Vanishing the Box

Foreword

It has hit me recently like a ton of bricks what this world is. It is a place of constant, nearly self-perpetuating decline, both materialistically and morally. Society at large, worldwide, is like a voracious living entity self-destructing, and very intent on taking as many fellow human members down with it as possible; taking them slowly so not to raise suspicion within its masses, methodically for the same reason; plus for thoroughness of control. Viewed as a single living entity, this world of peopled societies is at least malevolently sinister and eventually very menacing to all organic life. Societies were historically originated and spearheaded via ancient male assessments of reality: Get it while you can, and Only the strong survive. Eventually it was established in the world of Christianity that: Man was created by God in God’s own image, as if nothing else was. These assessments have survived, at least here in America, until today.

The only escape for an individual from these strongly held beliefs is within an individual’s psyche, the true inner self, via a very personal decision to not be party to further self-decline regardless of one’s loss of control over every day affairs, and an obvious impending death. And convincing someone else to follow you into your imagined, though believed, escape is not your concern. What you alone imagine, believe and do should be your only concern.

I believe you are obligated to teach principally by benevolent example only. Your life is all life, and people are who and what they are because of whom and what they have been. And my guess is that most people have been party to the decline since the beginning of humanity.

But anyone can change at any time. It is always time for any portion of humanity to steer clear of the path of deterioration it has been on, and has been at the same time creating. Only a precious few will steer clear. Though fortunately, the way forward is simple: Working with nature instead of against it, and attempting to control it. That is the only clue one needs to start achieving total escape from a cancerous decay into humankind made hell.

George Middlebrooks

CHAPTER 1

In 1988 he was born George Timmerson Middlebrooks after his Grandfather named Timmerson J. Middlebrooks. George thought for a while when he first started grammar school he would adopt the nickname Tim. But then he saw a Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens on TV and learned about the character Tiny Tim, and abruptly decided against the nickname. George was not tiny, nor did he want to be Tiny. He was big for his age, six years old, and looked forward to being the big man his family expected him to be.

Three years into grammar school and his classmates nicknamed him Tiny because he was so much bigger than the other children. George detested the nickname, but that simply encouraged them to call him Tiny more often, but not often to his face of course. No matter, the nickname stayed with him until he was in high school where it lost footing with his peers. George was glad for that. Now, if he wanted to, he could pop someone in the nose if they called him Tiny, and he was called that a few times. But a displeased frown was all that was ever needed to put an end to any person calling him that again. George was big and strong, rough looking, very quiet, and not obviously social. Most of the kids in the high school were afraid of him. But their fears were not founded in the actualities of George Middlebrooks. He was not aggressive in any way. He was kind and considerate. Being the only George in that high school he was known by his classmates, friends and teachers simply as George.

He was growing up in a rural-like community, though some of the people where he lived felt it was "the country," and they called it that. There were occasional chickens, pigs and cows here and there-about and there were also a few hay fields and barns in the area. If the city limit sign was not so glitteringly bright green and obvious to passersby on the main road going out of George’s community of Cedar Hills, one would naturally assume they were in the country. But annexation had taken place twenty years earlier before George was born. Cedar Hills blended well with the surrounding country land, though the proof of it being within the city limits was well documented in many ways on paper in the court house, in the city of Langston Tennessee.

George’s father, named Clarence, was a steel worker, and traveled to work sometimes a hundred miles or more, where often he stayed in motels, so he was rarely at home. When George was a junior in high school his mother and father separated, and his father was never home after that. And then at the end of his junior year word came that Clarence had been killed on the job. His mother, Mildred, was already heartbroken about the separation, and when she heard that Clarence had been killed in a horrible way she became psychologically imbalanced, and it became necessary to live with her sister. That left George alone in their small four room house in Cedar Hills.

He was seventeen at the time, and would be a senior in high school when fall came around after the soon to come and quickly developing hot summer. George needed money and would have to get a job somewhere to buy the food and other things he needed. And if the state juvenile authorities found out he was seventeen and living alone he could be taken by them and put in an orphanage for a year when he would then be considered of age. But his mother and aunt and other relatives knew this could happen and kept quiet about his age, even lying on occasion to keep him in Cedar Hills.

