(Special Note: The daisy was Dewey Lynne's Mama's favorite flower.)
Part 2: Mama’s Reasons
So, I talked to Chad the other day, and, just like I figured, he confirmed that Mama never came to see me while I was in the Federal slam. I never really knew why she didn’t come, it never made any difference, and, quite frankly, I’ve never cared about the whys and wherefores. But, since I’m a writing out my life and baring my soul and the family secrets, I thought I might ask Chad (That’s my youngest brother if you don’t remember), about why Mama never came to see me. His answer made sense to me from Mama’s point of view though I don’t know how well her excuses will set with most folks.
Chad said that early on, when I first went in, he and Aubrey (That’s my other brother.) asked both Mama and Daddy if they would go with them whenever they would come to see me. Hell, I guess that Chad was only fifteen or sixteen when I first got sent up, and Aub’s only about 15 months older, but those two would drive the nearly three hundred miles at least once a month just to gaze upon and talk to my sorry ol’ ass. You know, I just thought of something. I wonder what kind of vehicle my teenage brothers drove all that way from Stone County, Arkansas to Blankety-Blank Penitentiary. I hope Daddy didn’t let those young boys take off on a six-hour trip—twelve both ways-- in some old beater that he had fixed up from sitting around the yard. Surely, he didn’t. Surely, he got them some newer model rig. I’ll ask the boys next time I talk to one of them.
Anyway, my brothers say that they asked Mama and Daddy to come with them every time they came to visit me. At first, Mama told them that prison wasn’t no place for a woman. Vile men who had committed vile acts filled the walls of such places, and a decent, Christian woman had no business in such an environment. She said she could keep in touch with me by writing letters and that way she wouldn’t be tainted by a congregation of evil—And she did just that--write me letters that is--and I’ll tell you about those later. Chad says that she was probably only afraid and a bit ashamed to see me locked up in a prison because the sight of me behind bars would confirm her failure as a mother and that she most likely wanted to keep the reality of me separate from her imaginary, Mama-version of me, especially since she was struggling at the same time with a husband who was becoming someone else. Chad says that the stress she was under would have broken the hardiest of souls, and Mama did the best she could, given what she had to deal with, and if I had any hard feelings, I should forgive her and let those feelings go. Sometimes, ol’ Chad can be a pretty wise feller, but he misinterpreted my line of questioning a little bit. I wasn’t lookin’ for an explanation for Mama’s actions. Hell, I never had no feelings one way or the other. What kind of person does that make me?
Anyhow, after Daddy started getting ill and suffering mental issues, Mama started going to the AOG church with the domed roof down on Bayou Drive. She hoped that the speaking in tongues and laying on of the hands might drive the evil spirits out of Daddy’s head and make him well again. Chad says that her joining that church changed her as much as Daddy was being changed by the Old Timer’s disease. She became suspicious of doctors and government and science and talked about separating herself from the things of the world. She started telling Chad and Aubrey that the end times were near as evidenced in Daddy’s possession by the spirit of the Beast and how their older brother (That’s me!) had been possessed by the same type of demons and devils. She said that they should bring the preacher and some deacons of the church to see me whenever they went so that those holy men might have a laying on of the hands and a casting of demons out of me by the name of Jesus Christ and that she couldn’t come see me till I was baptized and cleansed and the Legion was torn out of my soul. Then, and only then, she might be able to visit with her son in prison.
Well, I can tell you for sure nobody ever laid hands on me or they’d of got them smacked and probably their heads thumped too. I don’t need no dunkin’ in any water, and I don’t reckon I’ve ever been fit for bein’ preached at. If I ever have any dealings with God, it’ll be face-to-face and me haggling with him. I don’t need nobody to tell me what God thinks or what he wants from me, nor do I need anybody speakin’ my part to him regarding such important matters as eternal damnation or salvation. You start lettin’ others do your talkin’, your listenin’, or your thinkin’ for you, and any wrangling is bound to go cross-wired. Mixed or misinterpreted messages create nothing but chaos. Always have. Always will. You just think about that for a minute. Look at a history book. Let it sink in. Now, whatcha gonna do?
Anyways, I am not sure what I plan on doing, but I am at the Ardell reading limit. I didn’t tell you about Mama’s letters. Maybe, I won’t. But now you know why Mama never came to see me in prison. And you also know that Flo doesn’t know a gawd-damned thing still. I hope she reads this too.
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