Jimmy

by Robert Whitlow

  “My times are in thy hands,” Jimmy said softly.

  Both Brother Fitzgerald and Daddy looked at Jimmy in surprise.

  “That’s what you told us in the waiting room,” Jimmy said, turning toward the adults.

  As they left the room, Daddy said, “That sort of thing occasionally happens with him. It’s not always verbatim, but it’s close.”

  When they returned to the waiting room, Mama gave both Daddy and Jimmy a hug.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Good,” Daddy said. “Brother Fitzgerald did a fine job.”

  “Most people do. What about you, Jimmy? Are you satisfied?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He prayed with Grandpa just like he did with me at the church.”

  “Did he respond?”

  “Not as far as we could see,” Daddy said before Jimmy could answer.

  “You’re right to care so much for him,” Mama said to Jimmy. “There’s not much we can do but pray. Your grandpa is in God’s hands now.”

  Jimmy smiled. “That’s what I think too.”

  Daddy kissed Mama on the cheek and rubbed Jimmy’s hair.

  “You’re taller than you used to be,” he said to Jimmy. “Mama will bring you back to see your grandpa this evening. You did a good thing asking Brother Fitzgerald to come this afternoon.”

  “When are you coming home?” Mama asked.

  “I don’t know, but for now I need to be here.”

  Mama and Jimmy left the hospital.

  As they walked across the parking lot, Mama asked, “Who did you see in Grandpa’s hospital room?”

  “Grandpa,” he answered simply.

  “That’s it?”

  “Well, you, Daddy, and Brother Fitzgerald were there.”

  “I mean, did you see any Watchers?”

  “No, ma’am. Do you think any of them stay at the hospital?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mama said confidently. “I’m sure they’re there even if we can’t see them.”

  IT WAS LESS THAN A TEN-MINUTE DRIVE FROM THE HOSPITAL TO the Mitchell home. Jimmy’s bicycle was leaning against the front porch. The front wheel was warped, and it bore several new scratches. Attached to it was a note.

  I rescued your bike. It needs some work, but I think a new front wheel will get it back in working order. I’m glad you were wearing your seat belt. Allen Askew, Deputy.

  “That was nice of Deputy Askew to bring your bike. Daddy can get it fixed next week,” Mama said.

  Jimmy rolled it around to the backyard. The warped wheel made it wobble. He told Buster about Grandpa, then went upstairs to his bedroom, closed the door, and knelt beside his bed. The verse given to him on the day of his salvation returned.

  “Behold, I make all things new,” he said. “Please, do that for my grandpa.”

  He stayed on his knees and repeated the prayer several times. Another face floated across the surface of his mind. It was his daddy.

  “And make everything new for Daddy too,” he added.

  There was a knock on the door. Mama opened it and saw him.

  “Are you praying for Grandpa?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Jimmy, there’s no need to pray anymore. Grandpa is gone.”

  Jimmy got up and sat on the edge of the bed. Mama came over and put her arm around his shoulders.

  “Gone?” he said, staring past Mama.

  “Daddy just called. Grandpa’s heart stopped beating a few minutes ago. The doctors tried to help but couldn’t get it started again.”

  Jimmy didn’t speak as the shocking news hit him.

  “Is he in heaven?” he asked after a few seconds.

  “We hope so.”

  Jimmy shook his head in disbelief.

  “I won’t get to see him anymore.”

  The sad kind of tears poured out of Jimmy’s eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

  “What am I going to do without my grandpa?” he wailed.

  Jimmy turned his head, buried his face in Mama’s shoulder, and wept. Mama held him. He cried and cried.

  “I’m sorry,” she said after Jimmy caught his breath and looked up at her. “He was a good man and a wonderful grandpa. We all loved him.”

  After another minute of tears, Jimmy lifted his head.

  “I’ll be okay,” he said through his sniffles. “I understand.”

  “There will be other times of sadness,” Mama replied.

  “Yes, ma’am, but I know I’ll see Grandpa again. It will just be a longer time between visits.”

