Bobby Joe

By

Sharon Rose

“Robert Joseph.”  Robert Joseph.”

    The last ‘Robert Joseph’ was always a little louder and higher pitched than the first.

    It wasn’t that I never answered when Ma yelled. It’s just that sometimes I had other things on my mind. It was different with Pa. When he called, I moved! My mother gave up after four tries. When a half hour or so passed, I would go to her and say, very innocently, “Did I hear you callin’ me awhile ago, Ma?” She’d look at me with this blank look on her face and move her eyes back and forth. I knew she remembered calling me but couldn’t remember the reason anymore. It’s amazing what an eleven year old boy can figure out about grownups and I still had a long way to go to reach my potential.

   That was what Sheriff Murray said about me. It wasn’t that I intentionally kept getting myself into trouble. It’s just that I had such a long walk home from school if I missed the bus. I had to entertain myself and old man Hewey’s cows were a real temptation.

   They were heading home too and were so full of milk they could hardly walk. I thought it would be interesting to see if they could run. I was right in the middle of screaming, waving my arms and throwing rocks, when the sheriff drove up behind me.

   Well, if I remember correctly, that was the third time I had gotten into trouble with the authorities. It was after this little episode that Sheriff Murray told my dad I hadn’t even reached my potential. After the beating my old man gave me, I decided I would see what my ‘potential’ might be in other areas.

   We were a large family and lived in an old three-story house about four miles from town. There were five of us kids so you never got too much peace and quiet or privacy. Sometimes everyone was yelling at the same time. At times like that, even if above all the racket I could hear my mother calling, I would climb out my bedroom window onto the roof and curl up in that little space between the roof and chimney. I don’ t think any of my family saw me, and if they did, they were probably happy to get me out of their sight for awhile.

   That’s what I was doing on that beautiful spring evening, an evening that will haunt me forever.

    I was gazing up at the stars dreaming about space travel when there was a loud popping and a quick flash of light across the road on our neighbor’s land. It was maybe a half mile away. My first thought was that either Carly’s dad or one of her brothers was out shooting squirrels or something.

   Carly went to my school. She was younger than I was but we got along. That spring, she was only nine. I felt sorry for her. She was the youngest in her family and had a bunch of older brothers. They were terribly poor. Everyone said Carly’s dad and her brothers made moonshine out in the bush somewhere. Her mother must have been a very hard worker. I remember seeing her in town once in awhile and she always looked worn out. I heard my mother telling Pa that Mr. Lowell beat his wife.

    Sometimes Carly would walk home with me and I’d ask, “Why do you want to walk all the way home? You didn’t have to stay late after school.”

    “I know,” she’d say. “I just like walking with you, Bobby Joe. And besides, I’m going to marry you some day.”

   Now all that marrying talk didn’t bother me one bit. I have two sisters so I knew that’s what girls are mostly thinking about but the thing that really bothered me was this ‘Bobby Joe’ name.

    “Carly,” I said, “why are you calling me a stupid name like that?”

    “Because that’s the same as Robert Joseph,” she answered.

    “Why can’t you call me Rob like everybody else does? Besides,” I said, “I ain’t ever going to marry someone who calls me Bobby Joe.” I hacked up a big gob of phlegm and spit it on the ground. I remember adding that for emphasis. It was all for nothing.

    “You’ll always be Bobby Joe to me.”

   Now as I was sitting up on the roof and thinking about Carly and her family, my imagination started running wild. I got this crazy notion to go across to our neighbor’s pasture and check out what I’d seen. Maybe Carly’s brothers were having a shoot-out or something, which reminded me I had better stick close to the ground because none of those boys would think twice about putting a bullet in my butt. I had planned  an escape route off the roof but had never tried it out. I thought it would be a good time now to see if it worked.

    I wormed my way down the old trellis that was mostly being held up by my mother’s ivy and dashed across the front yard, through the ditch, over the gravel road, and into the pasture beyond. The Lowell’s never kept any cattle (my pa said they were too lazy to look after them) so the pasture was filled with tall wild grass and bluffs of Poplar trees. All us kids would have loved to play over there, especially in the old shack that stood in the middle of a clump of trees. We thought it would have made a swell club house. We knew, however, if we dared go over there, we might have to face, not only Mr. Lowell and his boys, but also our parents. If they ever found out, we wouldn’t be able to sit for a long time. It wasn’t that they were worried about Mr. Lowell hurting us; but all the mothers were paranoid about the old open well the Lowell’s refused to fill in. I think they left it open just to keep us away or maybe they hoped someday one of us might fall in.

