Dust On The Road (Part 1)

I introduce How Things Were, my ongoing collection of short stories inspired by real family memories and the storytellers who raised me. Then I read Part One, “Dust On The Road,” where Herbert faces hunger, abandonment, and the fragile relief of his grandmother’s visit. 

If you do enjoy it, find me on social media and let me know. Follow the podcast and rate it wherever you listen.

If you enjoy this content, please let me know and share it with others. Find more things I am working on at https://zacharyleepeters.com/

Transcript

Welcome And Podcast Setup

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Hello, welcome to the How Things Were podcast. I am Zach Peters, and what this podcast is, is a collection of audio recordings of me reading the short stories, which I have collectively called How Things Were. The stories follow loosely a family in the early 1900s in the south of the United States, in particular Dalton, Georgia, Knoxville, Tennessee, and other places. The stories are not finished yet. I'm still writing them. Matter of fact, if you want to go read those stories, which I think is the best way to experience these stories, you can go to ZacharyLeepeters.com and find the tab at the top. And I update the stories about once or twice a month. Again, stories aren't finished yet. Sometimes I miss a month, but there's a chunk there now for you to go enjoy. The stories are loosely based on real things that happened, uh, things that my grandmother has shared, things that other people, older people at my church, have told over the years. But again, many of the stories are based on uh stories my Mee Maul told me. And if you don't know what a Mimaw is, it's a grandmother. And she has, she's a storyteller by nature. I love listening to her and just she's told me stories over the years. And finally, I started using some of those stories as inspiration to sort of craft some things to listen to. Without further ado, I'm going to read the first section and I'll update this podcast. Uh tried to update it weekly with a new section, but I hope you enjoy. If you do enjoy it, find me on social media and tell me you enjoy it. Uh follow the podcast and rate it wherever you listen to your podcast. Thanks so

Part One Begins Dust On The Road

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much. Without further ado, part one, Dust on the Road.

A Mother Leaves Herbert Behind

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Due to the seething hate for Herbert's father, his mother had as quickly as possible, changed her name back to her maiden name after the divorce. At least that's what Mima said. His mom came from money in Knoxville, Tennessee, and the family was amenable to having her back in the fold. The prodigal child returned home, as it were. Her family did not care that their prodigal child had a seven year old boy of her own. A few weeks later the judge denied her request for full custody, so she left Herbert there on the steps of the one room shack that was their home. She gave him a kiss and a paper with some letters and numbers on it. He knew now that it was a mailing address. He remembered she said, You can write me here anytime. Then her ex mother in law said, Go on, be gone with you, unless you're going to come to your senses. Be off, don't make this boy suffer anymore. She was off and gone. Herbert's young heart shattered. He cried for a week straight until one day it all just stopped. The wound had started to scab over, and it certainly would leave a scar. The memories were faded, but they were still there in Herbert's thirteen year old mind. He was sitting on the same crumbling brick steps as when his mother had driven away for the last time. He knew that was the reason he was thinking of his mom. The memories were tangled together with everything around him. The shack behind him was the same, except his father had managed to build on another room for himself. His father would be in there for days until the moonshine ran out, and he would stumble out in search of money for more shine. He would look at Herbert, nod, and walk out the door. Sometimes he would come back a few hours later, or more likely a few days later. Herbert would sleep on a makeshift bed in the corner of the big room, as it was called. There was a small stove with the chimney roughly cut through the wall next to the small bed. During winter, Herbert would try to keep a small fire going. The little stove made it just bearable in the cold, so he could sleep an hour or two at a time during the night before he had to add more wood to the fire. During the summer the stove was only on to cook food.

Waiting For The Car To Arrive

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He looked up and saw dust rising above the trees about half a mile away. A car was coming down the dirt road towards his house. His was the lone house on the road for miles and miles as far as he knew, and it sat at the top of a gentle rise from the town. The rise leveled off just a few hundred feet before his house, but positioned as it was, he could see all the way to the town after the leaves fell from the trees in the fall. It was spring now, and the only things he saw were the trees and the dust from the road. There was a wave of anxiety that rolled down from his chest to his stomach. Who was it? It was a toss up on whether it was good news or bad news. Could it just be someone on their way towards Calhoun? Sometimes people avoided the new highway that cut through town to head south. All the old timers complained about the new road. He wondered if it was the sheriff telling him bad news again. His dad was in the jailhouse for a few days, or maybe in the hospital this time. Maybe his dad was dead, and he was alone for good. Worse, somehow, maybe the sheriff was there to take him away to live in an orphanage or something. Maybe it was the pastor and his wife. He liked them. They brought food and clothes to him and his dad every once in a while. They even took him to church sometimes. His dad never went, but he did not care if those Bible thumpers took Herbert. They'll teach you better than I can, he would mumble. Herbert liked church. He enjoyed the singing and the old piano, and he really liked the clean white walls and hardwood floors. It was peaceful, and the people were friendly. Some of the other people in town did not like this church in particular, but Herbert could not understand why. The dust was getting closer. It might be a school official trying to get him to attend classes more often. He was really behind, and they were always saying he was a smart boy and just wanted him to learn a little more. None of that would be so bad, but it put him in an awkward position to explain to them why it was so hard for him to get anywhere. Of course the teacher already knew his story. They knew his dad, the whole town did. The teacher would nod and look sad, and then leave for the next shack or tent down the road somewhere, where the next poor child was waiting. That child might have both parents or they might live with aunts or uncles. They might even have ten brothers or sisters. He wondered if having brothers or sisters would make him feel less alone. More likely he figured it would be worse to be alone with others right next to you. The wind had picked up. The trees were bending and swaying. They creaked and cracked. The dust that had been lingering over the road for at least a mile blew away. He made a final guess. Could be his Mimaw. She tried to come several times a week to bring food and to clean the best she could with her weak back. He did not know her name, she was just Mimaw. He could hear the car now. The clack put, clack put, getting louder and louder. He heard the wheels rolling on the loose dirt, and then he could see the car through the low shrubs and trees that bordered the road near his house. It was his Mimaw.

