Pain’s Joke
A novella
by Chuck Hunter
Copyright 2012 Chuck Hunter
A.S. – I owe you a beer.
S.P. – I’m sorry I forgot how awesome you are. Thanks for reminding me.
Chapter 1
An early summer breeze playfully wrestled with the leaves of the maples and oaks on Dorn's Hill. But the breeze surrendered its friendly tussle, and it tumbled down the mountainside into the basin below, wherein laid the town of Allardale, Ohio. It was Sunday morning, and a few of the inhabitants of the once-bustling, now sleepy logging town were preparing for church services. Others, enjoying a day off, were sleeping in. Still others had begun mowing the lawn or repairing the awning over the porch. The breeze, careful to keep the Sabbath, didn’t bother causing too much trouble. It stirred the warm air with the scent of blooming iris, and it tossed around a candy wrapper dropped by children in the parking lot of the drug store. It nudged an empty foam cup past the pumps of the gas station to the east of the drug store. The cup rolled to the scraggly patch of weeds between the gas station and a vacant gravel lot then stopped. The breeze pushed a little harder, and the cup flipped a few times and came to rest in a thick patch of milkweed and dandelions growing from the gravel. It was an easy wind. The kind of breeze that carries daydreams to you as you lay in a hammock between the oaks in the backyard. It was the kind of breeze that gives you an extra couple of feet on your cast when you are fishing, but only if you cast at just the right time.
The breeze continued down Main Street, through the center of town, past the fire station and the grocery store, and eventually found its way into the kitchen window of Dolores Pike. Already dressed for church in a pastel floral sundress and a “Kiss me, I'm Irish” apron, she was rinsing the leftover egg yolk from the dishes so that it wouldn’t cake up when she and her son, Jonas, were gone. Dolores’ husband, Paul Jenkins, was still in bed with a hangover. Jonas was sitting on the edge of the couch trying to button the sleeves of his dress shirt. He was a healthy boy in most respects, but a birth defect had caused an excess amount of calcium to be deposited along the side of his jaw, resulting in a very visible protrusion along his left jawline. The condition didn't cause him any physical pain, but with such a disfiguring condition, school yard taunts and grocery store stares were inevitable.
“You ready, honey?” Dolores asked as she dried her hands on a dishtowel and swiftly removed her apron, tossing it over the back of the kitchen chair on her way to the living room.
“I’m coming, ma.” Jonas said. He was having trouble with a sleeve button.
“Oh, Jonas, we’re gonna be late,” she said, stooping down to help him. “Besides, I wanted to stop and see Momma before church.” Dolores always visited her mother’s grave before going to church. Jonas was uncomfortable seeing his mother talk to a headstone, and he always stayed in the car. She offered him her hands to help him off the couch, “C’mon now, baby,”
“Ma,” he rolled his eyes, “I ain’t no baby. I’m twelve and eleven twelfths.”
Bending over to kiss his forehead, she said, “I know honey, but you’ll always be my baby. Now get out the door and into the car. We’re gonna be late.”
******
Dolores pulled into the gravel drive which split the cemetery in two. She parked the rusted blue sedan under the largest maple tree. On sunny days, the shade kept the car from getting too warm for Jonas while he waited. Paul had promised to fix the air conditioning last summer, but he never got around to it. She rolled down Jonas’ window to allow the breeze in.
“I won’t be long, you just sit tight.” she said.
Jonas twitched when the car door shut. He watched his mother walk down the row of headstones and disappear over a small hill.
“All them dead people,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. He enjoyed the warm breeze coming through his window, and he listened to the birds chirping. In the distance, the roar of a lawn mower became only a buzz by the time it reached Jonas. He was about to fall asleep when he heard the slow, rhythmic crunch of shoes meeting gravel. The sound was coming toward him. Jonas’ pulse increased. He was almost certain it was one of the zombies he had seen in the late-night movies on Channel 3. He slowly opened his eyes, leveled his head and looked into the side mirror. He was relieved to see that it was only an old man walking up the cemetery drive.
Jonas watched through the side mirror until the old man veered off to the right, cutting diagonally between rows of headstones. He leaned his head out of the window to get a better look at the old man. He was wearing black polyester slacks with suspenders, and a white short-sleeved shirt, buttoned to the collar. In his right hand, he carried a plain drug store variety cane. The old man turned right at the row which was even with Jonas’ window and continued to walk a few paces to a small, inconspicuous grave. He stood still for a moment before using the cane to help him kneel. He reached down to brush the grass clippings off the flat headstone and again enlisted the help of the cane in standing. Jonas watched as the old man removed a small white handkerchief from his back pocket, blew his nose, and folding it carefully, returned it to his pocket.
