by Lisa Smartt
Matthew walked to the podium like a confident lawyer with an open and shut case. He had on new, dark dress pants and a maroon dress shirt with thin, navy blue stripes. He’d gone to the barber shop this afternoon and even though Jimmy had taken a little too much off the back, he still looked handsome. He pulled a handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped his face a bit. He placed some note cards on the podium and then made eye contact with the crowd and smiled.
“Thank you. I know speakers are always supposed to say, ‘I’m glad to be here.’ But I’m not really.” He hung his head and his voice cracked slightly. “Truth is I wish I were anywhere but here right now. I wish the story I’m going to tell was someone else’s story.” He looked back up. “My life was always easy. Growing up, I had very little hardship. So, no, this isn’t a story of a poor boy who endured so much pain and suffering that he turned to drugs. No. No excuses. This is a story about bad decisions. And selfishness.” He moved in front of the podium and spoke more personally to the crowd. “I was probably like a lot of you, growing up. Except I lived in San Diego and my parents had a ridiculous amount of money.” The crowd laughed as Matthew shook his head and smiled. “But don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with money. Most of us could use a little more of it, huh?” He pointed to Dusty. “I mean, if Dusty here wants to give me a raise tomorrow, I’ll be all over it. I will.” The crowd laughed. Then you could hear a pin drop. They were with him.
“And my parents were nothing but kind to me. They shared their blessings. They had faith I could handle their generosity. But I couldn’t….or I didn’t anyway. I made good grades. School wasn’t hard for me. I went to college and that wasn’t hard either. Then I got into law school. Right up the road here. Vanderbilt. My parents were proud. So was I. Maybe that was the problem. I thought I was special. Untouchable. My roommate got involved with prescription drug abuse. It started when we needed to stay up late to study. Then we needed something else to wake us up. We drank excessively on the weekends. And pretty soon, well, it was over. For both of us. For the first time in my life I had failed at something. Failed out of law school. It should have been a wake-up call, right?” He held his hands over his head. “It should have been a big sign saying, ‘Matthew, change directions. This is not working.’ But addiction isn’t always like that, is it? It does shout to us. Loudly, most of the time. But then the very same addiction, the one that shouts so loudly is…well, it’s the same one that gives us something to keep us from listening. It throws us on the ground and then it kicks us until we stop feeling. I’ve been going to Celebrate Recovery meetings with Dave Robertson. I know a lot of you know Dave’s story. He’s helped me a lot. Oh, and Dusty…” He pointed to Dusty, wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, and dropped his head. “Dusty has been…I can’t even tell you what he’s been. He’s been a friend.”
“I guess most of you came tonight to hear the story of how I went to prison for so long.” His voice began to crack. “I killed my best friend. That’s how. My very best friend in the whole world.” He dropped his head and started crying. He wiped his eyes with the handkerchief and recovered some before speaking again. “Mary and I were always close. She was good and kind and she did what my parents said.” He smiled. “I was a little more stubborn. But she loved me. When I came to Vanderbilt, she decided to apply to come the next year for her undergrad. English major. Ridiculously smart. Always loved to write. But by the time she came, I had already flunked out of law school, living on Mom and Dad’s dime in Nashville. I know. You’re right. They should have cut me off. Or I think they should have. I don’t know. I’m sure they question that every day. Anyway, Mary and her roommate went to a party with me and some friends. They both drank a little too much. I decided to be the big brother. You know, save the day and all. But I was high and drunk…and I killed both of them. Right there on Interstate 40. Some of you may be tempted to say, ‘Well, it was an accident.’ But it wasn’t. Getting high is not an accident and I’m not here to make any excuses for it. Most of you know that my parents…” His voice broke again and he paused. “Well, during the trial, they stood…they stood with Mary, for Mary. And they should have. I served fourteen years but I should have done life. And that’s my story. If there’s a moral, it’s this. Don’t think you’re smarter than everyone else. Don’t get high. And don’t give up. God has a purpose for your life that’s bigger than your addiction. Thank you.”
