CHAPTER ONE - The Road to the Crash

 

 

        

 

 

Wake Me Up Before I Die

Book I

 

 

 

The Struggles of Johnny Lureaux to find Purpose in a Lifetime Shadowed with Death

 

 Based On True Events

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

For All the Lost Souls Trying to Find Their Way;

 

Open the Possibility-If you should Dare -to Consider it Reality-Life Awaits for you There.

 

 

“Life is not separate from Death…It only looks that way”

….The Blackfoot Native American Tribe

 

  

“For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you; plans to give you hope and a future” – Jeremiah 29:11

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

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There was silence at first, as Johnny began waking from the crash. Slowly, the sounds of the birds filtered through his confusion, cawing over the abundant August cornfield, lined for miles on the Holland, Michigan roadway. Then the black, annoying crows seemed closer and louder, their eerie cries became clearer now. He couldn’t remember where he was and he tried to move from out of the uncomfortable position he was thrown in at the impact of the crash. But inside of his 1957 Chevy Impala, Johnny lay dying, rolled upon his side, his body tucked together tightly, almost in circular form. He was so cramped together, lying there, confused and alone. His face was stiffened with terror confronting the open windshield as the only apparent vision; his knees were tucked beneath his chin, and his body was unable to move. The 27 year old body that he had taken for granted every day, was no longer in his control and it would no longer respond to his conscious demands for mobility. His mind spinning, Johnny tried to comprehend his situation again as he continued with attempts to regain movement from his confined position…

At first the image of a Korean Soldier standing over him with the rifle pointed down to his head, flashed before him…His heart raced with fear, returning to his tour in the Korean War…and Johnny lay frozen, terrified inside of his mind…anticipating the second gunshot that would penetrate his torso…the stinging bullet meeting his side, jerking his lifeless body up from off of the dirt floor. He had re-lived the scene of dying in Korea, too many times and his straying thoughts returned him to the forsaken nightmare… to a place where there was no pain with the emptiness that followed, and to the darkness he had become very familiar with.

     Usually what proceeded in the dream were the distant sounds of a soldier’s boots exiting his side… as it had been in reality, but a perplexed Johnny Lureaux was passing away inside of his car today. He was folded like a pretzel, hearing the drifting noise of cawing crows overcome the normal visions of an agonizing Korean ambush…He focused again….and a flash of daylight infiltrated its way through his clouded eyes, …Yes, crows..…His ears tuned into the sounds of the birds, but the self confirmation of reality, only left him even more confused.  

     His eyes blinked to listen closer to the crows, as thoughts gathered order in his distorted head…He was certain now …He heard the crows, cawing. I am inside of my car! He demanded something to remain factual, in the momentary realism of where he lay discombobulated. … What happened?…Where was Dottie, his new wife…where was Samuel his son? A truck had hit him. Yes, the bold blue letters across the top of the round white truck, of DEGROOTS FRESH MILK, tumbled through his memory, just like the images of the accident. A milk truck had come directly into his path...The bright lights of the large white truck had been blinding as it rushed towards him; the sound of its fog-horn lingered, coming at him so fast with its large high pitched screeching tires, as they both tried to stop. He became anxious, as flickers of the crash ran through his mind; the car spinning, flipping more times than he could count and then back upon its fours wheels like a performing acrobat. He remembered the glass shattering into his face, his 38 caliber handgun tumbling from underneath the seat, tossing in the air, as napkins and papers from the glove box, flew loosely with every roll of the car, and then the hard final bash of the car returning upright, to the paved road.

He tried to get up from his bent together position again, but he couldn't and when he tried to yell for help, he realized that he couldn't even speak. A pool of blood had escaped from a deep laceration on top of his head. The blood had thickened into a brown puddle around his skull and had infused a connection like glue between the seat and the side of his face. The rising morning sun cemented his heavy cheek into the drying blood, discoloring the smooth red leather car seat and made lifting his head an impossible task. He attempted to focus again, his vision slowly failing him.

Reflections of a pastel tinted kaleidoscope danced in front of Johnny’s eyes. Sparkles of sky blue, bright pink and orange and yellow moved around him like glimmering diamonds, illuminating his view. As the vision became clearer, Johnny could see that the origin of the twinkling colors came from the small pearl-beaded rosary that was strewn sideways across the top of the dash board. It was still hanging around the fallen detached front mirror. The crushed glass from the windshield covered the broken mirror with the dazzling rosary; creating an iridescent reflection beneath the warm autumn sun. The sight became hypnotic to Johnny’s wide-eyed fixed stare – as the colors flourished through the broken windshield.

       The glistening image was simply beautiful, so mesmerizing. He wanted to just stay inside the beauty of it all. It was like being alone in the middle of Lake Michigan on a hot summers day; so peaceful, with the sparkling summer lake, illuminating its warm reflection upon his face.

 

 

He was distracted from the enlightened daze with a cool feeling of a gusty breeze from the open space inside of his car. Johnny could hear, and then he could see, red lights flashing, as two blurred figures stood assessing the situation outside of his vehicle. Their voices along with their shadowed figures, faded in and out of Johnny’s mind, and yet the crows remained obvious in Johnny's diminishing sight.

The crows seemed as if they were swarming over him like vultures awaiting the death of their prey. Their black feathered wings soared opened and freely out of the exposed windshield and their motions seemed soothing in his view.

         The mechanical grind of an electric saw, cutting through the shiny silver painted metal of his new Chevy, awoke Johnny to reality and for a moment he was back at the Reynolds Steel Plant, working a 12 hour shift; cutting the sheet of metal on the assembly line. He thought it odd, that the heated light that he stood beneath brightened the monotonous running belt so intensely! It was quite peculiar; the light over him was so much brighter and warmer than he had ever seen the old dusty factory lamp before. It was glowing so brightly that it was almost blinding.  

