The Streetlight on Jackson Drive

When I looked up, I knew immediately what was wrong. The little fuckers, whoever they were, had shot the light out again. This was bullshit, I called the dispatcher and told him what had happened. He told me to wait until the cops showed up before I changed the fixture. Streetlights are not high on the list of police priorities, understandably so, I had no hopes of seeing anyone soon. Sitting in the truck waiting I noticed Cheryl walking down the driveway toward me. I bailed out and met her halfway.

"Hey. How you doing?" I asked.

"I'm alright. I see you're back."

"Yup, I'm supposed to wait for an officer before I change the fixture."

She chuckled, "In that case you may as well come sit on the porch. I'm pretty sure the cops have more important things to do than check streetlights. I imagine it'll be a while."

We hadn't been sitting more than five minutes when I heard a frail voice from within ask, "Who dat white boy wit you?"

"It's the streetlight guy Granny. He was in high school with Sylvester."

I heard a soft, "Okay den." And nothing more from Granny.

I was intrigued though and asked, "How did you know I went to school with your brother?"

"I couldn't get your name out of my mind after you left. It dawned on me a few days later. You two used to be on the track team and your real name is Lucien, but everybody called you Luke."

Before she continued, I interjected, "I think it's pretty clear why I did that. What guy wants to be called Lucien?"

"Didn't you and Syl run in a relay or something?" She asked. "You'll need to forgive Granny, her vocabulary has reverted back to her childhood over the past few years."

"Yeah. Nothing to fret about." I said. "At her age she can talk anyway she chooses. Boy I wish I knew who was shooting this light out."

She looked at me, "I'll tell you who. It's those damned Brown boys at the end of the road. If there was a picture in the dictionary for no good white trash it would be them. It always happens at night, but this last time I was still awake, and the shot came from that direction. As old as those boys are you'd think they had better sense. No accounting for trash people though, no matter what color they are."

About that time we noticed a squad car turning onto the road headed our way. I walked to the truck and waited. After introducing myself and explaining the situation I offered to take him up in the bucket with me to see the damage. He looked a bit squeamish when he replied.

"I'll take your word for it, me and heights don't get along. I'll take some pictures from here, why don't you bring it down and I'll take more."

After looking it over and taking more pictures he commented. "You're right. Based on the angle the projectile came from that area."

He was pointing toward the end of the street. "Who lives there?"

I hadn't noticed that Cheryl was close by until I heard her say. "The Brown boys. Since their mama died, they've been hell on wheels."

The cop shook his head, "Say no more. We've had countless run ins with that bunch. I think it's time I get an investigator involved."

With that he turned around and headed back toward the main road. I was getting tools, etc. ready to install the new fixture when she asked.

"Do you mind if I stand here and watch? Or is there some sort of OSHA reg against that?"

"Nah. Just stay outside the orange cones when I'm in the bucket. You'll be all right."

By the time I had finished and tested the light it was already 4:15 in the afternoon. Knowing I wasn't going to repair or replace any more lights that day I took my time putting things away. As part of our conversation in general she asked what I might be doing for supper. It was a Thursday, my answer was simple.

"Dale's has chicken fried steak on Thursday. That's where I'll be. And Saturday is fried chicken."

She scoffed, "I don't have on hand what it takes for chicken fried steak so Dale's will have to do. But you aren't going to Dale's for fried chicken. If you want fried chicken, you be here by five on Saturday. Earlier if you want, I need help moving a few boxes from the garage. I'll make you the best danged fried chicken you've ever tasted. If you don't already have plans, I'll expect to see you Saturday."

I grinned, "No plans beyond helping you move boxes. What time should I be here?"

Turning toward the driveway her skirt lifted slightly with the wind exposing a pair of shapely legs. Over her shoulder she said loudly, "Three thirty will work just fine."

Instead of backing into her driveway and turning around I drove to the end of the street and pulled into Brown's driveway. There were four guys leaning on an old rusted truck drinking beer. All four looked at me and flipped the bird. I was backing onto the road as I turned the truck. With my window open I smiled, made a gun with my fingers and slowly dropped my thumb the way the hammer on a pistol would drop. I was pulling away when one of them shouted.

"Yeah, you better leave gramps. If you come back, I'll kick your ass."

