The Christmas Sugar
The trip was nice. The bridge over The Wide Muddy. Boats and tugs. Refinery, grains elevators, and more line the shores. Bored was he. Mom's stories, nothing new. Few miles and a few miles, black smoke taking to the sky. Two columns or was it three. Soon, a smokestack named, 'Raceland'. Sign, 'Raceland Raw Sugar'. He knew many years ago, the sugar cane was sweet, now, no sweetness at all. Sugar cane stalks made to produce more. Hell with taste of the stringy sugar cane meat. More means dollars, nothing more. He looked again, with a glance, for driving was he. The black and dark gray smoke of flue gasses the brush of an artist. The figures and shapes rivaling those of the Renaissance days. With a snap, his heart broke. There she was. His lost love. "Oh, don't miss the turn," his mother said. He more concerned of hitting the tree. Across the bridge they went. One side of a bayou looks much like the other. Just a couple more miles down and, then, the butcher shop of her cousin. But first, visit with family souls and memories. Turning into the roadway to the church, he saw Mary at His feet. With tomorrow being Christmas, why he thought of Easter Day? All he could think, "Sometimes, God fails." Wiping his tears, he still found the parking lot. It has been a while, so they both had to recollect where all the family laid, or at least, their bones. Mom moved slow, but he was in no rush. He knew no souls be there. Heaven or Hell by now they be. Let's start from the front and move to the back, near the car. The two crosses whitest of paint. His first thought was of her. Next, did these two make it to the gate and beyond to Above Cognitive and to Him.
"She was a bitch," mother said. "To all but me. Don't ask me why." His first thought, "You two much alike, then." He had to wonder was she truly a bitch. Oh, would he have loved meeting her. Her strength. Maybe he still would have his family. The stories mother told before. Cattle across The Wide Muddy that terrible year. No bridges for cattle even then. Mother raised from her knelt holding his arm. He was glad she was so short. Tears in her eyes. "He was such a simple man. Valentine, the stone; he the glue." She coughed a little. "Damn," he said, "a story coming." She told of the time with the two mules, or were they donkeys? Time was of the essence. The wagon needed to be moved. The mule pulling the wagon wouldn't move a stitch. Valentine beat it for several minutes. Theodore laughed and laughed. Valentine burned red and it wasn't Valentine's Day. The coldest steel orange filling her eyes." "The mule watching is in heat. The other won't move away from her," "Like you, you old goat." She laughed, too. "Didn't notice." Theodore took the watching mule away. The wagon got there on time. "What's the point, mom," he asked. "Mules are animals by the book. So are old goats." He chuckled, "I am no goat." He wanted more, he thought to himself. Her image was in his heart and soul. All he could think, "Sometimes, God fails." Do mules make it to the gate, crossed his mind? Animals cannot journey pass the gate for Above Cognitive is beyond their reach, yet, God's spirit is with them as all living things.
The white tomb was next. Mom's tears held back behind the dam. He could see the building of the waters. Emotions were missing in her, even in her old age, except for the grandchildren so near. He remembered not once the words, "I love you," from her lips. She stood as a bear over her cubs. Never a word of love. Why, he wished she, the one that saved him, would say the words? She never did. Even when family. He knew she did; she did, too. But, dare she say the words first. Or, even at all. Showing weakness and feelings in her no way could she. Truth be told, she was scared. Even her dream of family, wasn't sure she could, though some doubts. He shook his head as looking at his great-grandpa's name. His middle name, too. Wondered what he was like. Without asking, "He was a gentle man. He was a gentleman of the finest kind. He loved my mom as much as a dad could." "What about great-grandma?" he asked. "Quiet with long black hair. Much like your grandma. But when she spoke, her words were the law. Even grandpa wouldn't buck her. He held her so dear, as did she for him." His imagination ran wild with their love and devotion. Only one child, grandma. The grandma he little knew, only the dimes she gave him as shoveling him out the door. Image of her sweeping the front porch. His one child of the greatest spirit. Another dream of family. Dream of that damn gate of Above Cognitive haunting him, driving him to achieve more to get to God: "Sometimes, God fails."
"How can God fail?" his mother asked, as they walked to the last tomb for the day. An uncle and two aunts, one being his mom's big sis. He remembered his aunt so little. Once saving his butt from his uncle after being an innocent child bad. She died too young for the goodness she was. Another wish there. He would have known her more. "Yes, she was a special sister. We were so close. I looked up to her as my big sister as she took care of me. Everyone loved her." Mother never prayed much. Her eyes closed for a moment. He could see all the memories of the two in her mind. Why does God take those so young? His answer must have pleased her. She smiled at the end of the moment. Her brother and his wife, fine people. He knew them for the last few years of their lives. Too young to remember more. Black sheep and family kept them away. He enjoyed and loved them their last few years. Good and fine people. Her image and the little one. Family. "Time to go, mom." "Ok. Cousin and his butcher shop down the road." With a turn, there his Guardian Angel. A statue with a Mother's Smile. "My son never fails." He perceived he was still on his quest for her love, faith in his heart, again, that he had a chance. Faith in her child. The one dying on the cross; the one sleeping in bed. The door closed and down the road they went. The journey to the gate and beyond in his view for his quest wanted family, too. "I don't fail," He said, as watching the little one sleeping in bed. "Tomorrow, a fine day of Santa and gifts. Mine to you is family with the Christmas sugar on top. Merry Christmas, my Sweet Pea."