        The screeching electric saw annoyed Johnny, returning him to his existing state and he heard their voices talking around him.

    He could only listen to them speak freely in conversation as they worked around his vehicle. They talked over him as if he was already dead. Sparks flew loosely with the cutting metal and as the golden sparks surrounded Johnny’s view his mind moved him to another place again.-

“Look up there, Sam! Look at those fireworks! Do you see them?” Johnny asked holding his one year-old son in his arms, and pointing towards the brightened night sky. Sam stared at the sky, as they both stood awed by the Fourth of July finale of gold and silver fireworks illuminating the downtown Chicago sky.

And then there was silence and he was back inside the small confinement of his car. When the sparks stopped flying outside of his car door, he heard the crushed metal fall to the pavement. Someone reached into the twisted vehicle where Johnny remained on his side.

         A muffled voice startled him as a hand reached inside of the car and touched his neck. “Nope." The medic’s voice was precise now as he pulled his blood covered rubber glove away from Johnny's cramped together body. He sighed conclusively. “I can’t get a pulse, this guy’s a D.O.A.”— He swept his hand in the air and motioned to the team of rescuers for further assistance.

He addressed the fireman’s team leader – “We’ll take him on into Grand Rapids as soon as you get him out of the car.” They nodded in understanding and the 2 paramedics leaned against their ambulance to await their passenger. They conversed as they waited for their passenger and watched the rescue team place Johnny on the gurney.

“Yeah, he’s gone…but at least the Milk Man wasn’t so bad off.” The paramedic stared at Johnny’s stiff, bended body. He touched his neck again. “Wow, he’s still having the nerve twitches so we can take his vitals again when we get him on the road, just to keep the records straight when they call the time of death.

“Look at him..., poor fella.-" the paramedic sighed deeply as he gazed over Johnny..."So many of them die in this fetal position don't they man? –Going out of this world, the same way that they came in… Balled up like they’re still in the womb…Clinging to whatever it is that they have left inside of them- I think they’re trying to hold on to something they still feel connected to..” He peeled the blood-stained gloves from around his wrist and shook his head from side to side with pity. “I never get use to this part of the job” he said, sadly.

“Aww, You think too much man”, his partner said as he scribbled across the report on the clipboard he held. “Death is just part of life, and this is another lost soul- going home. – It’s that simple.” He said and laid the clip board at the foot of the gurney. “Now let’s get him home.” He said nonchalantly, to his partner.

As they wheeled Johnny to the back of the ambulance an unbearable ringing echoed inside of his ear. Bits and pieces of their conversation came in and out of his hearing while he lay stiff and disoriented.

     Someone’s rubber hands were placed on his neck again, then on his wrist, and Johnny could see the hazy figure over him, shake their head from side to side, confirming death from an unresponsive corpse. He could no longer hear their words as the rescue crew member placed a DOA tag on his chest; normal procedures would allow the hospital to confirm the time of death.

They moved-almost in slow motion around him, becoming foggy shadows and he tried desperately to speak or to yell at the blurred forms handling his body, “I’m alive, I’m alive!! Please! I’m here and I’m alive!”

But he was dying, he could feel it. He knew that death was closer than it had ever been in all of his situations before. He could feel his heart pulsating like a slow base drum, beating inside of his ear canals; the beat,-echoing as it lingered inside of his head, as the clouded figures continued to move all around him. His face was positioned upward now, feeling the warm sun beaming down upon him as they wheeled him toward the awaiting ambulance.

“I’m alive!!!” he tried to say it again as he watched an enormous black shadow swoop over him. He tightened his eyes to focus on the object and saw an atrocious black field crow, soaring in the air, circling over him. It was as if the flock of birds he saw initially outside of his broken windshield had now gathered into one massive crow! Johnny focused on the big black bird; it was all he could see, and quite intriguing as he followed its flight.

 

 

It moved so gracefully, flying over him. And even when Johnny faded away into an empty haze again, he could still feel the birds’ tremendous presence moving over him, like a cold wind…blowing, he could feel its chill surrounding him. He felt the sense of peace from the presence of the large black bird.

But Johnny did not rest entirely. His thoughts would not allow him to completely surrender to death. He quietly fought to regain power of an unreceptive body and a distant mind, that he could no longer control. As in all of the numerous times death had come into the life Johnny owned, he was still not ready to succumb to it, for it would not take his life, not today, he vowed - He would not die yet, Johnny told himself.

   Releasing the final efforts to awake, with the only living spirit he had left inside of him, Johnny called out to escape the turmoil he laid within. But there was no response. He reached inside of himself, into a place he had never gone before, praying into the depths of his soul, to pull him away from the state he lay within…  

And then suddenly through the silence, a strong Native American voice

chanting a healing song eased his tormented mind … ”a aaa…Nitaihtsikssi’ Sixika ninna Iiii…anima’ Spomitap ksi’ ssapoomahksika….. aaaaa aakapaisiina ahhh ninna asi. ninawaa ksistsiko ..iii asakiwa akako’owa..saa..miaawaah.”….…a Blackfoot medicinal song, echoed softly to its fallen descendent and answered Johnny. “Yes, Sleep Blackfoot son and see the great crow spirit from above…oh time will pass making son to man- just listen for the feathers of a song of day to escape the night and you will be never be lonesome again.”….The spirit sang.

    The fluttering wings of the black bird soared inside of Johnny’s mind and he calmly relaxed into the freedom chant singing in his distance. The tribal lullaby from his unknown past and the rhythmic flutter of the blackbird’s wings calmed Johnny to a state of ease as it slowly captivated every thought that erupted in his mind. The sound charmed his delusional condition until the flight of the bird’s wings were robbing every labored memory that erupted in his mind, soaring higher and higher, as the ascension owned Johnny's existence, and the world he knew moved further away.