I was laughing so hard I almost peed myself. Ironically the same officer that had been with me earlier was eating at Dale's. I asked if he minded me sitting, he pointed to a chair across the table and nodded. We talked some as we ate. When I brought up what happened at Brown's he chuckled.

"Don't tell me that shit. It's against the law to do that these days. That crew is a mess, I'm surprised they didn't have weapons. They usually do. Don't confront them if you can avoid it, they're unpredictable and could care less about the law. I called the incident with the lights into my supervisor. He's going to get investigations involved. If they assign this case to who I think they will the Brown boys won't want to screw with them."

Friday it rained throughout the morning which slowed my work schedule slightly. There was no required rigid timeframe with the city. Therefore I set personal goals and expectations for myself. I needed to manage my time wisely and decided to work a few hours past five which brought me closer to my goal. It also garnered a dozen or so macadamia nut cookies baked by the little old lady on the corner that had been waiting two weeks for the city to send me a work order. I can't fix um if I don't know about um.

Saturday I mowed the lawn, trimmed weeds, washed the truck as well as my car, and did a weeks' worth of laundry. All the while wondering why I hadn't listed the house for sale yet. After all, I'd done all the remodeling, but I sure didn't need anything that big. Procrastination I suppose. It seemed like every other Saturday, and yet it wasn't. This Saturday was different. I hadn't been looking for a woman in my life but having met Cheryl was making me think different. Sure, I was 55, double nickels, but that isn't too old to have a steady girlfriend. Realizing I was way ahead of myself I went about the rest of my chores until it was time to leave for Cheryl's at three.

Not wanting to appear overly eager or forward I decided against flowers for Cheryl, but not for Granny. I was going to win that old birds approval come hell or high water. For Cheryl I bought a Baby Ruth candy bar hoping that she would like it. I'd seen an empty wrapper in the waste basket by her chair on the porch. As I drove down Jackson Dr. I noticed that there were surveyor markings in open spaces to my right. Maybe people were going to start building after all these years. It wasn't hard to imagine, there were very few areas with city water and sewer that hadn't already been built on.

Turning into the driveway I saw Cheryl and Granny on the porch. A lemonade or iced tea in hand, rocking chairs slowly moving. It was a warm day, Granny had a shawl covering her shoulders, at 99 and as skinny as she was I was sure she had trouble staying warm. Cheryl was wearing a flowing cotton sleeveless summer dress. Walking up the three steps to the porch I smiled and nodded at Cheryl who was getting on her feet to accept the flowers. Imagine the look on her face when I handed them to Granny. She was grinning and nodding approval.

It was a mixed summer bouquet with lots of vivid, radiant colors. Granny took them in hand and cradled them across her lap. Before she spoke, she looked up and smiled.

"Thank you, sonny. These be mighty purdy. Cheryl, fetch me a vase. Git along now."

When Cheryl returned, she put the flowers in a vase and set them on the table between the chairs. I had grabbed one of the other chairs and scooted it next to Cheryl's. She looked at me with a grin.

"So. Flowers for Granny. Nothing for me?"

I smiled and handed her the candy bar. She giggled. "Oh my, you know the way to a girl's heart."

Granny's soft shrill voice interrupted our moment. "Cheryl, take me inside, gettin chilly out here."

With Granny inside softly snoozing in her favorite chair Cheryl and I went to the garage. One bay was open, the other full of boxes. Waving her hand in a gesture pointing to the boxes she said.

"This stuff has got to go. Most of it is Sylvester's. I inherited it when I moved back. I'm having a dumpster delivered Monday. I thought we could go through the boxes. I'll decide what to keep and what to get rid of. What I'm gonna keep we'll put in that corner, the rest can be stacked in the empty spot until Monday."

I wasn't quite sure of the situation, so I asked. "What about Syl, won't he want to go through this stuff?"

"Sylvester is dead. Overdose. Please don't ask how or why. Wrong crowd, wrong lifestyle, wrong woman. He's gone and there's no bringing him back. Most of this is junk and it needs to go. I want to move the lawnmower in here instead of the shed. You ready?" I nodded. 'Okay, let's get busy."

