The Blueberry Smudge

My 16th birthday summer was spent on the family farm. The family farm of my aunt and uncle and my crazy cousins. I loved spending the summers with those silly, funny people. There never was a dull moment to be had. This hilarious family of cousins consisted of 6 boys and 1 girl, which one would have to say, 7 boys. Fun started the moment my parents drove off down the country road in our rickety pickup truck going home leaving me with Tomi, Sam, Elmore, John, Art, Amos and Don. As soon as their disappearance at the end of the road and the turn onto the highway, my aunt and uncle called “nap time”, and they disappeared. I never understood what that “nap time” announcement meant. If it meant for all of us to stretch out on the porch and nap, I did not know.Because that is not what happened.

Slaps upside the head or playing chase or hide and seek or throwing rocks at one another quickly materialized following the “nap time” announcement. It was filled with laughter even if blood was drawn from the rock throwing which happened every time.

My family was just the opposite. My father was an introvert and very serious. He never laughed or played games or allowed “noise” in the house. My mother, on the other hand, was the opposite unless my dad was home. Our fun, at home, was when dad left to go into “town” as we lived 15 miles from civilization down a hot dusty road filled with caliche ditches. But it was home.

However, at the cousins, there was always laughter a plenty. In the evenings, after “nap time”, it was a little different. We waited till the heat died down from 105 degrees to 95, and it was a little cooler, everyone headed out to the hay field. One summer, my uncle called on his nephews from his side of the family to come help with the bailing of the hay.

I was a very shy girl, very conservative and very quiet, but also very pretty. I could tan as soon as the first burst of sun in the spring. My sister, two years older than me, would try to wash the brown from my tanned body as she was as white as snow. Everyone would remind me that my Cherokee Indian blood kissed my golden body. Out in the hayfield, thank goodness, I did not sunburn while everyone else covered themselves with sun block, hats and long sleeves. This was the summer that “he” came into the picture. The “other” cousin from the “other” side of the family. No relation to me. He drove up to the Martin’s house (my cousins) in an old, blue farm truck that, from its condition, was used for every chore known to man. I had never seen him before and just knowing he was going to help with the hay bailing made me nervous. I was sitting on the porch swing when he unfolded his long legs out of the truck and stood tall as a tree. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his blond hair and stuck the sweat stained hat back on. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his waist and tucked loosely inside his Levis. I could not breath. Tomi smacked me to listen to what she was saying. I didn’t know she was talking. My eyes were glued on this excellent specimen of an 18 year old coming in our direction. My heart was beating out of my chest as he trotted up the steps. He then was quickly attacked by the boys in a playful manner.

“Your early, Skeet,” Elmore yelled. These boys did not know what talking with an “inside” voice meant.

“I know,” he said jokingly. “I came to see what you idiots were up to before the real fun starts,” he said referring to the regretful chore of bailing hay.

Sam then shoved him and he fell back on top of me.He thought I was Tomi and turned around to apologize to her. He stood straight up when he realized I was the one he stumbled over. He danced into an upright position and glared at me and then grinned this handsome grin. Everyone laughed at him because it was obvious he was enchanted. The shoving started again and then the chasing was on.I stayed on the porch but was standing to avoid the chaos that was erupting all around me. They all jumped off the porch and things started flying in the air. I did not know what was being thrown until I got splattered with blueberries. Skeet had a handful of blueberries and meant to throw them back at John, but I stepped right in line of his shot and blueberries popped all over my white jeans. Everyone laughed at me and I ran like a demon into the house. These were my new white jeans and my mother was going to be furious because these stains would not come out.

A month had gone by since the blueberry shoot-out. I had forgiven Skeet. I knew he didn’t mean to plug me with the stained filled fruit. The Martin’s had a pond on the property which bathed us at night. It was a beautiful spot as everyone seemed sort of calm following a hard day in the field. The older boys would bring their girlfriends and the cooing and giggles and splashes and “stop it” words were heard and it made me smile.