Johnny Lureaux was 27 years old and regretfully he could recall each time he had escaped the claws of death. He had learned about the foundations of a battle with the ultimate end from the early age of 3. His deathly encounters always arrived with a brash surprise catching Johnny off guard. But his resilience to overcome its capture, with each episode, created an arrogance to neglect the very life Johnny had fought death over.

It was irrelevant to whether he called Death into existence from his bad choices or whether it appeared on its own, he knew the feeling of its presence all too well.  But regardless of his deceitful ways and his close calls, Johnny always thought he’d have more time to change. Now this blackness with a grip on the life he owned, had returned larger and stronger, moving its way into the existence he had mistreated and it would only offer past memories of where it all begin....

With every visit, Johnny had left death outside of his door, and now in this vacant zone, in a victorious, yet surprisingly, passive defeat, death was making this its territory.  It would move Johnny’s state of mind to a vacant zone, no longer present and force him to recall the many visits it had made throughout out his life.  Yes, Death had returned, with a seemingly permanent stay, and as the spirit of his past vibrated the Blackfoot’s song through his soul and the black bird soared over him, Johnny was compliant to finally answer the door and welcome the familiar, spirited conveyor inside…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2 - AN ALABAMA CAMELLIA WILTS THE SOUL

 

CHAPTER 2

 

 

The present voided haze took Johnny back 24 years to Selma, Alabama. It was 1934 and Johnny was only 3 years old, trotting alongside side his expectant, 17 year old mother. She was taking him away to live a new life and the happy carefree toddler, didn't have any idea that his world was changing that morning.....

The dew on the grass was cool and wet beneath his bare feet as Johnny hurried through the open field almost running to keep up with his mother’s brisk walk. Spring was near but the air remained chilled, numbing his shriveled, sun-withered toes.

Johnny didn’t know what time it was, but from the sight of the black rooster, squawking in the yard a few minutes earlier, he knew that it was early morning. He tried to peek at his mother’s face, but she only looked forward, walking steadily, squeezing his hand tightly, as she pulled him along her side.

She was young, but the frustrations surrounding Martha Johnson’s life were beginning to age her smooth brown skin. When her mother died, Martha was only 9 years old and was left with the enormous responsibility to raise her 6 younger siblings. Her grief-stricken father took on work away from the town of Selma to ease the pain of his loss and provided Martha with financial support by courier each week.  The Women’s Group of the First Baptist Church that Martha and her family once all attended together helped Martha in establishing the roles of a young woman and mother and her father sent over farm hands to keep the yard in order and to do home repairs. Once a month, he would stop by with gifts for his children until the months grew longer and it was only the money that arrived in the mail. 

By the time she was 13, Martha had become the sole keeper of her 6 siblings.  Her father’s demands of sacrificing Elementary School with the daily chores and replacing Martha’s enjoyable playmates with her trying brothers and sisters was initially difficult to meet and then later when Martha rarely saw him and the maternal role to care for her family fell entirely into her hands, the daily responsibilities became natural to her.

The overwhelming duties concealed the love and nurture she had been given in the years before her mother’s death and caused her to lose sight of her childish ways. The world demanded everything from her, and she gave what was expected. She became a resentful young woman and an apathetic mother well before she ever had Johnny and now the entire town sneered at her current situation.

This was it; she decided…It was time to get what she wanted from life! She was almost a legal adult now and it was about time she stopped doing what everyone told her to do! It was time to do what was best for her; no matter what it took. It was time to finally stand up for herself.

She attempted to leave the small town, unnoticed; walking with conviction, holding her child’s hand tight into her own and swinging a brown little tattered leather suitcase in her other hand. They hurried along a roadside ditch, and headed down the alley on First Avenue, passing silently, through the now resting town of Selma, Alabama. By the time that they had marched past the market and grocery store, sped beside the First Tabernacle Baptist Church, rushed beneath the premature china berry trees, and stepped over the loosened rocks in between the railroad tracks, the sun had raised higher, spreading its warm rays across the wintry southern sky.

A forest of diverse trees stood like a barricade lined up for miles, near the tracks and Johnny’s mother entered them vigorously, using the suitcase to clear their way. The bright sun flashed over them, gleaming spontaneously throughout the dimness surrounded in the trees. Johnny trailed behind his mother leisurely, and noticed a bright pink blossom hanging from a low limb of a shrub as he followed her. It was a camellia flower, the only one that had bloomed so early in the year. Its delicate ruffled petals fluttered gently, in the February cool breeze.

He pulled it off of its branch and yelled with excitement rushing closer to her. “Mama, I found a flower for you!” he said yanking at her dress from behind.

She stopped and turned around to look at him. She was silent for a moment and then took the blossom from his hand. Her eyes clouded with emotion for her innocent child.

   “My sweet boy,” she finally said. “Thank-you, I’m gonna keep this always, okay? - I will always keep this blossom near.” She promised… holding the tender flower to her heart... ”Always.” she said again, smiling down at him.

   Johnny smiled back at her with pride. “How come it’s not any other ones in these woods, mama? ---I don’t see any more flowers!” he said with disappointment.

“Just keep walking Johnny Lee”, she replied as she continued to move, stepping carefully through the brush.

    “Mama?” he questioned her again.

“Yesss,--Johnny.” his mother responded, ducking to dodge a black belt Alabama moth, as it suddenly flurried from a tree.

“It must be a special day for you to get the only pretty flower in these woods, huh?”  He asked looking around as he spoke, his eyes searching and hoping to see another distinct flower.

She didn’t respond and Johnny continued with more questions, following her inquisitively, as he explored the surrounding woods.

“Mama, how come I hear water running? Is there a river nearby?” he asked.

“You’re hearin the echo from Valley Creek runnin yonder,-that’s all, boy.” she said, pausing as she looked around her to gather her place and then continued moving forward. Then with a widened sweep of her arm, Johnny's mother exited the swarm of trees, and arrived into the full rays of the sun again.

