Halfway to Harmony

by Barbara O'Connor

  “It’s my favorite. I got it at the Goodwill in Tennessee where we used to live. I had a ton of books but Evalina made me leave most of them behind so I just brought my favorites. I’ve got one about teaching dogs to do tricks. Watch this.”

  She made a circle with her hand and Porkchop laid down and rolled over.

  “Where are you going to catch minnows?” Walter asked.

  “Duh. Like I said, the river.”

  Walter shook his head. “Good luck.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. He had lived here beside the Chattahoochee River his whole life. He knew the best place to catch minnows was in the clear water of the creeks that flowed through the woods.

  “Means you’ll find more minnows in the creeks than the river,” he said.

  “You a minnow expert?”

  “No, but…”

  “Bet you didn’t know that nugget of knowledge about minnows being carp,” Posey said.

  Then she and Porkchop headed off up the middle of the road, those jars clattering with every clomp, Posey calling behind her, “You coming or not?”

  FOUR

  By the time Walter caught up with Posey, he was out of breath, sweat running down his neck in the Georgia heat.

  The whole time they made their way up the narrow path toward the creek, jumping over gullies, climbing over fallen trees, stepping carefully around pricker bushes, Posey jabbered nonstop.

  She told Walter about her friend Lettie back in Tennessee who had sleeping sickness.

  “Just fell asleep right in the middle of dinner,” Posey said. “One time, she fell asleep standing up! I kid you not.”

  She told him how her daddy got a job as a traveling salesman when she was a baby.

  “Problem was, he just kept on traveling and never came back,” she said. “I used to think he left me ’cause of this.” She pointed to the heart-shaped birthmark on her face. “But Evalina’s told me about a hundred times to hush up saying that, so I guess I don’t think it anymore.”

  Then she told Walter how the preacher at Spiny Grove Baptist Church in Tennessee had told her that the birthmark was a direct result of being kissed by an angel.

  “I happen to know that’s a bunch of bull,” Posey said. “Angels don’t have time to kiss all the babies in the world. Besides, more like getting kicked by the devil, if you ask me.”

  On and on she went.

  She told him about how Porkchop had just shown up on their front porch one night during a thunderstorm.

  “He was practically bald from the mange and covered with ticks,” she said. “He was nothing but skin and bones. When I let him inside, he jumped up on the kitchen table and snatched Evalina’s porkchop right off her plate.”

  “Is that why you named him Porkchop?” Walter asked.

  “Well, duh. Anyways, Evalina pitched a fit and wanted to take him to the pound, but I pitched a fit right back. I knew he needed me, seeing as how he’s only got three legs. He looks different and, believe me, I know how that feels.”

  Walter wished he could ask her if kids said mean things about her birthmark, but even if he’d had the nerve (which he didn’t), she wouldn’t stop talking long enough for him to say diddly.

  “And then,” she went on, “it was kind of a stroke of good luck when Ernest and Nadine died ’cause we got a whole house for free. Ernest and Nadine were my granddaddy and grandmama, you know.”

  Walter nodded.

  “I know it probably sounds mean, what I just said about them dying,” Posey continued, “but I never met ’em and Evalina told me they were not very nice. She used to say we weren’t never coming to Harmony but she changed her mind ’cause of the free house.”

  When a small black snake slithered across the path in front of them, she said, “I bet you didn’t know that the longest snake on record was thirty feet long and weighed three hundred pounds.” She poked at the snake with the toe of her boot before it disappeared under a mound of rotting leaves. “Another nugget of knowledge,” she added.

  They were almost to the creek when Posey hollered, “Wait!”

  Walter stopped.

  “Look!” Posey pointed into the woods.

  Walter looked. “What?”

  “Hold on to your skivvies ’cause you will not believe this.” Posey motioned for him to follow her through a tangle of chokeweeds where Porkchop was sniffing around like crazy and whining.

  “Look!” Posey said again.

  Walter looked.

  Poking out of the dense shrubs were feet.

