A Man Can't Run Forever

 The pickup truck that I’m riding in the back of pulls into the gavel parking lot of Colwell Brothers Funeral Home. The truck comes to a stop. I hop out of the truck and knock on the driver’s side window. The elderly man who gave me a ride from West Liberty rolls down the window.

“Hey, mister, thanks a lot!” I tell him.

“No problem,” he says with a toothless smile.

His wife, seated beside him smiles and nods at me.

“We are sure sorry about your granny, young feller, “ she says. “We’ll pray for y’all.”

“We need all that we can get,” I reply.

The truck pulls away and I look at my watch. It’s 10:30, but that doesn’t matter here in the hills of Kentucky. The night before a funeral, they always have a service with preaching and singing. After the service, there will be relatives and friends who stay most of the night. Some will stay overnight. I see several vehicles parked here. I walk up and try the front door. Locked. There’s a doorbell and I push the button. A few minutes later, the door opens and Bobby Stamper, my Mother’s brother’s oldest son, therefore, my first cousin, opens the door. He’s lost his hair and put on about fifty pounds sionce the last time that I saw him, but I would know Bobby anywhere.

“Dory Sutherland! They said you’d probably come!” he practically shouts. Then, he puts his hand over his mouth. He grabs my wrist and pulls me into the building. Then, he leads me into an office with a sign on the door that reads “Funeral Director”. He shuts the door behind us. Stu Colwell, a man who is always recognizable, is seated behind his desk. His hair and goatee have turned white over the years, but he is dressed the same as always-bow tie, double breasted suit.

“Hey, Stu, did Bo Higgins ever leave?” Bobby asks.

Bo is a distant cousin on my father’s side of the family. He’s a deputy sheriff and takes his job very seriously. Cousin or not, he’d haul me in without a second thought.

“Yessir, round about an hour ago. Has to work tonight. Why do you ask?” At that instant, he seems to recognize me. “Is it Dory Sutherland?” he asks.

I raise my right hand.

“Guilty as charged,” I say with a grin.

“Poor choice of words, bud,” he says, sounding like he’s not very glad to see me. “You still on the run?”

“Not gonna tell ya that, Stu,” I say, “’Cause if I do, you might end up having to lie to the law!”

He takes off his hon rimmed glasses and starts cleaning them with a piece of tissue.

“Yeah,” he growls, “still on the run! They’ll catch up to you someday! You have to realize that!”

I look at my shoes and shrug my shoulders.

“Look, there’s some family in the kitchen,” Bobby says, “They’ll wanna see ya!”

“Yeah, better go see’ em,” I mumble. I feel like Stu is judging me. And I don’t think it’s his place to do that.

Stu gets up and walks around the desk. He offers his hand. I shake it.

“Irregardless, I’m glad to see you and I’m sorry about your Mamaw.”

He sounds like he means it and I feel bad for maybe misjudging him.

“Thanks, Stu, she always liked you and your family,” I say and he attempts a smile.

Bobby and I leave the office and go down a hallway. Two doors down on the left, there’s a room with a fridge, microwave, a table, chairs, as well as a stereo and a TV. The stereo is playing bluegrass music. There’s a meat and cheese tray, a jar of mustard, a loaf of bread and a box of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls on the table. My brother,Dillard, older than me by two years is in his wheelchair in a corner of the room. He has a listless look on his face and he seems to be biting his lower lip. When he sees me, a single tear leaks out of his left eye and rolls down his cheek.

There are four people eating at the table. There’s a stocky boy wearing a Cincinnati Reds ball cap and eating a baloney sandwich like he’s half starved. He is my nephew Patrick, Dillard’s only son. He’s eleven, but big for his age. He could pass for 16 or 17. He ignores me. Across the table is Bobby’s girl, Lucy. She’s a few years older than Bobby and looks like she’s 21. She wears too much makeup and her blouse appear to be a size too small. If I had to make a prediction, I would guess that she would be pregnant or spend a night in jail long before she graduated high school. Lucy is sipping Diet Coke through a straw. Bobby’s wife, Hildy, a bleached blonde gal, who dresses and looks similar to her daughter. As I walk in, Hildy, unrolls a Swiss roll until it’s flat. Then, she licks the creamy filling off of the cake. Then, Hildy rolls the cake back up and eats it in two bites.

I walk over to my big brother. He attempts a smile. I bend over and kiss him on top of his head. He has a military high and tight hair cut, just like our father has always had.

