The Old Shack

He couldn’t believe how lonely he was and it was all his mother’s fault. How could she bring him to this stupid town. As he looked out the window he could see practically the entire downtown area and none of it looked very child friendly.
On the far corner from his house was the General Market, complete with its signs advertising “Yogurt 5 for $1.00” and “Zataran’s .79” Not even one add for a toy or children’s food. The opposite corner held the rundown bar and grill that seemed mandatory for every town under 1,000 people, it’s broken neon sign blinking out “ ar ly” where it should have been “Barfly.” Directly across the street was Old Man Johnson’s home, surrounded by a fence that was once white picket and complete, but now was brown, chipped and missing three sections at least a foot long. An old, unused railroad track ran behind Old Man Johnson’s. The track had long ago been buried by grass and nearby trees had uprooted most of the ties with their roots.
Jody was not used to this kind of living, he loved the town they just moved from, where his best friend lived and he was popular. He had lived there all his life and did not want to move. Whenever he started to complain the conversation was the same.

“But Jody, you know we had to move here to take care of grandma,” his mother would remind.

“But mom, couldn’t I have stayed with Dad?”

“That is enough of that, you know I have custody, and dad works to much to be able to care for you, besides, I need you with me.”

His mother always reminded him of how his dad never had time for him, and now, because they couldn’t get along and grandma fell and broke her hip, he had to suffer. He had to find something to take his mind off his boredom so he decided to go for a bike ride.

“Mom, I am going for a ride,” he hollered across the broad expanse of the house

“Ok, be careful and don’t go far.”

As he headed outside he took note of how old the house was. It was even decorated old, his grandma never seemed to throw anything out. Stopping to look around the foyer he noticed all the pictures of relatives from the long lost past, giggling to himself as he thought of how funny they dressed. Still giggling he ran out the door and jumped on his bicycle with no clear thought of where to ride to. Still sitting there and wondering where to go a voice broke through his thoughts.

“Wheres ya’ gon’ Jody?” it barely squeaked.

Knowing right away from the soft spoken drawl that it was his grandma he turned as he groaned silently. Now he was going to be stuck listening to all her stories about when she “was a chile” in this very town. Sometimes her stories were exciting, but mostly they were about her growing up a slave in a small shack behind this very house. She often told him how the one room, log shack; which no longer exists, had dirt floors that they covered with straw in the summer and cotton in the winter. That floor also served as the bed for all 9 children.

“Nana, I was just heading out for a bike ride around town,” he reluctantly replied, knowing full well he could have just kept going and pretended he didn’t hear.

“Chile git oe’r ‘ere and keep nana comp’ny fer a spell.”

He dropped his bike and wandered up to the side porch, thinking about how her stories could be no worse than taking a ride in this 10 minute town. Walking up the creaky, unpainted steps he watched as his grandma adjusted her white shawl over her shoulders and smiled a toothless grin at him. He couldn’t help but to smile back, and at that moment asked a question he knew would make the grin bigger.

“Nana, tell me more about your brother please.”