The young blonde ran nervous hands over the back of his neck. It had been much too long since he’d been home. It was almost as if all the problems, all the stresses, everything went away as soon as that car crossed the state line. With the windows of his car down and the sweet Tennessee air blowing through the ends of his hair he knew he needed this. He needed to be around family who didn’t care what he had done. He needed to see the places where he grew up. But most of all, he needed to clear his mind of anything and everything that reminded him of her.
Her. The one that got away. The girl that he had given heart, mind, body, soul, every ounce of everything he had. The girl that had taken his heart and nearly torn it from his chest, danced upon it, and then tried to shove down his throat. He caught a sob in his throat and quickly pushed the image of her out of his mind.
He reached across the cabin for one of his bags and shut the car door. With his characteristically long strides he made it to the front door sooner than he wanted. Unable to bring himself to ring the bell without any idea what to say, he sat himself down in the wicker rocking chair that had always been there on that front porch.
“Granddad,” the little boy asked looking up at the older man with big blue eyes.
He looked down at the boy with such love. “Yes?”
“Why are you always sittin’ in that chair?” He pointed at the chair, matchbox car in hand.
Taking a deep breath and considering the boys’ question he simply replied, “I think a lot better in this chair. It relaxes me. You know how my knees flare up.”
And the little boy was laughing and running the car over Granddad’s toes before his Momma told them it was time for supper.
A smile came to his claret lips, a sure sign that he’d been biting on them way to much on the drive down. If only life was just as simple as it was back then. He began to rock himself in the chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. The neighborhood was always a quiet one and he relished in the escape. Living in the big city wasn’t all it was cracked up to be when you’re really a country boy at heart. The drive must have caught up with him because before he knew it, he felt warm hands on his forearms shaking him awake.
With weary eyes he looked at the woman crouched before him. Her mess of blonde curls about the most perfect thing he had seen in the last forty eight hours. “Momma!”
“Baby,” she cooed pulling him into a tight embrace, “What are you doing home?”
It was only then that he noticed they weren’t alone. In the driveway, beside his car sat an older modeled Ford. And walking from that car was a man dressed in a suit. A man that he didn’t know and he got the sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t want to.
“David,” his momma smiled at the man in the suit. She placed a soft kiss on his lips before turning to look at her son. He noticed David’s hand resting comfortably on his mother’s hip. He wanted to vomit. “This is my son, Jackson. Jack, this is David. My boyfriend.”
His mom had a boyfriend? He most certainly wasn’t a boy. Oh, he really was going to vomit. Unfortunately for him it didn’t land on David, but his own shoes.
“Jack,” his mom cried her voice split between surprise and concern. “Baby, what’s the matter?” If he wasn’t too busy wiping the spittle from his lips he would have noticed the apologetic look sent David’s way.
“I’m-I don’t know,” he admitted finally kicking his shoes off and staring at his socked feet.
Momma rubbed soothing circles over his back and directed most of her attention to David. “I’m really sorry.”
David just shrugged, “It’s alright. You should have just told me Jackson was in town. I’ll let you two have some alone time. But hey, we should all go out to dinner before you leave, ok? I’d love to get to see if the stories your Momma tells are true.”
He nearly looses the rest of his stomach, but replies, “Sure.”
Momma gives David another kiss and pushes Jackson into the house sending him directly to the bathroom with a fluffy white towel. Running himself the hot water he lets off a large sigh. They don’t take baths in the city, he thinks to himself.
“Granddad,” the little boy asked flopping a soap covered leg into the water and watching it splash up and hit the faucet.
“Yes?” He himself is perched on the cover of the toilet seat, a damp washcloth in hand.
“Do you still take baths?”Using the washcloth to clean behind the young boys ears he chuckled, “Of course! If I didn’t I’d smell like Uncle Junior.”
“Granddad,” he shrieks in laugher. “Uncle Junior doesn’t smell.”
“If he doesn’t take a bath he will.”
Jackson hasn’t felt this relaxed in ages. He’s on the back porch of his childhood home, wrapped in a warm blanket, cup of tea in his lap, and the silence that could only be a small town Tennessee night.
“I know you’re not going to tell me what’s going on,” his Momma says standing in the doorway. Her hands brush against the sliding door as she walks to sit beside him. He feels her arm wrap around him and her hand press his head to her shoulder.
“I still wish I knew what was going on Momma,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “One minute everything’s fine, and then.” He trails off, swallowing. “And then I’m puking my guts out on your front steps.”
She lets out a small chuckle. “If it got you home again, I’ll take it. Baby, you’ve been gone too long.”
