by Burke, Dez
At the end of the last song, the preacher steps up to the wooden podium and places his open Bible in front of him.
“That’s some mighty good singing,” he says. “But I think we can do one better. Today we have a very special guest in the audience if you haven’t already noticed. Come on up here, Levi Hamby, and sing a song for us. It’s not every day the Monroe First Baptist Church has a music star in our midst.”
He waves a beckoning hand toward me and the crowd breaks into applause.
Oh no.
I shake my head and hold up my hands. Today isn’t supposed to be about me.
“Go on, boy,” Dad says, elbowing me in the ribs. “Sing a song. I’d like to hear you. It’s been a long time, son.”
I’m a little shocked he knows what’s going on. That’s all it takes to convince me. I might not be able to help my Dad with much, but I can sure do this one thing for him. If he wants me to sing a song in church, then by God I’ll do my best. It might be one of the last things I ever get to do for him.
“Okay, Dad,” I say, giving his leg a gentle pat. “I’ll sing if you want me to.”
I take a deep breath and stand. Squeezing between Cole’s long legs and the pew in front of us, I make my way into the aisle and up to the front of the church.
“I didn’t come prepared,” I tell Reverend Smith when I reach the wooden podium. “I don’t know what to sing.”
“As long as it’s not one of your songs about whiskey and wild women, you’ll be fine,” he jokes. The crowd laughs along with him and nods encouragingly at me. “You probably remember Ethel over there on the piano. She can play almost anything. Just tell her what you want to sing. Take a minute to think about it. We’ve got time.”
I gaze out over the crowd of church goers. I know almost everyone sitting out there. Half of my life’s history is in this room.
On the front row is Mrs. Collins, my homeroom teacher who patiently put up with my pranks every morning all through high school. She’s grey-haired now and wears bi-focal glasses attached to a gold chain hanging around her neck. Catching my eye, she smiles and nods back at me.
And Mr. James, the owner of the local grocery store and gas station. In the lean months, he’d let the local farmers open credit accounts with him without charging interest or putting down collateral. A farmer’s word was good enough and was all he needed. His generosity saved countless farms from going under during the recession.
Near the back of the church is Annie’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, both retired schoolteachers. When I was growing up, I spent as much time at their house as I did at my own. They never seemed to mind and were always nothing but kind to me. Even after Annie and I broke up. If they ever thought I wasn’t good enough for their daughter, they never showed it. Now they’re both smiling proudly ear to ear, almost as if I were their own son. In a way, I almost was.
“Have you decided on a song yet?” Reverend Smith asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re shy, because we all know you’ve played in front of a much bigger crowd. These are your home folks, so don’t worry. We’ll love you no matter what.”
“Yes, sir,” I say quickly. “I’ve chosen a song.”
I quickly walk over to the pianist who I swear has been sitting on that same worn piano bench since I was five years old. I whisper my song selection in her ear. She nods in approval and begins to softly play.
Walking back to the podium, I clear my throat. This is a little different situation than I’m accustomed to. There’s not a microphone to hold or a backup singer to help me out. Not even my trusty guitar to lean on. Only me and a piano with yellowed keys that hasn’t been tuned in thirty years.
I glance across the pews and make eye contact with my father. “Dad, this song is for you,” I say. “And Mama up in heaven.”
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and start singing from my heart.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost.
But now I’m found…
I make the mistake of glancing over at Dad. He stands up and lifts one hand palm up toward heaven. He’s smiling and is mouthing the words along with me. For the first time since I’ve been back home, we’re connecting on a deep personal level. Through my music of all things.
After all this time.
Raw emotion crashes over me like a wave, gripping me tight and closing my throat. The truth I’ve been denying hits me hard.
I’m losing my dad and he’s never coming back.
Not the way he was before.
The man who has always been a legend in my life is disintegrating right in front of my eyes every day, becoming less and less of the person I knew.
A hard knot the size of a softball is lodged in the back of my throat. I’ve faced crowds of people countless times, and I’ve never choked on a song before.
Now I can’t squeeze the words out past the ball in my throat. I try to sing the next line and my voice breaks.
I was blind…
I stop singing mid-line. Unexpected hot tears roll down my face, and I wipe them away with the back of my hand.
I can’t do this.
I’m not going to be able to finish the song. My heart is being ripped out of my chest. Every emotion I’ve pushed down since returning to Monroe rolls over me. All of my regrets and missed time with the people I love most…Dad, Annie, Cole, and little Lily.
A quiet hush goes over the crowd while they wait for me to continue.
“It’s alright, son,” Reverend Smith says, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Take your time.”
