by BJ Mayo
All of my bitterness and hate seemed to vanish. All of the pent-up rage was nowhere to be found. How had that happened? It seemed to happen all of a sudden, when he reached out to the God of the universe. How in the world did that happen? Wearily, I retired to the tent. At peace, totally spent, not knowing what lay ahead. One thing for sure, I found himself missing Beatrice.
As I laid my head on the little blowup pillow, my brain could not turn off enough to sleep. “There is no way in the world that girl would go out with me now on a stupid date night,” I said aloud. “No way at all! How do you ask your wife out for a date? That sounds totally stupid. And what if she says no? Then what? That would be the end of that. That girl could be as ornery as a one-eyed snake. We are not teenagers.”
She would probably walk out laughing, even though she had not laughed out loud for a long time. She was mighty pretty when she laughed her snarky laugh all the way from her belly. What did she have to laugh about? We have not been physically intimate in at least ten years or more, he thought. I know she tolerates me now, but I don’t think she loves me and probably does not even like me anymore. Who would?
You have only got yourself to blame, buddy. Only yourself.
I had forgotten to zip the tent fly. I sat up and zipped it from the top to the bottom in the t-pattern, my head back on the pillow, and pulled the thermal blanket Bea gave me over my shoulders. This time, I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The First Christian Church was full to capacity at Cotton’s “Life Celebration,” as they called it. I arrived early and was placed with the other pallbearers. We all received our instructions at the front of the church. Each pallbearer was given a white carnation for our lapels. Maude greeted each of us with a kiss on the cheek as she pinned our individual carnations on them. I marveled at her beautiful visage and calm spirit. She was not a train wreck. She was so composed and at peace.
When she was through, she stood before us. “I want to thank each of you for being here to honor Cotton. He loved and respected each of you. I am sure that all of you do not know one another. I would encourage you to get to know one another. As you can see, this will probably not be a normal service.” She pointed to the instrumentalist setting up a few feet above them. There was a pedal steel guitar player, standup bass, two guitars, a piano player, a set of drums, and a mandolin. Maude looked at the musicians for a moment or two and turned back to face us, smiling with both hands on her chest next to a beautiful string of pearls. Cotton had given it to her after receiving a special bonus check for his work a few years back. She took them, but told him he should not have spent the money on her. He looked back and said, “What money? I got these oyster diving,” and laughed as he placed them around her neck. She smiled, thinking back at that occasion, and shared the hilarious event with all of us. She could see some of the men wiping away tears at the thought of his selflessness.
“Gentlemen,” she said, motioning to the band. “I am afraid what you see is what you get. He loved his music, you know. He could not sing a lick but he loved to try. So we are going to have music. And not your typical church music, if there is such a thing. Just hang on.”
It seemed there could be no more folks fitted into the large sanctuary, with its wooden truss beams with tongue and groove pine above them. The high-angle roof was sure to make the music resonate beautifully, I thought. This was the first time I had been in a church since my childhood, other than once or twice with Bea under protest.
I turned to look at the clock on the back wall and saw Beatrice come in through the back doors and make her way to the seats behind where we were seated. She was striking in her dark blue dress, high heels, and the silver necklace her mom had given her. She had her auburn hair drawn up into a bun. It was real hard not to linger looking at her, so she would not notice. She looked beautiful. Always had. I really never knew or appreciated it until now. Since the night on the mountain, I had longed for her, but knew it probably would not happen. How would I gather enough courage to ask her out on a date?
The overflowing crowd was finally seated. The ushers had to bring in many folding chairs, to accommodate everyone. That was quite a testament to the lives this man had touched. I reallly could not think of many folks at all that had not been personally affected in a positive way from knowing Cotton.
The preacher slowly stood from his seat on the platform, carefully buttoning his suit coat as he approached the podium pulpit. Once behind the microphone, he asked the audience to please stand in honor of Cotton while he prayed. Unlike the longwinded, sanctimonious, and bloviating prayers I remembered hearing, in the times I attended church, this prayer was different. It was void of the thees and thous, but was stated simply and to the point.
“Dear Lord, thank You for this man’s life, his testimony, his service to You and to his wife and family. May Your name forever be glorified. Amen.”
The music was beautiful and nonstop for forty-five solid minutes. Different singers took to the stage in singles and in groups. We were somewhat stunned at the level of talent. It also was unique in the fact that these instruments were allowed in the building. It was invigorating and refreshing. Most of the music had a country flavor, especially with the crying sounds of the pedal steel guitar. The instrumentalist closed with a pedal steel guitar version of “How Great Thou Art.” You could hear muffled sniffling, nose blowing, and open weeping when the pedal steel guitar player went into the chorus all by himself without the other instruments.
All of the audience seemed to start singing all at once. When they got to the last “How great Thou art,” the pedal steel guitar stopped and let the sound resonate in the building. It was a marvelous thing to hear. Nearly like a million angels singing in heaven. He ended with the last “How great Thou art” with vibrato. For the first time in my life, I shed tears openly and unafraid. In fact, I saw more tears shed that day than at any time in my life. Pa had always told me that I was a pansy if I cried. So if I did cry, it was in my room, under my pillow. That was usually after he beat my mama. The deeper I got into my teen years, I simply taught myself not to cry. What a foolish notion. There is nothing wrong with this.
