It's All True by Jeff Slaughter

Author:Jeff Slaughter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

WHEN I PULLED UP IN FRONT OF J. Z. GEORGE HIGH SCHOOL TO PICK up Mallorie and Bess, the looks on their faces were priceless. Their eyes bugged out when they saw my new Pathfinder, and they jumped in. Mallorie peered around the inside in amazement and then looked at me with this genuine, happy expression. “This is awesome!”

“Let’s go cruise the big city and get some ice cream,” I smiled. You should know the “big city” of Carrollton is exactly one square mile, and, as of the 2000 census, exactly 408 people lived inside the city limits.

Vickie and her family lived in a cottage on the property right behind my parents’ house. Vickie has muscular dystrophy, so it made it easier for her to have Mama and Daddy right there. Their homes sit way out on Barefoot Road, and, true to “country livin,’” their nearest neighbors were about a quarter of a mile down the road.

Living in the country provides a lot of pleasures that people in the suburbs and the cities never experience. Morning is as simple an indulgence as there is. I can’t speak for anyone else, but on Barefoot Road, as the sun rises, the coffee brews, and the humming bird feeders come alive, there isn’t a better spot in the world to watch it all unfold than sitting in the sun room next to the back porch of my parents’ home.

While Daddy was out dove hunting with my sister Carla’s husband Tony that morning, I went to have a cup of coffee with Vickie in her kitchen. We were listening to Sanctuary, one of Twila Paris’s best projects. We were so inspired that we began to sing along to one of our favorite hymns, “When the Roll Is Called Up Yonder,” when Mallorie walked in and joined us. The three-part harmony that emanated from the kitchen on that September morning was beautiful.

As noon approached and Mama was preparing lunch, Vickie, her husband, Ken, and I were waiting for Carla to arrive. As we were talking, laughing, and generally catching up, Mallorie’s friend Shelly Jo came riding up on a four-wheeler through the front yard and headed back to Vickie’s house. Our family didn’t have four-wheelers, but a lot of Mallorie’s and Bess’ friends did. Vickie didn’t mind her girls riding with their friends, so long as they stayed in the pasture—never on the roads— and always wore helmets.

A few minutes later, we heard the four-wheeler fire up and saw it come flying around the front of the house. When it came into view, there was Shelly Jo driving, with Mallorie sitting on the back. The next thing we knew, they took off down the gravel road. I remember seeing Mallorie reach back to grab the rack behind the seat, sit up real high, and flip her shoulder-length hair back so that she could look straight up and soak in the sun and blue sky.

“Look at that,” Vickie said. “I have told her never to ride a fourwheeler in the road, and she’s not even wearing a helmet.

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