  Two feet, to be exact.

  One foot wore a sneaker with a hole in the toe.

  The other foot was bare. Bruised and scratched.

  “Who is that?” Posey whispered.

  Walter felt sick, his stomach churning, but he couldn’t take his eyes off those feet.

  Posey carefully set the bag of jars down and picked up a stick. She put a finger to her lips and went, “Shhh.”

  Then she used the stick to push the bushes out of the way.

  There, slumped against a sweet gum tree, was a dead man.

  FIVE

  “Whoa!” Posey stood there with the stick in her hand, holding the bushes back and staring at the dead man.

  Porkchop whined.

  Walter froze.

  He couldn’t move.

  He couldn’t talk.

  His head spun and his legs shook.

  He closed his eyes. “What’s wrong with him?” he whispered.

  “Looks dead to me.”

  “Dead?”

  “Dead as a doornail,” Posey said. “You know him?”

  Walter did not want to look at that man’s face. Looking at his feet was bad enough. Slowly he opened one eye and forced himself to glance at the man. Then he opened his other eye and took a deep breath.

  The dead man had a very bushy mustache that turned up at the ends like a smile. His face was covered with scratches. Over one eye was an angry red lump the size of an egg. His hair was kind of wild looking, full of leaves and hanging clear down to his shoulders. His plaid shirt and denim overalls were ripped and streaked with mud. One hand loosely clutched a clump of sweet gum leaves while the other lay limply beside him.

  Walter took another deep breath and held it for a minute, trying to get his thumping heart to slow down. He was pretty sure he knew nearly everyone in Harmony, but he most definitely did not know this man.

  “Well?” Posey said.

  Walter shook his head. “Never seen him before in my life.” He looked at Posey, who was still holding the bushes back with the stick. “What should we do?” he asked.

  Posey tossed the stick into the woods and let the bushes flap back against the man with a thwap.

  She grinned at Walter. “Call 911!” she said. “I’ve always wanted to call 911.”

  Call 911? Walter had never really thought about it before, but now that Posey said it, he realized he had probably always wanted to call 911, too.

  He looked at Posey with new admiration. His very first day with this girl and they were calling 911!

  “Let’s go!” Posey said, whistling for Porkchop and hurrying up the path with her boots clomping and her thin hair flying.

  Walter hurried after them.

  But they didn’t get far.

  Because suddenly, in the quiet of the Georgia woods, came the sound of a moan.

  SIX

  Walter stopped.

  Posey stopped.

  Porkchop stopped.

  There it was again.

  A moan.

  If Walter had been alone, he knew exactly what he would’ve done.

  Run like crazy.

  But with Posey standing beside him, running didn’t seem like the thing to do.

  So he just stood there and waited.

  Porkchop cocked his head and let out a low growl.

  Posey went, “Shhh,” and motioned for Walter and Porkchop to follow her back to where those two feet stuck out of
the bushes. She squatted on the ground and motioned for Walter to do the same.

  “I think he’s alive!” Posey whispered.

  Walter nodded.

  The sound of his own heartbeat pounded in his ears.

  He held his breath as Posey slowly pushed the bushes aside.

  There was that man.

  His eyes were closed.

  One hand still clutched the sweet gum leaves.

  But the other hand began to twitch.

  His eyelids began to flutter.

  And then another moan.

  Porkchop barked.

  Suddenly both of the man’s eyes popped open and stared up at the canopy of trees overhead.

  A gravelly voice made Walter jump.

  “Am I dead?” the man asked, still staring at the sky.

  Posey went, “Pfft,” and said, “No deader than me.”

  The man’s eyes jerked wildly around, searching the branches above him, then lowering slowly until they focused on Posey, who was sitting on the ground holding the bushes aside.

  “You an angel?” he whispered.

  “Do I look like an angel?” She jerked a thumb toward Walter. “Does he look like an angel?”

  The man closed his eyes and moaned again. “Then where in tarnation am I?”

