God, I missed Alabama.
I drove the black 99’ Civic with two doors and lousy break
lights to the hanger. The windows were down, the sunroof was back, and I let my
wet hair whip this way and that while I listened to “Brown Sugar” and ”Start Me Up” by the Rolling Stones.
I bought a pair of overalls the day before last and have worn
them since. Yesterday, I wore them with a white shirt and ate tater tots and
drank sweet tea with my parents at South Forty off 84. Today, I grabbed an older blue and white
striped shirt with a round neck. Who knew a pair of overalls could make an old,
striped shirt look so good? Who knew overalls could look so good?
I saw dad pull into the drive where they sale boiled peanuts-
warm and salty- in the rear view, and stopped across the Huddle House at the
four way light, tap tapping the steering wheel of the Civic. I was thinking,
slightly hoping, the Rolling Stones were singing “black sugar” only because it
was fitting for the black car with the rolled down windows under the September
sun.
I laughed leaning out of the driver’s window when I turned
onto the dirt road at the airport. I pretended I was younger than I really am,
in a place that I wasn’t. The gate was locked, and dad was buying peanuts, so I
leaned back in the seat and kept pretending, because you’re never really too
old to dream.
Alabama keeps my soul young: boiled peanuts, that old civic,
and the dirt road to the hanger. They all bring back memories of things that
were. Good things. Things that wrap your soul up and make it warm like eating
lunch on Sunday afternoons at your grandparents, or your first flight in a
plane with your dad- if your dad flies.
The first time I went flying with my dad, I kept mentioning
all of the “little aminals” - cows. Then, it was a Pa16 Piper, built in 1949,
today it’s a Pa22-108 Piper Colt built in 61’. My dad would’ve been in the
first grade. “When I was 6 years old and dreaming about airplanes, mine was being
built. I like that thought,” he said.
He talked about how
his mom bought World Book Encyclopedias, and he read the pages about planes so
much they wore out. Who knows where those books are now? Doesn’t really matter.
He has boiled peanuts, dirt roads, and his hanger to remind him. And he
remembers it well.
My Bigdaddy’s 1949 MT John Deer sits in the hanger. Looking
at it, I remember him ploughing the garden and planting- or pulling us kids on a trailer. I remember using a
magnifying glass once to start a fire, and then quickly covering it with dirt
before he’d see it. I remember building mud castles, catching tadpoles in the
creek, and eating Indian grass. I know my soul isn’t as old as a couple of
scars on my legs or freckles on my cheek. It’s younger.
I forget too often how young my soul is. I think it gets
bogged down in things that don’t always matter, things I make matter more than
they should. But the weight of those things is shaken off on days like today. I
say things like, “God, I miss Alabama,” but I wonder if I’m really meaning to
say, “God, I missed my soul.”
Anyway, there’s a bicycle and a dirt road waiting for me.
There’s a lot to say about it, but before the older parts of me try to
understand or articulate it- I’ll leave you with your own memories and your own
soul, and I’m sure you’ll understand.