Skeet came out one night. Scared me to death when he drove up. I could hear his truck rumbling down the trail, as it was not a road, but just a trail that led up to the pond. My heart started the pitty-pat again as I was so anxious to see him. At night, all alone maybe, in his swim trunks. I giggled to myself and slunk away into the cattails that grew tall along the bank.

He was greeted with laughter and a few cuss words from the guys. Cuss words around me was not tolerated. Tomi heard them all the time. But I didn’t. After a while everyone went about their playful manner in the pond doing their own thing, when I noticed Skeet was looking around searching with curious eyes.

“Was he wondering where I was?” I asked myself.

Then I heard him whisper, “Beth?”

I splashed water at him using my hand. He waded up to me and with a smile said, “Come out of there.”

I will never forget that summer. I fell so deeply in love. So deeply I couldn’t eat or sleep.

We dated throughout the rest of that summer. We spent a lot of nights under those stars down by the pond wrapped in each other’s arms. I did not want this summer to end but end it must because school resumed. He promised he would write, but he never did. After a lot of pain of the heart, I eventually moved on. I forgot about him, not really, but he was very distant in my mind. And he apparently forgot about me.

Ten years had passed since that summer I was 16. Jimmy had come into my life, and I was a happy camper. We got married soon after we met. In a way, he reminded me of Skeet. But he was a little on the short side.But his blond hair and blue eyes reminded me of him.

In the three years we were married, I became the mother of two awesome boys. We had a good thing going. He had a good paying job and I was a stay-at-home mom.

One day, Jimmy, came home and told me he was offered a new job with Stanley Oil Tools as a salesman. The pay was better than Marco Oil Company and benefits were better. He threw the calling card down on the counter in the kitchen and walked away. I was ok with the new job, but I didn’t know he was looking for another one, but that was ok too, I guessed. I picked up the card and saw the name Bob “Skeet” Martin. “Surely, this was not Skeet. My Skeet?” I questioned myself. Just how many Skeets were out there?

“What does this Bob look like, honey?” I asked my husband.

“I don’t know. He’s a tall fella, blond hair. Kind’ a clumsy if you ask me,” he replied. “His fingers drag the ground when he walks,” he laughed.

“Where is he from?” I continued.

“I don’t know. I think the valley. Why the 100 questions?”

“Never mind.”

A few months later, in the grocery store, I ran into Martina Lucan, wife of the supervisor of Marco Oil Co. We exchanged friendly hellos and talked a minute about our kids and life when she surprised me with a statement.

“I’m sorry Jimmy was fired from Marco. My husband really didn’t want to let him go. I just wanted to let you know.”

Taken aback, I acted like I knew he had been fired. "That’s ok Martina. Sometimes things just don’t work out.” And I turned my buggy and walked away.

Dressing the boys in their jeans getting them ready for our morning walk, the phone rang. As the phone was on the floor where I sat with the boys, I crawled over to it and grabbed it on the fourth ring.

“Hello,” I answered breathlessly.

“Is this the Tanner residence?” the voice on the other end asked.

“Yes, it is. Who is calling?”

“This is Bob Martin. I am Jimmy’s boss and I was wondering since he hasn’t shown up for work in the past few days if it is ill?”

Jimmy had been gone on a “business” trip for the past few days and I assumed his boss would know that. “Yes, he is home, Mr. Martin, but he has been very sick. I thought he had called you,” I lied.

“No, but I am sure he meant to. Is he getting better?”

“He is coming along. I’ll tell him you called and have him call you,” I lied again. "Before you hang up Mr. Martin, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes, you may,” he answered sounding a little annoyed.

“Are you Skeet Martin from Santa Rita, Tx?” I asked.

He got really quiet and I could hear the sound of his squeaky office chair as he apparently leaned back after my question. It took a second or two before he replied. “Beth?”

