{"id":25023,"date":"2015-06-05T15:40:43","date_gmt":"2015-06-05T20:40:43","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.thelocalvoice.net\/oxford\/?p=25023"},"modified":"2015-06-25T14:58:09","modified_gmt":"2015-06-25T19:58:09","slug":"cherry-in-magnolia-part-two-getting-there-is-half-the-fun","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.thelocalvoice.net\/oxford\/cherry-in-magnolia-part-two-getting-there-is-half-the-fun\/","title":{"rendered":"\u201cCherry in Magnolia\u201d \u2013 Part Two: Getting There is Half the Fun"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"CherryInMagnolia_HEADER\"<\/a>\"Part2GettingThereIsHalfTheFun\"<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cI got womens in Vicksburg, clean on into Tennessee,
\nbut my Friar\u2019s Point rider now, she hops all over me…\u201d
\n<\/em>\u2014 Poor Bob (if you please \u2026)<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Of course the Maverick broke down, three times.<\/span><\/p>\n

Once on this side of Vicksburg (fan belt\u2014SNAP!), once on the other (front left tire\u2014BANG!).<\/span><\/p>\n

And finally, a Detroit death rattle near Yazoo City, about 200 miles south of Graceland where tens of thousands of mourners had gathered outside the Music Gates, many thousands more still to arrive, the funeral a day away.<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Highway61_GRAY\"<\/a>Why Yazoo City?<\/span><\/p>\n

Why does a bluesman wear a hat?<\/span><\/p>\n

The wiper knew somebody in Brickyard Hill, someone he said he hadn\u2019t seen in \u201cI don\u2019t know how long\u201d and needed, he said as Cherry shook his head in dismay, to \u201cpop in and say hello.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNow you tell me?\u201d said Cherry as the Maverick stopped in front of a low-slung house made of cinderblock.<\/span><\/p>\n

Right now, thought the wiper before \u201cpopping in\u201d long enough eat a meal, brush his teeth, fix a broken toy, toss his boxer shorts in a plastic laundry basket and do a dozen other things that caught his eye while Cherry waited\u2014a half-hour fiddling with the car radio in the front seat (keys in the ignition, half tempted to drive away), another half-hour with his concertina on a swing-set in the backyard, moans coming through busted screen windows in the cinderblock house in rhythms so perfectly fluid and erratic that he made up a song to accompany it on the spot.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat you doing mister?\u201d said a boy from the house who\u2019d never seen a grown-up swing on a swing before.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI got the Elvis Presley blues, kid,\u201d said Cherry, looking past the 5-year-old as the wiper finally appeared.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHim alive,\u201d said the boy.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWho?\u201d asked Cherry, walking past the kid, itching to get the broken-down circus back on the road.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cEl-biss,\u201d said the youngster. \u201cHim alive.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry about that, Chief,\u201d laughed the wiper as they pulled away and then\u2014not having gone more than 20 miles, approaching the even-smaller town of Louise\u2014the Maverick gave up its pale green ghost.<\/span><\/p>\n

Cherry leaned against the steaming Ford, rusty hood propped up with a baseball bat, while the wiper went to find a payphone to call a tow truck or a relative or maybe the woman taking a shower that just wouldn\u2019t get hot enough back in Yazoo, none of whom Cherry cared for any more than he did the wiper, for whom he care nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cScrew this,\u201d he said, throwing his satchel over his shoulder. He stepped out onto the narrow highway and put out this thumb, catching the wiper\u2019s defeated gaze as the black man crossed the roadway, Cherry not giving so much as a nod as he ducked into the pick-up truck that had pulled over for him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere to, ranchero<\/em>?\u201d said the driver.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMemphis,\u201d said Cherry.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDamn shame,\u201d said the driver. \u201cLeast he got to die at home.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Judy Apicella had died at home back in Baltimore, murdered in the kitchen as she drank a glass of milk on an afternoon her husband decided to leave work early to see if he could catch her.<\/span><\/p>\n

[Cherry was working in the galley of a ship when it went down.]<\/span><\/p>\n

More mad that he hadn\u2019t <\/em>caught her, Armand Apicella shot Judy anyway.<\/span><\/p>\n

And though Cherry truly believed he didn\u2019t give a crap about anything in this world but music and poon and the black and gold Monte Carlo that Ma claimed had belonged to his father, he winced to think that Willie might be going down the same road as he had.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d said Cherry, about 180 miles to go, eyes peeled for the car, his little brother, and some woman with peroxide-blonde hair (\u201cfat,\u201d said Ma on the phone, \u201ca pig\u201d) as the driver cut over to pick up Highway 61.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMuddy Waters,\u201d said Cherry when he saw the sign for Rolling Fork.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSlick Watts,\u201d said the driver.<\/span><\/p>\n

Trying to remember the song that he\u2019d conjured on the swing set\u2014a blues that seemed to have sprung from the curly head of Zeus\u2014Cherry took out his concertina and began playing quietly.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat else you know on that thing?\u201d said the driver, a tattoo of the Confederate flag on the top of his left hand, gold fringe around the edges flowing toward his wedding ring.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnything,\u201d said Cherry. \u201cEverything. Whatever you want.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow \u2018bout you one for the King?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

And Cherry obliged, but not before asking the man if he could speed up a little bit, that he was <\/span>in a hurry. <\/span>\"The<\/a>
\n<\/u><\/p>\n

\u2013<\/p>\n

For Part 1 of “Cherry in Magnolia,” click HERE<\/a>.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

–<\/p>\n

This article was printed in The Local Voice <\/em>#230 (published May 28, 2015).<\/span>
\n To download the PDF of this issue, click here<\/a>.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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