Bubba Jones knew little about the war. It did not directly affect
him that such a terrible thing happened in such a faraway land.
He, like everyone, had known some boys that had left as boys,
but had returned as broken spirited, empty men. According to
the news, the Americans were killing the enemy at the rate of ten
to one. Still, this did not seem to comfort the young widows or
the mothers and sweethearts left behind.
Bubba, too, was in a war, a war that you did not have to go
away to fight. He had grown up fighting prejudice and
ignorance and when you are not like everybody else, you are an
outcast. Bubba was the enemy in his own country. Each day, he
got up and fought a private battle. He faced his enemy every
day. He faced it like a true solider. The enemy Bubba faced wore
no uniform and carried no weapon.
He caught the man in the flannel shirt out of the corner of his
eye pointing at his watch. Bubba reached down and adjusted the
throttle on the front-end loader to where the engine dropped
from a roar to a purr. He could see Sam’s mouth moving but
could not hear the words. Must be quitting time. It was twelve
o’clock Saturday and Sam took his index finger and raked it
across his throat. Bubba smiled and killed the engine on the
tractor.
As he climbed off, Sam walked up to him. “You got ten hours
of overtime already, Bubba. I’d give you some more, but things
are slowing down a little and those idiots in the front office are
checking everyone’s time.”
Bubba smiled. “No prob, Mr. Sam, I appreciate you giving me
what you have. We can use the extra money with Christmas
being right around the corner and all.”
Sam looked at Bubba. “How many kids you got now, Bubba,
with that new baby?”
“I got four, Mr. Sam, won’t be no more though. Ole Doc
Gingham went ahead and fixed my Mary Jane after the last
baby.”
“Well, four is a lot for that trailer y’all live in, Bubba. I have a
three-bedroom house and it doesn’t seem big enough for my
two.”
Bubba again smiled showing his twisted, tarred teeth. “Well,
Mr. Sam, that is because you are rich and educated. It just takes
more room for rich and educated people to live. At our house,
the baby sleeps in our room. Rose Anne got her own being she is
fifteen and thinking she is a woman and everything, and then
the boys share the other room. I will admit it gets a little tight
from time to time but we make do the best we can.”
“That’s the trouble at my house, nobody thinks they’re
supposed to make do. Come on, Bubba, I’m off too, let’s stop at
Zing’s and I’ll buy you a couple of beers.”
“Can’t today, Mr. Sam, I got to get to my part-time job.”
“I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Bubba watched as Sam walked to the parking lot marked
Management Parking. He climbed in his new Chevrolet truck
and bumped the switch to hear the engine fire right off and start
to idle awaiting the next command. After he adjusted his
rearview mirror and fastened his seat belt, Sam pulled away.
Bubba trudged over to the larger parking lot where all the
hourly employees parked. It was almost empty today. What few
cars and trucks were there belonged to the high paid electricia
and maintenance men who looked after the machines on
weekends to make sure they keep on running. They were hourly
employees but they had the best paying jobs in the mill. The
older men could walk up to a running saw and tell if it was
binding or not or cutting straight by simply listening to the song
the blades made Bubba would love to work with this group.
Unfortunately, one had to have a minimum of a high school
education. In fact, some of them had degrees from two-year
colleges, proudly mounted in heavy plastic and placed on the
inside of their locker doors. Some of these men made as much as
five dollars an hour and a few had been with the mill less than a
year.
Bubba had come to the mill the summer after finishing the
tenth grade whereupon at the end of the summer, he never went
back to school. As the middle child of a family of eleven, his
father had been a sharecropper on the Blackstock plantation.
Therefore, when Bubba finished the tenth grade, his father told
him there were just too many mouths to feed and not enough
money to feed them. Bubba had contributed to the family
budget that summer. That fall he and Mary Jane, who had been
his sweetheart since the eighth grade, married and Bubba took
his life savings of two hundred and fifty dollars and put it on a
used mobile home just outside of town. He had gotten a local
finance company to carry the balance at ten percent higher
interest rate than the bank would have loaned the money.
