The Front Porch Prophet

A.J. finished the drive to Jackie’s house. Jackie was in his long handles, drinking coffee on the porch.

“A.J.” said Jackie. He nodded his head.

“Jackie, how have you been?”

“Been working, eating, and sleeping,” he responded. “And haven’t been getting much sleep, at that. I swear they’re trying to kill me.” He smiled ruefully. The box plant was well known for long hours of overtime.

“If I had your money, I’d throw my money away,” A.J. responded. Jackie worked all the overtime he could lay his hands on and put aside the fruits for rainy days. By all accounts, it could rain for years, and he would be just fine. He lived the single life. Having seen his parents’ marriage up close, it had seemed to him that there were worse things than being an old bachelor.

So A.J. the unemployed husband sat with Jackie the overemployed bachelor and talked of many things under the sun. They talked about Alabama Southern, and about the rumor that they were purchasing the box plant.

“I may end up drinking coffee with you down at the drive-in,” Jackie observed.

“No, you’re not management. They’ll love you,” was A.J.’s reply. Then they spoke of the brutal murder of Estelle Chastain’s dog. The news was novel to Jackie, and he hid a smile as he heard the details.

“I never liked that dog much, but Estelle is okay, except when she’s showing me her cleavage,” he commented, referring to her many attempts to reel him in. She had set her cap for him years ago, but her bait was simply not up to par.

“Plug has gone to a better place, and Estelle needs you now more than ever,” A.J. kidded. Then they discussed the weather, the price of gas down at Billy’s, and the new salad bar offered by Hoghead at the drive-in. Finally, A.J. ran out of anything else to talk about and broached the situation up on the mountain.

He outlined Eugene’s condition. He related his discussions with Johnny Mack. He described the sad discourse between Eugene and Diane. He shared his opinion that Eugene was sliding fast and in need of constant attendance. Then he finished by explaining the installation of Wormy until better arrangements could be made.

“Johnny Mack knows about this?” Jackie finally asked.

“Everything but Wormy,” A.J. said.

“I talked to him yesterday,” Jackie continued. “And to Angel. He didn’t tell me any of this. And she seemed happy, so I guess he hasn’t told her either.” Jackie seemed embarrassed.

“You need to go make her unhappy, Jackie,” A.J. said. It was the hard truth, flinty and cold.

That night back at the Folly, A.J. discussed his accomplishments with Maggie. He was satisfied with the day’s labors, but Maggie voiced concern.

“You left a drunken, dog-killing, unemployed helicopter pilot named Wormy in charge?” she asked, putting the worst possible slant on the arrangement.

“It beats leaving him with the dog,” A.J. said defensively.

The next day was busy. A.J. began his chores by taking Estelle out to the Parm Shrine so she could pay her respects to the chunk of wood A.J. had committed to eternity. Estelle was overcome at the sight of the small, raw mound.

“You did a fine job, A.J.,” she boo-hooed as he endured a hug. He thought of Plug out at the landfill next to an Amana.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

After taking Estelle home, A.J. drove down to the We Shall Gather by the Salad Bar Drive-In to wait for Maniac Monroe. When he walked in, a couple of his old sawmill employees hailed him.

“How is life in the sawmill?” A.J. asked.

“They have lost their minds,” said Duke Favors. He pointed his fork at A.J. “They’ve raised the production quota, and they have a bunch of new boys wandering around with clipboards looking for waste.”

He shook his head in absolute disgust as he bit into a piece of bacon. “If they were really interested in waste, they’d start by shit-canning those guys.”

“Tell him about the paper towels, Duke,” urged Brickhead Crowe.

“Oh, man,” said the Duke. “Somebody on the day shift wadded a bunch of paper towels in one of the johns. When they flushed it, it flooded the bathroom. So they got some of those damn air blowers that hang on the wall. You know, the ones where the fourth step is to wipe your hands on your pants. Our new supervisor-and this guy is a real treat, by the way-told us he guessed we wouldn’t be stopping up the toilets anymore. Real shitty about it, too.” Duke chased a bite of egg around his plate with his toast.

“Tell him the rest,” Brickhead said with glee.

“Somebody-and I swear to God I don’t know who, but I’d buy him a beer if I did-ripped those blowers off the damn wall and tossed them in the shitters. It was beautiful.” Duke and Brickhead were laughing, and A.J. was glad to see that they were in good spirits. It seemed there was trouble brewing at Alabama Southern. He stood when Maniac Monroe came in.