George told the people he talked to about a job that he was eighteen, and they believed him. On every application he filled out he subtracted a year from his birth date. A plumber named Willy Greer hired him to be his helper, and George spent the summer of his seventeenth year crawling under houses with pipe wrenches and other plumber’s paraphernalia doing the hard grunt work Willy was becoming too old to do.

George was nowhere near as mean as he looked. Actually he was a gentle natured person and kind to all people young or old. You be kind to me and I’ll be kind to you was something he thought, and said on occasion. Willy Greer liked him, and quickly gave him more responsibility and a raise.

When fall came, and school, George’s mother was no better and still living with her sister. He was sad about his mother’s illness, but he now had the opportunity to do what he had wanted to do for quite a few years. He quit going to school. His reasoning was that he felt he would never want the so called opportunities that were said to come with graduating high school, and he definitely knew he would never attend college.

Willy Greer was pleased, though he fretted for a while about George’s truancy. But Willy was getting old and was pretty sure he would never find anyone who could replace George if he lost him for the time he would be attending high school. Willy already had several big jobs lined up, and without George the possibility existed that he might lose them. So he ignored away his fatherly concerns and welcomed George aboard his small and declining plumbing business. George’s absence in school was not thoroughly investigated, and soon it was forgotten about.

He was a fast learner when he was interested, and during the following three years he learned a lot about plumbing work, but very little about the plumbing business. He wasn’t interested in the business end of it, not until Willy became ill and had to stay at home while George attempted to carry on with the work. But after the jobs that Willy had obtained ran out, George was suddenly without employment.

In the early spring of that year his mother abruptly developed pneumonia, and following a short stay in the hospital she died. And then, without any sort of previous indication it was told to him by the lawyer his mother had been using, that the house and large lot in Cedar Hills, and an old farm house on ten acres of land in the country, had been left to him by his mother. His Father Clarence had bought the country property one year before he died, and had written into his will that on the event of his death the properties should go to his wife and son. George knew nothing about it, and Mildred, his mother, had been so concerned with her depression that she neglected to tell him about the property ten miles from Cedar Hills.

Early in the morning that spring day, two weeks after his mother’s funeral, George walked out Finely Pike to look at the house and ten acres. He took a backpack with a bottle of water in it, a sleeping bag and some food. He planned to stay the night and then walk back the next day.

He had no idea what the house or acreage would be like, only that the house was old and empty and needed much repair. But he had been told the roof was in good condition, and that there was no obvious rot anywhere on the house.

This was true, but the two story house was old. He found out later that it had been built in 1920. Jonquils and iris were growing abundantly along bank at the road, and jonquils were blooming in the front yard. A stone sidewalk, covered with the fallen leaves of three oak trees in the front yard, wound from the house, through a weed choked yard to a dilapidated stone staircase descending down a four feet high bank to the road. As he walked along the stone sidewalk to the house George thought of the title of the old movie Time Traveler, and wondered about the people who had first lived in the old house.

Spanning the front of the wood framed structure was a long porch at the second story level above another long porch at ground level. The green roof extended out to cover the two porches. A wood balustrade was protracted along the front of the upper porch decking. He thought the house might be a hundred years old. He was wrong. As he would soon learn it was 67 years old.

It had been built with all hardwoods. So it was a resilient structure, but had not been lived in for ten years, and had never been abused by fire, termites, or wind damage. It could use a coat of paint. George thought he might give it one at some time in the near future.

He stood on the stone walkway and looked at the house. You’ve been waiting for me haven’t you? he said, Now that my father can’t come. He heard crows cawing somewhere close by. And then he thought of daydreams his father might have had about living there one day. George was sad about his father dying, but was aware he hadn’t been much of a father when he was alive. He wondered if the house was somehow a gift from him to make up for shabby parenting.

One walk through the house and he knew he wanted to live there. I’ll try to sell the house in Cedar Hills and live out here for a while off the money, he told himself out loud. I love it out here! he added. Crows cawed from a northerly direction, and not far away.

CHAPTER 2

It would take a while for the house in Cedar Hills to sell. He locked the doors and gave its keys to the real-estate company selling it, and walked back to the house in the country. He had already made several trips out to it with some canned food, coffee, and a few other things he intended to keep. A Cedar Hills neighbor with a pickup truck took his bed and chest of drawers, and other items too large or cumbersome to carry walking. George had saved five hundred dollars, so he was not totally broke, but he knew he would soon need more money for food and other things. Getting the electricity turned on, and then seeing that the well pump worked would have to wait.

