Village Boy

The Village Boy
I remember that I was trying to be quiet. But the night was dark and
sound carried far. Rifling through garbage cans outside the little
clubhouse where the Boy Scouts met was not exactly something I wanted
others to see. The sweet/rotting smell of banana peel was strong in the
air. I could see inside the cans due to the pale light coming through
one high window, and was excited to find an old red Scout neckerchief
some boy had probably discarded for a new one. I rose up fast, stepped
back and tripped over a garbage can lid on the ground. My fall into the
tin cans announced my presence to everyone within a quarter mile.
Within a few seconds, the entire troop was standing around me. I was
stunned with embarrassment. I pulled myself up quickly and tried to
walk away with dignity but the laughter and 'Village boy' taunts hurt
so much that when I reached the darkness I ran wildly. Then the tears
came. I knew boys didn't cry, but I could not stop mine. I lived in
Alabama Village. I knew it was for poor people, but it would be years
before I realized it was what people from the north referred to as "The
Projects"- a place for the really poor. Primarily single mothers. When
I got to the duplex where my mother and I lived, I sat in the back yard
against the house, breathing hard from the humiliation and the hard run
in the summer heat. I wanted the tears to disappear without trace. In
the darkness lightning bugs lit up the bushy yard like stars lit up the
night sky. The air smelled of freshly mowed crabgrass, and the perfume
of honeysuckle was strong. Later, I rose and went inside. Mother was
watching television and when she heard me, asked if I was hungry. I
told her I wasn't and I could barely hear her say "love you, dahlin" as
I walked past her. My bed was a mattress on the floor. Besides the bed
was a wooden box within which I kept my important things. I opened it
and fingered the Boy Scout flashlight with broken lens, and then an old
mess kit one of the Scouts had discarded. I folded the red neckerchief
and placed it in the box. We couldn't afford for me to join the Scouts,
but I loved the uniforms, patches, and gear. During summer months, I
would watch them gather at the little Boy Scout building and pack their
camping gear, then march high-stepping into the woods like an army of
little boys. Many times I could feel the heat of almost formed tears at
my aloneness when the last scout disappeared. It took only moments
before I was asleep. **** I woke up when the sun blazed through a tear
in the roll-down window shade. I smelled coffee, so I knew Mother was
up. I slipped on my canvas pants and t-shirt and went to the kitchen.
"Hi, momma." "Mornin', dahlin'. Went to sleep a little early for summa
vacation time, huh?" "Yes ma'am. Guess I was just tired." "Well, you
smell a little ripe, too! Why don't I start more au lait while you take
a shower." I went to shower, but I usually enjoyed watching momma make
coffee. She made it the way old-time southerners made it. Bringing a
saucepan of water to boil, then lowering the heat and pouring a cupful
of French Market Coffee and Chicory blend into the water. When the
water looked like coffee, she dropped large pieces of eggshells into
the water. As the shell pieces sank to the bottom it settled the
grounds, then you dipped your cup into the coffee. She always added
milk when it was a chicory blend, and momma was sipping her's when I
returned. "Sit down darling, I'll get you a cup." She frequently let me
drink a cup of this southern liquid. I loved it with a little sugar
added. "Thanks, momma." When she sat back down with my cup of au lait,
she put her hand on my forearm. "Ben, you want to tell me 'bout last
night?" I was startled by the question. But momma always seemed to know
when something was wrong. When I looked up at her, the sun streaming
through the kitchen window shadowed half her face and yellowed the
other half. It was spooky. She had one yellow-brown eye, one gray.
Bright yellow-auburn hair on one side, gray on the other. When the
yellow eye blinked, it brought me back to the moment. "Ben, were you
over to the Boy Scout hut last night?" "Yes, ma'am." "What happened?"
"I was just hangin' around-they were singin' songs, and I, uh, looked
around for stuff&;#8230;." "Oh, I see! You were looking through the
garbage again, huh?" "Yes, ma'am. And I found a&;#8230;" The
disappointment in her face stopped me. Then she softened, and leaned in
farther. "Ben, why do you keep hangin' around that place? If I could
afford to buy the uniform and all the gear those boys have to buy, I
would, son. But I can't. You know that." My eyes glistened, but I would
not cry. "I'm sorry, momma. Last night I tripped on a lid and fell. All
the boys came out and laughed at me. I ran home and sat outside for a
while." I saw something in momma's face. Just for an instant. She
looked away just for the briefest moment. When she looked back at me
she was softer. "Well, honey boy, y'all go on and play outside today.