Bubba knew his place in the little sleepy delta town and he
did not bother embarrassing himself or the banker by asking for
a loan. Ten years later Bubba only made two dollars and fifty
cents an hour. Still, he had a reputation as being one of the
hardest workers at the mill. This did not help him with
promotions, but it did afford him a lot of overtime. The truth
was, Bubba had always been just a little slow and could barely
read and he lacked writing skills. In school, the teachers had
simply passed him figuring he would drop out eventually.
Mary Jane did all the reading and writing in the family. Yet ever
bill was paid or one decision made, nor a report card ever signed
until Bubba gave his approval. It had been this way their entire
married life and Mary Jane had no desire to change anything
about it. Early in the marriage, Bubba had walked in, laid his
check on the table, and told her to pay what needed to be paid.
That night she told her huge, slow-minded loving husband that
any decision made in the family, big or small, would be a joint
decision. If Bubba had ever had any reservations about
marrying Mary Jane, they vanished.
All of Bubba’s checks and overtime went into the family
budget. This was an understood fact. The second job was
another thing altogether. Bubba had held that job for the last five
years. He had inherited it from an older brother who had moved
up north looking for a better life. Bubba kept up Mrs. Violet
Blackburn’s yard and garden. He mowed the yard, pulled the
weeds, and broke the garden every spring. This job paid twenty
dollars a month. The money went to a different person each
month. One month Mary Jane would get the twenty dollars to
do whatever she wanted. This might be a new dress from the
catalogue, a new bedspread, or a day out of the house away
from the kids. There would be enough for a babysitter, a day of
shopping at Wal-Mart or at one of the dime stores in town.
Somehow, even though this was her money, she always
managed to pick up some candy and a cigar for the ones left
behind.
The next time would be kids’ day. They would take them to
town to shop and then to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal. The
next month would be family night. The whole family would
load up and go to the Sizzler Steak House and then to the drivein
movie, if it was not raining or too cold. They would gorge on
popcorn, fountain Cokes, and peanuts. On the way home, the
boys would always get in a burping contest, which was highly
protested by their mother. Rose Anne, the older girl, would
comment about how vulgar this was. Somehow, that always
had an affect on her daddy. He would then burp the longest and
loudest of either of the boys. Everyone would be saying “pee
yew.” Rolling down of all the windows would follow. This
would conclude the Joneses’ family night out.
Bubba’s day would consist of sitting on the feed sacks at the
back of Zing’s store, drinking beer with his pals. He would buy
four or five cigars and they would swap lies and pass the time.
The next day the cookie jar would usually be fifteen dollars
richer.
When Mary Jane asked why, he would always give her the
same answer, “Oh, sweetie pie, I can come home and snuggle up
to you and have a better time than all the money in the world
will buy.” A giggle from Mary Jane and a pat on the rump by
Bubba usually followed.
The only other vice Bubba had was he spent one dollar each
week at Zing’s for a lottery ticket. He had bought this ticket since
the very first Friday he had drawn a check at the mill. In the past
fifteen years no two of his numbers were drawn and it took
seven correct numbers to win. Maybe it was because Bubba was
slow but it never dawned on him how great the odds were
stacked against him. Every Saturday the whole family would be
required to sit in the front of the used black and white television
as Bubba checked his numbers. After each drawing, he would
have a sad look on his face, then turn to his family, and say the
same thing every week.
“Next week, I just feel it, next week we are going to win.” This
is how life has been for the last fifteen years at Bubba Jones’
house.
The next week was Thanksgiving and things were getting
tight financially. Three of the four kids had started back to
school this year and it seemed as if things were getting higher.
Bubba’s checks were not getting any bigger. When Friday rolled
around Bubba went to Zing’s grocery as he did every Friday.