I take another deep breath and try to start again. I need to finish this song for Dad. I’m wishing now I’d chosen another song. One that was easier to sing with less emotion. A song that wasn’t my mama’s favorite. I close my eyes and try one more time, repeating the previous line before I give up.
I once was lost, but now I’m found.
My voice cracks and I stumble on the notes again. I’m destroying the song and making a huge mess of it. I should quit before things get worse. The church would understand.
Suddenly close behind me I hear a lone, sweet voice singing along with me, backing me up and carrying the song when my voice can’t form the words.
A voice I would recognize anywhere because I hear it in my dreams. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
Annie has moved up closer. She’s right behind me with her hand on my back, giving me strength and courage through her gentle touch to keep going.
I take a deep breath, and the two of us sing the next line together.
I was blind, but now I see.
The choir director jumps to his feet and motions to the choir to back me up also. The preacher lifts his hands for the congregation to stand and sing along too. The sound of their voices lifts and swells inside the tiny stone church.
T'was grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace, my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed
Through many dangers, toils, and snares
I have already come
'Tis grace that brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home
When their voices lift up in song, I feel their overwhelming warmth and love coming straight toward me, wrapping me tight and holding me like one of Mama’s worn, handmade quilts.
My dad and Cole are both standing with their arms around each other and beaming back at me.
After all this time, I’ve finally done something right.
I’ve made Dad happy.
The crowd sings every verse, with their voices getting stronger and more confident with each line. I turn slightly, reaching down behind me to grasp Annie’s hand in mine and intertwining our fingers tightly together.
I don’t need to see her with my eyes to know she’s there. The same way she’s always been. Sh
e’s my strength and always was.
Why has it taken me this long to realize what has always been there right in front of me?
I can’t lose Annie again. Not if there’s any way to get her back. I can see clearly now for the first time in years.
Together the church sings the final verse and chorus:
When we've been there ten thousand years
Bright, shining as the sun
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Than when we first begun
Amazing Grace! how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind but now I see
Was blind but now I see…
19
Annie
The moment Levi steps up to sing, I know it’s going to be harder for him than he realizes. Playing to a crowd of faceless fans is one thing, singing to people who have known you your whole life is another.
When his voice cracks the first time, I force myself to stay still when all I want to do is go to him, wrap him in my arms, and never turn him loose.
I understand everything he’s battling inside, the guilt about his dad and his feelings of helplessness over the situation.
When his dad stands up and lifts his hand toward heaven, I know Levi won’t be able to keep it together. Not with all the emotions he’s desperately trying to keep bottled up inside.
My heart aches for him while I watch every raw emotion flickering across his face. At one time we were so close, it was if we were two parts of a seamless whole.
Now all these years later, I still feel his pain as intensely as if it were my own.
The connection we always had was never broken.
Not by time.
Not by miles between us.
He chokes on the words of the song again and wipes tears away with the back of his hand.
Tears spring to my eyes as well.
I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times I’ve seen Levi cry. Only over the death of a beloved dog or the day we buried his Grandpa.
My heart is breaking for him.
I can’t stay put a moment longer. Not when Levi needs me. Moving quickly, I step up behind him and place my hand firmly against his back to let him know I’m here. I open my mouth and start singing.
Lord knows, I’m not a professional singer by any stretch of the imagination. I’m not even a good choir singer, decent at best. I can barely carry a tune. At our church, none of that matters. It’s all about singing in praise, nothing else. I’m not worried about trying to impress anyone.
I join Levi in the song, to help carry him through until he can get a handle on his emotions. The second he hears my voice, I feel his body relax underneath my fingertips. Together we finish the verse, with the congregation and choir joining in with us.
Levi reaches down and grasps my hand in his. He doesn’t have to glance over at me or say one word.
He doesn’t need to.
His touch communicates everything he wants to say to me. From the instant he returned to Monroe again, this moment in time was inevitable.
There’s no point fighting it any longer.
We’re back together again the way we were always meant to be.
20
Annie
When the church service is over, everyone heads outside to the picnic tables set up under the tall, shady oak trees. The tables are covered in an assortment of multi-colored tablecloths brought by the church ladies.
The tables are sorted by food items. The meat table is loaded full of slow-cooked barbeque pork, Brunswick stew, and platters of fried chicken.
Many of the church members are farmers or have small gardens of their own, so the vegetable table is piled high with bowls of fried okra, sliced homegrown tomatoes, freshly picked corn on the cob, and green beans cooked slowly with bacon.
Everyone brings something from their garden to share and show off, even if it’s a small plate of jalapeno peppers or a jar of pickled chow-chow from their fruit cellar.
Homemade buttermilk biscuits and pones of cornbread are at one end, along with a variety of jams, jellies, and sorghum syrup made from the local sugar cane.