The crowd erupted in applause. Aunt Charlotte yelled out, “We love you, Darlin’!” The cameramen ran here and there getting footage of the response. Matthew stepped away from the podium. He wiped his eyes and face with the handkerchief and then put it in his front pocket. Mitch thanked all of us and dismissed us, encouraging us to grab a hamburger from Mabel’s stand before heading home. The Westview High School band played marching music as the crowd dispersed.
Sarah walked over to our blanket, dabbing her eyes with a Kleenex the whole way. “That was…wow. Sad. Powerful. I don’t know what else to say.”
Doug nodded his head. “Brutally honest. No excuses.”
Even though the mayor was having what looked like an in-depth conversation with Matthew, Dusty ran up on stage and threw his arms around him. Sarah watched the whole scene in silence. Then dabbed her eyes some more with the wadded-up Kleenex.
I determined to move things along. “Sarah, Doug and I were getting ready to grab a burger at Mabel’s. Why don’t you join us? Clara, are you and your clan in?”
Clara smiled and began gathering up the blankets. “No. These guys have some serious math homework, so we better pick up Beau and get back to the house.”
“Gosh, I’m glad you reminded us!” I wrapped my arms around Doug’s waist. “Honey, we have a school kid now. We better go get him and help him get started on that Physics homework, eh?”
Doug laughed. “You can never start ‘em too young. But he does need a bath and he needs to get to bed early. In honor of Miss Molly’s sanity, I think we’ll have to make a sandwich at home and hope that Mabel will forgive us.”
I patted Sarah on the back. “Sorry, friend. How ‘bout a rain check?”
“No problem. Really.”
Dusty and Matthew walked toward our small group. But soon Matthew was overtaken by well-wishers. The principal of the high school thanked him profusely. A group of high school girls giggled and said a bunch of encouraging things about his speech. But ultimately, we all knew they were flirting with him, which was a million miles from appropriate. Mary Miller’s mama even pulled a desperation move. She approached the group of girls and told Mary it was time to go home and feed the cows. As she grabbed her daughter’s arm, she turned and said with a scowl, “Cows or no cows, you teenage girls best get on home too.”
It was that term “teenage girls” that stung the girls’ pride and caused their faces to turn bright red as they turned to leave. Did Mary’s mama say it for their benefit or for Matthew’s? We’ll never know.
Shayla came running through the crowd with a cameraman close on her heels. She was wearing a little black dress and silver wedge sandals. She grabbed Matthew and hugged him like he was her husband returning from battle. “Matthew! Oh Matthew, you did it!! My word! You did it!”
“What did I do?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
“You wowed them! That’s what you did. You wowed this crowd! And pretty soon you’ll wow all of America too! Get ready for your life to change, Mister. This is no seismology show. No, sir! Forget earthquakes! This one’s a winner!”
Dusty put his arm around Matthew. “Hey, be careful with the guy. Just remember he’s a person, not a product.”
Dusty pretended he was joking, but I knew he wasn’t. I felt confident Shayla would never do anything to intentionally hurt Matthew Prescott. But with or without bad intentions, people can still be hurt. Badly. Just ask Matthew.
Chapter 17, SARAH: Learning to Take Chances
After the Jamesons and McConnells lef
t the rally, Matthew was still being approached by members of the community and even some media folks from Jackson. That’s when Jerry Conner pulled me aside to give me some late-breaking news. Turns out it wasn’t really news at all. He twitched and stammered like he was hesitant to share it. But then he shared and kept on sharing. “Sarah, I’m not sure about this guy. This Matthew Prescott. I know for a fact his parole officer is worried. Really worried. If this TV thing gets big, well, a life of fame could just throw him back into a life of crime. You know? That’s what the parole officer’s afraid of. It happens, you know. It does.”
“I have no doubt.”
“Oh, and Bart Nelson says you and Matthew both have been eating Sunday dinner at Carlie and Doug’s place a lot. You know Carlie. She’s a matchmaker even when it’s dangerous. So be careful. Oh, and there’s probably something else you don’t know too.”
