THE
PITTER PATTER OF LITTLE PIG'S FEET
From the Chapter "A Piece
of the Pie"
Mom and
Dad went to
Asheville
to attend the funeral of
one of my great-aunts. My
brother and I were allowed to stay with Mr. Cleve and Miz
Lula Belle. Had
I known the bad experience I was to suffer at the hands of
Mr. Cleve I would have opted to go to the funeral, dead
person or not. That
is a story for a later time.
Back
then the coffin containing the dearly departed was kept in
the survivor’s house with the coffin lid open, so friends
and relatives could drop off food and talk about the job the
undertaker had done. Have
you ever wondered why most people, when gazing upon a dearly
departed reposing in a coffin, usually say, “It looks just
like him/her? Of
course it does, you idiot.
That is him/her
lying there. Tradition also required someone to sit up
with the coffin twenty-four hours a day.
(I can think of two or three million things I would
rather do than sit up all night next to a coffin containing
a body I can see out of the corner of my eye).
My
great-aunt’s coffin was placed on two chairs in the dining
room. Mom, Dad,
some other kin, and mom’s uncle were eating supper in the
kitchen, and, unfortunately, Dad had a bird’s eye view of
the body in the coffin through the dining room door.
It would be a gross understatement to say he didn’t
have much of an appetite.
All he could think of was what he was going to do if
the dead aunt raised-up suddenly.
The more he thought about it the more distressed he
became, convincing himself that she was, at some point,
going to spring out of the coffin after him.
He
managed to choke down a few bites of supper, but later had
no recollection of what he ate.
As he sat there unable to swallow because of the
gigantic lump in his throat, looking at the body, he began
thinking he was at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Mom’s uncle said to him, “Grover, let me
show you where we keep the candles, so you can have some
light to read by while you sit up with the body tonight.”
Dad was
a polite man, so he didn’t scream and jump out the kitchen
window like he wanted to.
He kept his own counsel until he and Mom were alone
in the kitchen. He
told her in no uncertain terms that he was not going to sit
up all night with a dead body, in fact he wasn’t going to
stay in the same house with a dead body, and he may just
drive back to Americus immediately, getting out of the dead
body watching business altogether, funeral or not.
Mom
could see by the maniacal look in his eyes that there was no
way he was going to stay there that night.
They went to another of Mom’s uncles’ farmhouse
to spend the night. They
got settled in their room and Dad decided he needed to
answer the call of nature before he went to bed.
He asked Mom where the bathroom was and she
replied, “Go down the hall, through the kitchen, out the
back door, past the barn, and the outhouse is right behind
the barn.”
“What
in the everknown hell are you talking about?” Dad asked.
“You mean I’ve got to go outside in the pitch
black dark, by myself, in a strange barnyard, with no
flashlight or outside lights, and find the outhouse?”
She
sarcastically replied, “You can either find the outhouse
in the dark, by yourself, or you can stay in here and go in
your britches for all I care. You can even hide under the
covers all night if you want, but I’m going to bed!”
Dad
asked Mom another question.
She replied, “No, I am not going with you to the
outhouse.”
His
adrenaline pump had already been primed by trying to choke
down dinner with a dead body in plain view, being threatened
by dead-body sitting all night, and now being forced to walk
three hundred yards in the pitch black dark without a
flashlight, to use an outhouse he was not sure he could even
find. Dad girded
his loins and set off on his journey to the twilight zone.
He couldn’t see very well in the dark, but
whistling seemed to help settle his nerves.
He was at the end of the barn when the abyss opened
and all the demonic creatures came pouring out.
The
barn had a wooden floor, and Dad’s whistling had disturbed
one of the light-sleeping hogs in the barn.
The hog got up and started walking toward the back of
the barn toward where Dad was standing.
The hog’s hooves, because of the wooden floor, made
sounds like a human, or a haunt, walking in the barn,
heading for Dad. All
he could think of was the dead woman had indeed raised
herself out of the coffin and had somehow found him in this
barn in the country, and was about to punish him for not
wanting to sit up with her.
All
thoughts of the call of nature, or any other bodily
functions, were immediately forgotten, not to return for
three days. His
brain immediately switched to the survival mode and flooded
his body with run-fast juice. In confusion and sheer panic
he took off in the wrong direction, heading away from the
house and towards the dark shadowy woods where who knows
what was lurking, waiting to kill him.
He cleared the pasture fence by a foot, in the best
tradition of an Olympic hurdler vying for the gold.
He saw the woods coming up fast, realized his
misdirection, thought he saw something in the woods and got
another jolt of adrenaline, jumped clean over a twelve
foot-wide creek, and made about a half-mile one-eighty turn,
never breaking stride. He
cleared the pasture fence a second time and finally got back
to the house, managing to find the bedroom without waking
anyone in the farmhouse.
In one night he had broken at least three world
records in the hundred meter dash, the eight-hundred meter
run, and the high hurdles, but he would receive no medals or
glory for his epic efforts.
Instead, he spent the rest of the night in bed with
his head under the covers, trying to catch his breath,
dreading the coming of the dearly departed Aunt Stella into
the bedroom to drag him down into the grave with her.
He almost missed her funeral the next day because he
was so sore he could barely get out of bed.
It was three days before he could use the bathroom
again. He never
went on another trip without taking a flashlight and extra
batteries.
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