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So I know what your probably thinking. Oh my lord what a horrible thing to witness as
a child. Yet, I do not remember it being that way. It is not like I ended up actually seeing
my father shot. There was no loud screams, no blood against the wall. Just that big boom.
I was more scared of being caught disobeying my momma. You know, by being out of the bed
and all, than I was of that gun shot. I think yens listening to this story have to remember
this is Georgia, and guns are everywhere. They were not something to be feared, just
respected.
It seems as if after the gun fire, my father high tailed it out of my momma house. I was
more scared of the tall men in dark uniforms and shinny badges. I could hear them talking
to my neighbor and my momma at the same time. Now that made it really hard to ease drop.
It was not long before I was asked to come into the living room and talk to those big
men. Their flashy lights were still on and it could be seen circling on the walls as
it snuck through our thin beige curtains. I tried not stare at them, but they were hypnotic.
It was not hard talking to the police man. I got to be up way past my bed time. I just
told him what I saw. That daddy and that woman were hitting on my momma and trying to take
Junior. What was more interesting to the police is that my daddy did not report the shooting.
Looking back now, it was probably because he knew he was wrong. It could not have had
anything to do with the fact my momma shot him between the legs and only hit one of his
testicles. Come to think of it, my daddy has never mentioned that night.
Well not much else is to be remembered of Ole Cherry Street. Just one Halloween I could
not forget. I wanted to be Superman and Momma said I could not. But I refused to be anyone
else so she let me wear the plastic superman costume. All the neighbors said i was cute
that I was super girl. This was before they made movies of such things. My brother was
bigger now and he could walk. Not very good mind you, but I remember him being the green
guy from Star Wars. It was perfect, he was no bigger than a *** anyway.
Speaking of Halloween. It was a sensitive topic back in those days. A time where it
was becoming popular to celebrate and dress up to get FREE candy. Yet, this is the South
and the Church made it their mission to let the good folk know, that anyone who celebrates
Halloween are misguided children of Satan. Now I don't know much about those OTHER religions.
But I do know if you were not Southern Baptist, you were going to HELL. Don't even argue it,
its just Devil talking anyway. I hear that some people think if you have seen or believe
in ghosts, your crazy.
Even when some religions teach that we have a soul, they teach you, that you are not supposed
to see them, and the people that do see them are possessed by demons, or even worse...
the Devil! But this a touchy subject, because the South is home to many ghost sightings,
with deep history of people seeing souls lost at war, victims of racial crimes and such.
With thangs like Voodoo magic and Native American presence still strong, you had to have respect
for the spirit world.
My Daddy's Momma was Cherokee. But she did not dress like the people we saw in picture
books of the first Thanksgiving at school. So of course to us, she was just Granny. It
makes sense now where Daddy got his dark skin, and why he tanned so easy. (129) Granny had
jet black hair, and could out drink any of the men in Daddy's family. It must have been
their favorite thing to do, because they did it all the time. I remembered she always had
a can in arms reach, and she was always thirsty. One day after playing with my cousins, I came
running inside. As thirsty as I was, her can was closer than that fridge. I found out that
day it was not Coke-Cola. She laughed when she saw I had made a face of someone who had
sucked on the wrong end of a toad.
This was not the only special person in my family. My momma once showed me a picture
of her grandmother. It was her Daddy's momma, and she looked like an Indian too. She was
wearing Indian pants and moccasins. I noticed right away, cause girls were not supposed
to wear pants, especially in those days. She had a rifle in her arms and was standing on
the deer she just killed. Momma said she was Creole. I guess that was some kind of Indian
tribe far away. Momma's picture was an old black and white picture, and it was not displayed
in a frame like other photos to be shown off. Momma kept it in a secret hiding place. She
said that was because it was special and she did not want anything to happen to it. Then
made me promise to never tell anyone about her special picture.