But it was turning summer time, and it would be several months before he would actually need electricity, for hot water and lights mostly he thought.

He enjoyed walking through the old, empty house, stopping in each room to imagine the people who had lived there, what they might have been like, and what their dreams could have been. The place was very dusty and trash was strewn throughout. The old wallpaper in several of the rooms was peeling away from the three inch, tongue and groove, oak wall boards. In one room there lay a dead Cooper’s hawk on the hardwood floor. Its body had been torn apart by rats and other animals, and what was left was dry and dusty like the oak wood floors. Ants crawled to and fro among the feathered remains. A long string of ants went from the bird’s decaying body to a wall, and then disappeared in a crack where the shoe molding ran loosely along the junction of floorboards and baseboard.

In another upstairs room a dry and lifeless snake skin is crumpled in the middle of the dusty floor. It caused George to decided he needed to clean the whole house. He had liquid dish soap but wondered how he was to get water. A voice spoke to him from behind: Howdy, the man said.

George turned and saw a small, skinny, Black man standing in the bedroom doorway. You know the people who own iss house? the man said.

I own it. Who are you?

You do? I thought Clarence owned it.

Clarence was my father. He died, so did my mother. I own it now.

Zat right?

Zat right, George said. "What is your name?

"Benny Howe. I live down the road a ways. You own iss house shonuff?’

Shonuff. Pleased to meet you Benny. My name is George Middlebrooks. My father was Clarence Middlebrooks. He was a steel worker and had a bad accident.

Sorry to hear at. I liked Clarence.

I liked him to but he was hardly ever around. You know him well?

Naw, I’d see him down here and I’d come by an chat with im. You gonna fix iss ol’ house up?

I’m gonna clean it up a little and live in it. But there ain’t no water. The electric ain’t on so there ain’t no pump working at the well. I guess I’ll have to haul water out here until I can get the electric turned on, and probably fix the pump if there is one.

You por as me looks like. You gotta a spring about a hundred yards at a-way. Good water. It runs down behine our house, an’ I gotta pump out back air. Ye ont me to show it to ya?

The spring? Shoot yeah! That’s great!

Benny turned in the doorway. Foller me, he said.

He went down the stairs, out the front door and through the weedy yard to the back of the house, and then to a privet hedge at the edge of the back yard. The hedge was large, tall and about a hundred feet long, and was in bloom. This ol’ hedge smells good don’t it? Benny said.

So it’s the hedge that smells sweet?

Yep. Hit’s the Amur River Privet Hedge.

Is that right? How do you know?

I worked at a nursery when I was younger, Benny said.

How old are you now?

Close to Fity, I reckon.

Don’t you know for sure?

Naw, I ain’t got no birt’ certific. I go by memory mostly, what momma toll me, at I can remember. Hit don’t matter I reckon does it?

I reckon not. How far away is this spring? George asked as they began to enter the dark woods behind the house.

Bout a football field away. It ain’t fur. Reckon you’ll make it?

I’ll make it.

You sa damn big I thought maybe you’d kill over for we got air.

I ain’t that big.

You damn big, one of the biggest fellers I ever seen.

They’s lots bigger’n me.

Zat so? You know anybody?

I guess not.

I guess not too. The spring’s just right through yonder a bit more. You gonna make it?

Not a problem. You?

I’m fine. Thanks fer askin’, Benny said.

It was a warm, sunny spring morning. The leaves of trees and other shrubbery were either fully or partially developed, and those of tall trees largely obliterated the blue sky above the old, mostly deciduous, forest behind George’s house.

Shor is a pretty day, George said.

Sho-nuff. I like sprang better’n all em others, Benny said. You like sprang?

Yeah. I like winter too.

Shoooo. You can have all at snow an’ ice and frigid shit. Rat now, I like it rat now.

What kind of work you do? George asked him.

The easy kind. I gotta bad heart, disabled. I walk a lot, but I don’t work no more. I used to paint houses. You gonna paint that ol’ house. I can tell ya how.

I might. I bet that’s the spring right yonder, George said.

At’s it, best water around. Less get us a drank.

They knelt at the pool of water that seemed to emanate from beneath a large, moss splotched boulder. Benny scooped the water up with his hand and sipped. And then he got another. George copied him. This is good water, George said.