An unpaved, but trotted road lay twisted in front of them. His mother took in a long breath, resting for a second, as she arched her back and then straightened it up again and looked down the long pebble-ridden path. Johnny stood silently, wondering what she was thinking, then she quietly whispered underneath her light panting, “Lord,-Please let this be what I’m supposed to do.-Let this be the right thing to do-Please!” her voice quivered desperately in the whispered prayer.

She tapped her forehead lightly to wipe away the dampness upon her brow and then wiped her hand on her dress.  Finally, she reached down and responded to Johnny’s anticipation and grabbed his hand back into her own. “Come on, we’re almost there.” She said.

     Before she realized it, they were in full stride again and almost running down the road she remained so focused on. Maybe they were going to a new church, Johnny thought after hearing her brief prayer and he did have on his Sunday clothes. He smiled happily to himself, recalling part of a song he had learned in Sunday school recently.

“Yes, Jesus loves me…Yes Jesus loves me.” He sung the words over and over smiling as he tiptoed alongside his mother. He danced, avoiding the rocks, happy with innocence and joy on a road that would lead to a place where it would be difficult to feel those things again.

         And soon Johnny could see a structure in the distance, and his gleeful singing was silenced with worry. He realized they were not heading to a different Church, as he thought, as the vision appeared in the distance.

The moisture from a surrounding swamp had left a misty fog in the air, but the shadow of a house larger than he had ever seen before was coming into Johnny’s view. Weeping willow trees were lined up on either side of the road with green budding, stringy branches stretched out like dangling weary arms bending over the two of them as they walked slower, hand in hand. The crooked road straightened to meet the estate standing up high at the end of it.

A strange feeling of fear formed inside of Johnny as the morning mist engulfed the tremendous structure of the house, creating an eerie grey cloud around the grand home.

As they grew closer Johnny’s heart pounded heavier and when the sun slowly cleared the haze, it revealed a magnificent and elegant two-story white house that erected like a tower before him.

The bright sun gleamed off the windowpanes, making the lofty house with its black wooden shutters and southern towering pillars seem colossal to Johnny. He stood in awe, from the bottom of the stairs, gazing up at its entirety, as his mother sluggishly climbed the tall stairs and stopped at the broad door in front of them.

Martha Johnson stood up again as straight as she could stand now and set the suitcase down by her feet.

Lifting the shiny brass door ring, that was centered in the massive door; she knocked with two hard taps. There was no answer. Then after a heavier knock, the wide oak door swung open abruptly. It frightened Johnny when a large dark-skinned black younger man appeared in the doorway. His thick black hair was combed back, with glistening fixed waves of hair rolled across the top of his head. His wide face was blanketed with large protruding eyes and a plump bottom lip that was pruned out with inquisition towards his mother.

Martha Johnson gestured for her son to come closer, with the swoop of her hand, but Johnny stepped back in caution, afraid to approach. She spoke in an angry tone, loudly, to the giant stranger, who was attempting to speak lowly in the doorway.

“Because, I can’t take care of him! And I have another baby coming soon!—That’s why! ---He already has grown out of his shoes and I gots no more money to buy new ones!” she yelled at the man. “I can’t see Mrs. Lureaux wanting Buzz’s child to be in an orphanage- I know she wouldn’t have no such thing, due to him carrying you ‘alls last name too!-But If you don’t take him in, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen!”

 “Johnny come on up here, child!’ she turned towards her son, stretching out her hand again to him.

“Martha, the boy is still a baby,” the man said, starring, over her shoulders and down the stairs at the listening youngster.

“I don’t care, Chugs!” she continued, “I can’t take care of him no more!…Every time I look at him I get crazy thinkin of what Buzz did to me! —Everybody looks at me wrong now. They talk behind my back, sayin bad things about me- and I just can’t do it no more! I can’t go on one more day like this!  Ya'll can take him over there to Buzz if you want to or take him in yourself,--but I can’t do it! Not one more day!”—Her eyes begged for Chugs understanding.

“Johnny! Come on! -Get up here, now!” she demanded, stumping her foot down as she yelled with urgency at him.

Johnny had never heard his mother speak to him in such a frantic manner. He looked at his Mother surprised and walked up the steep stairs slowly, obeying her request. When he reached her at the front door, he could see that she was crying as she bent down to him, squatting, as the seams in her black dress stretched to her bended and widened frame.

Her lips quivered as she whispered to her trusting toddler and tried to speak to him.

“Johnny,” she began, in a softer tone, with his name barely escaping her lips. Then she cleared her throat, gathering courage to speak again.

“Johnny Lee,” she said louder this time, “You listen here, now….” She paused again and Johnny watched a tear trickle from the corner of his mother’s eyes and run down the side of her cheeks as she continued to talk to him. The feather on top of her hat brushed against his anxious face; as she looked down to open her purse.   She twisted open the metal clasp on top of her black purse and fumbled inside of it and pulled out a pair of white gloves and a matching handkerchief.  Then she patted the fine linen cloth to her eyes. 

Johnny could smell the light peppermint gum on her breath that she had chewed earlier to stop her nausea, her lips were close to his.

“I know this ain’t the home you use to, but these folks here are gonna take good care of you now. They are your kin folk, so they are gonna look after you now, as if you are their own. This here is gonna be your new home and it’s a much better home for you than the one you had. Now don’t you fret about nothing, Johnny Lee. Do you here me? I don’t want you fretting about your stay here and I want you to listen to everything these folks in her tell you to do.  You need some good rearin’ and your other family in here is gonna be able to give you everything you need son. It’s gonna be alright, don’t you fret, ok? ”

She didn’t await her toddlers’ response, only tensely pulled the white gloves over each of her hands and bent down closer to him. She nervously connected together the top button of Johnny’s heavily-starched, cotton white Sunday- school shirt and then stroked his tiny chest, to ease her son's fearful, racing heartbeat that she felt beneath her hands.