Now this one day. Not to long after the time momma shot daddy I remember being in the car
riding down past the small town shopping centers of Duluth Georgia. Then things stopped being
so familiar. We started to pass through Suwanee Georgia. I always like to say the name every
time I saw the sign. S-U-WA-NEE. My momma looked like she was on a mission. I do not
know why this time was any different. She was always deep in thought. But it got to
a point I did what most kids do and started asking why. Like for example, Momma why are
there no more stores on this road? Why are there so many trees? Why are we going this
way? When are we gonna eat?
Then she started talk to me. She said, "well I am looking for someone". I replied, someone...like
your best friend? I saw her hand gripping the hard plastic of the steering wheel, her
chin just over it and face close enough to the wind shield her breath could be seen.
So I continued, "who ya lookin for momma? She said, "I am looking for an old lady my
momma used to go to when I was your age, but I do not think she lives out here no more".
Now I was interested, an old lady. "Like Granny" I said. "No, much older than Granny Bug",she
replied. Bug was my nickname, I was never addressed by my birth name unless in school
or in trouble, and that was rare.
Now I started to lean up on the dash board. This was before the time we had to wear our
seat belts. I remember seeing a long dirt road and tall Georgia pine trees that touched
the sun. No houses, and no old ladies. Momma was driving so slow I think I coulda walked
faster. She looked as if she was half in this world and half somewhere else. If there was
look people gave when trapped in a time warp of a memory, then she wore it on her face
perfectly. She began to stop and sat back. She turned to me and said, "this old lady
my momma used to see when I was your age. She would give my momma advise. She lived
in a little shack. It was no bigger than our living room. She had a small fire and a pot
hanging over it. She used to tell the future. She told my momma things that came true, and
she told me things that came true.
Mom relaxed her head against the seat again and closed her eyes then said, "I don't know
what I was thinkin, she was so old back then, she has to be dead. I bet they tore down her
house or it fell in". I said, "Momma are you sure its on this road? Maybe we should go
further". Momma just looked at me and said "ok, but then we are turning around". We went
a ways, then another small road appeared. Mom stopped, pausing to consider, then making
that unforgettable left turn. The road much bumpier, and not as even. I said, momma did
you go down this road too? She said, "Bug I think we did.
Then a few hundred later feet later it appeared. A small old shack. No cars. It looked abandoned.
The windows were so dirty you could not see out of them. We both stared. I remember thinking
no one could live in this, and I was scared now. Mom said out loud, "there is no way she
is still alive. There happen to be smoke coming from the chimney. Momma said, "Lets go knock
and see if this lady is still lives here, if not maybe they know what happened to her".
I remember the small house. How walking closer to it made it seem larger than life, as if
it was going to swallow me whole. I felt the gravel wobble under my feet. I looked back
at Mommas mustang as thought of it as the get away car, then I bumped into momma. Looking
up she raised her eyebrow and said, "your best behavior, you understand me". Yes Ma'am,
I replied. Momma knocked on the door. I remember wanting to say, "she's dead! lets leave".
She waited. I waited. It felt like forever. Now I had to pee, so my hand went between
my legs. The door *** makes a loud pop, and creaked as it turned slowly. As If I could
ever forget, hell I was only eye level to the door *** at the time.
Then there she was, a tall figure in dark clothing. Well, not really tall, she was shorter
than my momma and my momma was only 5'2. I could not make out how much of her clothing
was a dress and how much a cloak. I remembered I could not make out the style of her hair.
All I remember is that it was black. My momma introduced herself in the ever apologetic
southern manner that is considered appropriate when dropping in on someone unexpectedly.
Then the old lady interrupts, "Mo hasen't wa vou long time now. Konme ta yae? Or something
like that. This was some kind of southern slang I remembered hearing when she would
speak to her Daddy on the phone.
Momma answered without hesitation, "you remember me". The old lady spoke with cognitive quickness
not normal for a woman her age, "Yes, and your mother", she replied. Then she turns
and looks at me while speaking to my mother "this is the child"? I stood while her eyes
inspected me. I was raised children are to be seen and not heard. So far I had yet to
be invited to the conversation. My mother answers, "yes it is". Then the old lady motions
us to enter, at which obedience over ruled my fear.