Hindsight Page 2

  That experience didn’t bring me to Jesus, but it didn’t stop me from going to church, either. I remember sitting in that small, red-brick building every week as a child. I would listen to the sounds of classic hymns accompanied by the piano. Messages about heaven and hell were followed by an altar call, and all I really understood was that if I didn’t accept Jesus, when I died I would surely go to hell. End of story.

  But that was anything but the end of my story.

  It wasn’t very long after that ordeal when I had questions about who went to heaven. It started the day Daddy dropped me off at my grandparents’ like most other days. The morning began with breakfast followed by fried chicken for lunch. Papa Chill decided that he would take a little nap, because he felt tired. Mama Dora thought she would surprise him with some hot oatmeal cookies for when he woke up. After he had slept quite a while she told me to go and wake him while she removed the fresh cookies from the oven.

  I skipped to the bedroom and jumped up on the bed. “Papa Chill, wake up. Mama Dora has a surprise for you!” He didn’t move. I ran to the kitchen and told Mama Dora that he wouldn’t wake up. She dropped her dishtowel and raced toward the bedroom. I had never seen my grandmother run so fast. I ran to keep up. “What’s wrong, Mama Dora?”

  I watched my sweet grandmother kneel beside the bed as tears fell from her eyes. It wasn’t long before people started to come in the house. I sat alone on a stool, not sure what to do. A lady I didn’t know brought a wet washcloth and placed it on my forehead. It cooled my head, but did nothing for my troubled heart.

  Then my daddy came. I had never seen him cry before. He started beating his head against the wall. “Please, Daddy, don’t,” I said.

  He knelt down beside me and told me that Papa Chill had gone to heaven to be with Jesus.

  After that I would think about him especially on Sundays in church. If Papa Chill was in heaven it must be a really good place.

  “Will we get to see him in heaven someday, Daddy?”

  “I hope so, Honey.”

  TWO

  “…Do not be afraid, or panic, or tremble before them.”

  Deuteronomy 20:3

  It wasn’t long after Papa Chill died that I started to go to school at Bumpus Mills Elementary. The bus driver, Mr. Sidney, picked me up from Mama Dora’s every day for school, but instead of the big yellow bus that I had dreamed of, he drove his car. There were six of us kids with Mr. Sidney packed in like a can of sardines.

  As the car pulled to a stop in front of the school, Mr. Jobe, the principal, opened the door for us. Mama had told me he was the boss of everybody and I needed to do whatever he said, so I did.

  To my surprise, my teacher, Mrs. Louise, was a tiny little lady. If I stood on my tiptoes I was almost as tall as her. There were fourteen kids in my class and we would all graduate from eighth grade together. Well, that is, all except one.

  I couldn’t wait to make new friends; being an only child was lonely. There was one little girl who stole my heart the first day. Her name was Karen, but everyone called her Noobie. Her long beautiful curls, fat cheeks, and eyes seemed to see inside my soul. I wanted to be her “best” friend, even though all the other girls wanted the same thing. I was really sad when I found out that she couldn’t play outside with me.

  “Why, Noobie? Why can’t you run?” She told me her knees hurt really bad.

  When I got home I asked Mama, “Why can’t Noobie run with me?”

  “She has something called rheumatoid arthritis.” Mama seemed to know all about it, but I couldn’t even say it.

  “Will she get better?”

  My answer came sooner than expected.

  Not long after, Mr. Sidney picked me up to start another day. Our giggles faded in the car as we drew near to the school. All of our classmates were sitting on the steps, crying. I pressed my face against the glass, afraid to get out. Mrs. Louise opened the door and took my hand. Kneeling in front of me, she said, “Rhonda, I have some very sad news; Noobie has gone to heaven.”

  I couldn’t move.