   However, it was straight to the old shack and well that I headed that early spring evening. It was dark. I was only eleven. I had no fear. No fear, that is, until I stopped and peered around a thick shrub. My heart was pounding so loud, it hurt my ears. I stood perfectly still as I watched Mr. Lowell pick something heavy off the ground, throw it over his shoulder, and then drop it down the well.

    I stood there for what seemed an eternity, watching as Mr. Lowell, his large frame outlined in the moonlight, bent down, picked up the rifle from off the ground and then slouched off towards his house. I was pretty sure that it was a body he had dumped down his well. But then again, I was only eleven. It could have been some old sick dog he had to get rid of. So, what could I do? If I told Pa and it turned out to be a dog or some other animal, I would be in big trouble. After all, I wasn’t even supposed to be over in Lowell’s pasture in the first place. There was no way I could go to the sheriff. I was sure he’d lock me up and throw away the key just for bothering him.

    I decided I would talk to Carly first before I made any decision. She would probably know what was going on.

   Carly wasn’t at school the next few days. I was starting to get mighty worried. Finally, when she did show up, she was pale and looked awful. She told Miss Kerr, our teacher, she had been sick.

   After school I met her in the hallway and asked if she’d like to walk home with me. Her eyes lit up and she nodded. We left the school by the side door and hid until the bus pulled away.

    It was on that day, on the walk home, that Carly told me what had happened. Before she started though, she made me sit down beside her in the ditch and made a solemn oath not to tell a soul. We spit in some dirt and mixed it round with our fingers. Then Carly put some mud on my lips and I rubbed some on hers.

   Then in a hushed voice, she said, “My dad came home late after supper. Ma kept his food warm for as long as she could but it got dried out. Sometimes when he comes in from the bush, he brings a bottle with him. When he does that, he’s really mean, Bobby Joe. I was hiding under the table but I saw him hitting my mom. She ran outside and Pa followed her. That’s the last I saw of her. Pa says she left us to go and live in a fancy house in the city.” She looked up at me, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I really miss her, Bobby Joe.”

   What was I to do? Should I tell my little friend that maybe I saw her father throwing her mother’s body down the old well? Did I really have any choice now? I had to say something.

    “Carly,” I said. “You know that old well out in your pasture?”

    She looked startled. “You don’t have to worry about that well anymore, Bobby Joe. Pa went and filled it in the other day. He said it was too dangerous, that some kids might fall into it.”

   Now what was I to do? The sheriff wouldn’t listen to me. He already believed I was a potential criminal. Now, there was nothing I could do. Besides, there was a good chance that I was wrong. Maybe a lot of it had been my imagination. Who was I to say what Carly’s dad was tossing down the well? I convinced myself of that for many years.

    So, I said the hardest words I’ve ever said in my life: “Carly, don’t worry. Your mom wouldn’t have left you if she didn’t have a good reason. Once she gets a nice place to live, I know she’ll come and get you.”

    She gazed at me with hope in her eyes. “You think so, Bobby Joe?”

    I looked down at the mud on my fingers and said, “I’m sure she will. She’s a good mom.”

    It was soon the talk of the town. Mrs. Lowell had run off and left her family.

    “I don’t blame her one bit,” Ma said. “But she should’ve taken Carly with her. How’s that little girl going to make out living with a bunch of men?”

    “Prob’ly found herself another man,” Pa said, “and he don’t want no little girl draggin’ along.”

    Sometimes I got the feeling Ma wouldn’t have minded finding one of those men who would come and take her away, especially one who didn’t want any kids coming along.

    So, I kept my secret. I tried to be extra nice to Carly but as time went by, she seemed to lose interest in me. She never talked about getting married anymore and when I asked her if she’d want to walk home from school with me, she’d make up some excuse. In a way, I was relieved. When I was away from her I never thought about that spring evening I should have answered my mother instead of going out onto the roof. That was the last time I ever sat out there to look at the stars.

   Where do the years disappear? Suddenly, my life was filled with girls, sports, and school, and probably in that order. Then, I was off to college. My folks couldn’t afford to send all five of us so I had to work to support myself. I never had time to think about anything else so that early spring evening when I was only eleven was soon shoved somewhere into the recesses of my mind.

    I didn’t get home for visits often but I did manage to phone periodically. By this time, my siblings had become quite prolific so my mother was always wound up about some new grandchild. When I did phone, there was always a pause and I had to tell my mother who was calling. This sent my mother into an apologizing frenzy. I guess she thought it was inexcusable for a mother not to recognize her own son’s voice. The last ten minutes would be spent bawling me out for phoning so infrequently that she had been reduced to the humiliation of not recognizing my voice. It was during one of these calls that I interrupted her. I wanted desperately to change the subject. For some unknown reason, I thought about Carly. Maybe it was because it was spring when a young man’s thoughts turn to love. After all, she had been the only girl who ever wanted to marry me. I remembered Carly but not for one second did I think about the old well out in the pasture.

