Room With A View

Room With A View
(Originally published in Illuminations: Marine Creek Reflections Vol. 4)

It seemed like an ordinary Sunday. Harvey and Willis were out back shootin' soda cans with their BB guns. Lucy was listenin' to 45's in her room. Momma was puttin' little rubber curlers in my hair, watchin' HeeHaw and sippin' on a nice glass of water (with a thimbleful of gin). I was fussin' at Momma for pullin' the curlers too tight, and wonderin' if I could really talk to Junior Samples if I dialed BR-549. Katy came toddlin' in buck naked and wet, draggin' an old black purse.

"Me go buy docies!"

"No, you are not going to buy groceries," Momma said. "Where are your clothes?"

Katy took off down the hallway with Momma in pursuit, and I breathed a thankful sigh the hair pullin' was over. I climbed up into Momma's rocker and hummed along with the HeeHaw Gospel Quartet. Funny how it blended with the muffled sounds of Lucy's Stones record.

Grandpa had left early that afternoon to walk uptown to the Shamrock Inn. He and a few other old men liked to sit in the lounge and play cards and tell lies. It was one of the few things Grandpa got to do by himself. He got confused sometimes, and some days Momma had to watch him closer than Katy. But that day had been a good day. For the most part, it was an ordinary South Kentucky Sunday in Siloam.

When the sheriff pulled up in the drive, Harvey and Willis ran out to meet him. Lucy's room had suddenly gone deathly quiet and I could hear her in the bathroom tryin' to flush somethin' down. Willis hollered at me to go fetch Momma, but she was already comin' up the hall. Momma told me "go dress Katy." She had barely managed to get Katy into a set of panties. Lucy slipped out of the bathroom and whispered to me did she smell like weed. I don't know what she smelled like, but it made my stomach turn over.

"Evenin' Sheriff," Momma said, just a little too sweet. "What brings you out our way this fine Sunday evenin'?"

"Got some news about your Daddy, Miss Maudie. Figured I ought to let you know."

This had happened several times now. Folks would show up at the door tellin' some story on Grandpa. Mostly they were just keepin' Momma tuned in to what he was up to when she wasn't watchin'. Neighbors were friendly in Siloam, and well-meanin' mostly. Except for Clara Burmingham who kept fillin' Momma's head with thoughts of the "lovely nursing facility" over in Meredith. Me and Grandpa hated Clara Burmingham.

I didn't catch all of what the sheriff was sayin' but there was somethin' about "drinking" and something about "trains". I couldn't imagine what Grandpa had gotten into, but at least he wasn't in jail. Yet. Momma decided she better get on over to the Shamrock Inn, straighten things out and bring Grandpa home. Sheriff offered to give her a ride, so Momma left us in Lucy's care, which basically meant we were on our own.

Lucy stayed in her room with her records and the boys played outside till well past dark. I fed Katy some bologna and crackers and put her to bed in our room. I fell asleep in front of the TV waitin' for Momma to get home. When she finally did, she was alone and looked like she'd been whipped with a stick.

"Momma..."

"Go to bed, baby."

"Momma, where's Grandpa?"

"Gone," she said.

"Gone" is a word with lots of meanin's. People who have died are "gone". Sometimes folks are just "gone" on a trip. Sometimes they've "gone" insane. I knew that any of these could be true for my Grandpa.

"Gone?" I asked.

"Damn fool hopped a freight train," Momma said. "Hard tellin' where he'll end up."

Then, whether it was from exhaustion, worry or some sense of relief, Momma did somethin' I'd never seen her do. She broke down and cried.

We knew it wasn't going to do much good tryin' to track Grandpa. Grandpa was gonna be a hobo now, and hobos didn't talk on each other. Old Clara Burmingham should have taken a lesson from the hobos, but instead she run all over town tellin' how she told Momma to put him in the home, and now he was probably gonna end up dead cause Momma didn't listen to her. Momma went on as usual, and made sure we did the same, cause that's what you have to do when things are beyond your control. We didn't talk about Grandpa much cause it seemed to make Momma sad. I just went on and finished up the sixth grade and was about three weeks into the seventh.

So I guess it must have been six months or so. Yes, about six months cause the leaves were just comin' off the trees again. It was another ordinary Sunday, when Grandpa come walkin' up the drive. He just come walkin' up the drive like he'd only left that mornin'! Momma was beside herself. She went to lookin' him over for injuries and sputterin' "what" and "where" and "how". Grandpa chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders.

"What's fer supper, Maudie?"

That night over fried chicken and biscuits, Grandpa told us all about bein' a hobo. He said he'd been across to Missouri and Nebraska, up to Montana, Idaho and Oregon, down through California and all the way back on the trains. We hung on every work of it, even the parts that didn't make sense. He'd get confused about the details of where he had been and when, but we all had a tendency to add our own details anyway. Especially Harvey and Willis. We sure loved his stories! Even Lucy. But Momma just sat with her head down, stirrin' her coffee till I thought she'd wear a hole in the cup.

When the other kids went on to bed, I was still in the kitchen finishin' up the dishes. I worked real quiet and tried not to clink the plates so I could hear what Momma was sayin' to Grandpa. I was somethin' like "romanticizin' a vagrant lifestyle to the boys" and "what the hell were you thinkin' in the first place?"

"Daddy, you could have gotten lost or sick or killed..."

Grandpa sat real quiet and let Momma run her course. Then he moved to her side of the table and sat down beside her.

"Maudie," he said, "I know I gave you one hell of a scare, and I shouldn't have taken off the way I did. But don't you think I know what's happenin'? You can't get old and not know it, Maudie. I don't have too many good days left in me. An old dog likes to chase one last coon before he lays up on the porch waitin' to die. But now I reckon you can call Clara Burmingham. I'll be ready in the mornin'."

When Momma came in to kiss us goodnight, she lingered a little longer than usual.

"Are we goin' to Meredith tomorrow, Momma?"

"Yeah, baby. Grandpa's ready to go now."

"We'll get him a real nice room, won't we Momma? And I can draw him some pictures of trains to hang on the wall."

"Yeah, baby. That would be nice. Or maybe we can get him a room with a view of the tracks."