It’s azaleas, dogwoods, jonquils, and magnolias. It’s the reappearance of redbirds and yellow jackets after a cold winter’s hiatus. It’s the smell of grass greening, and the feel of breezes warming for the approach of summer. It’s Springtime in Georgia.
Georgia is one of the most beautiful places on earth in the Spring. From late March through May every year the good Lord blesses this writer’s home state with a heavenly appearance. If one spot on earth can be this pretty once a year, one "can only imagine" what the real heaven is like.
Springtime in Georgia also brings other things to the surface. Things like exposed flesh, testosterone, and swarms of duly infected “insects” of the human, male variety. Old men refer to this as the time when the, “sap goes to rising.” “Georgia Peaches” that bud and blossom in the springtime become as intensely pursued as are white-tail buck in the fall.
This was surely the case with one fourteen year old, freckle-faced, Georgia boy. During life’s first hormonal epiphany, he suddenly awakened to the superb creative work the Good Lord is known for, especially with the female species. During those precious few minutes each day, this young man stopped "hating girls."
Her name escapes remembrance. Her younger sister’s name was Karen. Karen was a high-school contemporary of this writer. Their family lived just around the corner, on Spink Street, in our little community of Riverside. There were, perhaps, other daughters in their family, but none more fair than her.
She was blonde, fair skinned, built like a, “brick outhouse with the corners knocked off,” and loved to go bare-footed during the warm months of Georgia springs and summers. During those unforgettable days, with the grace of a swaying pine in a Georgia breeze, she made her daily pilgrimage through this writer’s old neighborhood - bound for Gary’s Store.
Mr. C.J. Gary had an old two story brick grocery store on the corner of Bolton Road and Main Street in northwest Atlanta. Bolton Road was a busy traffic route from Atlanta to all points west. Her chosen route to Gary’s Store kept her away from the noise of Bolton Road, and in the process brought her right past the front door of 2579 Forrest Avenue.
Thank you, Lord.
Mr. Gary had the coldest 16 ounce Cokes that have ever been sold to mankind. Those classic, green-tinted, glass bottles - with the name of the city of their origin on the bottom - were the perfect containers. Almost like mini-refrigerators. So cold were they that a soft layer of icy slush would often form on the inside near the top - just below the bottle cap. Thankfully, Mr. Gary always had a case full of these carbonated beauties on hand.
She must have loved those drinks. Every day, she walked to Gary’s Store and came back with her sensuous lips wrapped around the mouth of one of those icy bottles. A certain young man often thought of kissing old man Gary right in the mouth for being such a savvy merchant.
One of the great challenges of Georgia, springtime, female watching is stealth. Young boys are as clumsy and comical as Peter Sellers' memorable, "Inspector Clouseau." Especially when it comes to checking out a passing female. The lure as she walked by was to get close enough to see the dirty bottoms of her wonderful bare feet, while appearing to be merely checking the mailbox for the day’s mail. Never mind that you just checked the stupid thing barely fifteen minutes earlier when she walked by the first time.
To ensure the voyeuristic intent of this charade was well camouflaged, the “smart” thing was to stick one’s head ALL the way INTO the mailbox. To this day, it somehow still seems reasonable that a young man would go to such absurd lengths just to glimpse the bottom of someone else’s dirty feet.
But, ahhhh….those perfect feet.
The other trick was to not appear to be “stalking” her as you carefully paced every square inch of the road frontage of your parent’s property - picking up sweet gum balls like it was your life’s calling. No threats or parental intimidation were necessary whenever this glorious creature made her daily trip to Gary’s store. Yard work became a glorious mission.
Her name may escape remembrance but her body does not. It was a creative a masterpiece. A beautiful specimen of womanhood. One that has endured in one Georgia boy’s mind for more than fifty years. There were so many wonderful things to behold, and remember.
Her coy smile, which said that she saw right through the pathetic attempts to hide the real purpose behind yet another visit to the mailbox…Those wet, blonde, freshly washed curls falling all around her neck - gently swinging back and forth with the motion of her shoulders…Scant cut-off shorts and a sheer white t-shirt supplely draping her perfect form…The rhythm of that slow, sensuous “strut” parading down that old neighborhood street…And, her lusciously perfect lips caressing the frosty opening of that Coke bottle….
"Kodak moments" – every one. Which resurface with every blooming of azaleas and dogwoods and magnolias.
Along with one other highly vivid memory from that same time…
The shrill sound of a mother’s brazen, Parris-Island-trained, drill-instructor voice…echoing loudly from just inside the front screen door…barking out those unforgettable words…
“George David!...You had better quit standing out there with your head in that mailbox!…You don't need to be out there lusting after that girl walking up and down the street!…You better git your lazy butt in here and mop this kitchen floor like I told you thirty minutes ago!…Before I get me a switch and tear your sorry hide out of the frame, young man!…Do you hear me???!!!”
Ah, yes, springtime in Georgia.
You have a way of writing that my mind's eye saw it all.... right down to the icy slush inside that coke bottle and seeing your head stuck inside that mailbox... much more, feeling the humiliation on your face when your mother was calling you.
ReplyDeleteDude, such talent that is within you.
Though I am a tad bit jealous, need I say more...