The only thing that made this day any different from any other
Friday was guilt. He thought about the fact that the dollar he
was on the verge of spending would buy a loaf of bread or a handful of pencils. When he pulled into the parking lot at Zing’s
he still wondered what to do. What he saw interrupted his
thoughts. There sat Johnny Brown’s new Camaro. Wherever
that car was, trouble was close.
Johnny had gone off to war a bully and had come back worse.
In his wallet were pictures of dead bodies. Enemy solders he
bragged of killing. Before he had left for war, he often said of the
torture and killing he hoped to find. Now he sat on the feed
sacks in the back of the store, drank beer, and gave all the details
of his twelve months of killing and raping. Still, with this to keep
him busy he would always stop long enough to harass Bubba.
Bubba parked his truck next to the Camaro and reached in his
glove box for a scrap piece of paper and a pencil. He had to do
some figuring today before he bought the ticket. He could not
put his own greed ahead of his family no matter how much he
believed in the lottery and his chance of winning. He licked the
little stubby pencil’s lead and wrote down some letters on the
paper. First, he scratched out a miserable looking “M” and then
a very crooked “T,” followed by a “W,” another “T,” and finally
an “F.” Then he took his pencil and scratched through the
second “T.”
He mumbled aloud, “Thursday is Thanksgiving and it don’t
count.” Next he started back with the “M,” which in his case was
an upside down W. Beside it he carefully wrote: “25.” Then he
moved down the page placing the same number by each letter,
except the second “T.” Then he drew a line under the twentyfive
next to the “F.” Again, he licked the pencil. He wrote a zero
under the line after much thought. The next zero came faster.
Then it was time to think again.
After deliberation, he finally placed a period to the left of the
two zeroes. Again, the pencil lay on his tongue, this time for a
much longer time than before. Finally, with a frown on his face,
he placed a zero to the left of the period. With this done, he felt
confused, he was not sure if he was figuring right.
keeps coming up zeroes
Everything, he thought to himself. With nothing to lose, except starting over, he trusted his judgment and placed
another zero and then a one to the left of that.
He seemed rather stunned at his own ability to figure such a
complex problem. With this success under his belt, he took the
pencil without even licking the lead and placed an “RC” by each
twenty-five. He examined his own form of algebra and then
went down to the dollar and wrote “LT” by it.
Suddenly the light came on. All he had to do was skip the RC
Cola he had with lunch that Mary Jane packed him each day for
one four-day week. He could buy a lottery ticket with no guilt at
all.
With this profound problem worked out, he climbed out of
the truck boldly and proudly walked into Zing’s store and up to
the counter where Zing sat on a stool reading the newspaper.
Seeing Bubba come in brought a smile to the small middle-aged
Chinese man’s face.
He looked up at Bubba and said, “So, Bubba Sahn, you come
in for winning ticket today, do you?”
Bubba smiled back and said, “Yes, sir, Zing.” With that, he
explained he would take 4-9-4-6-1-0-1.
Zing smiled and said, “After all this time, Bubba Sahn, I
should remember that. What does it stand for?” Bubba had no
idea what the numbers stood for. He had used the same ones
since the beginning. His reasoning was eventually they would
come up and he would be a winner.
He grinned. “Zing, those numbers stand for winner.” He
handed the man his dollar. Zing thanked him for his business
and Bubba retreated for the door before Johnny Brown could see
him. Too late, Johnny had just finished his last beer and was
making his way to the cooler for another when he saw Bubba.
“Hey, retard, what are you doing in here, wife send you in for
a box of Kotex?”
Johnny’s pals sitting on the feed sacks began to laugh. Bubba
pretended not to hear the remark and headed on to the door.
This was not good enough for JohnnHe became louder. “Hey, retard, you ain’t deaf, is you, boy?
Don’t you hear me talking to you, son? Don’t make me have to
come over there and lay hand’s on you now.” Again, Bubba
dropped his head and stared at the floor.
