FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 48

“So,” Cheyenne said, “did you see that boy again?”

“Oh, I did,” I said, “but it would be a couple of weeks later. A lot would happen before these two ships would pass in the night again and crash on shore.”

Cheyenne chuckled at the metaphor.

Later that same afternoon, I continued, Corrina and her mama dropped by the job site just to measure more windows – at least, that’s the reason Corrina gave for their dropping by – but we never mentioned the boy in the blue truck. I wasn’t going to bring him up. As Mama always told me, “Son, you never want to borrow trouble.” I knew she was right and that it likely would change things, and I wasn’t giving some fella I never met that privilege.

“And, maybe,” I said, “a little of it had to do with a mechanism in my head that let me kind-of hide or ignore unpleasant thoughts. I’ve done that for a long time, and I employed it then.”

Then I added, “I guess, Cheyenne, when you get your psychology degree, then you can study it and let me know.”

“Oh,” he snapped back, “I’ve already begun studying all that, Popman, but I think you’re a lifetime study, so I’ve just scratched the surface.”

He hesitated before saying what he wanted to say next, and I noted it but just waited to see what it was.

“Popman, even about your daddy,” he said, hoping he wasn’t digging too deeply, “you kept that in for a long, long time, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s true,” I said, “but a curious thing was about to happen. My daddy’s life is goin’ to come up with Mama and Corrina, somethin’ that shocked me. At that time, none of us had ever sat down and talked about it. That wouldn’t happen for decades. But Mama must’ve needed to talk about it to somebody before …”

I hesitated …

“… before her journey ended. It was a loose end in her life, I think, and maybe somebody who was too close to it would not understand. Maybe she needed somebody who was like a blank sheet of paper, somebody who could really see my daddy’s brilliance instead of jus’ focusin’ on the tragedy.”

“When did she and Corrina have that talk?” Cheyenne asked.

I had to pause to scroll through my memories to try to put these events into the right sequence. I remembered that it was no earlier than the end of June, maybe even into July. I had begun driving the Nova out to the job site several times a week to stay over by that time. Of course, before Red’s faded-red jalopy pulled out headed for home, Doocy or Willum offered me some parting words, like, ‘Don’t cha do nuttin’ the Cool Breeze wouldn’t do now, Pup,” – you know, all the cliches. Corrina and I had a good many laughs at such moments. That job site and the fellas were a train wreck, naturally, but I don’t think we could have had a better – or worse, depending on how you look at it – setting for our story. But it helped the dark-haired girl and me to break the ice.

We would sometimes walk down to the creek that was down the hill and through the pine trees back of her house, or drive to town and get a Coca-Cola float at the drive-in, always preceded with her mom or dad’s leaving instructions on when to be home.

It was one day the same week the blue truck rolled up that she came out before work ended. She and I slipped stealthily into the house, out of eyesight of the ever-vigilant Red. Doocy was beating out the mixer, which sounded like drums in the band on a Friday night, so we had to get to a quiet place. I remember that’s when Corrina brought up about going back out to see Mama.

We made plans to drive together back to LaGrange for that upcoming Friday. I drove the Nova, and we left pretty soon after the crew did, we just made sure to wait long enough to let them get down the road. To make double sure, we stopped at the corner store and got a Nehi grape and a snack, giving the boys a good head start. But, as luck would have it, Pee Wee had pulled into the store to get gas, and they must’ve pulled out half a minute before we got there. The truck was loaded down, so they were driving slower than us, and we caught them by the time we crossed the Georgia line.

I couldn’t believe it, and just shook my head in disgust. I leaned over first thing and turned on the radio, hoping it would drown out the boys in the back of the truck when we passed them. We were greeted with one of ‘73’s top hits –

“Your mama don’t dance, and your daddy don’t rock and roll …”

That gave us a good laugh, and Corrina reached over and hit the button to change songs, and we got another hit of ‘73, this one from Charlie Rich –

“My baby makes me proud, Lord, don’t she make me proud.

“She never makes a scene, By hangin’ all over me in a crowd.”

“That’s not too bad, is it?” I said, having to holler a little over the music, and she hollered back, “not too bad,” emphasizing the “too,” so we let it play on –

“Cause people like to talk, Lord, don’t they love to talk.

“But when they turn out the lights, I know she’ll be leavin’ with me.”

“Ok, here we go,” I said, reaching over to crank the music up even louder, then zoomed past the truckful of nuts. About the time we got even with their tailgate, Charlie Rich was belting out –

“But when they turn out the lights, I know she’ll be leavin’ with me.”

The boys heard the song, too, their cue to come to the party.

“Where ya’ll be goin’s, Pup,” and … “Woooo, Pup’s gots him a hot date, tonight!” with the emphasis on “hot."

Then they somehow got into unison with Charlie Rich and all burst out at the top of their lungs –

“… But when they turn out the lights, I know she’ll be leavin’ with me …”

The last thing I heard was Doocy holler, “Don’t you bein’ turnin’ no light out t’night, Puppy, ain’t havin’ thet. ...”

I don’t know if Corrina and I had ever had a better laugh than we had then. We turned the volume down once we were good and past them, but I sped up to make sure we stayed way ahead of them. With that excitement over, we relaxed and enjoyed some of the music of the ‘70, which was even better without Doocy and the boys than it was with ‘em.

It was a good year and decade for Charlie Rich, because pretty soon he was serenading us again, with “Did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world, and if you did, was she cryin’? …” and then it changed artists with “Killing Me Softly With His Song” and “It never rains in Southern California.”

We rode along without talking until we pulled onto Juniper Street, except at one point I said, “We sure have some good songs in the 70s’s, don’t we?”  and Corrina responded with, “and pretty good company, too.”

We chuckled at her joke, then we just soaked in the music and let the Spinners take us all the way home with, “Could it be I’m fallin’ in love.”

With the harmony of the Spinners gently filling the cab, I couldn’t help feel down deep that all was right with the world.

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 p.m. Wednesdays. Email coachbowen1984@gmail.com or call or text (972) 824-5197.