“I have got to leave you here and you have got to stay son and that’s all to it!” she said conclusively, as she struggled to stand up from her temporary squatting position.  She grunted lightly and shifted her weight to the porch banister besides her, then lifted herself up to stand over her child.

Johnny looked up, staring deeply into his mother’s eyes and she tried to avoid his sadness by turning away from him. He pulled and tugged at her frail hand hanging listlessly at her side; the beautiful camellia flower he had given to her seemed lifeless, now, its pink petals dropping and wilted as she cupped it inside the palm of her cool gloved hand.

“But Momma- I’m ready to go to Sunday school!—I’m ready to go to church with you, okay? He offered in question.

 Martha Johnson turned to look at him again to respond to his suggestion.

“I’m sorry, Johnny, but you can’t go with me no more. -Not to church or anywhere else! I might be just over yonder, but you can’t come back there. You have to listen to what I say.” –

She sniffled back the moisture running through her nose and closed her eyes to finish talking.

“This here is your home now…This is where you gonna be at. Now, go on Johnny!”  She said with aggression as she shook his little hand away from hers, as if to shake away the attachment connected to her and then she starred down at him.

“No, No- Mama, please, I wanna go with you! Don’t leave me! - I wanna go with you!” Johnny pleaded as he pressed his face to her, beneath the small bump in her belly and threw his arms around her tightly, squeezing her around her child-bearing widened hips.

She wanted to hug him back, but only touched the top of his head lightly. She wouldn’t allow anymore feelings to interrupt her plans.

“Johnny Lee- let me go.” she whispered over the light panting in her breath. She was exhausted with emotion and breathed lighter to cure the dizziness and fatigue that suddenly overwhelmed her.

But Johnny pressed his nose into her linen dress and as the soft and familiar scent of lilac and talc, arose from her body, he grabbed her closer, holding her tighter, hoping his mother would change her mind.

She couldn’t leave him here! He sobbed, burying his face against her pregnant stomach. She just couldn’t leave him here!

“Please don’t go! I’m sorry for wettin the bed, Mama- and throwing rocks at the rooster, and taking your nickel off of your bureau…” He tried to recall every disobedient action against his mother.

“I’ll be good;-I’ll be a good boy! -- I promise, I promise, I will! Please don’t leave me here!” He wept even harder, holding her; refusing to let her go.

She was frozen, stiffened with anguish, but fought off the need to nurture and comfort her son. Inside she knew that this was something that she had to do, for herself and for the sake of her child. He couldn’t see it now, but she no longer had anything to give to him. Even the love she had for him was depleted beneath the heavy responsibilities she could no longer keep as his mother.  He would be better in a life away from her.

“It ain’t about wettin no bed or bein good Johnny Lee…- I can’t take care of you. That’s all! --- Now, please, - please let loose of me-- I gotta go!,”  she said as she pulled his clinging hands from off of her hips and looked down at his face again.

She lifted his chin up with the tips of her fingers and raised his head so he could meet her eyes.

“And you stop that whinin – and be a good boy- you here?” Her bright hazel eyes had dimmed and reddened, filling up with more tears and she abruptly turned Johnny’s shoulders around and away from her to position him towards Chugs. She had to carry out her plans, forcibly towards her son.

Chugs still stood at the door, with uneasiness now; uncomfortable with the scene before him.

“You give Mrs. Lureaux my best, Chugs, and ----Johnny,--” Martha Johnson’s throat grew dry inside. She looked at her son then stopped; unable to finish her sentence, as she returned her stare back into the hazel eyes she had given Johnny.

“You mind these folks in here and you be a good boy, - --“I gotta go.” she mumbled, and turned her face down towards her shoulder to hide her tears, and then turned around completely, facing the road in front of the house.

She stood still, quietly for a second, her back to her sniffling child, gazing down at the woodland of trees, swaying in the distance.  It would be long walk home, alone, without Johnny to question every move or to sing to her, or simply smile at her. A lonely and long walk indeed, without her son by her side. She lifted her head with determination and tightened her gloves, pulling them around her wrist, and then straightened her dress, tugging either side of the hem and then proceeded down the stairs.

Johnny tried to chase her, but Chugs stopped him, grabbing him, lifting him into the air, and holding him around his waist as Johnny kicked in protest.

“No, Mama, - Please...Please… I wanna go home with you….Mama!” Johnny screamed, demanding an answer. But she ignored his cries.

“Take care of him Chugs!” she yelled in finality with her head in the air, defying her inner emotions, and torpidly headed down the dirt road, marching away quickly.

Feeling the resistance subside from the child's body, Chugs allowed Johnny to stand upon his feet and Johnny stood there quietly, on the steps, using the back of his hands to wipe away the tears that had formed down his face.

“Be a good boy; this is your home now;” his mother’s words floated through his head as his chest heaved in and out with short breaths. She was leaving and there was nothing he could do to make her stay. She was leaving without him and she was leaving for good.

An odd calmness gathered inside of Johnny and he surrendered as Chugs restraining hands released him entirely, letting him stand freely to watch her leave. Although Chugs lingered in the doorway Johnny felt all alone standing on top of the stairs. He stood there impassive and idol, as he watched her walk away from him.

He watched her walking further and further away as the dust lingered around her feet, clouds of dry earth formed with each step she made her way down the trodden path. She walked so rigid and stern and he waited to see his mother’s face again, but she never turned back to look at him.

Johnny observed the sight before him; squinting his eyes beneath the sun to focus on her exit.  His small teeth clinched together in the back of his mouth as he suddenly hated the fluffy ostrich feather on her big black hat that fluttered in the Alabama wind. He hated the gold- buttoned down black linen dress that moved from side to side with her sturdy strut. His fist curled up and tightened as he hated the white gloved-hands, swinging in precision with her march. Johnny’s hurt grew heavy in his chest for her as he looked at the black leather baby doll shoes that carried her away from him and he hated Martha Johnson.