  Why were so many of the people I loved going there? I cried myself to sleep that night and the nights following. To make matters worse, I had to go to the place called a funeral home again. It seemed everyone had to go there before they went to heaven. It was the same place I went to see Papa Chill and I hated the thought of going back. It smelled funny. How could some place with so many flowers smell like Mama’s cleaning solution?

  **********

  Life moved on in Bumpus Mills. Seasons changed, like they do, and years flew by like leaves in the wind. Age ten seemed to be a pivotal growing-up year. I loved the game of basketball more than anything. Hard work taught me that I could accomplish the desires of my heart if I practiced enough. When I wasn’t playing basketball, I was expected to keep the house picked up and start preparations for dinner. Growing up also meant I had to learn about the facts of life. I had rather played basketball.

  It was a cold, rainy Saturday morning, and Mama ironed while I ate my cereal. She seemed to think it was the perfect time to tell me about the birds and the bees—as she put it. I sat in silence, not sure what to say, as she explained how babies were made. I thought to myself, Do people really do that? Dropping one cannon ball into my little world somehow braced me for the next.

  “Rhonda, you are getting old enough to know about these things. As a matter of fact, I might as well go ahead and tell you there isn’t a Santa Claus, either.”

  “Who brings my presents?” I asked.

  After finding out she and Daddy had enjoyed this little game over the years, I asked, “Can I go play now?”

  I couldn’t figure out which was worse—the fact there wasn’t a Jolly Saint Nick, or sex. I tried to avoid any alone moments for a long time just in case there was something else she felt I needed to know.

  Otherwise, life was rather simple, living on the farm. I continued to go to Mama Dora’s every day before and after school. I couldn’t imagine going a day without one of her sweet kisses on my cheek. She always made a loud smack as she planted her lips on me. There wasn’t any question that I was loved, but it became frightening at times to think about someone else in my life dying.

  There were times at the end of the day when I stood at Mama Dora’s window, watching for Daddy’s truck to drive up, that I would have horrible thoughts. Fear would creep over my entire body. Tears streamed at the thought of another death.

  If something happened to Mama or Daddy, I would be so alone. Who would take care of me?

  Within moments, I felt as though my world was coming to an end. Then the second Daddy pulled into the driveway, all was well once again. Out the door I ran. “Bye, Mama Dora. I love you.”

  **********

  Life didn’t change much for a couple of years, until 1973. I was leaving Bumpus Mills Elementary School and heading to Stewart County High in Dover. On the first morning of school, I arose early so that Mama could fix my hair before she went to work. I had never felt so pretty, standing in front of the mirror in my new outfit. I paused, looking at myself a little longer than usual to make sure I looked just right. Getting new clothes didn’t happen very often.

  I was excited and nervous when the big yellow bus pulled up in front of our little house. The driver wasn’t nearly as friendly as Mr. Sidney. I sat down on the front seat and heard snickers coming from the back of the bus. I ignored them for the most part. Traveling the curvy, ten-mile road into Dover on that bus kept me occupied. My heart pounded out of my chest as we pulled up to the red-brick school building.

  The search began for one of my thirteen Bumpus Mills classmates who I had grown up with, but in a school of over four hundred, that was like finding a needle in a haystack. To make matters worse, I was getting rather distracted. There were guys everywhere. I was like a kid in a candy store, that is, until I saw Paul. I will never forget the moment our eyes met.

  Paul was from Bumpus Mills, so of course I knew him. It was his senior year, m
aking him three years older than me. A senior showing interest in a freshman girl caused the butterflies in my stomach to take flight. Or was it because of his beautiful blue eyes and brown, wavy hair? He was serious, yet endearing. Most would say that Paul was a real, down-to-earth guy, but one thing I learned quickly above all else, he loved God.

  “So, Sunday it is,” Paul confirmed.

  “Yes. I’ll be there. I would like to visit your church,” I responded ever so flirtatiously—if it is even possible to flirt over an invitation to church. This was how our dating began, because Mama and Daddy sternly said that I could not date until I turned sixteen. This meant for two long years, Paul and I continued our courtship without actually going anywhere except to his church and our family living room.