Mimaw Brings Food And Cleans

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Most of his anxiety fell away. Herbert walked to the car. It took a few minutes to help his Mimaul get out and get her things. A basket of food and a wooden box with some cleaning supplies. This was done in silence until she was completely out and settled next to the car. Well, little Herbert, I suppose your dad ain't home, she asked. Every word longer than the creator of the English language had intended. No, ma'am, he left two days ago. But I think he's at the mill. At least that's where he was last time, Herbert answered. His voice was changing, but it was still small and sweet. You're probably right. I think the Ridleys have been giving him some work down there. She looked concerned. Those boys are trouble. Wish your paw would get work somewhere else. I reckon he forgot to bring any food home last time he was here, she asked. Herbert shook his head slowly. His Memom pursed her lips and shook her head in disappointment. She took a sad deep breath. Herbert could just see the sadness in her heavily lided eyes, and then she smiled. Well, I have something for you. Come on now, let's get inside. Inside she had Herbert open all the windows and doors as she cleaned up the table they used for the kitchen, dining, and work. It was nothing more than a few scrap pieces of wood, with a tabletop consisting of some old barn siding. She then had Herbert set the food and cleaning supplies on the table. The first thing she did was pull out a small parcel wrapped in some cloth. She laid it out and said, Come on, eat this while it's fresh. Herbert timidly picked up the parcel and began unwrapping it. Even before he had laid aside the cloth wrapping, the smell had revealed the contents. Sausage, biscuits. He smiled. Thank you, Mima. Oh, it's no problem. But don't forget to say be one, this place is a mess, and I'm sure to work up an appetite getting it all cleaned. While taking out some old looking rags and a bottle of clear yellow liquid, she looked around. How you boys make such a mess is beyond me. Shouldn't be wonder, I guess. Your grandpa, God rest him, would have wasted away in filth if it weren't for me. Just runs in the family, I suppose. Herbert was only half listening. Me Maul could talk like a stream running down a mountain. She would babble on until the end of time, he was convinced. He'd heard the story about his grandfather before. Herbert was fixated on the biscuit. The last thing he had eaten was a tough squirrel he had managed to kill yesterday morning. He shot it with an old twenty two rifle. After he had skinned it, he had burnt the little thing to a crisp over the fire. He had found that was the only way he could stomach the animal's tough meat. The biscuit, even though it was just barely warm, was soft and moist. It wanted to crumble apart, but it held together tenderly. He tried to slow down to enjoy every bite, but he was so hungry. The first biscuit was gone in just a few minutes. The second one lasted a little longer. When he finished, he put away the other food items in the lone cupboard next to the wash bucket. It was on the opposite side of the room from his bed. If Dad was not around or was in one of his shine fueled stupors, then the food would last about a week. He was more than a little excited about getting food once a day for a whole week. When he was hungry, it was hard to focus on anything else. He had heard some kids say in class that if you don't eat for several days, the hunger pains go away. Herbert was not interested in finding out. Of course, if his dad had been working, he might have come home hungry later, and the food would be gone in a day or two instead of a whole week. But it would still be better than nothing, or squirrel. He put the empty basket back on the

Family Stories And A Warning

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table. And I'll tell you something funny. Your grandpa would take off his work clothes every day in the same spot, and I would tell him, Herschel, don't leave them there. Set them over here and I will wash them for you. He would grunt, like your daddy does, and say, No need to wash them yet, and he would pick them back up the next morning on his way to work. Lima was saying as she was wiping down the windows. What was Grandpa like? Herbert asked. He asked a question often. Well, he was like what I was just saying and all. But you know, he was very much like you boys. Your daddy would be just like him, but Herschel was not much for the drink. She stopped and looked at Herbert, her hands on her hips. That drink is poison, boy. Don't you ever touch it? She turned back around to the window and got back to working and talking. Your daddy would be just like his daddy if it weren't for that train that took him. I guess your daddy was your age when Herschel was killed, she said, standing on the tips of her toes to reach the very top of the window. Herbert had walked to the stove and started cleaning out the ashes. He had heard the story a thousand times, it was the only derailment ever to happen in Dalton, and his grandpa had happened to be right there. Well, his grandpa and some kids who should not have been there, at least. The dad did not like to talk about it, but his Mima must have told that story every time he saw her. He didn't mind it. It was almost like Mima was reciting scripture when she told the story, and she seemed to do it without tears or pain. It was just a thing that had happened, and now it was just a thing to be told. Maybe it made her feel better about the way her son, his dad, had turned out. Mimaw was telling the story again, but Herbert was focused on getting the ash out and into the little bucket without making a big mess. When the stove was empty, he took the bucket and tossed the ashes out of the back door. The house was small, and it really only took about an hour to clean it up. Mima sat on the lone chair in the house and ate half of the glass biscuit. She set it down and didn't touch it again. Oh well, I was sure hoping to see your daddy, but I guess he's down at the mill with those ridlies. She shook her head. No good. No good. She stood up and Herbert helped her to her

Mimaw Drives Off And Closing

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car. She gave him a loving pat on his head, and he saw the sad eyes again. But then she was gone. The dust was rising again, but this time heading away from him and the little house. He sat on the front steps, eating the half biscuit that his Mimol had purposely left behind. The wind blew hard, and he heard the plop of hickory nuts following from a nearby tree. He guessed he would collect some and have them for dinner, but right now he just wanted to finish the biscuit. And that is part one. Thanks for listening.