Be careful in the bayou-watch out for them cottonmouths, they don't
take to barefoot boys steppin' on them, you know! I'll make you a
grilled-cheese sandwich for lunch!" *** My friend Bobby and I walked to
the other end of Pritchard, where the little store had big stalks of
sugar cane for sale in a barrel outside the front door. We each
contributed 5 cents we earned from redeeming pop bottles, and purchased
a 6 feet tall cane. We broke it at the knuckles and had seven pieces.
Bobby took 4 and I took 3. We sat on the curb in front of the store and
began shaving the ends of the cane with our penknives. We were after
that incredible, sweet core. We chewed and sucked on the cane 'til we
had our fill. As we stood, one of the boys we knew from school walked
up. "Hey, Ben." "Hey, Stubby." "Hey, Bobby." "Hey, Stubby." "Wouldya
cut me a round a cane?" We knew Stubby had the money to buy his own.
But Bobby gave him a round, or plug, from his. He pulled his penknife
out of his pocket and started cut it into four smaller pieces. "Saw you
at the hut last night." "Yeah. I was just listening to y'all sing. It
sounded like fun. When I stepped on a can to look in the window, I
fell." I lied, and tried to make it sound funny. "We're going into the
woods to build a campfire and roast weenies Saturday. Why don't y'all
come go with us?" "You know I got no uniform or stuff to do that with.
I go'n join next summer though." I lied again. "You old enough?" "I'm
'leven!" I said defensively. I could feel sweat drops moving down my
face slowly, like little wet bugs. It was hot and, as always, humid.
"You nine, maybe ten!" Stubby said. "Well, I'll be joinin' next year
anyway!" I said a bit too defensively. Stubby folded his knife. That it
had a Boy Scout logo on it didn't for a moment escape me. He put it in
his pocket and thanked us for the cane and left. "Lets go look for
snakes, or turd-roller bugs!" Bobby said. The fun had been taken out of
my day. "Lets head back. Momma'l wonder where I been. Hey, you want to
come over tonight?" "Nah. My dad says I caint stay over anywhere for a
week. He punishin' me." We walked back home together. Bobby was a
'Village boy', too. *** "Hey, momma." "Hey, hon. You hungry?" "A
little. I had some cane today, with Bobby." I laid the last segment on
the kitchen counter. "Here's a piece for you." Momma made cowboy stew
for us that evening. It was made from the commodity foods we were
allowed to pick up at a warehouse in the Village. It was potatoes,
onions, and turnips fried up in a pan, with melted Velveeta Cheese over
it. "You want some bread with that, Benny?" "No thanks, momma." Pause
"Momma, the Scouts goin' into the woods near Pritchard Saturday. Stubby
told me 'bout it. I have an old mess kit, and you know I'm ok in the
woods-I'd like to follow along and cook somethin'&;#8230;" "Well, I
don't think that's a good idea, hon, I&;#8230;." "But its only for
the day-only for lunch! I wouldn't be&;#8230;" "I don't
think&;#8230;" "Please, momma, please!" She looked at me for a
couple of minutes. I could tell she was thinking hard about it. "Ok.
Just this one time. And if you aren't back b'fore dark, and I mean this
house, your ass is mine! Do we understand each other, Mr. Davy
Crockett?" She said not angrily, but protectively. "Yes, ma'am, yesum.
Thanks, momma." I knew better than to push it right now. I'd wait 'til
later to talk more about it with her. *** After dinner, momma washed
and rinsed, and I dried. We were standing at the kitchen sink. I was
drying the last dish. "Momma, do we have any weenies? Mother
immediately got the hysterical giggles. I didn't have a clue why; but
when she snorted I got them, too. For the next few minutes we bounced
around the kitchen laughing like crazy people, barely able to stand. I
still didn't understand what got her started "Well, Mr. Ben, I think
you mean for the trip Saturday, right?" Wiping tears from her eyes. I
nodded. If I spoke, I might snort again. "I have a much better idea.