An hour and fifteen minutes later we opened the last box, she rifled through it quickly and mumbled, "Junk, toss it." As we walked into the kitchen I noticed Cheryl immediately went to the pantry and came out with a small box of pasta. She had water in a pan heating to a boil when I asked.

"I thought we were having fried chicken?"

"Oh, we are. This is for Granny. She eats mostly soft food now, her favorite is macaroni with butter, oil and garlic. I normally have supper ready for her by 4, I'm a little late today. She'll eat a little, nap and then eat the rest. She doesn't seem to care that it's not hot any longer. She'll watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune and then she'll go to bed."

I looked at Cheryl, "I thought you said she was nearly blind."

"Oh, she is. But mostly with small print and close up. The TV is far enough away that she can still figure out what's going on. It keeps her mind active. Why don't you tell her supper is ready?"

Walking into the den the first thing I noticed was the vase of flowers right next to her chair. When I mentioned supper was ready she smiled and extended a hand. I helped her rise, as I did she put her hand through my arm and stepped forward. In the kitchen I slid a chair out and helped seat her. She looked at Cheryl and asked.

"Where you find dis one? He be nice."

Cheryl gave me something to do right away, no sense wasting time as she put it. I was slicing sweet potatoes into fries to go along with the fried chicken. I figured that she would deep fry both the fries and the chicken. Not so. I'm not sure what sort of mixture she fried the chicken in or her secret coating, but it sure smelled good. I was deep frying the fries while she cooked the chicken in a cast iron skillet. We had timed it just right, both items were done at the same time.

I have to admit, it was the best fried chicken I had ever tasted. When I asked what she had fried the chicken in she grinned and shook her head.

"Nah, that's a secret. Let's just say that if you ate food like that every day it would clog all four quadrants of your heart in a year."

I smiled, "That good huh?"

"Yup. It's Granny's recipe and it didn't kill her so it can't be all bad. I only make chicken like this every few months. Chicken fried steak. Now that's an entirely different animal. I have that at least twice a month. In between it's a much healthier diet, but I still need the calories because I work out every day."

"Oh? Do you belong to one of the fitness places in town?"

She laughed, "Nope. There are five bedrooms in this house and only two people sleeping in it. I converted one of the rooms into my workout area. No need to worry about gym clothes, or guys staring at my ass, or lezzy's approaching me in the locker room. Nope, this works fine. I work out, I shower, and I get on with my day."

I insisted on helping clean the kitchen and do dishes. As we finished, she turned to me with a soft smile.

"Granny's right. You are one of the nice ones. Did you have enough to eat? Is there any room for dessert? I baked a cherry pie this morning."

I groaned and held my stomach, "No fair dammit. If I'd have known there was pie, I wouldn't have eaten those last two pieces of chicken."

She gently guided me into the living room where we sat side by side on an old, I mean very old, love seat. As we sat Cheryl turned to me.

"This love seat is over 100 years old. Granny had it reupholstered about 20 years ago and it still looks brand new. I don't think two people have sat in it at the same time for years. I know I haven't, Sylvester never did, and Granny hasn't had a suitor for at least 25 years."

I was interested in her granny. "Was she ever married? I've never seen her with a man."

"She never did. She had a few guys interested but they wanted nothing to do with farm life. I'm speculating here, but I think she was shacking up with the last farm hand she had. I remember Heinrich living in the bedroom off the kitchen when I was a girl and it was only those two living in this house after I left. When I would come home on leave they acted like two separate people, but I could tell there was something there. When Heinrich died she sold the cows and machinery. It was almost as if her life was over. That's why the farm is still in the Jackson name."

Now I was even more interested. "What about you? Your name is still Jackson. Does that mean you never married?"

She laughed, "Correct. Give that man a cigar. I never married, not for want of being asked. I never found the guy I wanted to share my life with. AND, they all wanted me to end my career, have babies and stay at home. I was past my prime when I realized that I would have liked to be a mom. At that point I stayed focused on my career until Granny needed me. So there you have it. What about you?"

"What about me? Hmmmm. Not much to say. Four years in the Air Force. Married with no kids, widowed, retired only to reenter the work force after realizing how boring retirement was. And here I am sitting on the love seat with a pretty lady after being stuffed with fried chicken and sweet potato fries."

