Maynard and Oak

Family Trees

Photo by Andrew Reshetov on Unsplash

Turria hobbled Maynard to the bean bag chair on the porch to watch the sunrise. He had hobbled there hisself when his mind had started going, but then his knees went chasing his mind and he’d fuss if he wasn’t settin in his chair what the squirrels nibbled on when the sun came up over the hills.

We was in Ohio right on the West Virginia border basically, where my Great Uncle Maynard was from.

Before his mind waddled away, he used to say he wanted to “go be wit his homeland agin,” but then he started sayin’ he wanted to “go get back with Amanda,” which didn’t quite make no sense, because he had been with my Great Aunt Turria since they was 13, and I don’t think he had no side woman, because he spent most his life making front plates for fiddles outta spruce that grew right up on the property, he made em right in his shop, right there didn’t go nowhere.

Then they just went to church together, him and Turria, and I don’t think he was fuckin’ anyone at church.

But him sayin’ Amanda made Aunt Turria all kinda upset, so’s one day I told my twin brother Orland we hadda do somethin’.

Upset as Turria was, erry mornin’ she’d hobble Maynard out to the bean bag chair, and he’d plop down, watch the sunrise, drank his orange juice and Listerine he’d been drankin’ since I known him.

He’d jus’ spend the whole day there, whip his pecker out and piss off the side of the porch, til one day his mind was so far in the distance he’d jus piss hisself.

Orland, they called him Oak, he was the smart one, he was tryin’ to be a EMT for a minute, but he had him a meth conviction, then after about a few months a school they told him don’t neven bother.

But Oak was still smart, so’s I figured he’d figure a way we could get Uncle Maynard to not babble bout no Amanda.

Turria would say “I wants to know who Amanda is” and Maynard would just shut up, then say it agin a few minutes later. “I wanna go get back with Amanda.”

After a while, them was the only words what would come out his mouth.

One day a man pulled up, asked could he cut down a spruce tree, make his own front plates for fiddles.

Maynard shrugged, the man leaned in and whispered somethin, Maynard smiled, the man went back to the car, came back, gave Maynard a piece a paper looked like a check.

A crew came, took down a spruce careful as I ever seent anyone take a tree down, and drove off.

Bout erry two months, give or take, they’d come cut a spruce, give Maynard a check.

Maynard would look at the man, say “I wanna get back with Amanda.” 

Man would say “good luck with that,” pat Maynard on the shoulder, leave, a crew would come take another spruce down.

Now Turria would be hoppin mad, because Maynard was tellin’ other people.

Oak would say “Auntie, he don’t know what in Jesus bare hands he talkin about,” but Turria ‘d get so mad she’d cry snotty tears.

When the man came back the next time, Oak said “Maynard ain’t in his right mind, you gotta give the money to me.”

Man looked at Oak, said “If’n your name ain’t on the deed to this property, I ain’t givin you nothin.”

And he handed Maynard another check.

Maynard folded it up and put it in his pocket, like always.

One mornin I woke to a thump and a scream.

Maynard fell while Turria was walkin’ him to the bean bag chair. Uncle Maynard was ok, but Turria had a bust hip.

She was screechin’, we hadda call an ambulance, they took her off to Athens County Hospital, and her last words, she said “Y’all take good care a Maynard.”

Oak said “I’ll take Uncle Nape to the bean bag chair in the mornin.”

Somethin didn’t set right. 

Oak was smart, but he wasn’t what you would call “nice.”

So I woke up too, bout when I thought Oak would be taking Maynard to the bean bag chair, and there he was, pullin’ piss soaked checks outta Maynard’s pants, Maynard sound asleep in the bed.

I was fixin’ to confront Oak, ask him what he was doin’ when he seen me.

“Shutup,” he said, “and we’re fit’n to split this money.”

I bit my lip like it was lamb stew, and I decided I’d help Uncle Maynard out to the bean bag chair.

‘Cept Uncle Maynard wasn’t sleepin’. He was dead.

I started hollerin’ for Oak, but the look on his face told me he already knew, because he had did it.

We waited to have the service until Turria could get out the hospital, had it at Woodside Cemetery, outside, where it was scenic.

The preacher said some beautiful words, and so did a young man who played one of the fiddles Maynard used to make, who got him a music scholarship, then the preacher asked did anyone else wanna say something.

Turria said “Help me, Ray Ray,” so I helped her up, but that woman walked like there was nothing wrong with her hip.

I got her up to the little podium, swear it was made of spruce, just like Uncle Maynard’s fiddles, and I looked out at the crowd.

It was a bunch of people from town, and some of mine and Oak’s old classmates, and some old, old codgers Maynard had been in a barbershop quartet with, but sometime during the service, Oak had snuck off.

I went back, took my seat, grabbed a hankie out of my pocket, waited for Turria to say some loving words about the man she had been with since she was thirteen years old.

“Maynard was, and will always be, no matter what, the love of intirrre life,” Aunt Turria said.

“I’m gonna ask y’all a favor. If your name is Amanda I wanchoo, to stand up. Right now.”

People looked around, confused, almost expecting someone to stand up. 

I looked around, hoping no Amanda was there just by coincidence. I really think my Uncle’s mind had hobbled off, and there weren’t no real Amanda, lest it was someone he had a childhood crush on when he was five or somethin.’

No one stood. People shifted uncomfortably.

My Aunt Turria said “Amen,” and started walking away. I ran to help her walk. 

The Repast Luncheon was at the Irving VFW Hall. We had to pass our house to get there.

Turria thought Maynard jus plain died in his sleep, and though I was bubblin’ over, I wasn’t going to tell her any different.

When we passed the house, I could see not one, but two of the tree cutting trucks parked out back in the spruce copse. I had no idea how Oak got back there from the cemetery.

I bit my lip like it was lamb stew agin. 

Turria looked up.

I thought she was gonna ask about Oak. 

I thought she was gonna say something about the lumbermen cuttin’ down the spruce without Maynard’s permission.

She said “Ray Ray…I’m countin’ on you and your brother…to find out who the hell Amanda was.”

As we drove around the bend, I looked back and saw Oak settin in the bean bag chair.

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