    “Oh, Robbie,” my mother said. “She doesn’t have a good reputation. I knew it would be no good being raised by all those wild men over there. They’re all a bad bunch. I still blame Carly’s mother for what’s happened to her. She had no right to run off and leave that poor little girl with her dad.”

   Now, I thought about the well. How many years had it been? Fourteen? Fifteen? I chose to put it out of my mind again.

    It wasn’t long after that I received a call in the middle of the night. It was my oldest sister, Angie.

    “Robbie, is that you?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Pa died about an hour ago.”

    “Died? I didn’t even know he was sick.”

    “He wasn’t. It was a massive heart attack. Mom’s in shock. Can you come right away?”

    “I’ll catch the first flight out.”

   Everyone else had families to care for so it had been decided, even before my phone call, that I should stay with my mother for a few days. I didn’t mind. I couldn’t remember ever spending time alone with her. Somehow  I always knew, given the chance, we would enjoy each other’s company.

    “It’s good to have your here, Robbie.”

   The funeral was over and all the relatives were gone. We sat across from each other at the same old kitchen table enjoying  a cup of coffee.

    I smiled at the sweet frail woman who faced me. “It’s good to be back, Ma.”

    She smiled. There was a wistful look in her eyes. “I wish you’d find some nice girl and settle down, Robbie. You know I’m not going to die in peace until you do.”

    “The only girl who ever wanted to marry me was Carly Lowell. You think she might be still interested?” I teased.

    “Son, don’t you even joke about that. Your father will roll over in his grave if you mention her name. She’s the town prostitute, you know. Got her hair dyed orange and wears short tight skirts with high boots.” She shook her head. “It’s a shame. Remember when she used to walk home from school with you? She was such a quiet little thing. Her mother never came back, you know. I say it’s her fault Carly is what she is today.”

    “No, Ma, it’s not her fault. It’s old man Lowell’s. He shot his wife and then threw her down the well in the pasture.” The words shot out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying.

   Ma’s cup stopped in mid-air and stayed there. Her mouth gaped open. She blinked several times and then, as if in a trance, slowly lowered her cup to the table.

    “Pardon me?”

    I started to cry. Maybe it was seeing my own father laid out in a casket; maybe it was just being home and remembering that night, I don’t know, but whatever it was, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Fifteen years is a long time to hide something so deep inside. Fifteen years is a long time to feel guilty about something you didn’t do when you were only eleven.

    I didn’t want to blame that little boy but I had, repeatedly, all through those years. Years when I thought I had forced it out of my mind.

    I took my mother up to my room and showed her where I used to sit by the chimney.

    “So that’s where you were all those time when I called and called,” she said with a smile as she held me close.

   We walked across the road and into the pasture. The remains of the shack were still there but we could hardly see the well. It was covered with grass and tall weeds.

    She held my hand as we gazed down at the hidden grave.

    “I’ll go with you. We’ll go to the sheriff’s office right away.”

    “There’s something I have to do first, Ma. A few more hours won’t make any difference. I have to talk to Carly. I’ve waited way too long already.”

   Carly worked, during the day, at the old café on Main Street. She was coming out the door when I drove up. She looked tired, just like her mother used to look so many years ago. Her hair was bleached orangey-blond and her eyelids were covered with blue shadow.

    I rolled down the window and called her name. She turned, not recognizing me for a moment, but then she smiled and walked over.

    “Well, if it isn’t Bobby Joe. Long time no see.” Her voice was deep and throaty.

    I sat staring at her, thinking; this is what I have done. Carly is what she is today because of me.

    “Could we drive some place and talk? There’s something I have to tell you, Carly. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

    She got in and I drove to the edge of town. I told her about that spring night when I was eleven as briefly and as accurately as I could remember it. I told her that I was going to the police. I asked her to forgive me.

    She never said a word. She opened the door and got out. I watched as she walked back to town. I turned round and headed for the police station.

   Ma and I stood and looked on as the tractor worked away at the packed down soil that had filled the well for so many years. Four uniformed officers stood across from us with Mr. Lowell and Carly. Carly kept her head down. I looked at her father. He was old and stooped over with arthritis. When the remains of Mrs. Lowell’s body were found, he crumpled to the ground. Carly turned and walked away.

    I wished I could have received Carly’s forgiveness but it was not meant to be. Two days later another body was found washed up against the riverbank. Folks figure Carly jumped off the bridge.

The end.