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I’m writing from the StoneBridge assisted living facility.
It’s “Disco Night.” My daughter’s wearing bellbottoms, a bandanna, and reflective cat-eye shades. More hippie than disco, she’s a little mixed up, kind of like the rest of the party.
There are disco-ball-shaped balloons but the music’s not quite right. Instead of the Bee Gees or Donna Summer, “Some Guy Named Rob” (aka Rob McCormick, a local musician) is strumming his acoustic guitar and singing soft rock tunes.
The whole Cranor crew is there with my wife’s parents to see “Granny” and “Pop.” They moved into Stonebridge about a year ago. The transition has had its ups and downs. Nobody likes leaving home, especially after fifty years. StoneBridge isn’t home, but it does offer around-the-clock healthcare, three square meals a day, and the occasional Disco Party.
The scene at the party reminds me of my favorite John Prine song, “Hello in There.” That tune’s final verse have always hit me in my soft spot: “So if you’re walking down the street sometime / And spot some hollow ancient eyes / Please don’t just pass ‘em by and stare / as if you didn’t care, say, ‘Hello in there, hello.’ ”
Forty or so sets of ancient eyes are watching my daughter dance. She’s using her daddy’s confidence to shake what her momma gave her. The tassels on her tie-dye shirt are caught in her long blonde hair. Across the room, two women push up from their foldout chairs.
The lead woman has braided dreadlocks and slate-gray eyes, ancient, but definitely not hollow. The fire of life still burns through her cataracts. The second woman’s chin is dotted with sprigs of curly white hair. Her house shoes scrape across the linoleum as she limps into the middle of the room.
My daughter isn’t dancing anymore. She’s staring at the bearded woman. I can tell she doesn’t know what to make of that hair or those pink, fluffy slippers.
The first woman’s gray eyes are on me now. They’re like portals into another dimension, another time, all the places, the years she’s watched slip by. She winks at me and lifts one hand, curling her fingers, a come-hither motion.
What happens next takes less than five seconds, yet it feels much longer. Maybe it’s those portal-eyes. Maybe the woman cast a spell on me with that simple flick of her wrist. As each second ticks by, a single thought minnows through my mind, the central message of my favorite John Prine song.
I know what I should say, know what I should do, but I don’t.
I’m frozen. My daughter is frozen too, all the way up until my mother-in-law stands and takes the gray-eyed woman’s hand. Before I realize what’s happened, they’re swaying their hips and clapping their hands to the rhythm of Rob’s guitar.
They’re not alone.
My daughter is dancing again, pirouetting with the bearded lady, her tiny black boots gliding out in front of those fuzzy pink slippers.
The scene is enough to move a man to tears, the first of many more to come that evening. The party really got going after that. More and more residents rose from their chairs, and my girl danced with them all. My wife and I even joined the party.
None of it would’ve happened without my mother-in-law. She didn’t just say, “Hello,” like John Prine requested — she danced. And as a result, my daughter witnessed compassion on full display. She learned a lesson in empathy, one I hope sticks with her until she’s old and gray.
Don't Know Tough
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In Denton, Arkansas, the fate of the high school football team rests on the shoulders of Billy Lowe, a volatile but talented running back. Billy comes from an extremely troubled home: a trailer park where he is terrorized by his mother’s abusive boyfriend. Billy takes out his anger on the field, but when his savagery crosses a line, he faces suspension.
Without Billy Lowe, the Denton Pirates can kiss their playoff bid goodbye. But the head coach, Trent Powers, who just moved from California with his wife and two children for this job, has more than just his paycheck riding on Billy’s bad behavior. As a born-again Christian, Trent feels a divine calling to save Billy—save him from his circumstances, and save his soul.
Then Billy’s abuser is found murdered in the Lowe family trailer, and all evidence points toward Billy. Now nothing can stop an explosive chain of violence that could tear the whole town apart on the eve of the playoffs. |
Ozark Dogs
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In this Southern thriller, two families grapple with the aftermath of a murder in their small Arkansas town.
After his son is convicted of capital murder, Vietnam War veteran Jeremiah Fitzjurls takes over the care of his granddaughter, Joanna, raising her with as much warmth as can be found in an Ozark junkyard outfitted to be an armory. He teaches her how to shoot and fight, but there is not enough training in the world to protect her when the dreaded Ledfords, notorious meth dealers and fanatical white supremacists, come to collect on Joanna as payment for a long-overdue blood debt.
Headed by rancorous patriarch Bunn and smooth-talking, erudite Evail, the Ledfords have never forgotten what the Fitzjurls family did to them, and they will not be satisfied until they have taken an eye for an eye. As they seek revenge, and as Jeremiah desperately searches for his granddaughter, their narratives collide in this immersive story about family and how far some will go to honor, defend—or in some cases, destroy it. |
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