  “A long way from heaven, right, Walter?” Posey poked Walter with her elbow.

  Walter looked at the man, so scratched up and dirty, and decided he deserved a proper answer to an honest question.

  “You’re in the woods beside the Chattahoochee River in Harmony, Georgia,” he said.

  The man coughed a rattly cough and winced. “Am I in one piece? I’m scared to look.”

  Posey squinted at him. “As far as I can tell, yes, you are. Walter, does he look like he’s in one piece to you?”

  Walter took a quick inventory of the man. Two arms. Two hands. Two legs. Two feet. His eyes lingered for a minute on that one bruised and scratched bare foot.

  “Yep,” Walter said. “Missing a shoe, though.”

  The man lifted his head and stared at his foot as if he’d forgotten he had one.

  “Dang it!” he said. “That was a perfectly good shoe.”

  Porkchop walked slowly around the man, sniffing and growling.

  “Will somebody get that mutt away from me?” the man said.

  Posey called Porkchop, who trotted to her and sat, his wagging tail making swishing noises in the dried leaves.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, mister,” Posey said, “but you don’t look too good.”

  The man scowled. “You wouldn’t look too good yourself, missy, if you fell out of the sky.”

  “Ha!” Posey said. “Fell out of the sky? That’s a bunch of baloney.”

  Walter looked up at the trees overhead. Sunlight filtered through them, leaving streaks of golden light dancing among the branches. Had this man really fallen out of the sky?

  “You two just gonna sit there?” the man snapped. “I’m in a bit of a pickle here, in case you haven’t noticed. I think my ankle’s broke.”

  “You got a name?” Posey asked.

  “’Course I got a name.”

  Posey stood up and with a big, dramatic toss of her hand, released the branches she had been holding back, letting them whack that man right in the face.

  “Hey!” he hollered, making Porkchop bark.

  Posey jammed her fists into her waist and yelled into the bushes: “Seems to me like somebody in such a pickle would consider being a tad nicer.”

  “Okay, okay.” The man’s voice traveled through the bushes. “Banjo! My name’s Banjo! Now y’all gonna help me get outta here or not?”

  Posey pulled the branches away from the man’s face. “Banjo?”

  “What kinda name is that?” Walter asked.

  The man let out a big heaving sigh. “I will most definitely work on being nice. But right now, I’m not exactly in the mood. Are y’all gonna help me or not?”

  Posey looked at Walter. “Should we help him?”

  “Well, um, yeah!” Walter said. “We gotta help him. Call 911?”

  Posey nodded. “Yep, 911.”

  SEVEN

  The EMTs finally got Banjo out of the woods on a stretcher and were loading him into an ambulance, when Evalina hurried after him, waving a paper bag.

  “Wait! Stop!” she called. “That poor man needs some food.”

  She set the paper bag carefully on the stretcher beside Banjo. He opened his eyes and looked at Evalina.

  “Sweet glory hallelujah,” he said. “I am dead!”

  Evalina chuckled. “You’re looking a little rough, but you are most definitely not dead.”

  “Then why is there an angel standing over me?”

  Evalina blushed, and then Posey piped in, “He thought I was an angel, too. The man is some kinda kook, if you ask me.”

  “Nobody’s asking you,” Evalina snapped.

  Banjo held up the paper bag and waved it feebly. “This!” he said. “Only an angel would give me this.”

  Evalina flapped her hand and said, “Aw, now, that’s nothing but a couple of liver-mush sandwiches.”

  “Liver mush?” Banjo said. “My personal favorite. Delivered to me by a beautiful angel. Who would’ve thought this day would turn out so fine?”

  Banjo took a deep sniff of the paper bag and closed his eyes with a contented sigh. Then he looked at Evalina and said, “I’ll be back, Miss Angel. I got some unfinished business in them woods.”

  “What happened to you back there, anyway?” Evalina asked.

  Banjo tipped an imaginary hat. “I’ll tell you all about it when I return.”

