We were sitting on the tiny concrete front porch, watching cars chase their headlights around the curve and listening to dogs barking in the night when I heard the gravel in his voice,"Roll me another Terri Lynn."
I worried that he smoked too much of this stuff, it made my eyes water and the stink stuck to my cloths. I heard him hock a luggy into the yard. I said nothing and pulled out the can and rolling papers from the worn purple Royal Crown bag. My grandmother was inside moving around doing her grandmotherly things, clearing dishes, folding cloths and trying to scrub the row house clean of the prior occupants and any memories they may have left behind.
I could see my breath, much like the smoke that was about to fill his lungs as I carefully shook out the particles onto a small white rectangle. I did my best to protect it from the early evening breeze. What was so great about this stuff, I wondered while I worried some would escape before finding it's home in the cylinder I was about to roll.
Didn't matter much, it was something I was good at, taught to make the perfect product, to make him smile, to get approval of a job well done. I heard the door knob turn then the screen door open a bit. My Mamaw was going to catch us! I wasn't suppose to keep secrets but this was a big secret. I'd get switched! Then he spoke to her without moving or looking her way, "Git on back inside Arsula, this ain't none of your never mind."
My Mamaw picked her fights and that night, didn't want one so she pulled the door closed.
The prospect of her catching us frightened me. I was afraid of disappointing my grandmother. I was also afraid of her wrath when he talked so disrespectfully to her but his hillbilly ways stuck, although he hadn't been in the hills for many years, forced to move to a more populated area to find work with the rail road. Money was rarely discussed in the home but he did tell me what I held was paid for by his hard work. His way of letting me know, he would not be pleased if I didn't do a perfect job.
He could tell I was worried and knew I was distracted by the sounds in the night. "Go on, there's 'nough light," then he leaned the metal chair on it's hind legs. I worried again, trying to pretend myself into confidence. I knew that weathered old chair we rescued from the junk yard was only held together by rust. He let out a long impatient sigh, his way of expressing disapproval. I worried I wasn't doing my best. This was something we could share in the evening after dinner and I was going to ruin it. What if he never talked to me again. I saw him go weeks without speaking to Mamaw, this usually included me when he on verbal lock down. I got back to my serious business, I had to pay attention. It was clear he expected me to do a good job, heck, he taught me, saw great potential in my ability and agility, that's why he asked me, not anyone else in the world that I knew of, only me. I began to sweat and wiped my hands on the ragged quilt covering my legs. My great grandma hand stitched this from cast off cloths, too damaged to mend. It was a lesson for all us hill people, everything has purpose, even cast offs like me.
With pride and satisfaction, battling my feelings of guilt, I held up the finished product. I began to study his face in the dim glow filtering from the picture window behind us, watching for a glance my way. I couldn't see the blue of his eyes or the cracks in his wind burned face but I would know if he smiled.
Without making eye contact, he nodded to the lighter. I couldn't suppress my grin as that was high praise, no do over required. The ancient zippo was cold, my fingers numb as I had to take off my gloves to work, just one more job then finish.
He could tell I was worried and knew I was distracted by the sounds in the night. "Go on, there's 'nough light," then he leaned the metal chair on it's hind legs. I worried again, trying to pretend myself into confidence. I knew that weathered old chair we rescued from the junk yard was only held together by rust. He let out a long impatient sigh, his way of expressing disapproval. I worried I wasn't doing my best. This was something we could share in the evening after dinner and I was going to ruin it. What if he never talked to me again. I saw him go weeks without speaking to Mamaw, this usually included me when he on verbal lock down. I got back to my serious business, I had to pay attention. It was clear he expected me to do a good job, heck, he taught me, saw great potential in my ability and agility, that's why he asked me, not anyone else in the world that I knew of, only me. I began to sweat and wiped my hands on the ragged quilt covering my legs. My great grandma hand stitched this from cast off cloths, too damaged to mend. It was a lesson for all us hill people, everything has purpose, even cast offs like me.
With pride and satisfaction, battling my feelings of guilt, I held up the finished product. I began to study his face in the dim glow filtering from the picture window behind us, watching for a glance my way. I couldn't see the blue of his eyes or the cracks in his wind burned face but I would know if he smiled.
Without making eye contact, he nodded to the lighter. I couldn't suppress my grin as that was high praise, no do over required. The ancient zippo was cold, my fingers numb as I had to take off my gloves to work, just one more job then finish.
As I popped open the top of the lighter, I could smell the lighter fluid that could help me get my payment for a job well done. I used my small thumb to roll the metal wheel with tiny ridges, it struck the flint, sparks flared igniting a blue and orange flame in front of my face, first try, success.
I pulled in my breath. I had to get this right. I had to make sure the burn was perfect, like my uncles did with their cigars, then and only then, did I dare to turn my head so I cold look at his eyes. I studied his face with two days worth of gray whiskers. At that moment I heard a loud report, like a gun shot and turned to see an old Chevy round the curve, it's exhaust mingled with the early evening fog.
While I was looking away he took the freshly lit cigarette from my 9 year old hand. My head snapped back to his face, he only nodded, this time at the Prince Albert can. I quickly closed the lid. It made a sharp pop that seemed to echo in the night. Smoke curled from his dry lips then up to his nose. He leaned forward again, hocked another luggy
I don't recall hearing him say it to me in my entire life. He didn't show many emotions. There certainly isn't a picture in any photo album when he was caught with a smile, but I assumed I made him happy on our nights together doing this secret thing. On that particular night at that exact time when his eyes squinted into what I wanted to believe was an approving smile, I received my reward for a job well done. I knew my grandfather loved me.
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