He watched her leave and felt an overbearing hurt in his heart and a dark hatred that he had never known; hating the woman he knew as his mother.

A new hurt was forming inside of Johnny as he watched her move farther from his sight; disappearing down the same rocky road she had prayed for him on. Johnny only felt hopelessness from that gloomy road in front of the house and the infantile pain that kindled inside of his broken heart would pave a long path, far coarser than the one he was forsaken on.

With one long and heaving final sigh, Johnny quietly accepted the loss of his mother, as she vanished from the road and out of his life.

But his disparity was quickly doused with a strong older woman’s voice coming from within the large house.

“Who’s at my door this early in the mornin?” the woman’s husky voice came from inside.

Chugs reached his hand down to Johnny and gently held Johnny’s tiny fingers to assist in the introduction to the vociferous women questioning him.

“What’s your name again, boy?” Chugs bent to Johnny, asking in a shielded whisper, as he held Johnny’s small hand and picked up the worn leather box of luggage, walking into the large home.

Chugs rough, massive hands were hard and scaly, nothing like the soft, hands of Johnny’s mother’s he had just released, and Johnny starred at the over-sized swollen fingers. They were gigantic and felt like they would burst with each tightened bend.

Johnny looked up at the large man. His black suspenders were stretched tightly and laid around the sides of his round belly that hung like a stuffed sack, profusely over his pants. He panted roughly, walking heavy with each step, his mouth opened with faint gurgles beneath his breathing.

An older woman stood inside of the front room as they came inside. Her gray hair was pinned neatly in a bun, and Johnny was amazed at the exquisite suit she wore. The bright blue linen jacket’s broad lapel was trimmed in a white satin ribbon and the sleeves had pearl buttons aligning the back of the wrist.  The same white ribbon on the jacket was at the helm of the skirt… and Johnny was awed by her tall stance and her domineering appearance. 

 She held a wide brimmed hat the same color of her outfit, in her hand, and fanned it at the two of them in the doorway.

     “Who is this lil’ one, here?” she spoke in a rude tone, peering at him over her round, wire-rimmed glasses. Her leather oxford shoes, with thick square heels, creaked on the wooden floor as she came closer.

Johnny could smell her rose-scented perfume, as she bent down inspecting him.

“This here is Buzz’s boy by Martha Johnson,” Chugs said, awaiting her approval.

The old woman leaned back and folded her arms across the pearl necklace that lay upon her large bosom.

“So what is he doin here? - --Where’s his momma gone to? - She asked, her arms still locked across her chest as she studied Johnny.

Chugs stuttered to respond with the news,--“Uh, she um, left him here. –She say that she want you or Buzz to take him in.—She say she can’t take care of him no more, Aunt Izzy.”

She leaned back further, exposing the appearance of even larger breast underneath her suit jacket, as her hands rested around her aging waistline. She shook her head from side to side.

“—What on Earth did you say? She can’t take care of this boy? Ain’t this a shame?—You gotta be kiddin me! She can’t take care of him?—can’t take care of him?!- That’s what she sayin now?”  She raised her voice loudly, repeating the news in disbelief, looking at Chugs, and then she continued before he could answer her.

“I knew when I hired that gal that she was trouble! –Just smilin’ all day long and hangin around my boy all the time! I told both of them when I saw them near the shed, that it betta not be no funny stuff goin on. I told them that all they betta be doin together is dog-gone work around the house. Then I start hearin all this bunch of hog mess goin round town-- ‘bout my boy and Martha Johnson—and now this! Now Buzz dun had a baby with this gal and he is married to Elza, takin care of his own family across town! How does she think he supposed to take of her little bastard?!” She threw her hands in the air in disgust and went on with her ranting, standing over Johnny as she chastised Chugs.

“Oooh That Buzz! He is  just too much! His Daddy probably turning over in his grave right now, with all this stuff he’s been pullin lately!  I ain’t gonna be takin care of this little bastard, right here—Just cuz I’s this boys Grandmama! I dun told Buzz when I heard about it, I wun’t gonna be havin nothin to do with it!--Folks are already talkin too. Now, who does that lil gal think is gonna wanna raise a bastard and bring somethin like that up in their Christian home? — I tell you who! No body, that’s who!”

She held the tip of her spectacles still looking angry, over Johnny as she spoke.

“And any-ways, I got enough shit to deal with!----- Awe! --You see there!! -- You see there!"- She waved her finger in the air at Chugs.

“Ya'll makin me cuss, on a Sunday---‘--excuse me Lord—Satan must be near, the Devil must be near!” she spoke, apologetically, looking up toward the ceiling, then returned her eyes to Johnny frowning at him as she gaped over him.

“It’s gonna take a lot of rearin to turn you right boy-- Look at you!--….Lookin like Buzz with them bubble eyes.—And what color is those eyes of yours?”- She bent closer, bending down to his face.

“Look at that...He got them light colored eyes like that girl got, lookin all funny and stuff!”-She shook her head in disgust.  “It ain’t enough that he’s a bastard son,… the boy gots this strange look to him too!”

“I heard about that crazy Injun blood in some folk’s families around here. Them folks bein Blackfoot Injuns down this way and mixin with our kinds! If I would’a had any say in that- there wouldn’t be no such thang as half Colored and half Injun people around here.”

“Some folks just don’t care about nothing! -- Comin from Lord knows where and mixin blood, -- And it just ain’t right.”

She rubbed her hand lightly across the top of Johhny’s head, feeling his curly, soft and fine hair with the tips of her fingers… “Your hair ain’t so bad, I guess… But look like that’s about the only thang so far that’s good about you…” she said with approval and then continued with further observation of Johnny.

