The Front Porch Prophet

“I’ve got you to thank for this,” she said. “Most kids want to be ghosts or witches. Maybe a mime. But not my children. Nothing normal for them. Emily wants to go as Topo Gigio, Harper Lee wants to go as a fish, and J.J. wants to go black-and-white.”

“I don’t get that one.”

“You ought to get it,” she replied. “You started it when you told him the world used to be black and white. He said you even proved it.”

A.J. remembered. He and the children had been watching an old Basil Rathbone movie when J.J. asked why there was no color.

“The world used to be black and white,” he said to the children. “But aliens landed and zapped us with a color ray.”

“Uh-uh!” Harper Lee said.

“No way!” J.J. chimed.

“Daddy!” Emily added.

“I can prove it,” A.J. replied. He retrieved his videotape of The Wizard of Oz and plugged it in. The children watched open-mouthed as the film turned to Technicolor upon Dorothy’s arrival in Oz. “They were making this movie when the aliens landed,” he explained. “You can see right when we got zapped.” The young Longstreets were used to their father’s leg-pulling, and over the years he had made many an unfounded claim. But this time, it was different. They had seen the bona fides for themselves. There could be no doubt of the veracity of the claim. They believed.

“How hard can it be?” A.J. asked Maggie, referring to J.J.’s request. “Put him in black pants and a white shirt. A fish is going to be much harder.”

“Big talk, Nikita,” she responded. “He wants to look like he’s in a black-and-white movie. You know, that shades-of-grey, grainy look.”

“I have confidence in your ability,” A.J. smiled. “Maybe you can find him some size-four spats down at the Pic-N-Save.”

“Maybe you can quit filling their heads with garbage and make my life easier.”

“What do you want? An easy life or children who can think creatively?”

“Keep it up, and I’ll beat on you with my shoe,” Maggie said.

“Now, that’s more like it. Hold up while I go splash on a little Hai Karate.” He possessed what he believed to be the last bottle of the exotic fragrance extant.

“No, that’s all right. The fried Spam was bad enough.”

“I never admitted that,” he reminded her.

“You didn’t have to,” she reminded him back.

They lapsed into a contented repose and watched as the stars roused themselves for another night’s work. A.J. was glad to have Maggie back. Without her he was adrift in a world full of reefs. He no longer really understood where he left off and she began. She was the best person he had ever known, and he preferred her company above all others.

“How is Eugene?” she asked.

“He’s slipping fast,” came A.J.’s reply. He described the visit. She listened without comment, although her eyes mirrored sadness when he recounted the tale of Eugene’s reunion with Diane.

“I’m glad you made him come to town. I hope he and Diane made their peace.”

“They did,” he said. “He was low when I left him, but he asked me to go. He said he wanted to be alone.”

“Poor man,” she said simply. There was nothing else to say. Eugene had been a lucky man all of his life. Now his luck flowed away like water pouring from a hole in a bucket onto the sand in July. “You said Diane had company when you first arrived,” Maggie continued. “Who’s her new boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say a word about a boyfriend,” A.J. responded.

“But you said-”

“I said she had a friend. I did not use the word boy,” he replied.

“I’m missing you on this,” Maggie said, confused.

“I discovered Diane in a post-coital glow after having spent the evening with Truth Hannassey.” Truth had been among the first wave of new-and-improved Sequoyites. She had stumbled upon the little town a few years back and had fallen in love with its charm, beauty, and potential for financial gain. She had bought and restored a fine old home and from that base had proceeded to have her way with Cherokee County.

A.J.’s first meeting with Truth had been under unusual circumstances, and he would be the first to admit they had gotten off on the wrong foot. He felt the misstep was her fault, but the fact of the matter was that they had taken an instant dislike for each other, as if they had hated one another for many lifetimes.

A.J. had a habit of sleeping on the screened side porch during the warmer months and was doing just that one morning after a hard night at the sawmill when he was awakened by a loud pounding. Maggie was at work, the two girls were at school, and J.J. was fishing with John Robert. Still half-asleep, he arose, unhooked the screen, and stood eye to eye with Truth Hannassey. She was dressed in a nicely tailored business suit, and he was in his boxer shorts.

“Good morning,” she said, offering her hand. “I hope I didn’t wake you up. My name is Truth Hannassey.” He took her hand.

“A.J. Longstreet,” he mumbled, fighting to alertness. He figured she must be lost, broken down, or beset by other emergencies compelling enough to cause her to awaken sleeping strangers.