“Love ya, Dill, “ I whisper. His mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

I walk over to the fourth person at the table, Dillard’s wife Melody. Once she was a cheerleader and beauty queen with long, silky blond hair. Now, she’s plump with a short haircut and silver hair scattered among the blonde. She was the best dressed girl in our high school. Tonight, she wears a pantsuit that hasn’t been in style in a long time. She has kicked off her shoes and is eating a ham sandwich with too much mayo. I know because a glob of the mayo is on her top. It’s hard to believe Dillard and I had fistfights over this lady when we were younger. I walk over to Melody and put my hand on her shoulder. When I was 19, I would have kissed her on the lips, but, at 32, the thought didn’t appeal to me.

“How’s he doing?” I asked, pointing to Dillard.

She sighed deeply.

“’Bout as well as he can, I guess. He had good days and he has bad days. Ain’t said one word since the stroke. PT comes in twice a week. They say there might someday. I sure hain’t seen none, Dor.”

She sounds like she’s choking up. I pat her on the back.

“I’m sure that you are takin’ real good care of him, “ I say. I’m trying really hard not to choke up myself.

“Best I know how,” she says and nods. And with that, she breaks down. Patrick scoots closer and wraps his arms around his mother while she cries.

The kid looks up and glares at me.

“She gits real upset talkin’ bout Daddy’s problems!” Patrick says.

“Sorry, didn’t want to hurt ya, Mel,” I say. I mean every word. I need to say something to Patrick. “Look, young man, I realize you probably don’t think much of your uncle, but I don’t come around much because I can’t, not because I don’t want to. I can see that you are a big help to your parents and I respect your for that. Love ya, man. You don’t need to say nothin’ back.”

I feel somebody rubbing my shoulders. It’s Bobby and he’s crying, too.

“Aw, shoot, Dory,” he says, “I think they all understand. They ain’t no hard feelings toward you.”

“Thanks, cuz,” I say. “You always was a good guy.”

I pull away from his grasp. I haven’t felt comfortable being touched since I busted out. Not by anybody.

“Where’s my daddy?” I ask my cousin.

“In the chapel with the preacher.”

I walk over to Dillard’s wheelchair.

“He, Dill, “ I say, “I ain’t seen Mamaw yet. Wanna go?” He manages a half smile. I release the brakes and wheel him toward the chapel. I want my big brother with me. I need him there. When we get to the entrance of the room, there’s a signboard and I get a lump in my throat and my eyes burn with tears as I read it.

Laura Belle Layne Sutherland

Born October 21, 1910

Died October 7, 1995

Funeral tomorrow at 10:30 AM

Pastor Willie Weaver officiating

I wheel my brother into the chapel and down the aisle toward the casket. I can hear my Daddy talking to the preacher by the time we’re halfway down the aisle.

I remember bringing my girlfriend named Lola down here to Hickmanville back before I went to prison.

“It’s gonna sound like they are bawling you out,” I told her, “but they ain’t mad at you. They just talk like that!”

In spite of the warning, it had been a disaster. She and Daddy hated each other. She thought he was ignorant and he asked me, “Boy, what was you thinkin’ bringing that ten cent tramp to meet your mother and mamaw?”

Last time I saw Lola, she was living up around Canton with her drug dealing brother. She looked like she had been his best customer. Skin and bones, not a tooth left in her head. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was dead.

“Now, you just mind the Lord, brother,” Daddy is saying. “If you wanna talk about what a fine Christian lady she was, that’s ok. If you feel like preaching the Gospel and givin’ an altar call, you know that’s ok, too. She loved you like you was her son, too, you know! However you handle it is fine with me, brother!”

As we approach the casket, I can see Dad is dressed like he always has, bib overalls and a plaid shirt. Brother Willie Weaver is in a shirt and tie and dress pants. The jacket of his suit is lying on top of a guitar case on the floor. Willie’s shoes are off and placed beside the guitar case and he is standing in black socks. Whether his feet were hurting or the shoes had come off when he began to feel the Spirit is anybody’s guess. Daddy notices Dillard and me and moves around so, Willie will have to turn his back to us if he wants to look at Daddy. In the mountains, you always look at a man when you are talking to him.

“Brother Willie, has Brother Bo left yet or is he still here?” Daddy asks the preacher and he sounds worried.

“Brother Bo left over an hour ago. He had to report in for work. If you’re concerned about him catching up Dory there, don’t be. There are plenty of criminals to catch without him tracking a man who came to pay his respects to his granny!”

“Look, Pastor, “ Daddy says and it sounds like he’s almost begging. I have never heard him sound like that. “I know Brother Bo is a brother in the Church and that we need to obey the laws of the land, but..”

Willie holds up a hand and shakes his head. He slips his shoes on, picks up his guitar case and walks off the platform.

He looks at me and nods and then, he speaks to my father.