  THE MITCHELL FAMILY DIDN’T SIT IN THEIR USUAL PEW AT the funeral service. Jimmy followed Mama and Daddy to the front bench on the left side of the sanctuary. Daddy sat beside Grandma, who held a tissue in her hand and wiped her eyes several times during the service. Jimmy didn’t cry. Many tears had watered his heartache immediately after Grandpa’s death. Now he was more likely to cry at the sight of the field where Grandpa taught him to ride his bicycle.

  Brother Fitzgerald welcomed the congregation and prayed. The choir director led a song. Then two men who had known Grandpa for a long time walked up to the pulpit.

  The first speaker was a retired lineman from the Georgia Power Company.

  “We both started working for the company about the same time. One day we were both on top of a pole bolting on a cross arm. Out of the blue, several hornets attacked and started stinging us. I’m allergic to any kind of bee poison.”

  The man rubbed his forehead. “I remember getting three stings right across here. I was getting weak and having trouble breathing. Jim was getting popped by the hornets as much as me, but instead of getting off the pole, he came around and brought me down against his chest. He was incredibly strong.”

  “That’s the way he carried me,” Jimmy whispered to Daddy.

  “He radioed for help, and an ambulance took me to the hospital where I got a shot that saved my life.”

  The man pointed to a gray-haired woman in the front row.

  “Sarah and I got married the next summer,” the man said. “We have four children and ten grandchildren. None of them would be here if Jim Mitchell hadn’t risked his life to save mine. No better man ever put on a yellow helmet. It was an honor to work with him for almost forty years.”

  A second man, one of Grandpa’s fishing and hunting buddies, told about Grandpa secretly putting a fake deer head with a huge rack of antlers in the woods behind a large tree.

  “We were creeping through the underbrush when he stopped and pointed in the distance. We saw the rack on this deer, and Jim said it must have come down out of the Smoky Mountains. We got so excited that we all fired at once. Of course, the buck didn’t move, so we fired again. After the third round of shots, Jim started laughing so hard that we stopped and realized we’d been had.”

  People laughed at the story. Jimmy glanced at Daddy, who was smiling too. After Grandpa’s friends talked, Brother Fitzgerald said some nice things about Grandpa but, to Jimmy’s surprise, didn’t mention praying for him at the hospital. A friend of Grandma’s sang a sad song, and Brother Fitzgerald prayed to end the service.

  A smaller group of friends and family went to the church cemetery for the burial. The First Baptist Church didn’t have a graveyard beside the church, so many years before, the church had purchased land not far from Daddy’s office to use as a cemetery. A slow-moving line of cars made the brief journey to the burial site.

  Mama held Jimmy’s hand as they walked past the grave markers. Jimmy read the names out loud until Mama told him to hush. In front of a freshly dug grave rested a headstone with both Grandpa’s and Grandma’s names on it. Chiseled beneath the date of Grandpa’s birth appeared the date of his death. Jimmy held his breath as the casket was lowered into the ground. He’d seen Grandpa’s body during open-casket visitation at the funeral home, but the old man in a black suit lying in the shiny box wasn’t the loving companion Jimmy carried in his heart. Jimmy had no desire to touch the dead body or even stare
at it very long. He had enough living memories to last a lifetime.

  After the casket was lowered and Brother Fitzgerald said another prayer, Grandma shoveled some dirt into the hole. Jimmy watched wide-eyed, shocked that Grandma was going to shovel dirt with her nice clothes on. To his relief, she handed the shovel to Daddy, who did the same thing, then passed the shovel to a dark-suited man Jimmy had seen at the funeral home. The man leaned on the shovel but made no effort to fill in the hole. They left the cemetery with the grave still open.

  “Who’s going to put dirt in the hole?” Jimmy asked Mama. “Should I offer to help?”

  “No, there are men who do that to make money.”

  “I could do that job,” Jimmy said, “if I don’t go to work for the Georgia Power Company.”

  THEY RETURNED TO JIMMY’S HOME. GRANDMA CAME WITH them. On the coffee table in the living room were several copies of a newspaper story about the carp fishing tournament that appeared on the same day as Grandpa’s obituary. The fishing story made Grandpa seem more alive than dead. Jimmy’s name was also mentioned.