There are so many desserts they can’t all fit on one table. After much discussion, the church ladies ask for volunteers to go get an extra picnic table from the fellowship hall and set it up for the cake and pie overflow.
I watch with pride as Levi and Cole volunteer for the job. They come back minutes later, carrying a big metal picnic table, which they quickly unfold and set up exactly where the ladies tell them to.
I walk over and touch Levi’s arm when they’re finished. “I bet you didn’t expect to be put to hard labor today, did you?” I tease.
Turning around, he smiles and slips an easy arm around my waist, pulling me close to his side. His touch is as comfortable and familiar as if we’ve never been apart.
“I learned a long time ago never to talk back to the church ladies,” he says with a grin, tilting his head toward the group of women who are carefully monitoring the buffet lunch. “When they say jump, I ask how high. What did you bring to eat?”
“How do you know if I brought anything?” I ask curiously, pulling back to stare up at him.
“Because I know any woman over twenty years old who doesn’t bring a dish to church decoration is talked about like a dog for years,” he says. “Luckily, us men folk get a free pass. Cole made a pone of cornbread though. It’s one of the few things he can cook well. I give him credit. He’s learning. He said he’s determined that Lily know how to cook one day, and the only way is for him to learn first.”
“If you must know, I brought a whole picnic basket of food, mostly desserts,” I say. “Mom said she’d handle the vegetables and Dad insisted on staying up most of the night tending to his secret Brunswick stew recipe. That left the sweet stuff to me.” I wave a hand at the picnic tables. “The Phillips family is represented well here today.”
He pulls back slightly and winks at me. “Did you by any chance make my favorite?”
“If you’re talking about Mississippi mud cake, then yes I did. I figured Cole would drag you to church decoration today.”
He chuckles, pleased by my answer. “Did you make the cake on my account?” he asks, knowing the answer. “What about your sweet potato casserole with pecans on the top? Did you bring that too?”
“Maybe,” I say slowly. “I thought you might enjoy your favorites one last time in your life. Before you head back to Nashville.”
“Who says I’m in a hurry to go anywhere?” he asks, suddenly serious. “Right now, this is the only place I want to be. You want to grab a plate and go find a place to sit down?”
“Sure. You’d better go straight to the dessert table if you want some of that cake. It’ll go fast.”
Lacing his fingers through mine, he leads me over to the end of a long line of people standing by the paper plates and cups of warm lemonade.
“Thank you for saving me today,” he says while we wait. “I don’t know what happened up there. I’ve never choked on stage before. I couldn’t have gotten through that song without you.”
“How did you know it was me singing?”
“Are you kidding? I would never forget the sound of your voice. Not as long as I’m breathing. I knew it was you standing behind me before you even opened your mouth. I could sense you were there.”
I don’t ask him to elaborate because I know what he means.
“Don’t worry about choking up,” I reassure him. “You’ve got a lot going on with your dad. You wouldn’t be human if it wasn’t ripping you up inside.”
“For some reason, I feel better already,” he says, squeezing my hand. “I always felt good when I was with you. It was the two of us against the world, strong, unbeatable, invincible.”
“Or double trouble, as Mom used to call us.”
“I don’t know why your parents put up with me,” he says. “Alw
ays getting you into trouble when we were little kids then keeping you out past curfew when we were teenagers. They should’ve kicked me to the curb. They didn’t appreciate me taking Dad’s truck and teaching you how to drive when you were twelve. I thought I was doing them a favor. Saving them time.”
I smile up at him. “Mom told me years later that she always knew that I was safe with you. That you would protect me no matter what. Even when we were out hell-raising. Which we did more than our share of.”
“She had more confidence in me than she should’ve,” he says. “I drove way too fast, and some of the time we were drinking, which we weren’t supposed to be doing at that age.”
“They don’t need to know any of that now,” I say, glancing over at my parents, who are standing several feet away. Mom catches my eye and cheerfully waves at us. “Those wild teenage years need to stay our secret. Just between us.”
“Like our nights at Brasstown Point?” Levi asks with a sly look.
Brasstown Point was our make-out spot far at the end of an old logging road in the middle of the woods. We never saw another person in all the years we went there.
Not a single soul, going or coming.
The clearing in the woods was completely and utterly private. When we were there, we were the only two people in the world.
Sometimes, we would take a blanket and spread it out in the bed of his pick-up truck. We would lie on our backs and gaze up at the bright stars, naming the constellations and talking about our dreams.
I slap him lightly on the arm. “Shh…hush now,” I scold quietly. “Don’t forget we’re at church. Behave yourself. We don’t want to cause a scandal.”