I'll pack you a big pork chop in wax paper, and pack a little Crisco
for you to cook it in. How's that sound?" Smiling big. "That sounds
great, mamma, thanks!" Mother thought it sounded great because we had
no weenies; no money to buy them, and four pork chops in the freezer.
*** The following days went by slowly. All I could think about was the
camping trip. But finally it was Friday night. I opened my little box
and pulled out all my Scout stuff. I folded the red neckerchief into a
triangle, and smoothed it with my hand. Momma had washed my jeans and a
light cotton shirt, and left them by my mattress. She also put her Big
Ben alarm clock by my bed. It was set for six o'clock. The clock was
ringing and when I woke I couldn't even remember my head hitting the
pillow last night. I turned it off, jumped off the mattress and
showered quickly. It was already hot. The light coming through the tear
in the window cover was pale orange. Very pale. Mother had everything
packed in a little canvas bag in the refrigerator. I was just about to
leave when I handed the neckerchief to her. "Momma, would you tie this
around my neck for me?" There was that look on her face again. Her
southern belle eyes were telling me she loved me. And I knew she wished
she could afford to buy the Boy Scout clothes. She tied the ends in a
knot since I did not have the little wooden slip the Scouts all have.
"You have fun today, Mr. Davy Crockett! Be careful when you make your
fire-dig a decent pit and all, ok?" "I will." She bent down and I
kissed her on the cheek. She took my face in her hands and kissed me on
the lips. "I love you, Ben. When you come home I expect you to tell me
all about your hike." I smiled at her and left through the kitchen
door. *** I stood off about 50 yards from the Boy Scout hut. Soon,
about a dozen boys and two adults came out. They were all in those
beautiful red and tan uniforms, and had little backpacks on. They got
in a line and marched nicely into the field that was on the edge of the
flat pine woods. When the last boy reached the trees I stood and
started off behind them. It was only about two hours later that the
group stopped to build a fire pit and sing songs. I was still keeping a
distance of about 50 yards between us. I found a clear spot to dig my
pit and sat my bag down. I had my old hunting knife on my hip. I dug a
pit about 1' x 2', about eight inches deep. I put in a few dried pine
needles, struck a match and when it caught, put some pinecones on to
hold the fire while I slowly put on some limbs that were scattered
around. It burned nicely. For most of the morning, I could see the
scouts doing various things, but I couldn't tell exactly what. I pulled
out my penknife and carved interesting little pieces of wood. The pork
chop was on my mind. When they finally started building their fire up
for the weenies, I did the same. I put about a cup full of Crisco in
the little pan and set it over the fire to melt. It didn't take long
until it was bubbling over the sides it was so hot. I reached in and
grabbed the handle. I didn't realize the handle would be as hot as the
pan. When I grasped the handle, it was a bit like sticking your finger
into a light socket. The shock. I drew back my hand quickly, but the
handle seemed to be stuck to my hand, and the jerking motion spilled
the boiling lard onto my right thigh. I opened my mouth to scream but
it didn't seem like any sound was coming out. The shock was immediate.
I jumped and ran, trying to scream, back to town, or home to mother.
The pain was searing, my vision became surreal, and then darkness. ***
I woke up in the little clinic near the Village. Mother was sitting
near me, as were the two Scout leaders I saw on the trip. When I spoke
it was like I had cotton in my mouth. "Momma." She rose from her chair
and sat on the bed next to me. She put her hand on my face, bent down
and kissed me. "Hi, Mr. man. Had a hard day, huh?" "What happened?"
"Well it seems the Scouts heard you screaming and went to help, but you
were running so fast they couldn't find you until you passed out. Mr.
John here-pointing at one of the two men-carried you back to the
clinic. They are all worried about you." I looked at John. "Hey, Ben."
"Hey, John. Thanks." He smiled and nodded his head. He walked over and
put his hand on my arm. I didn't know how to react.The pain was getting
worse so they gave me some kind of shot and I went to sleep again. ***
I woke again early the next morning. The sun was barely up and the room
was that beautiful summer color of yellow and orange. I could see
mother asleep in the big chair. I looked down at the bottom of my bed.
There scattered all over the white cotton cover were various Boy Scout
badges, knives, a working flashlight, a pack, a genuine Scout shirt,
and other Boy Scout items. I could feel the heat of tears forming.