BREAD, BUTTER AND SUGAR(C) 2022

AND I NEVER SAID, "THANK YOU, MOMMA!"

(c) 2022 by Wayne D. Lewis, Sr. (Continues)

Bread, Butter and Sugar

(subject to editing)

It would be one of the few times that I would remember me and two brothers under the same roof, in a house, where someone had not died. It could have been the black version of a Norman Rockwell Painting. Three boys, sitting in the kitchen of their small home, in a small country town.

I don’t remember when Momma moved us out of that house, but what I do remember about it was that it had a cistern in the backyard, and an outhouse. Of the many fears that I could recall, using that outhouse must be blocked out real good, because I have absolutely no memory of using it. Especially, since we did not have indoor plumbing.

We also had a puppy for a while. The poor little fellow, none of us fed it. So when it died on us one day, we put its little limp body on the fire in the backyard. That fire served as our fire pit, our disposal system for all of the household trash.

In the front yard of our single house, located in the midst of my proverbial playground, sat a 1940’s model Plymouth. It was a beautiful dark midnight blue. It was for Mr. Charley, the landlord. I never saw him drive it, but it always looked like it could go like the wind! The fenders on the back and front looked like they would have made great sliding boards. But we never touched Mr. Charley’s car. NEVER! The consequences were said to be far worse than a whipping, which at that time, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than a whipping, unless you count that time Kenny pushed me in that canal.

On this rare occasion that I recall that my oldest brother Clarence, my second oldest brother Thaddeus and I were in the first house where we lived across from the Grogans’ and Deet’s store, and not too far from where Uncle Anderson and Uncle Frank stayed towards Highway 90, we lived in this 2-bedroom house. The living room was also a bedroom and a bathroom, for taking a bath of course. This make-shift living room, bedroom, bathroom was often the scene for a foot tub, where we warm water and get our weekly scrubbing. But at this time, the main room was the kitchen.

The kitchen consisted of white dingy cabinets with peeling paint. There was a small gas stove, and a black and white pearl top table with matching chairs. On the table my brother Thaddeus had gotten water from the backyard from the cistern and had filled up several jelly jars. He added a pack of Kool-Aid? to a Mason? jar. I wanted to stir up the mixture, but I was told I was too small and that I would make a mess, so I didn’t get to stir up the Kool-Aid.

Clarence had just come back from the store across the street. He had a loaf of Holsum? Bread and he was going to fix us the best sandwiches we had had in a long time: butter on bread with sugar sprinkled on top!

After Thaddeus had fixed the drinks, Clarence obtained a stainless-steel dinner knife and some butter from out of the icebox. He had opened that fresh loaf of bread and was careful to keep the bread on the mixed-match set of plates that Momma had clean on the counter.

I never called my brothers by their informal or nick names. I never really got to know them that well. Had I known them well enough or comfortable enough,, I would have referred to Clarence as Puckaloo! Had I known my brother Thaddeus well enough, I would have called him Brown.

I don't know the story of Puckaloo for Clarence. But Thaddeus was called Brown after some famous basketball player. I guess that's like being compared to Micheal Jourdan, in his day.

Clarence spread the butter on each slice. Then, he pulled a spoon from off of the top of the counter and dipped it into the sugar dish. This became a real challenge to get the suguarbecause the ants were just as much at home in the sugar dish as they were crawling in the corners of our house, or on the ground from their various ant piles. I think we may have eaten a few of the ants. It served them right! This was our bread, butter and sugar. Get away!

I don’t know if the sandwiches were that good, or if it was that good that the three of us brothers were together, in what may have been true, rare moments. For the rest of our lifetime, it would be rare that we would be under the same roof, and someone had not died. For then, we were happy to be together!