“Brother Sutherland, the day I was baptized down in the Kentucky River, I took the rocks I had to throw and I left’ em on the bank. My stone casting days are over. Besides that, Rodney Harks spent his life prowlin’ around Caudill County, just beggin’ for somebody to cave his skull in! All Dory did was oblige him! Then, when he was scared for his life, Dory broke out of prison! No sir, I ain’t gonna have a man thrown in jail when he comes to pay his respects to his Mamaw!”

With that, the preacher puts his guitar down long enough to shake my hand and say, “God be with you, old buddy.” After that, he leaves.

As he walks out, I remember that the first time I ever smoked weed, I paid for it, but Willie knew where to buy it and he went and used my money to get enough for both of us. We smoked it in the barn on his father’s farm. Let him that is without sin, cast the first stone, somebody once said.

I roll Dillard up to where we can both see Mamaw in her casket. It’s a wooden casket and it looks like the cheapest thing that Stu Colwell could find. Mamaw had never believed in spending a bunch of money on things like funerals or weddings.

I work up the courage to look at her and the tears start flowing. If evr there was an old time Church of God lady, it was Mamaw. White hair put up on top of her head. A black dress that the old time preachers called “modest apparel”, buttoned up to the top button.

While seeing me had caused Dillard to shed a single tear, seeing mamaw in the casket had the tears pouring down his face like Cumberland Falls. Daddy came down and got between us and put one arm around each of us.

I have to say something. Even if it isn’t the right thing…

“I think I was 13 when she stopped using dye and let her hair go white. I asked her why. You know how she was-always a Bible verse for everything. She told me, “Charm is deceitful, beauty is vain, but a women who fears the Lord shall be blessed.” She followed that up with “When I was a child, I spake as a child, but when I became a woman, I put away childish things.” I said “Don’t it say ‘When I became a man’? And she said “God ain’t no respecter of persons, boy!”|

I can’t say anything else. All three of us are sobbing uncontrollably by now.

After what seems like forever, but is probably only five or ten minutes, Daddy grabs my shoulders and spins me around.

“I need to look at you!” he says.

And he does. He looks me up and down. It reminds me of my first day in prison and makes me very uncomfortable. Yesterday, at my friend’s trailer up in Newport, I looked in the mirror for the first time in months. I also showered and changed clothes for the first time in a long time. To say I look like hell would be an insult to the lake that burns with fire and brimstone. I’ve gone bald on top of my head and the rest of my head is covered by prematurely grey hair that looks like a brush pile on somebody’s farm. He spends most of the time staring at my face. He’s focused on the scar that runs from the corner of my right eye, down across my cheek bone, and stopping at the corner of my mouth. A drug dealer named Jesus had sliced me open with a homemade shiv one day out in the exercise yard. That was my motivation to escape. Two days later, I started on the run. That was eight years ago.

“Daddy, I can’t handle this! “ I say. I pull away and turn my back to him.

“Son, I ain’t never gonna see you again! You only show up when somebody dies! Four years ago for your Mommy, tonight for your Mamaw, and I’ll be next!”

He is fighting back sobs as he speaks. He grabs me by the shoulders and forces me to face him again. His face is flushed and he is crying uncontrollably. The weeping causes his entire body to shake. I’m afraid he’s about to die!

“This ain’t no way to live!” he screams.

Then, I notice Dillard. Dillard’s face is red. He looks like he’s straining. Almost like he’s about to cough something up. Then, for the first time since his stroke, he makes an utteraance!

“D-d-d-dor!” It’s a strained, raspy sound. He sounds like a dying man!

Dad and I run to him. We kneel on either side of his chair. More straining! Tears coming down his face. This time, a full sentence… halting and barely understandable, but I can make it out!

“Y-y-ou...you...can’t run forever, D-D-D-or!”

Then Dillard hangs his head, closes his eyes, and slumps in his chair.

I’m afraid that he’s dead! I grab his wrist. Thank God there’s a pulse and I can hear him breathe. It’s a heavy, labored breathing, but he is breathing!

“This happens when he overdoes it. He’ll be ok. We need to take him to Melody. She know how to take care of him.”

“Daddy?” I ask.

“Yeah?”

“Jimmy Campbell still doing legal work?”

“Long as there’s a dollar in Caudill County, he’ll chase ever ambulance to try and git 33 cents of it! Why you askin’ bout that crook?”

“Maybe you can run me over to his place. If I know him, he’s still up, listening to George Jones records and sippin’ Woodford Reserve.”

“Yeah, but why do you want to see him?”

“Maybe git him started on gittin’ my situation straightened out.”

Dad smiles a sad smile.

“You serious?”

“Like Dill says, A man can’t run forever!”