Christian Clarity Review

“Law enforcement was serious business back then—like it is today.”

Gab nods and smiles. He nods and smiles at everything.

We’re standing in front of the old Shady Rest juke joint. It’s run down now; a of concrete block shell: collapsed roof; vines everywhere. All that’s left of its former glory is the chipped paint, broken glass, a few beer cans from several generations, weeds spilling out the front windows; trees coming through and shading everything else.

The only thing that looks new, alive and authentic to the name (if you don’t know its history) is the huge oak trees with big, knotty roots and Spanish moss that swings easily in the breeze. They were probably here back then too. But trees always look new and alive no matter how big they get and you never really know how long they’ve been there.

Every time I come by here I think of a big, forties-looking sheriff’s car. It’s the kind of place a snake would live in: not much traffic, other small creatures for food, an excuse of any kind would work no matter what happened because there isn’t anybody else to say otherwise, except on those occassions when God comes around. –The kind with the big bubble on top and the yesteryear siren? “Sheriff” painted on the side with a single, big star and a little beat up. Couches for seats. No seat belts. A thirty eight special and twelve gauge shotgun for armament. Tragedy on wheels for a writer in the south.

One day I’m going to write a story about this place. It’ll have old, tinny blues music, sweat, the drinking of liquor, mason jars and period clothes. Tobacco. Law enforcement. Grits. Salvation. Screen porches and doors. Someone will say “What’ch you doin’ boy?” and something about New York and up north. Racial stuff. It’ll have souls and spirits and characters recognizable to the general public as people because of the emotions they’ll do. One group will be ‘out’ and another will be ‘in’. It won’t be a comedy. It’ll make a statement about God, the human condition. Love. Everything. Maybe even make peace between everybody up north and everybody down south.

Gab must be thinking the same thing. He lets out a “WaaaaAAAAA!” that starts out low and gets louder like the old sirens. I nod and grin.

Hank jumps. I laugh. He was lost in his own thoughts and Gab’s siren must have sounded like an alien, demon spirit from the pit of all the evil that took place here suddenly moving through to inspect his domain. Possession. (Hey—that too.). Everything. A prison or road gang angle. Women. People with cars and those without them. Mules. Hound dogs. Huntin’. Dancing and sex will be implied but not demonstrated.

The wind picks up and the moss brushes my face. I’m standing under the shade. You too, brother. Old oak trees and Spanish moss. Lemonade. Church. Fresh cut lumber. Turpentine. Guilty laughter. Clean fun.

It started out and finished a juke. No one recalls the owner’s name—or what happened that closed it down. But they do say he changed the name to Shady Rest (from ‘Traveler’s Rest’) because it is what the locals had taken to calling it: he sold beer; moonshine under the table and played that music. As deep a sin pit as there ever was.

Somebody will take a sip in that story. And a bite. Bobcats. Alligators. A body. The swamp.

We’re out walking because we had a flat tire. We usually drive by this place and don’t stop. It’s not spooky per se. It’s just that nobody really has any business here anymore.

We were on the other side of the road, but Hank just helped a turtle to cross the asphalt faster. They tend to be slow and get run over with some frequency. The sign is still here and creaks on its hinges. There will be a repetition of the same mistakes over and over.

A woman in a car drives by. We stare stupidly to make it obvious we’re just visitors and don’t know where we are.

Gab lives just up the road. We can bring his truck down. It’s got the tools we need. But the air is hot now and we’re soaked through already.

It’ll have shade too, that story–some relief beyond ‘I saw it and understood it.’ And somebody will come home and everything will be alright. Except for one character. One family. Somebody always takes a hit.

Tall grass. Turtles. Roads. A perfect, Red Delicious apple. Everything.

For now we stand here and wait. We see what we can see and be what we can be in the small concrete square of the old patio. A moment will come and we’ll know the time to move on has come. A breeze or maybe someone we know will blow by. Perhaps the sun will go down beyond the overhang of the old oak’s branches or moss. We’ll just know.

Hank kicks a can toward the tree and sighs.

The turtle? He’s not moving and has no expression on his face.

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Isaiah 34:13-17 And thorns shall come up in her palaces, nettles and brambles in her fortresses; and it shall be a dwelling-place of wild dogs, a court for ostriches. And there shall the beasts of the desert meet with the jackals, and the wild goat shall cry to his fellow; the lilith also shall settle there, and find for herself a place of rest. There shall the arrow-snake make her nest, and lay, and hatch, and gather under her shadow; there also shall the vultures be gathered one with another. Search ye in the book of Jehovah and read: not one of these shall fail, one shall not have to seek for the other; for my mouth, it hath commanded, and his Spirit, it hath gathered them. For he himself hath cast the lot for them, and his hand hath divided it unto them with the line: they shall possess it for ever; from generation to generation shall they dwell therein.

In the Name of Jesus Christ, Amen