There must have
been a sign above my head that read “celebrity” as I approached the hostess
stand at “Hush” Cuban Kitchen and Bar. I requested the outdoor setting of the porch and was immediately ushered
to a table, although the party of four who checked in
before me were told there was a 15-minute wait.
I had no less sat
down, and a cute girl with wavy black hair approached the table and said, “May
I get you something cold to drink?”
I quickly scanned
the menu and found the local craft beer— “Hop Dang,” a southern-inspired IPA.
“I was told to get
your order right away. What would you like?”
Geez, did they
know I was coming?
I’m writing this
journal entry as a scene for Jeremiah’s Journey, the saga of a
wandering nomad cruising in a RAM 2500 BIGHORN with a Cummins diesel, a point
of interest for those who live in Indiana, and more specifically, in Columbus,
where they are built. I’m towing a 13,000-pound fifth-wheel coach, my house on
wheels with accommodations that best a studio apartment.
I climbed a
mountain today. Well, I reached the peak of Black Rock Mountain within the
Georgia State Park of the same name. This hike was moderate to break me in
after being sedentary for four weeks in the Mississippi sauna of what the Bama
locals name—the mud puddle. Not only was I sedentary but also so close to sea
level—250 ft—that I felt the humidity weigh like wearing a leather Harley
Davidson jacket on the beach.
Mountain
woman—Melanie—What became of her?
She was busy
subbing as a barista at her coffee shop for Savannah, who was tending to the
birth of a colt from the legendary quarter-horse barrel champion, “Sleuth.” I
asked about the origin of the filly’s name.
“Her underbelly is
pink, and her snout is shorter and wider than typical.”
No doubt, the Pink
Panther.
I’m observing the
couples seated near me. I suppose that two people could exhaust any point to
further converse about—anything. Yet, I could write a chapter with the dialogue
that runs through my mind.
Which ventures me back to the waterfall hike with Melanie—I hear Faith Hill’s “This Kiss” in the back of my mind:
You can kiss me in
the moonlight
On the rooftop
under the sky, or
You can kiss me
with the windows open
While the rain
comes pouring inside
Kiss me in sweet
slow motion
Let’s let
everything slide
You got me floating, you got me flying
The return hike to
the trailhead was filled with a synoptic history of why I selected Mountain
City as a destination—for a month, no doubt. I had an agenda. What did I want
to accomplish? Her questions kept me continually talking. When we reached the
trailhead, I shared with her a cold libation that always capped a hike—a craft
brew—so we popped the cans of Black Warrior Brewing Company’s “New England IPA”
from the bar of the same name in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
The brew was a
quick refreshment, only enough to whet our appetite for spending more time
together. Although we had soaked our second skin at the waterfall, our
quick-dry hiking apparel was refreshed. We decided to wear the look of a couple
coming off the mountain, hiking boots and all. Melanie recommended the “White
Horse,” a venue featuring local mountain music.
The only problem
was when we both looked at each other and said, “Let’s dance,” as the band hit
the chords of Alabama’s “Mountain Music.” We stood and grabbed hands, but as we
did two steps to the dance floor, our “clod-hoopers” thudded the floor. We
guffawed, and I said, “What do we do?”
“Strip ’em off.
The boots, that is. I’d dance with you naked, but my daughter plays the fiddle
on stage.”
I glanced and
received a smirk from a cute young lady with long, wavy hair split down the
middle, covering most of her face—except those eyes flashing blue like her
mother’s. Blue eyes stand out. Their translucence draws me to look deeper
within.
Quickly we unlaced and were on the dance floor barefooted to swing with the hoe-down with Alabama playing—
You see that
mountain over there? Yeah?
One of these days, I’m going to climb that mountain.
Oh, play me some
mountain music
Like grandma and
grandpa used to play
Then I’ll float on
down the river
To a Cajun hideaway
After the finale,
she stood on my feet, reaching with her tiptoes to pop a kiss that caught her
daughter’s eye, who mouthed to me, Don’t break her heart.
I pondered her
daughter’s warning after I dropped Melanie off at the coffee shop, the
beginning and end of our sunrise to midnight day.
—
From
the chronicles of Jeremiah’s Journey, follow Jeremy beginning with Scene 1 –
Mountain Woman, listed in the right sidebar under June 2022.
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