“Yuck,” Jonas said as his mother opened her car door.
“Yuck what?”
“That old man over there just blew snot into a hanky and put it back in his pocket. Just like that.” He mimed stuffing a handkerchief into his pocket.
“What do you suggest people should do with their snot, hun?” she said laughing.
“I just blow it onto the grass. Paul taught me that.”
“Well, Paul ain’t like normal folk, dear, you oughta know that by now. And you shouldn’t let him teach you bad habits like that.”
“I bet that old man’s momma hollers at him for putting boogers in his pockets.”
She stared at the old man briefly, then her brow lowered. “No, his momma's on the other side of the cemetery. He's here to see his wife.” Dolores said as she started the car. “We’re gonna be late if we don’t get goin'.” Jonas continued to watch the old man as they drove away from the tall maple tree.
Dolores and Jonas attended the Allardale Pentecostal Assembly. It was a large church for such a small town. The attendance was usually around a hundred people on an average Sunday morning. For Easter or Christmas services, attendance peaked at around one hundred and fifty, but that included all of the relatives of church members and the folks who only came on Easter and Christmas anyway. The church was nestled back in the woods off County Road 12 about a half mile past the “Welcome to Allardale” sign. It was the only Pentecostal church in town, but the congregation frequently planned clothing and canned food drives with the congregations of St. Stephen’s Catholic Church and the Weir County Methodist Church.
Dolores led Jonas into the sanctuary through the glass double doors at the back. With her hand on his shoulder, she chose a pew in the back so as not to disturb those who were already worshiping. The congregation was already into the third verse of The Old Rugged Cross when Jonas sat down. She remained standing. Jonas attended the adult worship service instead of the children’s Sunday School classes. It wasn’t so much because he was shy, as it was because Dolores was overprotective when it came to his socialization. She knew how hurtful kids could be at his age, and being the best mother she knew how, she wanted to keep him from that pain as much as possible.
When the song was over, the congregation took their seats and Pastor Harkness took to the pulpit.
“I'd like to let everyone know, before I get into the sermon, that Sister Hazel Osterman – Sister, raise your hand so everyone can see you – Sister Hazel's having a Candle P
arty this Tuesday at her house at six thirty. All the ladies of the church are invited, and there'll be samples and giveaways and such. If you need directions, ask Sister Hazel after the service.
“Also, how many of you parents are sending your youngin's to summer camp?” Rev. Harkness asked as he raised his hand and scanned the congregation. “OK, about twenty or so. Well you need to have your child's permission slip signed and returned to our Youth Minister by May 15th. Any later and your kids won't be able to attend.
“Don't forget about the annual church picnic. That'll be on Saturday, May 25th from noon till ten or eleven, depending on when the bonfire goes out, I guess, right Brother Frye? You all can tell by my waistline that I never pass on all that good cooking there.” The congregation chuckled. “There'll be barbecue chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers, macaroni salad, potato salad, cole slaw, banana pudding, fruit salad, and ALL kinds of good, good food.
“And lastly, I know I said they'd be quick announcements, but lastly, and probably most important to me at least, is the Father Son Fishing Day at Teeters Lake State Park. That's gonna be the third Saturday in June. We'll all be meeting at the parking lot there by the boat ramp. If you don't have boats , there's probably gonna be three or four boats that are only gonna be about half full, so I'm sure these good brothers would love to share some space. Or, if you're like me, there's some real nice grassy spots to the left of the parking lot where you can set up a chair and fish from the shore.”
“Ma, do you think Paul and me can go to that?” Jonas asked.
“Shh, baby, I’ll ask him when we get home.” she whispered, patting him on the thigh. She and Paul married in February, and she thought the outing would be a great opportunity for “her boys” to get to bond with each other.
The pastor delivered a fiery sermon on the benefits of living a spirit-filled life, interjected with hallelujah’s and amen’s from the congregation. One church member, Brother Peterson always gave a loud “whew!” followed by a “c’mon brother, preachit!” while he raised his Bible in the air whenever he agreed with what the pastor was saying.
As the sermon was winding down, the pastor gave an invitation to come to the altar and be prayed for if anyone wanted to accept Jesus into their life. When nobody came forward after a minute or two, he dismissed the service with a prayer.
“So can I go fishin’ with Paul, Momma?” Jonas asked again as the congregation stood up and gathered their Bibles, purses, and crumpled balls of tissues.
“Now, I told you…I’ll ask him when we get home. If he’s awake.” She gathered her purse and crumpled tissues from the pew. “But I do think it’d be a good idea for you two to get some time together. Just the two of you. Doing something besides blowin’ your noses on the lawn.” Dolores tapped his behind with her purse.