[blueerica]

Barry Wayne Winslow was born on a sticky Saturday afternoon, April 14th, 1962, to Jean and Robert Winslow. He was a big Lynyrd Skynyrd fan, but sweet home stopped being Alabama a long time ago. He was done with Grove Hill, he was done with the farm, and he was done with Pa. That was the last fvckin’ black eye he was takin’ from that bastard.

It was a hot, balmy June morning, and school was out for summer. He abandoned the farm, and took his 3-speed over to Nora’s Truck Stop. There wasn’t much to do in that god-forsaken town, Barry learned, except for workin’ on the farm, or going to the poolroom at Nora’s. He chose the latter on a regular basis. Barry started going there last summer, and Jimbo would always let him have some beers while playing pool with the truckers that would stop off there, or at least he did when Nora wasn’t around. His favorite regular there was Tom Ratley, otherwise known as Big T, and today, Barry was hoping Big T would give him a ticket straight the fvck out of Grove Hill, or at least to Mobile.

All day, he racked ‘em up. Stranger after stranger. Not a familiar face. 4 o’clock, then 5 o’clock, 6. 7 and then 8 o’clock in the evening came by, but nothing. When would Big T show up? With the room empty, Barry took some of the powdery blue chalk, and etched his name across the dirty white bathroom door. ****! How long was this going to take?!

Sweaty-browed Jimbo wiped his hands on the small white apron he strapped across his groin, and grunted, “What the fvck you still doin’ here?” Hell if Barry knew.

Fifteen minutes of listening to AM radio later, bright lights shone in through the window, accompanied by a familiar low growl. Chug-chug-click, and off went the engines, and out with the lights. The crunchy sound of gravel under heavy footsteps, and the creak of the old screen door being thrown open went along with Big T, as he strolled into Nora’s.

“How you doin’, kid?” asked Tom. “You look like you been run over.”

Barry’s worn-out eyes searched for a bit of hope, and lit up with a spark and half a smile. “I’m so glad you’re here, Big T.” “Remember couple ‘a weeks ago, you asked if I ever wanted to ride-along with you on a run in your rig?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, Pa says I can take a few weeks off from the farm, seein’ as I did so good in school this year and all. Plus I did extra work at the farm to get us ahead.”

“You sure about this?”

“Heck yeah!” Barry shouted, a little too loudly. He stammered, “Sorry for shoutin’ there T, but can I please come with ya? You know I’ve wanted to come along for a long while now.”

“You should know, that this run’s gonna be a big one. I’m goin’ all the way to Detroit. You sure your dad said it was okay?”

Barry nodded. Detroit sounded wonderful. So foreign. I bet everyone’s all so cool. Then Barry remembered that it’s supposed to get real cold up north, and he might need a jacket. And a few other things. He wasn’t ever coming back.

“Hey T, you think I got enough time to run home and grab some clothes n’ stuff?”

“Sure, I’ll grab some grub. Jimbo, gimme my usual.”

Barry burst out the front door with ease, his heart racing all the way until he came to the Winslow mailbox at the end of the driveway. Quietly, he took to the grass, the gravel and dirt might wake the animals. Barry paused to consider his bedroom upstairs, and what would be the best way of getting up there.

As he came to the tall oak tree that went to the ledge near his window, Sugar’s sweet eyes came out from the shadows. Barry motioned the big brown lab over, and pet her on the head. Putting his right index finger to his mouth, he quietly, shhh’d her, hoping and praying her excited little tail would be the extent of things.

As Barry climbed the tree, he thought his muscles might fail him. As he started to slip, Sug whimpered. Barry regained his composure and sent down another Shh. He sat upon the lowest branch. Only a little more to go, just a little higher, just a little bit over. As the branch thinned, Barry’s faith in his plans wavered in the gentle breeze that blew by. Just a few more minutes and he’ll be out of this hot, sticky hellhole forever!

Perched upon his ledge, he steadied himself. Paint chipped away as his windows squeaked open. He stumbled inside his moonlit bedroom, crawled around, found his school bag, emptied it out, picked up his jacket, grabbed a pile of clothes from the floor, and jammed it all inside. With one leg out the window, he took one last look around, and thought goodbye.

Barry reached for the branch extending itself toward him, hopped over onto it, and in the quick-slowness one observes when in peril, the branch cracked, snapped, and both he and the limb came crashing to the hard ground. Sugar started barking, chickens were stirred, horses neighing, and a light turned on in Ma & Pa’s room. Their window slammed upward as Barry rolled toward the shadows of the house.

Oh, please don’t let him see me… Please, he thought in exasperation.

He heard his Pa mutter something, and the window again slammed shut. The lights dimmed.

Sugar came up and nuzzled Barry while he waited with a tear in his eyes.

“You be a good girl,” he whispered.

Barry stood, his body sore, but tall. He dusted himself off, found his dirt-covered bag, threw it over his shoulder, and tip-toeing away on the grass, Sug followed him.

He turned and whispered, “Hey – Stay. Good girl.” And she did.

Barry ran, down the gravel road, passing the fields, barns, mailboxes, and with the wind in his hair he ran. Barry ran, and kept running – far away from Grove Hill.