  I felt secure with him as we sat in the front room of our house on the old, faded orange-and-brown couch, trying our best to sneak a kiss. Mama didn’t make it easy. She seemed to have an excuse to poke her head in the door about every half hour. It didn’t matter. We fell in love.

  We continued dating even after Paul graduated and started college. Most every weekend, he traveled home so we could see each other. Thankfully, after my sixteenth birthday we were able to leave the house in his green Nova and drive around listening to our favorite eight-track tape, The Best of Bread. The taste of freedom was sweet, but it always came to an end at eleven thirty and not a minute later. I never tested the waters to see what would happen if I was late. I was known as “Big Ole Boyd Taylor’s girl” for a reason. Plus, I was told almost every day, “You be a good girl or everyone in Stewart County will talk about you.”

  Sunday mornings were my favorite. After church, Paul’s mom would always make a wonderful lunch. The worse part came afterward, when I had to help clean in the kitchen. Not that I minded the work; it just meant I had less time with Paul before he left for school. Good-byes were never easy.

  “I’m so excited for the revival at church next week. The visiting pastor is really supposed to be great,” Paul said. Memories of revivals were not my favorite, but I would do most anything to be with Paul.

  Another week passed quickly and I found myself listening to a preacher unlike anyone I had ever heard. My heart began beating uncontrollably. Tears sprang up in my eyes as I heard how much Jesus loved me. The piano started to play and the pastor asked if anyone would like to ask Jesus into their hearts.

  I need to wait. I haven’t done anything wrong. Why do I need to be saved? What will everyone think?

  Be still, heart. There was a battle raging in my head, yet I felt myself slowly rise from my seat, and placing one foot in front of the other, I made my way down the aisle. This time it was for real, no itchy tick bite forcing my hand. I felt Paul touch my shoulder as I knelt at the altar. After the pastor asked my name, he posed the question, “Rhonda, are you ready to ask Jesus into your heart?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Do you believe that Jesus died for you and that He was raised from the dead three days later?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Rhonda, welcome to the kingdom of God!”

  Was it really that easy? I questioned in my mind.

  I couldn’t wait to tell everyone, especially Mama and Daddy. Surprisingly, others did not share my joy.

  “Mama, aren’t you happy for me?”

  “Of course I am, Rhonda.”

  “I’m confused. You don’t act like it, and why don’t you and Daddy go to church?”

  “Rhonda, your dad and I just don’t have time. We have to work.”

  I went to sleep thinking about Jesus. I wasn’t going to let others hinder me from what I wanted. The following week, Paul, along with our pastor, baptized me in a small creek. As the congregation gathered on the banks of that little river, “Amazing Grace” echoed through the valley.

  **********

  The year 1976 rolled in, our basketball team was having a great season, and I had Paul. Life was good, or so I thought, until things started to get weird.

  One weekend, Daddy had cut back our bushes around our house. That Monday morning as I was leaving for school, he asked if I would pick up the clippings when I got home from ball practice. I knew to do as I was told, so I came home and got busy. The beautiful spring day made the work less burdensome.

  An approaching car caught my attention. As usual, I smiled and gave a slight wave of my hand. The car came to the edge of our driveway and stopped. As the driver opened his door, I noticed he was wearing an unbuttoned, sleeveless plaid shirt.

  “May I help you?”

  Silence. Something didn’t feel right.

  The stranger stepped from behind his car door and I realized he wasn’t wearing any pants. The day mama told me about the birds and the bees didn’t prepare me for this moment of seeing a naked man for the first time. As he walked toward me, I knew what he was doing with his private parts was not appropriate. Unsure of what to do, I quickly turned and walked to the front door. Once inside, I peeped out the window and watched him get back into his car and drive away.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Mama and Daddy got home. As soon as they walked in the door I began going on and on about a naked man, but they couldn’t understand what I was trying to tell them. After settling down a bit and explaining what happened, Daddy called the sheriff.

