FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 55

I didn’t want Corrina to think that I thought I was all that – although I was silky-fine with it if she did – so I had to qualify the statement that “I would’ve found myself steppin’ out onto heaven’s shore if somebody hadn’t jumped into Mud Creek to save me.”  

“Jus’ be mindful,” I said, “that I was a really good kid at age eight and didn’t have all the bad habits I have now, so I’m pretty sure the Lord would’ve made room for me.”

Corrina hit me on the shoulder, with a “Stop it, you don’t have any bad habits.”

“Oh, I’m startin’ one,” I snapped right back, “a bad one. They say if you do somethin’ for twenty-one days straight that it becomes a habit, and I’m nearly that far into this one.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, not buying it.

“Oh,” I said, “sorry to contradict, but I’m afraid it’s too late to turn back now.”

“All right then, what is it?”

“Oh, it’s about five-foot-four, slim, dark-headed, and has a smile that would make the Statue of Liberty blush …” 

I deadpanned it as best as I could, but before I could finish, she said, playfully, “Aw, you’re something, Pup, I’m just an ordinary girl, and you know it.”

I didn’t know it, she was wrong there. She was anything but ordinary. But I didn’t have time to convince her otherwise. Besides, we were in the middle of one of those moments – and the whole drive home you could feel that we both were soaking up that night as if it were the only night we’d ever have.

Soon after the sun set, we pulled into the front of her Roanoke house in the old but classic part of town, with the tall trees that hovered over the houses throwing shade in the daytime over their old red or painted brick. I turned the red Nova off as Corrina slid back toward the door, leaned up in the seat, turned toward me, and told me she really wanted to hear the rest of the story before she had to go in. 

I began the story, the backdrop a dim light on an antique light pole that Mrs. McClain had in their front yard. The light shone through the car window to allow me a good silhouette of Corrina’s face. I wondered if she didn’t have that light in the front yard just for such an occasion as this so she and Mr. McClain could see what was going on out in the front of the house when a young man such as I would bring home the one she called Cori Leigh. Mrs. McClain’s sudden appearance on the front porch didn’t contradict that thought. She came out just as I began the story and walked over to look at one of her big pot plants on the front porch. Corrina, motioning with her hand for me to pause, grimaced, rolled down her window, and waved to her mom.

“My plant hasn’t been looking the best lately,” her mom called out in her sweet Southern accent, “Don’t mind me, but don’t be too long, Cori Leigh.”

“We won’t, Mama,” Corrina called back. She started to turn back, but hesitated, leaned back to the window again, and said  in a kind but surprising tone, “I really think that plant will be all right until the morning, Mama.”

Her mama got the hint and eased back into the house, and ‘Cori Leigh’ turned back and looked to me to continue. I couldn’t hide my smile. I knew how she felt. I had a mama who often checked her plants, too, at the most inopportune time.

“It was so peaceful,” I started, still smiling at Corrina’s mild rebuke to her mama, “I mean, that short moment underwater. I’ve never forgotten it, and I can’t help but think that when somebody gets that close to death that that’s the way it’s goin’ to be. It has always made me fear death less. Ironic, right? I know we all have faith that the angels are goin’ to come and peacefully take us to Paradise. My grandfather has preached that as long as I can remember, and my auburn-headed preaching Uncle River has, too. 

“But it helps me to carry the peaceful thoughts of that moment in my head. I guess I always will, until I get there again. I hope when that moment comes it will be just like that, followed by the angels descendin’ with a song prettier than anything you’ve ever heard.”

I paused, and it wasn’t just for dramatic effect.

“I hope that’s the way it’s goin’ to be for Mama,” I said, after a moment.

My voice trailed off, and my eyes fastened on Corrina’s pretty face in the dim light. Her face wasn’t sad at first, more satisfied, I think; but I could see her eyes watering quickly. I didn’t want us sad, not there in that moment, so I gathered myself and jumped back in quickly.

“As for the rest of what happened, I have to rely on eyewitnesses. They said everybody hollered for help, except for Chase. They said he dived right in, ‘quick as a rattlesnake,’ and he grabbed me. Then Duck was right behind him. My big brother Douglas said that it looked like he didn’t take but two giant steps down those sandbags that covered the side of the creek before he dived in. I really don’t remember anything else, until we were all in the car. I remember bein’ in the back seat – on the left side, funny what little things you remember – cramped in with four others, and everybody was talkin’ as Duck drove down the dirt road. Then it all hit me, and I started shiverin’. That was the first time I cried.”

“Aw, that’s so sad, poor little fellow,” Corrina said.

She had sat almost motionless through the whole story. She had the special ability to ride the wave of every word. She may have been the most empathetic person I ever met. After that, she scooted back over close to me, put her arm in mine, and leaned on me, not crowding, she never did that, but leaning close enough that you knew that at that moment you were the most important person in her world. She was not flirty, either, although I wouldn’t have minded that one bit. 

She was just thankful for Chase and Uncle Duck doing what they did. I could feel that. We sat there awhile, letting our thoughts go free, not talking, enjoying the cool breeze blowing through the red car’s windows, until the porch light flickered on and off.

That was Corrina’s signal, and she sighed, said with a smile, “Oh, I’d better go in before Mama comes out to check on that plant again.”

Then, without warning, she leaned over and gave me a quick peck on the cheek and said, “I’m sure kind of glad you’re here.”

Coach Steven Bowen, a long-time Red Oak teacher and coach, now enjoys his time as a writer and preacher of the gospel. And, after a ten-year hiatus, he’s also returned to work with students at Ferris High School as well.

In addition to his evangelistic travels, he works and writes for the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl Road and Ovilla. Their worship times are 10 a.m. Sundays and 7:30 pm. Wednesdays. Email coachbowen1984@gmail.com or call or text (972) 824-5197.