We’re Gonna Die!

Mama was always a talker.  Not a mealy-mouthed gossip, an’ never a mean-spirited harpy, no sir.  But she was always talkin’, seems like.  No sooner’n somethin’ came into her mind, jus’ that soon it came outta her mouth.

Daddy was the exac’ opposite.  Never had much to say, an’ a lot of that was jus’ grunts an’ noddin’ his head.  Never spoke ill of nobody, neither.  If he had somethin’ bad to say ‘bout somebody, he jus’ kept it to hisself.

Me an’ Petey used to lie in bed at night tryin’ to listen in on what Mama and Daddy was talkin’ ‘bout. Over the years, we overheard a lotta things we wouldn’t know ‘bout otherwise. Once in a while when Mama stopped for a breath, Daddy would mutter somethin’ so low we couldn’t hear. Sometimes he’d laugh. But mostly, he jus’ listened, like me an’ Petey.

Best I recall, they never argued, not with each other an’ not with nobody else.  I ‘member so many times when Mama would say we’re gonna do somethin’, Daddy would nod, an’ we’d do it.  Other times, not as often, when Mama got one of her ideas, Daddy would say somethin’ me an’ Petey couldn’t make out, an’ nex’ thing you know, Mama had changed her mind.  That’s jus’ the way it was. 

But even then, even when Daddy got the final say, Mama always got the las’ word.  Didn’t matter what him or anybody else said, didn’t matter if ever’body thought the conversation was done, Mama always had one more thing to say.

Daddy never got his tail up, though. An’ that’s what made that trip through the mountains so scary. Petey was eight or so, I was goin’ on ten, an’ we was drivin’ the Great Smokies on our way to visit Mama’s sister’s family. Me an’ Petey was happier’n a tick on a fat dog, lookin’ forward to seein’ our cousins, listenin’ to Mama an’ Daddy talkin’ up front. Mama’s mouth was runnin’ like a boardin’ house toilet, chatterin’ away in Daddy’s ear.

Daddy was pretty tense, though, not sayin’ much. The ol’ station wagon he’d bought second-hand wasn’t soundin’ too good as we laboured up an’ down them hills an’ through the hollers. The ol’ camper-trailer we was pullin’ musta been like a dead-weight, an’ the fog didn’t help none, neither. Me an’ Petey was in the back seat, me on Mama’s side. Lookin’ down the steep cliffs on my side of the road was makin’ me a little queasy, too.

I guess Mama finally realized it was tough goin’, but she sure didn’t pick up on Daddy’s mood.  “Be careful, Charlie!” she said.  “I cain’t see a blessed thing.”

Daddy jus’ grunted.

“Charlie, you’re goin’ too fast!” Mama said a few minutes later. “In this fog, we could run plumb into somebody ahead of us.” An’ a few seconds after that, “Why’s the car soundin’ funny? Why’s that red light on the dashboard flashin?”

Daddy was grippin’ the steerin’ wheel so hard his big knuckles was white.  Me an’ Petey picked up on the tension pretty quick, but had enough sense to keep shut.

“Why don’t you put the headlights on, Charlie?” Mama suggested.  “Somebody comes ‘round the nex’ bend, don’t see us in time, we’ll all be goin’ to Glory!”

Daddy grunted again, louder this time.  It seemed like to me the car was goin’ slower an’ slower, an’ the engine was runnin’ rougher an’ rougher.

“Now you’re goin’ too slow!” Mama said.  “Somebody comin’ up fast behind is gonna run smack into us.  Why’re you slowin’ down?”

Mama didn’t drive, never learned how.  Didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout cars, neither.  But any fool could hear the engine was workin’ too hard, pullin’ us up all them hills.  An’ me an’ Petey could smell the burnin’ oil.

“Charlie, we ain’t gonna make it!” Mama finally exclaimed.  “You gotta stop this vee-hicle right now an’ get out an’ see what’s cattywampus!”

I guess the las’ thing Daddy was gonna do was stop in the middle of a mountain road in the fog, an’ I guess he’d finally had enough of Mama hectorin’ him.  Out of the side of his mouth, he growled the longest, loudest thing me an’ Petey ever heard him say up to that time, an’ ever after, too.

“Beatrice, I swear, if’n you say one more word to me, I’m gonna drive this here car right offa the road!  You hear me?  Don’t say one more word!”

Me an’ Petey stared at each other, scared yeller.  If we went offa the road, we’d fall forever into the foggy Virginny valley far below.  An’ the scariest thing of all was, not once in our whole lives had Mama ever had not one more word to say.  She always had one more word. 

From the backseat, we could see her lips workin’ quiet-like, see her jawbone clenchin’, see the cords in her neck standin’ out, an’ we jus’ knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it buttoned.

Petey looked at me, his face stricken.  “We’re gonna die!”

“We’re gonna die!” I echoed.

We didn’t, of course, else I wouldn’t be here, tellin’ y’all this tale.  The car kep’ goin’, the fog lifted, an’ we made it through the mountains.  An’ miracle of miracles, Mama never said one more word to Daddy ‘til after we was clear.  But then, sure as the crick rises in the spring, she jus’ hadda have the las’ word.

“There, I tol’ y’all we’d make it!  Jus’ hadda keep our wits all ‘bout us.”

Daddy jus’ grunted.

_{© J. Bradley Burt 2021}