  To our surprise, the stranger had exposed himself again to another girl much younger than me, and the sheriff already had him in jail.

  “Boyd, since Rhonda is older, could she come in to make a positive identification?”

  My anxious parents agreed.

  The sheriff said, “He’s just a weirdo from out of state, plus it’s a full moon. I don’t believe it’s anything to worry about. If Rhonda says this is the guy, we will charge him with indecent exposure and we will never see him again.”

  Shortly after, we arrived at the jail. Everyone was rather tense until Mother said, “Rhonda might not recognize him with his clothes on.”

  Everybody laughed except me. I was guided into a room in which cells lined the walls. In the far cell to the left sat the guy who gave me a glimpse of a dark world I never knew existed until that day.

  Of course, news traveled fast to all my friends, and the jokes were rampant about Rhonda seeing a naked man.

  As if that wasn’t strange enough, two weeks later Mother and I drove into Dover to go to the grocery store. The old Dover Bridge that crossed the Cumberland River always unnerved me with its metal that arched the sky above. I usually slowed to turtle speed, afraid that I would hit the rails.

  As we approached the bridge that day, we noticed an old woman climbing over the side. Mama screamed, “Oh my Lord, she is going to kill herself!” Uncertain of what to do, we inched closer. The old lady had already crossed over the side rails and was in a squatted position facing us as she gripped the metal with her hands. She was swinging like a monkey from the wind whipping around her. Her little flowered-printed dress blew, exposing a white slip beneath.

  I cried out, “Mama, what are we supposed to do?”

  Chills ran over my body as the old woman looked right into my eyes, laughing hysterically. Then in one blink of the eye she dropped to one hand and vanished.

  “No!” I screamed.

  The sheriff’s office was within our sight. We raced there for the second time within a month. Frantically, we explained what had happened. The sheriff told us to follow him. Quickly, he traveled to the edge of the water and retrieved a boat. We watched as he pulled her lifeless body from the murky water.

  The haunting look of laughter seen on this woman’s face ingrained itself in our minds. It helped when we found out she was a mental health patient who managed to escape from her caregiver and wandered from her home to face death.

  On two occasions within a short period of time, I had looked into the eyes of a man and a woman who were not in their right minds. “Why is this happening to me?” I began to ask.

  I went to school the following Monday and heard the rumors flo
ating around once again. During class, in front of everyone, a fellow student said, “You sure have weird things happen to you.”

  I laid my head down on my desk, lost in thought. I knew he was right.

  The peek into an unknown world of evil left me breathless. What else could possibly happen?

  THREE

  “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy…”

  John 10:10

  My heart couldn’t wait for the lazy days of summer to arrive. Thoughts of horseback riding with Paul gave me goose bumps. The ring of the phone interrupted my daydreams, but I was pleasantly surprised to hear the voice of the one I was dreaming about.

  “Rhonda, I just arrived home,” Paul said.

  I became excited until I realized the tone of his voice seemed serious. “Is something wrong? You never come home in the middle of the week.”

  “We need to talk. I will be over shortly.”

  He picked me up and drove us to his farm in silence. The hug and sweet kiss I had come to expect didn’t happen.

  “What’s wrong, Paul?”

  He parked his car and turned to me. “Rhonda, I have met someone.”

  There was nothing that could have prepared me for those words. I felt sick in my stomach. My river of tears didn’t affect him. Distant and cold, his mind was already made up.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Paul. You know that you love me. We have planned to be together always. Who is she? Tell me!” I screamed.

  “Please don’t do this, Rhonda. I don’t think I love you anymore. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  “Three years together and it’s over just like that? Don’t you care that you’re breaking my heart?”

  He didn’t have anything else to say. The ride home was silent, and he pulled into my driveway for the last time. Grabbing the door handle, I started to turn toward him, but I could not bear to look at him.