  With that, Banjo disappeared inside the ambulance and Evalina, Posey, Porkchop, and Walter watched as it bounced down the gravel road and turned onto the main highway.

  * * *

  Walking home that afternoon, Walter thought about how yesterday had been boring and filled with the emptiness left by Tank, but today had been crazy and surprising and even a little fun.

  When he got home, Mama was snapping green beans at the kitchen table and tossing them into a pot.

  “What in the world’s going on next door?” she asked.

  Walter told her about the man who fell out of the sky.

  “Fell out of the sky?” she said. “That’s hogwash.”

  Snap.

  Toss.

  “That’s what he told me and Posey,” Walter said.

  “Well, the man’s either a nut or a liar, or both.”

  Snap.

  Toss.

  Walter sighed. Mama was always so grumpy lately. He wished he could remember some of those jokes that Tank used to tell, but he couldn’t.

  He went out to the barn and walked around Tank’s truck, inspecting it, making sure everything was perfect.

  No mouse droppings on the hood.

  No cobwebs on the mirrors.

  He took an old towel from a peach basket and polished fingerprints off the fender. Then he stepped back and admired the shiny truck.

  Tank’s best friend, Lester, had painted orange flames on the sides and a lightning bolt on the tailgate. Tank had put a sticker in the rear window that said Bad to the Bone, but Mama had pitched a fit and tried to take it off. The only part that was left was the Bone. Some girl’s necklace hung from the rearview mirror. A gold chain with a rhinestone horseshoe.

  Walter could practically see Tank sitting there behind the wheel. Sometimes it felt like just yesterday his brother had been driving his truck up and down Main Street with Walter beside him. That truck was fast and loud and made the old folks in Harmony scowl at them, which, of course, made Tank smile and wink at Walter.

  Sometimes Tank let Walter come with him out to the water tower where his high school friends hung out in the evenings. Walter always watched Tank’s every move. The way he fist-bumped the boys and sweet-talked the girls. One time, on the way home, Tank had poked Walter in the arm and said, “Ain’t I Mr. Smooth?”

&nb
sp; Walter would have given anything to be riding out to the water tower with Mr. Smooth again.

  * * *

  That night, Walter had the dream.

  Same birthday cake.

  Same people gathered around.

  Those eleven candles dripping wax onto Mama’s buttercream frosting.

  Tank saying, “Blow out them candles, little man, and I’ll show you my world.”

  Walter looking down at those candles and then, like always, he woke up.

  EIGHT

  Mama stood up from the lawn chair by the garden and said, “What in the world?”

  Walter stopped picking cucumbers and stared.

  A rusty pickup truck had turned off the highway and was chugging up the gravel road toward them, leaving a trail of black smoke behind it. The engine coughed and sputtered as the truck passed them and came to a stop in front of Evalina’s house.

  While Walter and Mama stared, the truck seemed to make one last gasp.

  Cough out one last puff of smoke.

  Shudder one last rattle.

  The door of the truck squeaked open and the driver stepped out.

  Banjo!

  Walter recognized that twirly mustache right away. And even from over by the garden, he could see that big red lump over Banjo’s eye. He could also see a blue cast on one foot and a pair of crutches.

  “Who in the name of Jemima Jones is that?” Mama asked.

  “It’s Banjo!” Walter said. “That man who fell out of the sky.”

  Walter raced across the yard. “Banjo!” he called, waving his arms.

  Banjo didn’t look up. He hobbled up the side of the road on his crutches, muttering under his breath.

  All of a sudden, Posey burst out of her screen door, followed by a yapping Porkchop. She jumped off the front porch, ran over to Banjo, and skidded to a stop, sending gravel tumbling into the drainage ditch that ran along the edge of the road.

  Porkchop snarled and snapped at the air in front of Banjo, who stopped hobbling and waved a crutch in the air.

  “Watch it, missy!” he hollered. “And get that three-legged fleabag away from me.”

  Posey motioned for Porkchop to sit, which he did, growling softly and keeping his gaze on Banjo.