Come In the House

My grandparents, Mamma Bea and Daddy Freeman lived in Shake Rag, MS.  Shake Rag was about 10 miles from Okolona, MS.  Okolona was about 20 miles from Tupelo, MS.  You may not know where Shake Rag is but everyone, in Mississippi at least, knows where Tupelo is.  It's where the king was born, you know, as in the King of Rock and Roll.  Yep, it's the birthplace of Elvis Presley. 

Shake Rag was a grouping of good folks along a couple of roads out in the county that used to be gravel but had been black topped by the time I came along.  Most of those good folks were related to me in some fashion or another.  Their mail was delivered into mailboxes out on that black top.  The closest post office was in Egypt, just down the road.  One of my uncles was the post master there and my momma graduated from school in Egypt.

The long gravel driveway that came off the main road down to my grandmother’s house in Shake Rag gave ample opportunity to get ready to greet visitors.  The windows and doors were always open in the summer because, even though they had a window air conditioner, they never turned it on except when As The World Turns came on around midday.  Through those open doors you could hear the rumble of the pickup truck and see the plume of dust trailing so you always knew when company was coming.  Sometimes on Sundays Mama Bea would pray before issuing the invitation.  She would look out, see the familiar truck and say, “Lord, here comes Billy Brown!” with just a bit of disgust in her voice.  Then came the bang of the screen door as it was flung open and the same hearty greeting from Mama Bea that everyone received, “Come in the house.” 

Billy was a TV repair man with one arm who was strong enough to lift TV’s that normally required two grown men.  He was born and reared in Shake Rag.  He always had the same coveralls on and always smelled musty.  Billy had a loud voice with a bit of a rasp that carried easily through the four room cinder block house.  It was well known in our family that Billy was smitten with my older sister who was 20 years his junior.  That little bit of information was great fodder for this younger brother’s teasings.  Such thoughts seem strange by today’s standards but I guess 35 years ago in Mississippi it wasn’t that uncommon.  I need to add that my sister never returned his affections.

Billy would visit for most of the afternoon, lingering until the Wonderful World of Disney came on and it was time for supper.  Then the cloth that covered the table and Sunday dinner came off to reveal the remains of roast beef, fried chicken, an occasional rabbit or squirrel, green beans, boiled okra, squash, corn bread, butter beans, peas, chocolate pie and coconut cake, not to mention the potato salad with mayonnaise that we thought was as fresh as it had been five hours earlier.  After the unveiling, we all got a little quiet except for the rattling of silverware and ice tea glasses.  The second feast was always as good as the first.  Then, Billy Brown would leave with a big smile, a full stomach and a thank you.  “Better get on home Bera,” he would say as he clamored into his truck.  Mama Bea would stand on the porch and watch until the plume of dust had settled on the cotton plants and then she came in.  There was no doubt that Billy Brown was a little different from most, even a bit strange and unsettling but, except for that hushed prayer, you would never know it by the way he was treated at Mama Bea’s.  As soon as Billy Brown crossed over that threshold, he was received and accepted as he was.  There were no expectations for change.  He was Billy Brown, a guest.  That was enough.

Billy Brown is buried in the back right corner of Boone’s Chapel Cemetery there in Shake Rag.  It’s a good place as cemetery plots go.  Just a few over are Mama Bea and Daddy Freeman and a host of other relatives.  I wouldn’t mind being buried there myself.  It feels like home.  One day there will be a door flung open wide and our Lord will welcome us all home.  There will be no distinction and the table cloth will be pulled back to reveal a banquet of plenty.  We’ll all be treated as what we are:  sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. 

That will be enough.