Deep August: Short Stories from the American South

By James William Gardner

"A marvelous voice!" -The Oxford American

"Non-stop southern-ness!" -Forge Literary Magazine

"A compelling set of stories"..."A very unique perspective on contemporary southern culture."-Emily Seyl, Texas A

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminare Press
• Release date: Feb 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781643884783

James William Gardner

A native of Southwest Virginia, James William Gardner writes extensively about the contemporary American south. He explores aspects of southern culture often overlooked: the downtrodden, the impoverished, and those marginalized by society. His work has been nominated for the 2016 Pushcart Prize. Gardner is a graduate of Virginia Commonwealth University and lives in Roanoke, Virginia. His work has appeared in numerous publications including Deep South Magazine, Newfound Journal, and The Virginia Literary Journal. For more information visit www.jameswilliamgardner.com

Book preview

Another Plastic Buddha

The truck stop parking lot reverberated with idling big diesel engines. The air smelled like sour urine. Randal Whitley stood by the open door of his cab smoking a cigarette and drinking his morning coffee. A stick of beef jerky and two chocolate donuts was all he’d had for breakfast, but that was usual. He seldom sat down to eat in the mornings. When he awakened, he was wired and anxious to hit the road.

It was drizzling rain in Tuscaloosa, a cool morning for the time of year. Usually it was already hot in Alabama by eight-thirty. Randal Whitley was getting a late start, but that was okay. He didn’t have to be in Fort Worth until Thursday so he had time to kill. He would have over four-thousand miles by the end of the week. That was good money, not that he particularly needed it. He never spent anything much, living largely out of the truck. Oh, he kept a little place in Knoxville, but he probably didn’t spend over two or three days a month there. Just long enough to check the mail, get good and drunk and maybe have supper with his sister and them. He was just getting ready to head out when he noticed a woman coming across the pavement toward him. At first she looked like a young girl, but the closer she came the older she got. By the time she reached him she was forty, at least. Sometimes it’s awful hard to tell with whores, especially truck stop whores. Hey, you look like a nice enough guy. Give me a lift, will you?

Can’t, replied Randal Whitley. It’s against company policy. Can’t let no unauthorized people in the truck. That means nobody that ain’t been approved. Sorry."

Aw, come on Dude. I’ll make it worth your while.

Shit woman, you ain’t got nothing that could. Go on and tag some other driver. I tell you I can’t let you ride.

Who the hell’s going to know? I just need to get out of here quick. I don’t care where. You can drop me anywhere just as long as it’s a hundred miles from here.

Why you got to get away so bad? he asked.

That’s my business, Honey. I ain’t trying to be short with you, but the less you know the better.

Sounds like you’ve done got yourself into trouble. Well, I’ll give you a lift as far as Jackson, how’s that?

Great! Thanks! she said. It was unusual to see a lot lizard in the daylight. They most often did business between one and four in the morning. She wasn’t really a lot lizard. She didn’t quite deserve to be called that. She was by no means attractive, but she wasn’t an out and out skank either. She had long, dirty blonde hair and lots of eye makeup that gave her the initial appearance of being a zombie or something, but underneath all of that she wasn’t that ugly and she had a right nice body.

Get on up in the truck, he told her. Ain’t you got no bag or nothing? She shook her head. Well… he said and let it trail off questioningly. He didn’t care. It made no difference to him. As a matter of fact he was already starting to regret his decision to let her ride along. He watched her climb up into the cab. Then, he got in and slammed the door.

Oh shit, she said with a startled gasp. It’s Rodney! She quickly ducked down behind the dashboard. Randal Whitley looked out across the parking lot. Coming through the trucks was a big man dressed in a black leather vest and cowboy hat. He looked angry and he was headed his way. The man stopped at the end of the row and stared down as if he was searching for someone. He turned to look the other way. Then, the guy caught a glimpse of Randal Whitley sitting there behind the steering wheel. He walked hurriedly over, never taking his eyes off him. The guy was carrying a damn baseball bat.

Stay down, Randal Whitley said to the girl. He tried not to move his lips as he spoke because the guy was watching every move he made. The driver’s side window was rolled down. He wished he could put it up, but it was too late for that. In a moment the guy was standing by his door.

You seen a woman around here? said the guy.

What woman? said Randal Whitley innocently.

She’s a slinky damn blonde with a short jean skirt and high heels.

Yeah, I seen her go up that way a couple minutes ago. I think she went in the restaurant, but I ain’t sure. She your old lady or something?

Shit, she ain’t my old lady. He lifted the baseball bat and slapped his other hand with it suggestively. Then, he turned and walked away.

Damn, I thought he was going to climb up and look in. Who is that sucker anyway? He your pimp?

She laughed. Nobody calls them pimps. He’s my manager. Hell, he’s also my damn cousin. Come on; let’s get out of here before he comes back. If he finds me he’ll beat the hell out of both of us. He’s crazy as bat shit.

