Fried Green Tomatoes

Bennie and I stood in the garage talkin'. I was reading his lips so I wouldn't miss a word of his old time Southern black wisdom. He shook his head, and stared off into the distant green of the pioneer forest across the street.

They never did do anything with that land the bulldozers ravaged the horrible week after we moved here. They just left my woods in terrible upturned heaps of ripped tree roots and branches. But now God is growing it up again the way I desperately asked Him to do.

Bennie looked down, and a big smile spread over his face. He said, "Shewt! Ain't nothi' like fried green tomatas and fish!"

Using his say-only-half-the-word dialect he told how his "gran'ma would ta'e a bunch o' dem pi' needles like dem up yonder in dat tree, and bol dem in wata and den put in a spoo' o' suga' - Ah mean real sugacane suga'- and a cut up lemon. Stir it arou' and drink it fo' da congentyin in the no' and forehea'. Oo, ee, dat really wors!"

What will I do in June, when the day comes for leaving behind chats with Bennie on the doorstep of this house, where we've lived for three years? How did I get from, "Get me out of here," to now having a lump in my throat about saying good-bye? Why is it all so surprisingly wrenching?

There were nights when I used to jerk bolt upright out of a deep sleep and say, "I know what I'll do! I'll pack my suitcase right now, and catch a plane back up north today!" I used to pour it all out on long distance phone calls to my infinitely patient daughters, and they'd listen and love me.

I used to walk around this backyard feeling like I was trapped in some kind of time warp, screaming in my mind to get out. Finally I tore down several walls in our house and put in a pool, hardwood floors, and painted every wall in sight.

But I didn't realize the problem was homesickness, until we made our first trip back north. As we drove up the driveway of our old house, I burst into tears. "THIS IS MY HOUSE!" I blubbered.

But then, yesterday I almost cried again, only this time it was when I walked into my bank. Ms. Eula and Ms. Shenetra said, "Oh, Ms. Sylvia, we are going to miss yew when yew go away. Wah do yew have to move?"

That's what they all say, "Wah do yew have to mewve?" And wah Michigan? It's sew cold; it snows up there!" Moving anywhere is a very puzzling concept, actually living anywhere other than dear ol' Mississippi is hard, but if you add to that, actually CHOOSING to go away up into yankeeland, it is almost unimaginable, off the radar.

They are like me years ago. One day Bob came to me and said, "Newfoundland," and I said, "Where?" Then he said, "Hamilton" and I said, "Where?" Then it was "Windsor;" then "Pennsylvania" and "Detroit;" then "Galveston!" then "Tampa;" then "Detroit" again; then "Mississippi!" and each time until now I said, "Where?"

But I will miss these dear Mississippians. There's Ms. Liz in Wal-Mart who calls me "darlin'" when we tawk about arth-eritis and nutrition at her station by the fitting rooms. There are the ladies who discuss Sunday School at Curves every Monday. There's Jimmy OK in his trailer down the road with his big, shining white smile and his dialect so thick, I can only guess what it is he's so happy about.

There's Ms. Pearl who first stepped over the poison ivy in the woods from her house next door to be my first friend. It was she who rescued me with her hugs and prayers, her little Bible verse bookmarks and constant talkin' about Jesus.

There's Cherrie who laughs all the time about how redneck she is, and Robin who laughs all the time just because, and who showed up at my front door one day our first week here to drive Rob to the waterpark along with her precious son, who became Rob's first friend. The two of them still chuckle way into the night, when Rob sleeps over after youth group.

And then there's the dear, laid back parents of his second friend, who is "quiet just like Eric up north." They've given an open invitation for Rob to stay at their place in the woods when he visits. There's the easy, friendly Texan drawl of the mom and dad of his third good friend with the fresh innocent smile, standing tall and lanky in his cowboy boots.

For that matter there are all the mammas of all the boys in Rob's wonderful ninth grade class/football team/basketball team/tennis team. And the daddies too and brothers, who play with James and Peter, because God sweetly reached down and matched them all up so nicely age-wise.

Then there's Ms. Virginia who drives up my driveway once a month, never fails, to pop in the kitchen door for a hug. She is the one who tells me to splash on the bright colored paint. And she is the one who says, "Tell Maggie ours will be her home away from home after y'all leave."

I could go on about the teachers and coaches at school who plan on hiding our boys on moving day. And my dear friend Sherry, who has been here twice as long as we have and understands. We lean on each other.

But I will stop there for now. God has been good to us, and He it is who walks us through the bright sunshiny days and the dark places too. He it is who sends the angels to encourage us, and He it is who will go with us withersoever we goeth, because He truly is the dearest Friend we could ever lean on.

I can't imagine leaning on my "own understanding," coming OR going. But when I do go, I will take more than fried green tomatoes, grits and cornbread. I'll take the people in my heart, and I know I'll cry.