That rickety white house on the corner of Elm and Main, wasn’t a general store like the sign on the porch said. Old Mrs. Maples tried to disguise the funeral parlor as something else, make it look more inviting.
Strangely enough, the checkers outside on the antique table didn’t go without play. I will never forget when my Uncle David invited my daddy to a friendly competition. My Granny warned ‘em not to do it. Me-Maw was tucked away in a pine box, it just wasn’t the time to slide and stack black and red wooden discs. They didn’t listen though.
The graveyard was about half-a-mile up, so momma drug me and my sister on to the car. We sat in that champagne-colored Thunderbird with maroon leather seats for nearly thirty minutes. Even with the windows cranked down, the heat was unbearable. We were stuck to the seats by the time daddy came running. He fussed at momma, blaming her for not insisting he come on. She turned and glared at him, her face red, hair stringy and temper held tightly on the inside. She didn’t say a word, but I knew when we got home, he was going to be all kinds of profanities.
He hit the gas, sending us flying up that hill doing about forty miles per hour, running over a row of tombstones. Thank the Lord they were the ones that laid flat against the ground. We even parked over a couple.
I could see my grandmother fuming, legs shaking in her seat. Daddy rushed to her side and bowed his head like he’d been there for the whole prayer. “I’d bet you lost that game; I pray you don’t lose your soul.” She whispered; teeth clinched as the preacher continued. Granny was mad as fire!
Leesa Writes 