Zing interrupted, “No trouble in here! Johnny, I mean it, no
trouble, you hear!” Bubba took the distraction for the time to get
closer to the door. When Johnny looked back at him, he already
had one hand on the doorknob.
“One more step, Bubba, and I’m gonna to have to teach you
a lesson on coming when yore called, you moron!”
Bubba froze in his steps. Suddenly, someone on the other side
pushed the door against his hand. He moved his hand from the
knob and the door swung open. It was Deputy Walker, stopping
by for his afternoon snack of an RC and a pack of peanuts.
Bubba, seeing his chance, walked out the door.
He could hear Johnny in the background saying, “See you
later, Bubba.”
Bubba lost no time getting out the door and into the truck.
After a quick lunch Bubba went to Mrs. Blackburn’s house and
worked until sundown.
The next day, Bubba went to Mrs. Blackburn’s house and
worked until sundown. When he had finished, she paid him and
handed him a sack of groceries.
“Bubba, I was invited out for dinner this year. I won’t need all
this food. Take it home with you.”
“Now, Mrs. Blackburn, you knows Mary Jane and me don’t
cotton to no charity.”
“Fine, Bubba, I won’t be in need of them, and I guess you
don’t want them, either, so do me a favor. Throw the sack in the
garbage when you pass the can, would you?” After some
consideration, he decided waste was worse than charity and
thanked her for the food. When he got home, Mary Jane agreed,
under the circumstances, he had done the right thing.
* * *
The thunder rolled in and the winds picked up outside.
Bubba’s oldest son, Junior, who sat on the floor, blurted out,
“Damn it.”
Mary Jane and Bubba walked into the living room. Mary Jane
swatted him on the mouth. “Boy, you watch that garbage mouth
of yours in my house. I’ll wash it out with lye soap. If you don’t
believe me just let me hear something like that again.
Bubba came up to him and bopped him on the back of the
head. “What’s wrong with you, boy, sitting in my living room
floor cussing like you in some pool hall or something?”
“Pa, the wind done gone and blew the TV antenna around
and everything done turned to snow,” Junior said, rubbing his
head and licking his lips.
Bubba almost fainted. The calling of the winning number
would come after the weather. Bubba headed out to the shed to
get a ladder and he felt the first pelts of rain that came from the
November thunderstorm. As he laid the ladder on the side of the
trailer, Mary Jane hollered out the front door.
“Bubba Jones, get back in this trailer before lightning strikes
you, fool.”
Bubba was deaf to her pleas. Fighting the wind and rain, he
climbed the ladder with a pipe wrench in hand. He was almost
to the top of the ladder and within reach of the mask as he locked
the teeth of the wrench onto the pipe. Lightning hit a nearby oak
tree making a sound like a cannon. This scared Bubba, still the
boom was not as loud as the scream that came from Mary Jane
who was standing in the door of the trailer. Bubba snatched the
wrench and he felt the pipe turn under the pressure of his pull.
He looked over his shoulder and screamed down at Mary
Jane, “How does it look? Mary Jane, is the snow gone?”
He heard his wife’s voice coming over the roar of the wind,
“Yes, Bubba, it’s fine. Now get yourself in here before you’re
killed.”
Bubba climbed down the ladder and as he walked in the door,
the woman with the lottery cut on the fans to the ping-pong
balls. The first ball blew up “3.” Bubba thought,
win big on six
“7,” “8,” “3.”
It was the thousandth time that Bubba did not have a single
number right. Mary Jane walked up to him with a towel and
started drying his head off.
He turned and looked at her as if he had just found out there
was a death in the family and said, “Not one number, Mary Jane.
I just knew I had a winner this week. Honey, I just knowed it.”
Mary Jane softly said, “Maybe next week, baby, maybe next
week.”
Bubba smiled. “Yeah, Mary Jane, I really feel lucky; I bet I win
next week. He turned and went to the bathroom to finish the
shower he had started earlier on the roof.
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