  A steady stream of people flowed through the house for the rest of the afternoon. Some of the guests acted as if Grandpa’s death wasn’t a big deal. They joked and talked about other things. Jimmy stayed close to the people who seemed interested in telling stories about Grandpa. He heard a lot of new information. Nobody asked him to add to a conversation, so Jimmy kept his thoughts about Grandpa to himself.

  After everybody left, Daddy took Grandma home. When he returned, he collapsed in a chair in the living room. Mama brought him a cup of coffee fixed the way he liked it. Jimmy followed her.

  “I’m beat,” Daddy said.

  “How was your mother?” Mama asked.

  “More tired than I am. She’s already in bed.”

  “We’ll invite her over for supper this week,” Mama said. “I’m sure some of her friends will do the same.”

  “Yes, but today was good for her. She enjoyed hearing so many people tell stories. Dad would have liked it a lot too.”

  “I have a story,” Jimmy said. “Do you want to hear it?”

  “Sure,” Daddy said, taking a sip of coffee. “What is it about?”

  “The fishing contest.”

  “That’s right. I never got a chance to ask you about it. Didn’t you win second place?”

  “Yes, sir. Grandpa and I were partners.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Mama said, folding her hands in her lap. “I want to know everything.”

  Much had happened since the night at Webb’s Pond, but as Jimmy talked, the events came back to him. Talking about Grandpa made him seem alive again. Jimmy reached the part about Alfred Walker guessing the makeup of Grandpa’s carp bait recipe.

  “I showed Mr. Walker my muscle.”

  Daddy interrupted. “Did he guess the recipe?”

  Jimmy wrinkled his brow. “I’m not sure, but Mr. Walker caught the biggest fish.”

  Daddy winced and turned to Mama. “It’s a good thing Dad never found out about the hint. You know how carp fishermen are about their secrets.”

  “Keep going,” Mama said.

  Mama’s eyes moistened when he described Grandpa agreeing to go to church if they won a prize. When he reached the part about the fight with the fish, Daddy interrupted.

  “Did he have to go into the water to get the rod?”

  “No, sir. He fell on it like a football player grabbing a fumble and hurt his side. Do you think that’s why he had another heart attack? I’ve been worried about it.”

  “No, no. The heart attack was caused by something that had been building up inside his blood vessels for a long time. I’m sure he’s happy that fishing was his last activity on earth.”

  Jimmy sighed. “That makes me feel better. Oh, and we talked about how I could be a lineman for the Georgia Power Company. Grandpa was going to start teaching me.”

  “Really?” Mama asked in surprise.

  “Yes, but now I don’t know who will show me what to do.”

  Daddy looked at Mama and shook his head. Jimmy continued his story. He concluded with the winners of the tournament.

  “Everybody clapped and yelled when the man called out Grandpa’s name. We walked up front and Grandpa got the money.” Jimmy paused. “What happened to the money?”

  “Grandpa had it in his pocket,” Daddy said. “Grandma has half, and I’m saving your half for you.”

  “You can keep it,” Jimmy said. “And then the man said that Mr. Walker caught the biggest fish. I don’t remember what it weighed, but I think we lost by about two pounds. How much is that? I didn’t ask Grandpa.”

  “Not much,” Daddy said. “You still caught a whopper of a fish.”

  “Mr. Walker won one thousand dollars. We put our fishing stuff in the truck, then left the pond.”

  Jimmy stopped, realizing what came next.

  “Do I have to go on?” he asked.

  “No,” Daddy said. “We only want to hear the happy parts.”

  — Thirty-one —

  Later that night, Jimmy lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He remembered Alfred Walker kissing the thousand-dollar first prize. Grandpa didn’t fish so he could win money, but because he loved to fish. Jimmy wondered if Hal, Pete, and the other player who wanted to get paid a thousand dollars after the Dake County game loved football or money.