“Injuns and Colored! Humph! Mixin our kinds with others…It ain't enough that the white blood from down the line still be comin out in our chil’ren ... Lord have mercy, just a-look at your poor brother Keys; dark as night, with them blue eyes and straight hair. You know Chugs, I had always thought your Momma, got a hex put down on her when Keys was born. Here Keys come out of her, wailin’ up a storm, lookin like a dark Injun with blue eyes! Don’t know what your mama would have done without me keeping you all busy whiles you was growin up.  Her and my pore brother,  havin to raise Keys, with his funny looks,  and havin to hear  all over town bout his looks was like a fruit fly over cut peaches,- just a nuisance,  a pain in the-…” she cut her sentence short and returned her daze to Johnny.

     “And now this thang come up in here, in my house!-What am I gonna do with this little thang lookin like a mutt. Big ears, crazy eyes, ---just funny-looking!

“Can you even talk boy?” she asked pushing her fingers into Johnny's small chest, as he rocked back to regain his stance.

Johnny was petrified with silence as she continued her persecution towards the 3-year old.

“Do you even know anything bout your daddy boy?” she asked Johnny starring into his frightened face.

He blinked his eyes to fight back the tears and shook his head, No, from side to side.

“Have you ever seen him before-?”She asked.

Johnny shook his head “No” again.

“You Speak to me when I ask you something boy! You gots a mouth aint ya? ”she yelled at him this time pushing him in his chest harder.

“Ummm No,’ Johnny answered his voice, low and shaking.

“You don’t be talking to me like that boy,” she yelled in response.

“You’s best learn how to start talkin to people right now! Your momma ain’t taught you nothing! She haven’t even taught you to say, “ No,-“ma’am?” – Well, I’m telling you now, that’s how you betta always answer me or any other lady.”  She corrected him.

“No, ma’am,” he whispered, repeating in obedience.

She drew in a long sigh and released a heavy breath, as she walked behind him, with further inspection.

“Ahhhhh,--that boy of mine---Buzz Lureaux! He just oughta know how to keep his thang in his pants by now!”- She paced back and forth, inspecting Johnny from behind.

“And that gal got some nerve goin around here sayin my boy did such an indecent thang to her, too! --- She probably sayin that cuz she ain’t married yet!” She nudged Johnny’s little shoulder with her hand.  I hear the man she s’pose to marry gots kids of his own and didn’t want this lil one she had! I hear she is carrying another child that’s due soon too, that her new man don’t even want.  That’s what the town is sayin.”  She clinched her teeth together with anger.

“Now wonder she dun brought him here—cuz don’t nobody else in Selma want this boy!” She put her hands on her hips, as she stood over him, still examining the toddler from head to toe.

“Dear Lord Help Me!” She finally said, turning away and walking over to a large wall mirror hanging by the front door.

Johnny stood shaking, next to Chugs, and impulsively he reached up to find comfort in him and began to trustingly hold the hand of the strange man who had instantly become the only friend who he had in the world.

He didn’t know who the man was, but now he felt relief in the puffy hand he had loathed only moments before, as Chugs gently squeezed Johnny’s fingers inside of his own.

“Go on with him.--Get him outta my face, for now.” She finally said fanning her hand, as if she was shooing away an insect.

“Ya"ll gonna make me late for Church this morning,” she said placing a pearl stick pin in the hat on her head and adjusting it in front of the wall mirror.

“Charlie, hand me my pocket book from off of the table, and put that boy in the workers changing room. -I’ll figure out what to do with him later.”

—She stretched her white gloves over her hands, and then swept the brim of her hat with her finger tips, satisfied with her finished appearance.

“Oh and Charlie, -- We don’t know nothin bout this here youngin’. He could come in here and try and take anything- and then just run away back to his momma. –So you make sure you keep a good eye on him while I’m gone.” She pointed her gloved finger at Johnny with warning as she spoke and then snatched the purse out of Chugs’ hands and with the bang of the grand oak door, Isabelle Lureaux, Johnny’s grandmother, was gone for the moment.

Chugs looked down at Johnny again, still holding his tiny hand.

“I guess it’s me and you buddy…. Now don’t you be bothered with all of her yellin. That’s just Aunt Izzy.  I think she’s gonna get betta when she comes to know you.—She’s just gettin old and mean, that’s all.—She ain’t raised no little one as  yourself, in a long time, but don’t you fret, okay?” he said, feeling sorry for his new little cousin after the harsh words from his Aunt.

 

He sighed in disgust, as he looked further down at Johnny. Johnny’s dingy feet were striped now with streaks of urine that formed a puddle around him on the wooden floor, he had wet himself through the harsh interrogation from his Grandmother.

“Boy we gotta get that mess up before Aunt Izzy come back and raise hell!” he said, already frustrated. –“Aunt Izzy is worse than a butchered chicken in the slaughter yard, when she get too mad –and she can be wild sometimes and mad as hell!” he said almost laughing to himself.

Although he undertook various jobs as the nephew and the caretaker for his surely Aunt, at 17 years old Charlie, (Chugs) Lureaux knew nothing about children.

He lifted the toddler up, holding Johnny underneath each of his tiny arms, and away from himself, making sure that the urine covered clothing would not his own.  Johnny dangled in the air in front of him, as Chugs walked outside and then behind the house, passing a large garden with neat and attended rows of various fresh vegetables.  He and Johnny turned on the side of the house passing a red barn and pigs, chickens and cows that were fenced in separate areas around the bard. 

Before Johnny’s eyes could study all of the new things around him, Chugs stopped at a small, freshly painted white out-house standing amongst some short rounded and scarcely-stemmed bushes. He let Johnny stand back upon his own feet and then made Johnny remove his wet pants and afterwards Chugs laid the wet pants on top of a nearby bush.  “This here is where you relieve yourself next time you gotta pee or poop,” he said opening the small shack door. The opening revealed a square wooden box with a large hole in the center of it.  It reeked of old urine and feces.  Johnny hesitated and Chugs, brushed his hand behind Johnny’s shoulder to encourage him to go in.  “It’s alright, - go on in.  I’mma be back when the workers come in to help me clean your pants. Now go ahead in….It’s alright.” He said, pushing Johnny from behind lightly.  “Just relax and do what you needs to do in here and somebody will be back to help you get dressed again soon, ok?

