Cotton-fields, Corn-fields, Ricin and Elvis

Jon glanced into the side view mirror of the mid-size U-Haul as he approached the main street intersection. His brother was no-where in sight. That was typical Nicky. Although in his early twenties, he still acted the part of a teenager. Frustration began to mount with every new sweat bead forming on his brow. It wasn’t a difficult task he’d assigned his younger sibling, telling him to follow the U-Haul, and stay close behind. Jon wondered if Nicky had decided to take his 19-year-old jalopy, a Ford Bronco, joy-riding. As Jon turned left on Sewell Street, he stretched his neck, looking behind him. A quarter of a mile back, he recognized the hood of his blue Bronco, stopped at the intersection. Damn, Nicky had taken a different route. With the heat index at 104 degrees, a typical mid-summer day in the Mississippi Delta, it was not a good time for Nicky to be testing his brother’s patience. Counting seven houses down on the right, Jon veered the U-Haul into the narrow driveway of the modest three-bedroom rental house. Although the 1400 square foot wood house was nothing elaborate, it possessed quaintness about it. More importantly, it had a nice size yard. Having spent the last twenty years living in various apartment complexes, two extra bedrooms and a yard with privacy was more than worth the extra hundred in monthly rental payments. “Hey brother, where do you want me to park this contraption?” Jon turned around to witness the mischievous, wide-mouthed smile of his half-Filipino, half-American brother. “Pull it over to the side. We’ve got to unload the U-Haul first,” Jon answered. Jon walked to the rear of the 17 foot rental truck, flipped the latch and swung the door open. The screeching sound of shattered glass echoed, as a box crashed hard below. A dozen mason jars were instantly reduced to fragmented glass. “I’ll get a broom and dustpan.” Jon turned around hearing the stranger’s deep, friendly voice. Jon watched him vanish as quickly as he appeared. Moments later, the mystery man returned grinning, as he extended his right hand, holding the broom and dustpan with his left. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” the stranger said. “Thank you.” Jon answered awkwardly. “Do I know you?” The stranger asked, turning to look Nicky directly in the eye. “Oh my God, you’re Dave Thomas aren’t you? We used to play tennis together at Wards Recreation Center.” Nicky answered excitedly with a handshake. “Oh yeah, I used to beat you all the time,” Dave answered, grin intact. “Man, that was back in the day,” Nicky continued. “Do you live right there?” Nicky asked pointing next door. “Sure do!” Dave replied. As the two continued reminiscing about old times, Jon chuckled, thinking about the stranger’s name. The figure standing before him was certainly not the son of the famous Wendy’s entrepreneur. Still, it was refreshing to note in less than five minutes, he had met a friendly neighbor of color. Jon considered the meeting as an omen, a positive sign of things to come. Jon knew instinctively, he and Dave would be friends. He had the ability to size people up in a jiffy. Jon walked to the front door of his new place, leaving the two of them chatting. Walking inside, he began visualizing where each piece of furniture would go in the living room. He took a systematic approach to this, carefully orchestrating details such as spacing, angles, and direction facing, of each inanimate object. What a doctor deemed as an obsessive compulsive disorder or OCD years earlier served him well in this type of situation. He didn’t intend to spend an entire day shuffling furniture around like a deck of cards. In his mind’s eye, he would know where every piece went before the first piece was actually unloaded. He had to know, compliments of his diagnosis. “Hey brother, where are you?” Jon turned around hearing the voice coming from his tall, dark-skinned, unpredictable, youngest brother. “Be there in just a minute, Nicky,” Jon answered. “I’m trying to figure out where everything is going.” “You can do that when we get it all unloaded,” Nicky fired back without hesitation. “I’ve got to be finished by three and be in Jackson by five.” “Okay, enough already, I’m coming,” Jon replied. Such annoying exchanges were typical between the two of them. Jon reasoned the generation gap was the culprit. Nicky’s impatience resembled a mirror image of his at that age. The sweltering, early afternoon sun seemed to be shining ten degrees hotter now, than twenty minutes before. The Mississippi Delta was no stranger to heat and humidity during the summer months. Jon hadn’t planned to move in July, the opportunity simply emerged at the last minute. When his best friend Mike, a realtor, called announcing one of his properties had become available for rent, Jon didn’t hesitate. It was just in time to give his longstanding current landlord the required thirty day’s written notice. Three-bedroom rental houses in the Delta were scarce. Even if you were fortunate enough to come across one before it was snapped up, affording it was another matter. In most cases, the cost of renting such a place surpassed what a mortgage would cost. It was an oxymoron that kept the ordinary working class impoverished in this region. In three years, the once immaculate credit score Jon had possessed would be restored to a reasonable number. His generosity to a former girlfriend was paramount to his income. Regardless, he took full responsibility, knowing no one had made him act a fool. He felt blessed that Mike, his friend and landlord, had dropped the price fifty dollars per month to make it affordable for him. It would not be forgotten.