Thoughts From A Porch Swing

 

Gracie sat in the swing, gently persuading its movement by lifting her toes off the wooden floor and pushing with her heels. She sat with her iced sweet tea in cupped hands laying on her lap. She looked  at the empty wicker chair off to her right. She sighed audibly and frowned. The late afternoon was pleasant but her thoughts were not.

"Why would she go off and leave me this way? Her only sister! And little sister at that. I just can't believe it." She left her anger and self pity just long enough to wave to the mailman as he lowered the red flag, removed and left mail, and drove on, steering from the passenger seat of his old rust-laden Chevrolet. "Nothing in there for me," she muttered to herself, "Momma can get it."  

The ice made a gentle rattle as she stirred it with her finger and sipped from her glass. The smell of mint and Marigolds growing along the porch awakened her nose, but even that cheered her little. She was not willing to have her mood sweetened by any of her primary senses.

"Why would she want to go off to college in Ohio of all places. Way up North. Cold winters, snow all the time. Bad food. Why, those Yankees wouldn't know the difference between grits and ice cream. Bet they never tasted black-eyed peas or collard greens. The closest those folks ever come to a Southern meal is eating at a Cracker Barrel restaurant. If they even have a Cracker Barrel" she fumed inwardly. Her eyes moved in the direction of some movement by the Forsythia. 

She watched as her mother came from the back of the house, stopped to deadhead Petunias in a pot by the side walk, and ambled on toward the mailbox. Gracie always marveled at how graceful her Momma was, even in as simple a thing as walking down the driveway and back. 

She started swinging again and took another sip of her tea. Southern sweet tea; strong enough to put you in atrial fibrillation and sweet enough to give you diabetes is what her Grandad always jokingly said.

She then heard the rumbling of a distant train and watched as it appeared across the field from behind the trees. She placed her slender hand across her forehead to shield her eyes from the sunlight. The rising waves of heated air warped the view at times as if she was looking through an ancient window pane. She counted the passenger cars as they appeared one after another. Looking to her like a rigid caterpillar, the engine and its tow moved into, then out of, the frame of  moss-covered oaks across the way. She watched as the faded red caboose disappeared from view.

"All those people travelling. Where does everyone go? I'm never leaving Georgia. I've been her fourteen years and I like it here. I love my little town. I love this home. Why move off to God knows where? I've got all I need right here on this front porch. Except Lucy. I love my sister. I'm gonna miss her like everything. But, I do hope she is happy. At least one of us will be." Then, ,the screen door creaked as the hinges and metal spring complained about being disturbed,  Momma quietly sat down in the rocker that was her favorite.

After a few seconds of gazing at the gathering of puffy white cumulus clouds on the horizon Momma glanced over and asked "Missing Lucy just now?" Gracie shrugged her shoulders slightly, then said as cheerfully as she could muster, "No, just enjoying the afternoon," then after a moment asked, "Do you miss her already Momma?" With a smile that indicated how well she understood her youngest child, Momma leaned over to pat her daughter on the knee, "Every bit as much as you do, sweety." Then she reached in her apron pocket and removed an envelope. "Something for you."

 Gracie placed her glass on the white wicker table then turned over the envelope and was thrilled to see her sister' s handwriting. She grinned as she looked at her mother and said, "I bet Lucy is missing me. The poor thing. I'm sure she'll be just fine after a little while. Don't you think so, Momma?" Momma smiled beneath the rim of her glass as she tasted the cold nectar of the South... and the warm sweetness of a summer afternoon on the front porch, watching her youngest child grow.