A Little Closer to Heaven

I sat on pins and needles in the back seat of my mother’s old, dirty brown Pontiac, bouncing up and back down again from the constantly appearing, gravel-less ruts in the long dirt road that led to Mama Mae’s house. This seemed to be the only place I was ever safe from the childhood trouble that seemed to linger on my heels; it was the most peaceful, most soothing place that I remember as a child; it held my special place.

As my mother rounded the last curve of the old, tree lined dirt road, I could close my eyes and already envision Pawpaw Willis sitting in his uncomfortable black chair, his heavily used, tattered, black Bible in hand, his old pipe hanging out the right side of his mouth, peacefully reading in complete oblivion to his surroundings, and Mama Mae with her black, cat-eye glasses, sheet-like dress draped over her body, and shimmering white hair, standing at the kitchen counter, reaching into the cookie jar, and removing a hand full of vanilla wafers, and placing them gently on a napkin awaiting my arrival. I could already taste Mama Mae’s “magic” vanilla wafers melting in my mouth like they were a delicious handful of chocolate M&M’s. Those vanilla wafers were unlike any other I had ever eaten; they were filled with love.

I sat at the old round table, my anxious feet swaying back and forth trying to reach the ground; I could not eat my vanilla wafers fast enough. Once I had devoured my snack, I hit the back door running as fast as I could go; I was out of sight before the rickety, old screen door ever slammed back against the house. I was headed to the one place that I would never be found; I was going to my magnolia trees. Standing just twenty feet from the black and gray speckled, asbestos sided house, past the old, half rusted wrought iron wash pot, stood two towering, majestic magnolia trees. They were so perfectly spaced in the yard, like the person that planted them took great care to make sure they were so perfect that they would be there until the end of time. Before my feet ever came to a screeching halt, my eyes were already searching for the old broom handle, the one with the nail poked in the bottom of it, the one I stabbed into the ground to pick up the life-size leaves that fell from this beautiful monstrosity. I jabbed the old broom handle, nail first into the grassless ground, stabbing through the center of each leaf, always being careful not to jab myself with the nail. I could not concentrate very long at all on this monotonous task; my mind was elsewhere. The seat-like branches of my blossoming magnolia were calling my name, beckoning me to climb them, and so I began the climb that I knew was off limits. I had watched my brother many times before get into trouble for climbing the trees, but this did not bother me at all. I somehow always managed to slither down and away before Mama Mae’s sights were set on me. How could you not want to climb into something so beautiful and serene? How could you be expected to not love these trees?

As I sat back in my tree and closed my eyes, I heard nothing but the birds singing their song, the old CSX train whistle in the distance, and the soothing sound of the country with the tractors plowing the soft ground, and cows mooing as they grazed in the fenced pastures all around me. As I looked up in search of the heavens, all I could see was the deep green of the leaves, and the enormous white blossoms of the vast magnolia tree that surrounded me. The heavens could not be seen from my tree; my tree was the heavens. With a mischievous smirk on my face, I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the vanilla wafers that I quietly snuck out of the kitchen. I laid back in my tree, and slowly nibbled my wafers, savoring every last bite. I was in peace; I was away from everything, but better yet, I had not gotten caught. It was just me and my tree.

Mama Mae despised my tree, its many fallen leaves, and its angelic white summertime blossoms. Over her many, many years, she attempted to convince every person that paid her a visit, to cut down my tree. Everyone must have seen what I saw in my tree; they too saw its breathtaking beauty, and felt the amazing peacefulness that surrounds it. Today, Mama Mae looks down from heaven onto my tree; my tree with its rich, green leaves, and its beautiful white blossoms in full bloom.