Mississippi Cotton by Paul H. Yarbrough Read Free Book Online

long time away. I once asked my grandmother why some places seemed this way. She told me it was because it was a family home. And to Southerners, family was the most important thing next to God. She said Yankees, though cordial, would when first meeting ask what the other did. Southerners meeting for the first time would ask where the other was from. Or, ‘who are your people?’
     
     
    “Momma said you get the top bunk or the bottom one,” Taylor said.
    “Okay, I’ll take the top.” I took the top since Farley and I didn’t have bunk beds.
    Casey and Taylor each had their own room, connected by double doors which stayed open when somebody was sleeping-over. Both rooms had bunk beds.
    There was a bedroom for their sister, Cousin Sally, but it had a regular bed and a big mirror and a bunch of pink things, and stuffed bears and kittens and other pretty useless stuff. We were not allowed in her room under any circumstances. Girls’ rooms were like national monuments. You could know about them, even look at them from a distance. But if you trespassed on them, it was like a national crime.
    Sally had won a scholarship to Vanderbilt in Nashville and had stayed in Nashville for some extra classes over the summer. I would sleep on the top bunk for the next three weeks and stay as far away from her room as possible.
    “So are we goin’ to the picture show tonight?” Casey asked. He was two years younger than Taylor and me, so a lot of the time when he wanted to do something, he made it a question.
    “There’s an Abbot and Costello one on tonight,” Taylor answered.
    “Yeah, whatever y’all wanna do,” I said. Actually I wanted to go and had hoped they would bring it up. Friday night—picture show night.
    “Daddy’ll take us into town and pick us up after it’s over. Better get your stuff out of the suitcase and stuff it in a drawer. Momma always wants things put away.”
    “Just shove it under the bed,” Casey said.
    “You better not listen to him,” Taylor said.
    Taylor had no sooner spoken than Cousin Carol walked in and began giving instructions, the kind that were about organizing clothes so you could find them, and that neatness kind of stuff. It was the same kind of thing my mother always said. And you had to do it.
    “Now y’all help Jake put up his clothes. He can use the bottom drawer of your chest-of-drawers, Taylor. Be sure and fold them. Don’t just dump them in. And hang your Sunday clothes on a hanger in the closet. What do y’all have planned for tonight?”
    “Picture show, if it’s okay.”
    “It’s okay with me if it’s okay with your daddy. He’s the one that’s got to drive you back and forth. Now Jake can wear what he’s got on if he wants, but you boys are going to have to put on something nicer than those overalls. And you both have to bathe. You’re filthy.”
    “Where is Big Trek?” It wasn’t considered rude if you called a relative by a family nickname.
    “Oh, that’s right,” Carol said. “You didn’t know. Well, he’s in Clarksdale ‘til Wednesday. Just a little business.” She tried to hide a smile. “Or so he says. Probably just swapping old stories, mostly. But you’ll see him Wednesday. He’s sure looking forward to seeing you.” She turned back to Casey and Taylor. “Let’s see now, what time does the picture show start—about seven fifteen. Now y’all get to moving, if you’re going to bathe. It’s almost five and we’re going to eat around six.”
    Suppertime was a big event at my cousins’, just like at our house in Jackson. It seemed like the biggest part of the day. Everybody was at the table, and there was plenty to eat. You had to keep track of your manners, all the knife and fork stuff. No talking with your mouth full, and absolutely no playing with your Jello, like at school. But you got to relax and listen to everybody’s stories from the day. We ate in the kitchen, one of the few rooms without a ceiling fan. It had one of those