  DADDY HAD PLAYED FOOTBALL FOR COACH NIXON AND explained to Jimmy that the first week of high school football practice was devoted to physical conditioning. During the second week, the coaches began to evaluate the players and identify their strengths and weaknesses. Coach Nixon wanted all defensive players, even linemen, to be quick on their feet. An agile player could dodge a block or run around a slower offensive lineman and disrupt the rhythm needed for an offense to move the ball. Coach Nixon and Coach Bolton expected their defensive players to spend most of the game in the opposing team’s backfield getting to know the quarterback and running backs on a helmet-to-helmet basis.

  On the offensive side of the ball, Coach Nixon had a different point of view. He wasn’t committed to either the running or passing game. If two big, fast running backs could be matched with a dominating offensive line, Cattaloochie County would grind down the opposition. If a talented quarterback could throw to a bevy of speedy receivers, the Captains would fill the west Georgia sky with passes. In either case, the opposing defense would be exhausted by the fourth quarter.

  DURING IDLE MOMENTS OF THE DAY, JIMMY FREQUENTLY HAD TO remind himself that Grandpa was gone. Over and over, he caught himself starting to say something about Grandpa, then stopped. He’d lost his greatest cheerleader. Mama loved him, but Grandpa believed in his future.

  At football practice, Jimmy tried to stay busy and not be sad. Daddy dropped Jimmy off early at the empty practice field.

  “The coaches will be here in a minute,” Daddy said. “I have to be in federal court in Macon.”

  “It’s okay,” Jimmy replied as he closed the door of the car. “I can go to the locker room and wait.”

  An underground sprinkler system watered the practice field during the night and, when combined with the dew, created a hazy carpet of silver moisture that reached from one end zone to the other. Jimmy took several steps onto the field. When he looked behind, he could see the dark spots left by his shoes.

  Grandpa’s death made Jimmy wonder about the future. He continued walking across the wet grass. Reaching midfield, he turned around again to see his footprints. He opened his eyes wide in amazement at the crooked path. He thought he’d taken a straight route to the fifty-yard line, but in fact he’d wandered in a zigzag pattern.

  “I don’t know where I’ve been until I look back,” he said.

  The prints reminded him of something Brother Fitzgerald liked to say on Sunday mornings. He said everyone should follow Jesus by staying on the straight and narrow way. Jimmy looked at the unspoiled grass before him and closed his eyes.

  “Jesus, I need yo
ur help to walk on the straight and narrow way.”

  He opened his eyes and stepped forward.

  “Jimmy Mitchell!” a voice called out.

  Jimmy looked up and saw Chris Meadows standing on the hill near the locker room. Over the past weeks, Jimmy’s friendship with the head manager had continued to grow. Chris called Jimmy at home after Grandpa’s death to tell him that he was sorry.

  “Come up here! I need your help!” Chris yelled.

  Jimmy ran across the grass without looking back. He was slightly out of breath when he reached the top of the hill.

  “What were you doing down there standing in the middle of the field?” Chris asked.

  “Thinking and praying.”

  “Okay, whatever works for you,” Chris said. “We need to put together two uniforms. A couple of transfer students are going to be here today, and Coach Nixon left me a note to assemble equipment for them. One is a lineman and the other is a wide receiver. He gave me a list of the sizes they need for each part of their uniforms.”

  “I know about the helmets,” Jimmy said.

  “Did you get them all sorted?”

  “Yes. I did it the day Hal, Pete, and another player came in. They talked about the Dake County game.”

  “Dake won’t be a problem this year,” Chris said. “They barely beat us last year after a stupid fumble at the end of the game. Since then, they lost a bunch of seniors. Your buddy Max Cochran and the junior varsity could give them a good game.”

  They reached the dented double doors leading to the locker room. Made of metal, the doors were painted in the school colors: one gold and one blue. Chris had a set of keys as big as the ones carried by Mr. Lancaster, the janitor who worked at the First Baptist Church. He unlocked the door. A sour smell lingered in the air of the large room.

  “It stinks in here,” Chris said. “Open the vents above the lockers while I turn on a couple of floor fans.”

  Jimmy stood on a stool and pushed open the long, narrow windows over the lockers. The sweet smell of fresh air drifted in.

  “You did a good job organizing the helmets!” Chris called out from the equipment room. “We need to get everything to their lockers before practice this morning.”