When the song was over, the audience stood and gave the band and singers a standing ovation for well over two minutes. When the clapping finally died down, the preacher stood, buttoned his open jacket, and approached the pulpit smiling.
“How in the world do I follow something like that?” he asked. “Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Anyone that knew Cotton knew that he loved music a whole lot more than a longwinded preacher. So Maude and family, friends of Cotton, I will not be longwinded.”
He listed the family members, where Cotton was born, when he passed, and listed his service to the church serving in several lay capacities.
After the brief introduction, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. He carefully unfolded it.
“Ms. Maude and family, you have never seen or heard what I am about to read, nor has anyone in this assembly. Why? Because I watched Cotton type it in my office one day, long ago. He folded it and stapled it. He told me to lock it in my safe and never look at it until his funeral. Then, not fully trusting me, I suppose, he said, ‘Preacher, gonna make you a-knock knuckles on this, a-promising what I have asked you.’ So we a-knocked knuckles, as he said. Until yesterday, I truthfully forgot about it. But I did remember it. So, church, family and friends, let’s see what Cotton says from heaven:
‘Friends: I don’t know how many friends are at this thing. I always heard if you could have one or two true friends in your lifetime, God has indeed truly blessed you.
‘First, to my God. Thank You for life and for saving a man like me. I am truly not at all worthy. But, You did. Your Bible says that whosoever believes in You shall not perish but have everlasting life. Well sir, I definitely believe in You. Therefore, I will be spending eternity with You. How wonderful Your promise is.
‘Next: my Maude. You are
my girl from a long time back when we was just little chickens. Why in the world God chose me for you and you for me is beyond me. With my big old swinging jowls and all, you could have had your pick of all of the good-lookin fellas. But, for some reason, you chose me. I have never been able to figure that out.
‘Maude, God must have known your areas of strength and my areas of weakness, which by the way are many. He melded the two of us like some kind of fabric, two peas in a pod with one common denominator. Kind of like one of them Navajo blankets we seen in Santa Fe. They was a-woven so tight, why you could probably pour coffee on them and it would not go through. That was like our fabric, you see.
‘You did not know I knew such a big word like denominator. That denominator was Him, God. It has been quite amazing to me how it all turned out with the kids and all, don’t you think? Your ability to bend, when I would not, saved us. I just did not know it at the time. Your comforting, assuring smile was always my light after a dark day, which by the way were many in my trade. You was always a telling me how smart I was when in fact, it was you, Ms. Maude, who was the smart one. God could never have given me a better mate than you. So to whoever is listening today, I love you with all my heart.
‘To my boys, or should I say men: I am proud of both of you and what you have become. Continue to be good men in Christ who made you. Love your wives and your families. And keep taking those girls on those Friday night dates like I taught you. They will like you for it. Don’t be bringing your mama no more armadillos. She ain’t a-having it.
‘And finally, to whoever is here: God gives us all a chance to believe in Him and serve Him or not. He does not force you to go down that path. No, sir, not at all. You can simply walk away. All of us are free to do what we want individually. There ain’t nobody a-draggin you to God. I would invite you to come and know Jesus. His yoke is easy and his burden is light. May God bless each of you and your families.’”
The preacher smiled while folding up the paper. He walked down from the podium and over to Maude. He handed her the paper, shaking his head. He hugged her and gently kissed her on the cheek. Walking back up the podium stairs, he paused behind the pulpit, in deep thought for a moment or two.
“I can’t say I have ever preached a funeral like this, because I have not. I guess you could say that Cotton eloquently preached his own funeral, in a way, and on his terms. He preached it from his heart on a piece of paper. I would have to say that no man could have said it better and with more clarity than what you just heard. His way of wording things still amazes me, and I must say pleases me to no end. Kind of reminds me to watch snow quietly on a cold winter day. It calms your spirit. Will you all please stand and, starting with the last rows, come on by and greet Ms. Maude and the family? I am sure they will be glad to see you. The casket is closed, by request of Cotton long ago. He told me to close that casket. ‘The last thing folks want to see is me with my big hog jowls laying there a looking dead. Which I will be, but be reminded I ain’t down here. I will be up there,’” the pastor said, pointing toward the heavens. He shook his head, laughing. “He was right, you know.”
The folks in the church made their way around to pay their respects to Maude and the family. The pallbearers picked up the casket and slow-walked it to the waiting hearse. Each man was silent. The limousine awaited us as we stepped in and set it down. We all exchanged pleasantries, but the ride to the cemetery was quiet. Each man quietly reflected on the last hour or so, and each of their personal experiences with Cotton. My brain was a little blurred, emotions running high, especially after the night on the mountain. My thankfulness to God was at an all-time high. And it was all because another human being, someone I could call my closest friend, went to eternity. It did make me wonder if he had counseled each of these men in his own unassuming way like he did with me.