She looked at me oddly. "No kids? I would have taken you to be the doting husband and daddy kind of guy. How did your wife die?"

There was no reason to go into details so I gave her the short version.

"She became extremely depressed after our divorce and took her life when I was 46."

She snapped back, "Divorced? Why did you get divorced?"

Another moment of less is enough, "She cheated on me, more than once. That's the long and short of it."

"Sorry to hear that. Is that why you don't date now?"

I shrugged, "What makes you think I don't date?"

"Because I know people and I ask questions. I may have been gone for almost 30 years, but I still have a lot of friends from the past. After meeting you on the second light change, I decided that I needed to know more about you. By the way, I know the details about your ex's behavior. You were very kind to not denigrate her right now just to make yourself look better."

It was time to clear the air. "Okay, you know about me. Where do we go from here?" I asked.

"I'll tell you where we go. You will arrive at precisely 11:30 tomorrow morning with an appetite and a bouquet of flowers for me. You will not overeat brunch and save enough room for cherry pie. Is that clear enough?"

I chuckled, "Yes ma'am."

She slapped my arm, "And don't call me ma'am, I was enlisted, not an officer."

I laughed, "Shoot, I haven't heard that line in years. Way to go Senior Master Sergeant Jackson. Why is it you never made E-9 with so many years?"

She sat back and sighed. "I refused to sleep with a full bird colonel. He'd been hitting on me for months, I knew his family well and had been to their home often. I was dancing with him at his daughter's wedding reception when he commented how much he liked my dress and how he'd like to see what's inside it. Let me tell you the spirit of slap came on me so fast I almost didn't stop myself."

"So did you slap him?"

"No, I stopped moving, looked him dead in the eye and told him he could have the dress. When he asked why I told him because that was the only way he was ever going to get into it."

I was stunned, "Holy shit. What happened then?"

"I walked to his wife, thanked her for the invitation to be at their daughter's wedding and left. Since he was my commanding officer that basically ended any hope of further promotion. It didn't bother me, I was living in NCO quarters, my car was paid for and as an E-8 I was making plenty of money. I stayed in another year before I needed to come home and look after Granny."

Before we knew it, we had talked away the entire evening. When the old wind-up clock on the mantle chimed ten times we chuckled at the same time.

She slapped my thigh and said, "I need to check on Granny one last time. It's been quite a while since supper. Would you like to stay for pie."

Before I could answer she was up and walking down the hallway. The slap on my thigh was different, I wasn't quite sure what to think of it. We seemed comfortable with each other. Was I missing something? Was she giving me a signal that I may have ignored? I'd been accused of being clueless with women in the past and thought to myself. *What the hell, you never know until you ask*.

Upon her return she stopped in front of the loveseat and said, "Well, are you staying for pie or going home?"

I stood and spoke softly while looking in her eyes. "I'd rather stay for breakfast."

And there I stood like a twelve-year-old in seventh grade wondering if I might get my first kiss from Becky Thompson, the girl who sat at the desk next to me in Mrs. Thorson's class. I would know victory or defeat momentarily.

Without moving back or looking shocked she studied my face for what seemed like an hour, which was probably more like a minute before answering.

"You're smooth, very smooth. Granny warned me about panty droppers like you when I left the farm as a 19-year-old. Not arrogant or presumptuous, just confident. I'm not much of a Bible person but I remember a plaque I was given years ago that had a scripture. In quietness and confidence is your strength. That's you, (there was a long pause) Lucien."

I sensed defeat and was ready to accept being shot down when she asked quietly.

"How do you like your eggs?"

I knew what to say, "Any way you'd like to fix them. I'd love the opportunity to scramble yours though before morning."

She moved close, kissed me softly and said, "There are no longer any eggs to scramble, but you're welcome to stir the pot if you like."

I wasn't going to waste the moment and whispered, "Can I lick the bowl as well?"

She groaned as our bodies melded together and said seductively, "Oh my, you are good. And the answer is, I would be delighted to have you lick the bowl. So what will it be Luke, a piece of pie, or the bedroom?"

I laughed, "I'm thinking a huge slice of fanny pie is in order."

Without uttering a word her hand went to mine and placed it directly on her mound as she pushed into it. A steamy kiss later she asked, "Will this do?"