled in, turned off the car, got out
and shut the doors for the last time.
The next
day my mother called Mame's son to come and get Henry. And our
strange lives went on as usual.
2 comments:
Very good story. I would have returned the car too.
Very good story. I would have returned the car too.
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