He ain’t going to beat me, said Randal Whitley as he reached over and pulled a thirty-eight snub nosed revolver out of the console. I’ll blow the motherfucker to kingdom come if he tries anything with me!

Just let’s go, she pleaded. He shifted the idling diesel into gear and released the air brakes. The big truck hissed and then began to move slowly out into the lot. In a minute they were on Interstate Twenty and headed west. The woman raised her head and looked out wide eyed. God, that was close.

Well Honey, you’re safe now. Get up out the floor.

What’s that on your dashboard?

It’s a Buddha, answered Randal Whitley. Ain’t you never seen one?

What’s it for?

It’s just for looks. I picked it up in San Francisco. I just think it’s cool.

Does it move like one of those bobbleheads?

Hell no! he laughed. Who ever heard of a bobble headed Buddha?

You got a cigarette?

Yeah, he said. Here. He reached into his pocket and handed her the pack. She smiled. She had a right pretty smile. It seemed almost clean. For an instant she didn’t seem like a whore.

That Buddha thing has some fucked up ears.

He didn’t say anything to that.

As they drove, he got to know her. He even started to like her, but when they reached Jackson she said goodbye and climbed out. He watched her as she crossed the grass and into the rest area bathroom. He had allowed himself to fantasize about how things might have been different, how it might have been if he’d met her under different circumstances and if she wasn’t a whore and he didn’t drive a truck. He laughed again with a hint of chagrin. Things just happen, don’t they? It really didn’t make any difference. He looked at the Buddha on his dashboard. Like always, it was smiling back.

Deep August

Long shadows stretched out across the yard, the house and chimneys, the dogwood and the old Chevrolet. Marilyn Whitlow sat on the porch with a bag of beans from the garden. Russell was on the steps. There was a soft warm breeze, the kind that sometimes comes at dusk after a hot day in August, in Southside, in Virginia. The sun was setting over beyond Chatham, behind the Baptist steeple, down into the trees.

You could hear the trucks out on Twenty-Nine as they headed down the half-mile grade. Lightning bugs flickered beneath the willow oak. Russell reached for the jar of liquor that sat on the step beside him and suddenly the sun was gone and the long shadows blended together and it was night.

You know, I just don’t feel like stringing these snaps this evening, said Marilyn Whitlow as she stood up from the porch swing and sat the brown paper bag down. I feel like a little music, I think. Her son turned to watch her as she walked into the house. A minute later she came back with a transistor radio, sat it down on the table between two rockers and turned it on. It was the bluegrass gospel broadcast from Mount Airy. Russell Whitlow pulled a pack of Winstons from his tee shirt pocket and lit one. Marilyn Whitlow tapped her foot in time to the music.

After a while, the moon appeared on the horizon. It was about full. The light of it flooded the yard and gleamed off the chrome of the Chevrolet. It was almost surreal, like looking at a negative, like some memory of a dream. Time began to slow down. Russell watched the big yellow light as it gradually climbed in the sky. Marilyn sang along with the radio, her eyes closed and her body still except for the tapping. Finally, he finished the liquor and set the empty jar down on the step. He felt good and warm inside, the way only good corn liquor can make you feel. Far off, toward the river, he heard the sounds of hounds as they trailed a coon. It was probably Darryl English and his dogs. Darryl hunted the bottom on Saturday nights.

The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in the moonlight. One by one things fell into place, the warm breeze, the pale light of the big August moon, and two people sitting together on a porch at night in Southside, in Virginia. The radio played and salvation didn’t feel that far away.

Every Other Weekend

Leon Sheffield didn’t hear the four o’clock whistle. He was still busy attaching the hardware on a new chest of drawers when Kenny Davis walked by. Hey Buddy, it’s quitting time. Come on. He grabbed his lunchbox and followed Kenny Davis across the assembly floor to the time clock. You get Bobby this weekend?

Yeah, I got to drive down to Rock Hill and pick him up from Lisa.

What are y’all going to do, anything exciting?

Oh, I thought we might hike up Turkey Cock Mountain if the weather’s nice, maybe sit up on the rocks and have a picnic.

That sounds like fun. I think it’s supposed to be pretty. Darryl has his first football game at eight o’clock tomorrow morning over in Gretna. I got to get there early because I’m helping coach this year.

You’re lucky to be able to do that. I mean, spend that kind of time with your boy.

Well, it’s a lot of work. I’m coaching the defensive line. We practice five nights a week and then there’s a game every Saturday, but I enjoy it. Darryl’s really turning into quite a ballplayer.

That’s great, Kenny. He’s big for his age anyway.

Wanda Sue is helping out too. She’s working with the cheerleaders so it’s something we all do together.