“But I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”
“Well, yeah, ‘cause you need to know. Matthew Prescott will never drive a car again. Never. License suspended. For life. Yep, forever. I reckon poor Matthew will be toted around like a fourteen-year-old boy for the rest of his life.”
“I figured as much. I mean, it makes sense, right? People died, Jerry. That part of the story didn’t escape me.”
“Look, I just wanted you to be clear about who you’re dealing with.”
“I don’t know Matthew Prescott well. But neither do you. So I’m guessing neither one of us know who we’re dealing with, right? And no one has asked us to testify on his behalf either, so you and I don’t have to determine his trustworthiness. Not today anyway.”
Jerry’s countenance fell. “Just lookin’ out for ya, Sarah. Just want ya to be careful.”
“Thanks. I’ve got stuff to do. I better get home.”
Mabel hollered out, “Jerry Conner, I got a burger with your name on it if you got three dollars in your pocket! Jerry turned toward Mabel’s booth. I walked past the railroad tracks to look for my car.
“Sarah! Sarah!”
I recognized the voice and it made me feel nauseous, like a school girl with a crush on the new football coach. Maybe I was really no different than those high school girls who clamored around him a few minutes ago. But it wasn’t just his looks or the fact that he was new. I was now enamored with his story. Not his story really. I was enamored with his willingness to tell it. To put all the weight of it on himself. No blame games or excuses. I turned my head just as Matthew was wiping sweat from his face and walking toward me. Sadly, he didn’t look at all like a fourteen-year-old to me. No. He looked like a man. “You haven’t lost your car, have you?”
“Uh, maybe. Verdict is still out.”
He smiled and looked around. “Or maybe Jerry’s security wasn’t as good as he promised. It could have been stolen, y’know.”
I laughed, “Yeah. I’m sure there’s a run of car thieving on dirty Ford Focuses here in Sharon. But with all the ex-cons in town now, hey, you never know, right?”
He put his hands in the air and smiled. “Don’t blame me. I was busy all evening.” He ran up to walk beside me.
I stopped and faced him. “I guess you need a ride, huh?”
“No. Chester brought me. He’s still doing interviews with the camera guys. Who knew, huh? Chester…the new Phil Robertson.”
“Yeah, except Phil Robertson actually knows how to wield a gun. Chester needs to stay away from his.”
“That’s what I hear. Yeah, that’s what I hear.”
“What you said tonight…it was perfect. I don’t mean your story’s perfect. I get that it was terrible. But the way you shared it, it meant something to this community. It meant something to me. Thank you.”
“Thank you for saying that.” He looked back over the town square. People were still chattering and standing in line to buy hamburgers from Mabel. “I’m certainly not proud of it. And there’s no merit in it. Any of it. But there’s something about telling the truth. Maybe it will be a warning.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Your parents, have you talked to them at all?”
“No. I know they were notified about my getting out on parole. But no. I haven’t spoken to them since…since the morning Mary died.”
“Do you want to talk to them?”
“Can we change the subject?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Do you want me to tell you all about eight-year-olds? Because I can. I’m an expert on eight-year-olds, Matthew.”
He smiled and looked down as he gently kicked a big rock. “Why don’t you tell me about your parents. I met your mom. She seems nice. Where is your dad?”
“He died when I was in seventh grade.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Seventh grade’s bad anyway. But that must have been rough.”
“It was. Car wreck out on 22. Mom never married again. I knew she wouldn’t. You know how they say you go through these phases of grief. She never finished. The phases, I mean. She still hasn’t. Every day it’s like he died yesterday.”
“What happened? With your dad, I mean.”
I was getting nervous. “Someone crossed over the median. Head on collision. He died instantly.”
Matthew’s face grew pale and he gently touched me on the arm. It was the first time he’d ever touched me. “And?”