Johnny stood still, not answering him, his eyes clouding again, as he looked at Chugs in silence, closing the door slowly and leaving him standing there.

Chugs walked in to the house and back into his Aunts large kitchen.  He was relieved as he remembered the house aides would be in soon to assist him with the new child in the home. He placed more wood in the bottom of the Glenwood cast-iron stove in his Aunts kitchen to warm up the briskly large house and to heat up the plate of breakfast that sat on top of the stove.

And as Johnny remained in the grisly shed, the sun peeped through the cracks of the old roof over his head and he gazed up at the warmth over him, trying to take in the abrupt changes that had crushed his Sunday morning. A faint scent of smoked ham trickled into the outhouse, helping to override the stench inside for a moment, but it didn’t dismiss the questions running through Johnny’s mind.

He didn’t understand who these people were or why his mother had awakened him and removed him from the routine of her comforting lap in Church each Sunday into the hollow walls of a dark shed. He didn’t understand why she left him there, in a big scary house with strangers who didn’t like him. He wanted to run back home the same way he had come, and he cried, longing to chase his mother down the road she departed on.

But now the fear inside of him destroyed all hopes of escaping to reunite with her, and somehow the love that once burned for his mother became cold with anger as he thought of her leaving him in this place alone.

Isolated and clad only in his shirt, he glanced around the stagnant retreat and noticed a tiny field mouse coming through a crack on the far side of the wall. He watched it as it made its way into the small shack and sniffed around. It entertained his kindergarten mind for a moment, snooping around the crevices of the hut, until it escaped back into the hole it had arrived through. As it disappeared, Johnny wished he could be a mouse and escape through a hole. He wanted to leave like the mouse did and runaway from everything, but unable to, his anger returned.

He kicked into the air, jealously, toward the deserted hole; his little bare feet even cooler than before, still covered in the now dry and dingy urine. He was angry at the mouse, something so irrelevant to come and go as it pleased; angry that something so tiny could get away from a bad place, -why couldn’t he?  Johnny returned to the grimness of his own desertion, still alone and half- naked in the small shack. He grew even more frightened as he anticipated Chugs’ long awaited return.

But it was Sunday. There would be no arrival of the house aides; it was the only day Isabelle Lureaux allowed the staff to take off. Chugs lay comfortable across the sofa as the warmth from the kitchen oven had reached the living room. After eating the grits and ham and buttermilk biscuits his Aunt had cooked for breakfast he flipped through the pages of a pin-up girl calendar he had taken out his younger brother Bobbie’s room. His eyes moved up and down each page slowly, intoxicated in the seductive photos. 

As drool slowly ran down the side of his opened mouth; Miss Marvelous March, lay before him.  Her creamy ivory skin glowed from the page as her red hair flowed over the back of her flawless body and she held her head back to accentuate the perfect breast peeping from beneath her gold satin corset.  Her long legs covered with fish-net stockings opened slowly as she smiled back at him in his dreams.  Chugs closed his eyes in giddiness and as his alluring dream moved into a sensual slumber, he began snoring. The little boy out back was far from his mind.

Johnny, shivered inside the dark outhouse and leaned in the corner closest to the door, anticipating the sounds of the big man's return, yet afraid to leave.   But as he listened to the distant sounds of the Southern Baptist Church Bells ringing as they filled with patrons, box cars clanging past the tracks far away, and the animals grunts and clucks from behind him in the barn, he heard no one approaching the shed. He realized that he was there all alone.

 He hated his mother and now the person she left him with was nowhere around and he wasn’t sure when the big man would be back! His teeth shattered, clanging like metal in his small mouth.  He tried to focus again on the light penetrating through the wooden roof above him. He wanted his mother, in spite of it all, he hated her, but he wanted and needed his mother.

He crossed his arms and wrapped his tiny hands around his shoulders and hopelessly, slowly, slid his back down against the wall and squatted onto the floor. The hardened red dirt was cold beneath him, as he hesitantly met the ground with his bare bottom surrendering to the surrounding doom. In the dimness, he sat with his knees to his chest, and rocked back and forth as he continued to stare upon the seeping sun through the cracks of the roof.

The streaks of morning sun had lowered from the roof, resting into the early afternoon, shadowing the bottom of the wall and by now Johnny’s measly body began to shake uncontrollably. Unable to stop as the convulsions overtook his tiny muscles, he instinctively pulled up the white shirt he wore and stuffed it between his chattering teeth.

At three years old, on a chilly February day, in Selma, Alabama, Johnny Lureaux, was having an ecliptic seizure. For the first time in his young life, as death made its introduction, into the hollow empty, bathroom hut, and into his small body, he could feel the intrusion of a cold darkness in his soul as he fought to stay alive.

The cool shivers became heated as Johnny saw flickers of the sun running through his mind. Sweat blistered across his forehead in the cool shack as gleams of superficial light interrupted the blackness overtaking his soul. He jerked across the Alabama dirt, opposing the affliction gaining control throughout him; unable to stop the pain from the wooden floor beating his convulsing body with each wild buck. He fought for his life, with everything from inside of him; he battled the invisible force.  And soon, his little heart began beating strongly again; rising to normality from a fainting murmur, eager to a new life awaiting him.

A new life indeed; a life that wouldn’t meet any of the hopes he awakened for, or answer his prayers to be in his mother’s care again. He would no longer be a son to a mother, and although he heard the word “bastard” before, for the very first time, as Johnny slowly regained full consciousness in the darkness of an outhouse, he actually felt what it was to be treated like one.

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Texte: Februay 5 2013
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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.05.2013

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