He nods against her shoulder. “I missed it.”
“We missed you too.”
_____
Everything is supposed to be better in the morning. That’s what they say. But it’s not. Jackson allowed himself to eat a bowl of oatmeal before planting himself again in the rocking chair on the front steps. All he could think about, however, was that he wasn’t supposed to come home empty handed. For all the fuss and heartache he caused when he left he knew he had better have a good reason to come back around here.
“Granddad,” the teenaged boy questioned, his knees bouncing more nervously than they had ever done in his life.
“Yes?”
“I’m, uh, I’m gunna leave Shelby Forest.” His voice was barely over a whisper.
Clamping a heavy hand on the smaller set of shoulders Granddad replied, “Good for you Son. I love this place, but of anyone else I know what else is out there.”
“You’re not mad, are you,” his eyes sought out a response.
“Of course not. I’m going to miss you around though.”
“I’ll miss you too Granddad. But I’ll make you proud. You can count on that.” His young voice was full of confidence.
He patted his grandson’s shoulder. “I know you will. And I know you’ll be back. You love this place just as much as me. Me and you Jackson, we’re meant to live here and die here. Where we go in the meantime isn’t what is important.”
He heard the blaring of a car horn and turned his eyes from the ant hill at the foot of the steps to the car sitting in the street. He would have known that other set of curly hair if it had been sitting on a shelf by itself.
“I’ll be motherfucking-Goddammed,” a full out southern drawl yelled across the road. Jackson was glad his mother wasn’t around to hear the words coming out of the other man’s mouth. “Jackson!”
“Hey,” he waved, the beginnings of a smile on the corners of his lips. When he decided to come back home he was just thinking about being at home. Safe. Comfortable. Not seeing everyone he grew up with.
“What are you doing back in town? Getting married or some shit?”
Uh-oh, there was that feeling again. Glad he didn’t put any fruit in his oatmeal Jackson leaned over the porch railing this time, keeping his shoes tidy.
“Shit. You always said I made you sick. I didn’t know physically.”
“Juan, shut up,” Jackson answered wiping his hand on a nearby leaf. Juan Ayala. Best friend by birth. Jackson and Juan would never have been friends if they hadn’t been raised in the same playpen.
He shrugged his shoulders, “I only assumed. You’re sitting up here fine and dandy and then you see me and bleck!”
“I’m fine.”
Juan didn’t care. “So, are you coming with me and the guys tonight or what? When did you get home?”
With a heavy sigh Jackson answered. “Last night. And I’m here to relax. I know exactly what is going to happen if I spend any time with you and ‘the guys’.”
“You always were a worry wart Jack.”
“My worrying kept your ass out of a lot of trouble Ayala.”
Juan scoffed, “Ha. Yeah right. All your worrying did was freak us out even more. Do you remember that time we decided we all needed to try smoking.”
“Granddad?” The stink of cigarettes reeked from the small body standing at the doorway.
“Yes?” This was his agitated tone. He rarely used it, especially to Jackson. But today it was called for.
“Are you mad at me?” His small hand crept to scratch behind his ear, a habit he had actually picked up from his grandfather.
“What do you think Jackson?”
He frowned. “Yes. I know I shouldn’t have. I-I know it’s not good and-”
“Jackson, do you know what killed your Grandmother?”
The little boy’s eyes, already full of unshed tears, widened. With a shaky voice he answered, “No.”
“Cancer Jackson. Cancer. She didn’t smoke a day in her life. Not one. She never even held one of those damn things to her mouth. And it killed her. Do you want that to happen to you, huh?”
Tears were flowing down his face now. “No Granddad.”
“Then I suggest you, and all of your friends, steer clear of anything that smokes. You got that?”
“Yes Granddad.” His head hung low and he turned to walk to his room. He rarely needed to be punished and knew when he should be.
“Jackson,” his voiced called out, obviously emotional too, “come here.” He walked back towards his grandfather who pulled in onto his lap even though he was getting too big for it. “You know I love you right?”
“Yes.”
“And I want to protect you from everything, right?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me anything, ok? I know I‘ll get mad at you sometimes, and you might think you hate me too. But we’re a team Jackson. We look out for each other.”
He nodded. The little boy knew what Granddad wanted to know. “I stole them. From Mrs. Clarview down the road. She dropped them.”
“Jackson.”
“I wanted to give them back. But we were curious Granddad. I’ll never do it again. I promise. And I’ll give Mrs. Clarview money from my paper route and-”
Granddad held up a hand to stop the young rambling. “You’ll clean Mrs. Clarview’s front yard for the next month. She doesn’t need any more cigarettes than you do.”
