Until We Meet Again
Everyone knew there was a thunderstorm coming, but you don’t know what they’re going to do until they arrive. It was round about dark and I had been debating whether to drive up to Cleveland and get pizza at Leña. It’s two hours from Jackson but the food is that good and the people are even nicer. Then the wind began to blow—fast, fast, and right off the bat, there was a snap and a pop, and the power was out. It hadn’t even really started raining yet.
Jackson, Mississippi
I am fine sitting in the cool dark with my thoughts and a half century of memories. Around the springtime I am often reminiscing about growing up and going to my Nana’s house for Easter. My sister and me and my cousins would all pose in front of her azaleas in our Sunday best. In many occasions the boys and girls were dressed in matching outfits—one year the three boys in white sweaters with primary color stripes, the three girls in white lace, the little twins even in bonnets, my sister with gloves.
After church we would change into play clothes and go wild in the back yard on a great egg hunt, everyone trying to find the golden egg (which contained a single, brand-new dollar bill) or the silver (which held two shiny quarters).
Madison or Yazoo County, Mississippi
When my Nana passed I was tasked to take the first draft of her obituary. It is a hard thing to reduce nearly a century into a few paragraphs. There is also the fact that as one of the oldest boys I believed with great arrogance that her entire world revolved around me and her other grandchildren.
Then I began to sift through the reality of her life — the worn Bible with the cover rolled back nearly double from decades of use, the tattered devotional books filled with notes and highlights, the awards ringing the living room wall — and began to write.
Copiah County
The column began Dot was a passionate follower and believer of Christ and dedicated member of Sandusky First Baptist Church, where she taught Sunday School for over 55 years.
Daddy and my Aunt Judy added more specifics—perhaps overly so, but these things mattered to her, matter in our lives.
Her love and devotion to Women's Missionary Union never wavered, shown by her leading or serving faithfully on all committees pertaining to missions. She was also active on the church decorating committees, working on many teas, parties and special occasions held at the church. One of her favorites each year was the Thanksgiving display.
Outside Zebulon, Georgia
The front door is open, and the robins are chirruping outside, and I have a fan going off a Ryobi battery setup, quietly whirring off to my left. I finish the last of the coffee. It has been many years now since she passed. It has been many years since I heard her call me in from the backyard to dinner. Yet here in the cool dark, between the calls of the robins and the whirr of the box fan, I can almost just hear her.
She was dearly loved and will be missed, until we meet again.
GORJUS is a dispatch devoted to art and life in the South, held fast with instant film. I’m gorjusjxn on Instagram, and you can see an archive of Polaroids at McCartyPolaroids.