Leon Sheffield took his employee card and swiped it. Then, he and Kenny Davis walked out of the plant. The bright afternoon sun gleamed off the cars in the employee parking lot. Leon Sheffield paused to light a cigarette. You want one, Kenny? He held out the pack.

God knows, I’m trying to quit, I ain’t smoked one since Tuesday.

I’m sorry; you didn’t say nothing about it.

Well, I decided that I wouldn’t. All I do is talk. I get tired of listening to myself. This time though I’m just going to do it. Hey Leon, how long does it take you to get down to Rock Hill, anyway?

Right at three hours. It’s about half way, a little farther for me than it is for Lisa, but there’s not much difference.

How is Lisa? Is she getting along all right down there?

Yeah, she’s doing real well. She’s got her a good paying job and a nice little townhouse. I ain’t been down there to see it, but she was telling me about it. Bobby seems to like it all right, so that’s good. North Augusta is a right pretty place. The schools are good. You know Bobby started first grade this year.

Yeah, I knew that. I’m happy things are going okay. Well, I got to get on to the house and get Darryl to practice. Y’all have a good visit. I’ll see you Monday.

Take it easy, Kenny. Tell Darryl I wish him luck tomorrow. Leon Sheffield walked across the parking lot and opened the door of his pickup. At that moment his phone rang. It was Lisa calling. Hello? he said.

Have you left yet? she said.

Hell, Lisa I just walked out of the plant.

I don’t want to have to sit there and wait on you tonight. I’ve got plans this weekend. Me and Rodney are going to the beach. Last time you were forty-five minutes late.

I’ll be there by eight o’clock or before. I need to stop and fill up my tank is all. How’s Bobby feeling? Is he better?

Yes. I kept him home for two days when he had the fever, but he’s okay now. He’s looking forward to seeing you. It’s all he talks about. He said you told him y’all were going to go on a hike.

I was thinking about it.

Well, remember he ain’t but six years old.

I know how old he is. Did you pack his Sunday clothes?

Yes, Leon, she said.

All right, I’m headed out right now. I’ll see you at eight. Tell Bobby I love him.

She said goodbye and he hung up. Then, he shut the door of the truck, started the engine and pulled out of the lot. In Bassett Forks he stopped for gas and checked his oil. It was okay. The old Chevrolet was running good. That was a blessing. He had nearly a hundred and ninety-thousand miles on it, but he couldn’t afford a new one. Not right now with child support and everything. I got twenty-five on pump three, he told the cashier. He put a bag of Fritos and a bottle of Pepsi-Cola up on the counter too. He jumped on the Martinsville bypass and was in Ridgeway when his phone rang again. This time it was his mother. Hey Momma, he said.

I thought you was coming by the house?

I ain’t got time. Lisa was blessing me out for being late. I promised I’d be there.

Well, I fixed you and Bobby some good ham sandwiches for the ride back. I know y’all will get hungry.

Save them and we’ll take them with us tomorrow for lunch. I’ll probably stop in Lexington on the way back at that good barbecue place anyway if it ain’t too late. We’ll get us something.

Make sure and get Bobby something good.

I will.

Y’all meeting up in Rock Hill again?

Yes, at the Waffle House there. Evidently Lisa has a big weekend planned with that new boyfriend of hers. They’re going down to the beach, she said. I think the guy’s family has a house down there.

Well, good for her. She always did care more about money than anything else.

Oh now Momma, don’t say that. Lisa’s a good girl. She’s a good mother to Bobby. She just wants the best for him.

She don’t take him to church.

I think she does once and a while. You know, she never really went to church herself growing up. Her momma and daddy didn’t go. She don’t understand how important it is for Bobby.

I reckon all we can do is the best we can, she sighed complacently. What time will y’all get back home tonight?

Sometime between eleven-thirty and midnight, I would say. Maybe a little later if we stop there in Lexington. You aim on sitting up?

Yes, I’ll be awake. Be careful driving. I worry about y’all out so late. There’s so many drunks on the road.

We’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’ll see you tonight, Momma.

I love you, Leon Honey. I know this is mighty hard on you.

I love you too, Momma.

The fact was that the trips to Rock Hill were hard on Leon Sheffield. He hated the drive down almost as much as the drive back on Sunday. Oh, he wanted to see his son more than anything, but in a way he dreaded it too. The weekends were so short and they made him painfully aware of how little he was really involved in Bobby’s life. The divorce was never his idea. He wanted to stay together and raise their son in a proper home, but Lisa couldn’t stand it. She wanted out. She looked at their marriage as one big mistake. So, when Homestead Yarns offered her the job in North Augusta she grabbed it.

Leon, sit down here a minute, she’d said. We need to talk.

In truth, he wasn’t really surprised. He knew how she felt. But, the thought of being separated from his son was almost more than he could stand. That was over two years ago, but time didn’t make any difference. It was just