Jackson let out a loud laugh, “I told you all that you would die if you smoked another one.”
“Sad truth for Willy,” Juan spouted without thinking. His brown eyes shot up to meet the blue ones of his age old pal and he felt guilty. “Sorry.”
“It’s Willy’s fault,” Jackson answered back with anger. “But I’m not going to talk about that right now.”
Juan nodded, seating himself on the top step of the stairs and placing his hands behind him. “So, why are you really here?”
Jackson scratched at his sideburn. “I had to get away.”
This did not please Juan. “Home isn’t where you are supposed to get away Jackson. Home is where you should be.”
The porch let out a soft creak as Jackson continued to rock. Neither spoke, but rather let Juan’s words sink in. Crickets chirped and the leaves rustled as a chipmunk scurried across the steps just inches from Juan’s sneaker clad feet. It was a warm afternoon, but there wasn’t much going on. A few cars passed along the street, two or three letting out a friendly honk as they made their way past the house.
It was Jackson who broke the silence between the two. “Do you remember the time I beat you up by the river after school?”
“Ha,” Juan laughed rolling his eyes, “You mean the time I beat you up by the river after school?”
“Granddad and Abb’s were pissed!”
“Shit,” Juan answered in remembrance, “you’d’ a thunk we’d beaten them up.”
It was late afternoon when Jackson and Juan finally strolled up to Jackson’s house. Jackson was dragging his backpack by the one strap still intact, a giant hole adorned his t-shirt and the purple coloring matched the bruise starting to form around his eye. Juan was in no better condition. He wore no shirt but was instead using it to sop up the blood from his lip. His hair was a mess and the knees of his jeans were torn.
Jackson’s momma was the first out of the door. She ran, putting a comforting arm around each boy. “What happened to you boys? Let’s get you inside and cleaned up. Jackson, were you sick hunny? You look a little green.”
“Sadie,” a chorus of voiced boomed from the front steps. Three set of eyes looked up sharply. It was the kind of call that told you one of two things. Either you were in trouble or you needed to leave immediately. Each of the three knew their part. Jackson and Juan walked slowly up to the steps while Sadie ventured back into the house. Granddad and his best friend Trace, who both boys called Abb, were sitting on the porch. A small card table sat between them. Instead of cards, however, there were piles of photographs. The boys exchanged fearful glances before walking up the two steps that put them halfway between a quick getaway and their grandfathers.
“Who do I need to sick my cane on,” Abb joked, poking Juan with the afore mentioned cane.
“Would you put that damn cane away,” Granddad laughed despite his anger. “You just use it to make people get you food lazyass.”
“Granddad!” Jackson cried in shock. Granddad didn’t use foul language in front of him. He used words like sugar and cranberry and fudge.Granddad smirked at the boys. “If you can handle the kind of beating it looks like the two of you took, you can know the truth. I imagine the other boys look worse?” He wiggled his eyebrows at them. Both boys looked down at their mud covered shoes.
“I see,” Abb said a moment later. Juan managed a small look at his own grandfather. The disappointment nearly made him tear up. But if Jackson could handle it, he could too.
Granddad’s chair stopped. “I will tell you both this once and only once. You are family. You’re blood. And you never, EVER, and I hope I’m making myself clear here, fight with family. Do you understand me?”
Both boys nodded solemnly. Quietly they answered, “Yes, sir.”
“I know Jack, that Juan’s gunna press your buttons just like his Abuelo does mine. But you’ll handle it. Because down the line, you’re gunna need Juan. He’s gunna be the guy that brings you back up when you’re feeling down.”
Abb nodded along with Granddad, “Juan, you might think Jackson is a bit uptight and obsessive, but it’s gunna pay off. He will keep you motivated.”
“You boys have something that no one can touch,” Granddad continued, “you have roots. No matter what happens, where you go, what you do, you can’t escape each other.”
“And if you think you can,” Abb added, “we will come back and haunt you forever.”“Trace, man,” Granddad laughed smacking the older man in the back of the head. “You just gone and ruined my inspirational moment. Now you two go wash up before dinner while I explain to Abb here how teaching you boys lessons works.”
Juan's shoulders shuddered and he looked up at the empty space where his abuelo’s chair used to sit on the porch. He noticed the far off look in Jackson’s eyes and knew he too was remembering that day.
“You need me to bring you back up, pal,” Juan asked getting to his feet.
Jackson’s eyes flitted from the steps, out to the middle of the yard, and finally back up to Juan. He licked his lips before replying, “Only if you need some motivation.”