Sweet, Benny said. I drank too much of it, until I get heartburn."

What is that weed growing in the water?

That ain’t no weed. At least I don’t call it a weed. Watercress. Hit grows all down iss branch all a-way pass my place. We eat the heck out of it.

Eat it?

Sho! Watercress is good, and damn good fo’ ye. Get’s ye a bite of it. You’ll like it.

George pulled a sprig and nibbled at it. Dang! he said, and got more. It’s kinda spicy like a raddish.

Hit’s in the cabbage family, good fo’ you too. Hit’s got lots a-vitamin C and A.

How come you know so much about it?

I just know a little ‘bout it. My Grandma tol’ me lots about plants. She knew a bunch about ‘em, good eaten plants.

And she taught you?

Tried to. I guess I learned a lot, but not like she wanted me to. I thought she knowed ever thang about wild herbs and such.

I’d like to learn about ‘em, George said.

You ever eat poke salad?

Nah. I think I’ve heard about it though.

We can find some right around here. If I take it home and get my wife to cook it, and some beans an’ cornbread, wi’ you come down an’ eat with us?

George looked at him. You ain’t feelin’ sorry for me are you?

Hell no. Do I need to feel sorry fo’ ye?

Hell no.

So you comin’?

Hell yeah, George said, and Benny smiled.

They walked for about fifteen minutes further back through the woods to more open and weeded spots where Benny found many young shoots of poke salet and cut them with his pocket knife. George took his T shirt off and wrapped them with the shirt. Soon they had plenty and Benny said so. I’ll get these on back to Miranda an’ she’ll cook ‘em up fine. You like white beans and sweet taters?

Shoot yeah.

All righty ‘en. It’ll take all afternoon to cook ‘em beans. We the first house on the right on down the road there. You come about six?

I’ll be there Benny, and thanks!

Jus’ bein’ neighborly, Benny said. I’ll see ye ‘en.

***

Miranda stood in their doorway and waved at George as he came through the yard. A lazy looking old hound dog came sheepishly out to him. Its tail wagged slowly back and forth. Spike, get your old butt back up here, Miranda said. Spike ignored her.

He’s alright, George said. I like dogs, old dogs especially.

Don’t tell ‘im at, Miranda said. He already thanks he’s special. He’s a stray.

I expect he is, George said, giving Spike one more head pat.

I reckon, Miranda said. You gotta be George. You big just like Benny said you was.

Yeah I’m George, he said stepping onto the porch.

I’m Miranda. Benny is out back at the outhouse. Come on in. Supper is just about ready. My Daddy’s brother Sid was big like you, but Daddy was scrawny like Benny.

I heard at, Benny said coming through the back door."

But Benny is my one an’ only sweet lover man.

I heard at too, he said. How come you don’t tell me at?

I do an’ you know it.

I know. I jus’ wanted to hear you talk it to George air.

He’s a mess is what he is, she said to George. George smiled.

George thought Miranda was very pretty. She was twenty years younger than Benny and still had a sexy curvaceous figure. She and her clothes were clean, and her hair was neatly brushed. Her fingernails were painted a bright red which were eye catching and attractive. She put her hand out and gently touched Benny’s lips with the knuckles of her hand. He smiled at her.

Benny said you liked sweet taters and beans. I got cornbread too. An’ I scratched up two pies.

I hope you didn’t do nothin’ special for me. I’m gonna like whatever you have.

She makes pie all a time. I toll ‘er you wadden special a tall.

Benny!!

I ain’t. I guess Momma thought I was.

I’m sure she did. Benny ain’t got no manners.

He must know he don’t need none around me, George said. Benny grinned.

Benny and George sat in the living room and Miranda brought them cups of coffee. As soon as these pork steaks are cooked we’ll eat, she said, and went back to the kitchen.

Pork steaks? That sounds good.

Yeah, I like ‘em, Benny said. Miranda don’t eat no meat, no eggs ner nothin’. She’s been tryin’ to get me to do at. I can see it but I can’t shake my addicted.

You think you are addicted to it.

I can’t shake it. I tried.

At’s all he does is try. He don’t never do it, Miranda said.

You evesdroppin’?

I’z walkin’ inta the room. I know what you say anyways.

