Taking Nursery Rhymes Seriously: Part 2 (per request of Jen)

It all comes down to respect. That's why I had to do it.

I first met Grace at the annual Gourd Festival. It's the biggest party this side of the Calabash river. Everyone in Welborn County and even the surrounding areas would show up for the whiz-bang extravaganza that was Gourd-Fest '63.

The band was playing somethin' fierce. Not a lot of people know that a dried, hollowed out gourd makes a great resonator. Why, you can make it into a drum, a stringed thingy, even something you can blow in like a big fat flute if you want to. I was having the time of my life...

Then she walked in.

I will never forget the moment I first saw her. In a room full of multi-colored patchwork dresses, she glided across the hay in a pure white sundress. I suppose some might have thought that it was a little late in the year to wear it; of course, that's assuming that a body might be able to assemble any thoughts at all while gazing at her dazzling beauty. Me, I couldn't think at all. I could only stare. The kind of stare that only children can manage without the accompanying embarrassment that comes with maturity. But I wasn't embarrassed... just mesmerized.

She was new to the county and I would find out later that she had opened up a dress shop downtown. None of that mattered to me. I just wanted to dance; to be close to the only truly beautiful thing I had ever known besides the intoxicating smell of a freshly baked pumpkin pie. I awkwardly asked for the priviledge of a jig and as soon as we stepped out the band switched to a slow romantic-like song. Having never danced with real life lady before (My cousin and I had practiced a little in the loft of my family's barn but it was not pleasant. I bumped my head and his beard scratched my face.) I didn't rightly know where to place my hands. Thankfully, seeing my hesitation, she helped me out.

We danced every dance. We laughed and talked and, that night, while walking her to her door, she reached for my hand. I wasn't offended. I just took it. I thought, "I think I'm gonna marry this girl."

And I did.

Well, you know, after a couple years of bein' married, things started to change a little. For one thing, she insisted on keeping the dress shop when it was clear that her main responsibility was to keep our house. For another thing, she kept nagging me about finding a job and how pumpkin pie eating contest winnings weren't going to pay the bills forever and how she thinks I may be packing on the pounds. But, I was willing to put up with it. I really was. Sure, her pies weren't as good as Mom's. But, after I had Mom come and live with us to show her how to do it... she did improve... a little. So, things were o.k.

Then she started coming home late.

It only happened like once or twice a week at first. Then I started noticing that Grace was out late almost every night. "You don't understand how stressful running a dress shop can be," she lied. But, I knew the truth. Heck, everybody in the county knew the truth. Oh, she denied it. Up until the end she denied it. And with every blow of that shovel I grew to respect her more. I only wish she could have respected me.

Well, the clean up after a scene like that is awkward. Luckily I had once again grown the largest pumpkin in Welborn County and it was almost time for Gourd-Fest '66. Now, one of the traditions of Gourd-Fest was the closing bon-fire built around the huge prize winning pumpkin. Well, I stuffed the bits and pieces of the dress-shop adultress into the hollowed out shell of my prize winner. And, standing there with all of the folks from the county, I watched my not-so-hollow shell go up in smoke.

"Where is your sweet Grace," some asked.

"I'm sure she'll show up soon," I replied.



She never did.