There was this strong realization that I had been given another chance at life and hope. There was no way I would not take full advantage of another chance with Beatrice. Maybe she might learn to like me again. Maybe not. There was just no way of knowing. It was in God’s hands now and, unlike me, God never made a mistake. I just hoped and prayed it would work out. I guess what I had done to Bea emotionally was as bad as what my Pa did to Mama physically. I was no better than him.
There was a rather large crowd at the cemetery. All along the route, folks were stopped on the side of the road with their lights on as the long procession came by. There was even some bearded bikers at full attention with their hands saluting when the hearse came by. Their leather vests were covered in patches, but their helmets were off and stowed under their burly arms. Fierce-looking men in their sunglasses paying homage to someone they may have met along the way. The family was seated at the front of the large tent. The pallbearers solemnly carried the casket from the hearse to the tent and set it on the tethers above the grave.
The pastor asked us to please take a seat behind the family while he said a few words. Beatrice was in the third row, right behind me. When we were seated, the pastor began: “Folks, there is not a lot left for me to say. I loved this man. You loved this man. Ms. Maude, you loved him and lived with his as his able helpmate. You should be very proud. You and the boys. All of us should be proud that he was allowed to be part of our lives. Think about the fact if that was not so, and what a loss that would have been. For me, personally, a huge loss.
“This man was one of the finest God put on the earth. God took him when God was ready, didn’t he? Certainly not when we were ready, because we were not. I know I was not. I wish he was here to tell me once again about them wildie beasties, you know. How many of you under this tent have ever heard Cotton tell the story of the wildie beasties? Please raise your hand.”
A large number of folks lifted their hands, laughing.
“You see, to each of us that heard it, he told it for a reason. That reason is that God ordained the crossing of the wildie beasties, as he called them. They crossed at a point where them alligators big as two cars could eat their fill until the next year’s crossing. Not by chance, but by providence.
“So, it is not happenstance but providence that Cotton is gone and you are here under this tent. It is not happenstance but providence that he appeared in your life. I would say in some cases, when you really needed someone like Cotton to eschew words of wisdom and comfort. Am I correct?” He could see a lot of folks nodding their head in agreement. “So, folks, let each of us take that example and go and do likewise. Not to linger, but remembering one thing Cotton told me from time to time that I will share now. He remarked from time to time over coffee, ‘Pastor, we are the world’s worst at condemning folks that we think need condemning. The man that stole the car, the people on the scourge of drugs with no way out. All of the things that can beset us if we ain’t careful. I have done it myself in my work. What right do we have to condemn them? Well, I tell you, preacher man, we ain’t got none. No, sir, we ain’t got none. The thing that we need—do you a know what that thing is, Pastor? Well, I will tell you right now what it is. That thing is compassion and prayer. Have compassion on them, pray for them. That’s what they need, not my condemning. Yes, sir. That’s it.’
“And folks, having known Cotton for many years, he did more compassioning and praying than he ever did condemning. If you knew him, I am sure you would agree.
“And with those final comments, I will say, ‘Earth to earth, dust to dust.’ Pallbearers, if you will rise and place your carnations on the top of the casket, please.”
Each pallbearer stood and walked by the casket. Each man came to a halt, gently placing their carnations, and some even patted the casket. One man dropped his head on the casket and began weeping. Finally, when the last one passed, the pastor spoke: “Folks, you are now dismissed. The family requests some quiet time at the grave site before we lower the casket into the grave. Traveling mercies to each of you, and may God bless you.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I tried not to be noticed as I sat a few rows
from the bottom of the cement bleachers at Spring Stadium for the last of the district games. This game was critical to the next round of playoff action for the Spring Tigers. Efron Tillman had the top quarterback stats in the region and probably in the state in division 16A. It was assumed that there was probably a large group of division-one and -two scouts previewing each game he played in. It was rumored that he was being looked at by at least six division-one schools because of his strong arm and running ability. From the opening play, Efron made an end around and proceeded upfield fifteen yards. Mercy, I thought, He runs just exactly like a mirror of his father. There were several men in sports jackets with binoculars below the announcement booth, high above the stadium seats. I reckoned these were college scouts from all over. There must have been ten or twelve of them.
I slowly trained my binoculars on the cheerleading squad on the running track. Their uniforms clearly separated them from the pep squad in the bleachers. With the binoculars, I carefully studied each of their facial features. As usual, on pep rally and game days, each girl had on one yellow and one black tennis shoe. Their shoelaces were yellow and black as well. Short, white ankle socks, very short cheerleading skirt, and yellow top. Each girl had her name in large black letters on the back of their shirt. Feigning interest in the game, I looked intently back to the field periodically, as the crowd stood and cheered wildly for the Tigers.
Swinging back to the cheerleaders, each girl had on the game face black lipstick with yellow flecks. At close range, it appeared to sparkle, when the lights hit it right. I noted all of the names Tom Orlager typed out for me at the high school that day.
