Black Eyed Peas and Pork

  “I’ve lost a lot of things in my life, but this is the first time I ever lost a boot.”

  “You old fool,” Lana said. “I’ve never heard of anyone losing one boot.”

  Everett picked at the hole in the toe of his sock. “You ever heard of anyone finding a boot?” he asked. “You should be looking for it.”

  “Not my boot.”

  “What about this hole in my sock?”

  “It’s not my sock either.”

  Everett wiggled his toe. “It’s a good thing it’s spring,” he said. “Otherwise I’d have a cold toe.”

  “Take that sock off and I’ll sew it,” Lana said.

  “Sew me up a boot, that’s what I need.”  Everett rubbed the white stubble on his face. “I should have married a squaw. You white women are too uppity.”

  “You should have married the dog that stole your boot,” Lana said. “I’m going in to fix dinner.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Black eyed peas and pork,” Lana said.

  Everett mouthed the words with her. He never knew what dinner was until he got to the table. His wife didn’t like being asked about dinner. For forty years he’d heard the same thing: black eyed peas and pork.

  “I should’ve married your sister. She’s got a more even disposition.”

  “She wouldn’t have you,” Lana said. “That’s why I got you. You weren’t the best apple in the basket.”

  “I might not have been the prettiest, but I sure was the sweetest.”

  Lana laughed as she went in the house. Everett sat his hat on the step beside him. He liked spring best of all. He wasn’t sure how many more he had left in him, but he’d like to see one more after this one if he could.

  The grass would need cutting soon and he thought he could smell the fresh cuttings as he sat there. The long winter had tired him, more than ever before. The snow had been deep and lasted a long time, and the last ice storm had shut them in for more than a week. If it hadn’t been for her he might have gone crazy. Not that she was that entertaining—she kept to herself most of the time, but just having her there meant the most.

  He saw the dog at the far end of the yard; he was carrying Everett's boot. Everett got up and walked into the yard. The grass felt soft on his socked foot, soft and cool. When he got close the dog took off.

  “Come on, Roy,” he said. “Bring me that boot.”

  Roy bounced ahead of Everett when he tried to catch him, the boot flopping in his mouth. Everett picked up a stick and shook it at Roy. “Come and get it, boy. Let’s play chase the stick.”

  Roy watched him carefully. He let the boot drop from his mouth as Everett faked a throw.

  “Are you ready, Roy? Let’s play chase the stick.” Everett threw it as far and high as he could, and Roy jumped up and ran after it. Everett sat on the grass next to his boot and wiped the slobber from the leather. Then he folded the toe of his sock under his foot and pulled the boot on. Roy came running back with the stick.

  “If I was as stupid as you,” Everett said, “I’d have a basket of sticks and not a boot to stand on.”

  Everett got up and walked to the house and Roy followed. Night was falling and the shadows of the two big walnut trees shaded the house. Everett saw the light go on inside the house. At the steps he grabbed the stick and pulled on it.

  “Let go of it,” he said. “I can’t throw it with you attached.”

  Roy let go and Everett threw again and went inside.

  Lana was in the kitchen and Everett could hear the makings of dinner. He sat in the rocker by the wood stove, now with only coals inside. It would need a log and he saw several by the side. He reached down to get one but when he did the pain in his chest hit hard and he slumped forward out of the chair. He was on his hands and knees, the chair behind him still rocking as if someone were in it, watching.  He lowered his head to the floor trying to catch his breath when he heard Lana’s footsteps.

  “What are you doing now?” she asked.

  Everett couldn’t answer. The pain in his chest was coming in one hammer hit after another and the fire in his throat made him think his eyes might shoot from his head.

  Lana knew something was wrong. “Everett—Everett! What’s wrong?” She went to her knees beside him and wrapped her arms around his back.

  “Don’t move me,” he said.

  “Oh, no no no,” Lana said. “You’re not leaving me.”

  The pain was less now but his chest felt heavy and Everett was waiting for the next blow. When it didn’t come he took a deep breath, as deep as he dared, thinking to fill his lungs might start the process over again. When it didn’t he took another and tried to control his breathing.

  Lana’s eyes were watering and she wiped them with a hand. She knew what was happening now, knew there was nothing she could do but wait and hope that it didn’t kill him. It was forty miles to town and a doctor.

  “You be quiet now,” she said. “Just be quiet.”

  Everett raised his head and opened his eyes. He could feel his wife’s strong arm around his back and the warmth it held. He leaned into her and let himself sit next to her legs. The pain was gone, now just a weight in his chest. Lana wiped the sweat from his face with the edge of her apron.

  They were facing the window and the dusk of evening had fallen. The light from the kitchen doorway was simple behind them. They stared out the window at the coming darkness and heard Roy howl at something, probably a rabbit . Lana held Everett close and smoothed his hair from his forehead and rocked. Once a man, twice a child—she’d heard her own mother say it but had never understood until now.

  “I’ve spoiled dinner,” Everett said.

  “It’s just peas and pork,” Lana said.