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Reception at Nora's
I took this picture because I wanted to have some sort of solid remembrance of what happened there and maybe for some sort reminder of penance. The place doesn't exist anymore, days later a large tractor demolished the building, but the pain of the heart remains long after the physical is gone.
It hadn’t changed a bit since the time, although the pool table was replaced years later. There were several tables and chairs and a juke box that played Elvis songs constantly. That’s what they liked to hear. They sat among the cigar smoke, cigarette smoke and the scent of week old beer. They were unshaven and smelled of pig ****, chicken feathers and cornbread. That scent makes me gag to this day. I hated them.
I can remember the first time, there was that window that I could barely peek over. That window changed my perspective for sure. I was just walking by on my way back from school one day and heard the music and saw the smoke billowing out from that damned window. There was a measure to it where a new puff of smoke would appear at the 2nd beat of that song, “Don’t Be Cruel” and the shadows of people moving to the beat cascaded through the smoke like ghosts, and the laughter, an unearthly cackle that sounds like it was coming from the bottom of a deep, damp well.
“Oh yeah, move that ass.”
The song changed as I caught my first glimpse of this new world.
“Wise men say, only fools rush in...”
The room had stopped and they were watching two people in the middle of the room dancing real slowly. The girl was no more that twenty and the boy not much older.
After another cackle, “Closer!” was yelled by this beastly fat man sitting on a chair that some would think would collapse at any moment from the immense weight. After his yelp, he shoved a big smoldering cigar back into his unshaven face and glared with the tiny eyes of a rat about to scurry and covet some cheese. He gripped the pool cue with 4 fat fingers, his middle finger was missing and I wondered how that happened, his shirt sleeves were pulled up and the stains of sweat ran down from his button up shirt, down his fat belly and seemed to disappear into the **** brow pants he wore, that stretched to the point that if it had a voice, it would be screaming in pain. Then our eyes met. He cackled and moved his eyes back to the couple.
“Closer, yah ****in’ bastards.”
Faster than anyone would think, he brought the pool cue down and whacked the girl in the leg just below the hem of her flower skirt. They all laughed, deep and low as she began to sob and moved closer to the boy who also began to tear up. Another pool cue came down, this time on the boys shoulder and where the girls hand rested. There was a loud, sharp sound and I noticed the shiny ring on her finger and the blood that dripped from underneath it.
Suddenly my view was obscured by a smiling, giggling face.
“What’dya lookin fer boy! Da reception’s over!” There was a whiff of the smell of beer and tobacco and the man came closer, grinning with two teeth and a unshaven face. His hand reached out and grabbed my shirt. Louder “What’dya loookin fer!
“Leave him be, Pete.” Came quietly from behind him. The music had stopped and they had all turned to look at the window. The man bowed his head and moved back to his place among them.
“Get your ass home, boy.” Came calmly from the Fat man. “Go on.”
Hypnotized, I turned and walked home. Down the road the music started, a deep bass beat and then a scream.
The next day was Saturday and I was hesitant to walk the same way past that building they all were in last night. But curiosity was never one of my better traits and as I walked towards the building, the door swung open and a fat man walked onto the porch. With the wooden boards creaking under his feet he walked to the steps and stopped. The tiny eyes in his fat head met mine and the fat four fingers waved me over.
“Boy.”
I stood at the base of the steps and looked up a the fat man who looked down at me. He seemed to be sweating even more and I feared that the drops that ran down his double chin would hit me in the eye or mouth and that I would die from some horrible disease. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin, hand made cigarette and lit it. He looked up at the blue sky and exhaled a puff then looked back at me with those tiny eyes.
“You keep to yourself. Those negro folks ain’t worth a damn.”
After reaching with the four fingers to dust my hair, he lumbered off. I didn’t watch him leave, but I did catch a glimpse of a shiny ring on his pinky and a smatter of blood on his shirt.
Now physically it is all gone and in the past. All I have is the picture and the thoughts of some sort of absolution.
(c)2005 MrB
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