What’s wrong with meat? George asked.

Nothin’s wrong with it, just eatin’ it I think, Miranda said. All at fat and blood, and salt. Whew!! It’s enough to make a person sick, me anyways. Benny here will eat the ring out of a cat’s behind. Want’s you Benny?

You didn’t cook no cat’s behind did you?

No sir. Just them ol’ bloody pork steaks you bought. But if I did you’d eat it.

I probably would, he said. Specially when we got poke salad.

Salet, Miranda corrected him.

Same thang, Benny said. You gonna like iss grub George. Hit’s real country.

I bet I do. This is good coffee Miranda.

Thanks. They’s plenty.

A few minutes later she called them. It’s ready!

Benny sang: Poke salad Benny!" as he got up from the couch.

They went into the kitchen and sat at an old enamel top table. I ain’t never seen a table like this one, George said.

This was Miranda’s momma’s table at she growed up with. It’s about a hunnert years old. Almost as old as Miranda.

I know that’s a lie, George said, her age I mean.

You jus’ kissin’ up, Benny said.

My Momma didn’t raise no fool. Miranda is younger than you an’ she shor looks it. She is pretty an’ you…well you are just you.

Dad burn, Miranda said. You can come to supper any time.

What have I done now? Benny said. Two again one is whitey fun! Pass me at poke salad Miranda. Let me show George how it’s done.

Let’s say a blessing first. Either one a-yaw wanna do it? Miranda said. Both men were silent.

"OK, I will. Let’s hold hands. Lord we thank you for this day, and Benny and I thank you for this visit from George. We thank you for the opportunity to share this fine food for the nourishment of our bodies an’ we give you all the praise.

Ok, dive in, she said.

What is this yellow in the poke? George said. It looks like eggs.

It is eggs, Miranda said. That is how Benny likes it. I’ve got some over here without eggs. But you eat eggs don’t you?"

Sure do.

OK, spoon you out some, and squeeze some of this fresh lemon on it. And if you don’t like the eggs, I made enough without eggs and you can have some of it. Fork any lemon seed out on the table. That’s what we do. I’ll get ‘em later. We got vinegar too.

He spooned some out, put lemon juice on it, raked three seeds out onto the table beside his plate and took a bite. Dang! This is great!

Whad I tell ye? Benny said. Gets ye some ‘em white beans, an try some-uh Miranda’s chow-chow. There ain’t none better nowheres.

An here’s ye a big ol’ baked sweet tator, Miranda said, And the butter is right here. You want sugar for it?

Naw, just like it is with butter is fine.

That’s sweet tea in your glass. I went ahead and sweetened it. There’s the cornbread and slaw, jus hep yourself.

Wow, George said. What a meal. Y’all eat like this a lot?

Shooo, Benny said. "Miranda can cook up some fine vittles lemme tell ye. I don’t know why I stay sa scrawny. But let me be clear about it. I jus’ don’t care.

Benny sang: Poke salad Annie, got a big fat fanny. Poke salad Bennie, ain’t got any but Miranda’s got plenty,…..poke salad Benny.

He ain’t got good sense in case you ain’t figured at out yet, Miranda said.

I’m on to it, George said.

They ate in silence for a while. And then Miranda spoke. Y’all ain’t waste’n no time scarfin’ at down.

Benny might accuse me of kissin’ up, but this is the best food I ever ate, George said.

I would except I know you tellin’ the truth. Miranda’s got that magic touch.

Now he’s kissin’ up for sure, Miranda said.

Is it workin’? Benny wanted to know.

It always works. I probly ought’s get my head examined.

Yo head is jus’ fine, better’n your cookin’, an at’s sayin’ a truthful lot. Benny said.

You are just evil, she said and grinned. Benny winked at George.

Guess what I got for after we eat? Benny said to George.

I got no clue.

Homemade elderberry wine, two year old. You like homemade wine?

I never had any, but I probly will.

Now it’s my turn to kiss up. Benny makes the best wine I ever tasted. And that elderberry is top notch, Miranda said.

Elderberry? What is that?

Wild elderberry, grows all around out here. I’ll show it to ya. They won’t be no berries on it till late summer but hit’s a growin’ right along. I’m gonna pick ‘em again this year an’ make more wine. After you drink some you’ll want me to show you how to make it.

Will ya?

Hell no!