I got quiet then. “Yes, it is she.”

“How are you? I haven’t heard a thing about you in years,” he said.

Even though it had been years since we had spoken, I had to be blunt about what was really going on with Jimmy. I trusted this man. I knew him and his family to be honest, loving souls. So I told him that Jimmy had been gone for about 5 days on what he called a business trip.

Skeet told me the last time he had seen Jimmy was when he came by to pick up his paycheck which was about a week ago. We talked for a few minutes more and then hung up. Tears streamed down my face as I had no idea what was going on.

That evening, I learned where Jimmy was. A year later he was convicted of a sexual assault and was sentenced to 15 years in prison.

Life goes on as they say. And it did go on. Luckily Jimmy had not touched my savings account as he did not know about it. I had gathered my boys and my belongings and moved back home to my parents where I attended college. Somehow I managed to get a good job with a law firm and trudged on trying to support myself and the boys.

In those years of discovering myself I made mistake after mistake in trying to find love again. I apparently did not know what love was. I had it once, maybe twice in my life but they were far and few in-betweens.

Before I knew it, 30 years had passed. My boys were grown and doing well on their own. I had two beautiful grandchildren, a successful career and had adjusted to the life of a divorcee. I was satisfied with my accomplishments and took full credit.

Another 10 years had passed me by when I got a phone call telling me my dear cousin, Tomi, had passed away. I knew she had been dealing with cancer for a few years and apparently she could no longer fight it. I packed to go to Santa Rita for the funeral. It would be a three hour lonely drive. The closer I got to Santa Rita memories began flooding in. The scenery was so familiar. I thought about my cousins, those fun-filled summers and boom! Skeet! Would he be there? Tomi was his cousin, too. I knew he would be there.

I stood back from the crowd of family members and tried to blend in amongst everyone without being noticed. Standing in the old hay field that was now the family cemetery of the Martins, I listened to the preacher. At times, I lifted my eyes slightly in search of nobody in particular. But it was someone in particular I was looking for. But I didn’t see him. I probably wouldn’t recognize him anyway. It had been a good 40 years. I knew he would not recognize me. Man, what time does to a youngster who once was graced with firm skin and a full head of sun-bleached hair was hard to accept. I remembered that quiet teenager who stood tall and proud with tanned skin and shapely legs. No, he would not recognize this old, gray haired grandma.

Following the ceremony, we all gathered for the fellowship at the old farm house. Gosh, it was small. The dining room, which at one time held three big beds to hold those rambunctious boys, was now home to a dining room table. I stood there lost in thought and then slowly moseyed outside to where that porch swing swung in the gentle breeze. I laughed at the thought of remembering the boys holding Tomi down and farting on her head. My goodness, those boys thought that was funny. While I stood there with my water glass, biting on my fingernails trying to let go of the memories, I felt something gentle hit me on my head. I brushed it away. Then I felt another tap, then another tap on my shoulder. My water sent a gentle splash on my face from something that had fallen inside. A blueberry was floating on the top. Then there was another one. I looked around to see where these things were coming from. He was standing next to the blueberry bush tossing those blasted stain producing berries up and down in his hand. He was dressed in black jeans, gray shirt and black leather vest and cowboy boots. Gray hair stuck out from under his hat and a nice, close-trimmed beard dressed his face. I would not have recognized him if he had not shown that big smile of his.

I turned facing him and with a smile I asked, “Do you remember the blueberry smudge on my white jeans?”

“I remember the white jeans,” he joked. He walked a little slower but he climbed the steps and took me in his arms.

A year later, dressed in a white lacy blouse and my new white jeans, Skeet and I exchanged vows. We were pronounced husband and wife on that same old porch of that same old farm house in Santa Rita, Tx. Our cousin, John, (from my side of the family and Skeet’s side) had us turn around and greet the rest of the cousins. After announcing our union, the blue berries began flying all around us.