“And the difference is…Jim Hill…he never did time. Never did one day in jail. Put my mom in prison for the rest of her life, but never spent one day in there himself.”
“I’m sorry. Would it make you feel better if I told you he hasn’t slept one whole night since then?” Matthew looked down the railroad tracks like he was looking for an escape route. “That he’s probably never walked through a store without wondering if people were pointing or wishing he’d been the one who died.”
“Mr. Hill died two years later. Refused to even go to the doctor. Sclerosis of the liver, I guess. According to the men at the barber shop, less than ten people were at his funeral. His daughter didn’t even come in from St. Louis.”
“And your mom? Did she forgive him?”
“No. She didn’t. She still hasn’t.”
He looked into my eyes. “Then you understand why I haven’t had contact with my parents.”
Recalling Daddy’s death brought tears to my eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Chester was almost completely out of breath as he crossed over the tracks. “Matthew! Matthew! They’re gonna put me on TV! Can you believe it?”
Matthew smiled and shouted, “They know a star when they see one!” He turned and said quietly, “Do you want me to help you find your car?”
“No. I see it now. Over there by Bart and Charlotte’s Good Times van.”
He shook his head and looked at the ground. “That van is perfect for them, isn’t it?”
“It is. We call it the lime green good times machine.” I turned back toward town. “Hey Chester! Don’t you and Matthew go gettin’ into any trouble tonight, y’hear?”
“We won’t! Ida’s got us shuckin’ corn as soon as we get back to the house!”
Matthew moved in just a bit closer and touched my arm again. “I hope we can finish our conversation another time. Looks like corn shuckin’ is in my future.”
I’m not sure why I did what I did next. Overcome with emotion, I guess. I leaned in and gently placed my arms all the way around him. When I did, he put his arms around me too. For a brief moment, I placed my face against his chest. I could hear his heart beating. He moved his right hand gently to the back of my head. Sheer bliss. I whispered, “Thank you. Thank you for sharing what you did tonight.”
He pulled away and when he did, I saw that his face was red. He looked directly into my eyes. “No problem. Really.”
I stood there as though I were paralyzed. I watched every detail as Matthew and Chester walked back toward town square. I could hear their friendly banter and occasionally Matthew would pat Chester on the back like they were old friends. Life is funny like that, I gue
ss. Matthew Prescott was raised in a wealthy family in the San Diego suburbs. Smart. Gifted even. Never wanted for anything. Chester only finished the 8th grade at Palmersville School. His mama and daddy lived in two rooms until their death. And here they were, the two of them…friends. Friends on the way to shuck corn.
Chapter 18, CARLIE: Who Needs CNN? We’ve Got Aunt Charlotte
The morning after the rally, Matthew Prescott was the talk of Weakley County. Mitch Smith even called into the morning radio show to give a blow-by-blow report of the evening. On the radio, Mitch sounded just like my brother, Bennett, the year he got a full-size air hockey game for Christmas. Pure excitement filled the air waves as he spoke. “The TV stations from Paducah, Jackson, and even Memphis were there covering the story. And of course, the A & E camera crew was filming the whole time. It was the most excitement Sharon has seen since Ashley Robertson was nominated for an Oscar.” A few times, the radio host had to interrupt Mitch’s exciting story to take a phone call about a lost gray cat on Main Street or the broken water line in front of the Assembly of God. But other than those few interruptions, Mitch Smith took up nearly 30 minutes of air time. The host finally had to cut him off when it was time to give the high school sports scores.
Aunt Charlotte was at our house by 9:00 am to report to me about the report that had been reported on the radio. (You’d have to live in a small town to understand that sentence).
She fanned herself with her apron as she poured a cup of coffee. “Good night! This place is goin’ plum crazy over that young’un. Bless him! I started to go by Mabel’s and have a sausage biscuit in honor of it all. But then I remembered I ain’t supposed to eat hog meat. You don’t got anything good to eat ‘round here, do ya?”
“Define good.”
“Somethin’ that would taste like a sausage biscuit but have the calories of a carrot stick.”
