'the 'rock

by Jim Williams

Title

'the 'rock

Artist

Jim Williams

Medium

Photograph - Short Story And Photo

Description

'the 'rock
From the autobiography of
THE RIGHT HONORABLE RANTIN N. RAVEN-FAUX VI
The Mayor of Myassa, Florida

I was not always the dapper, sophisticated, and refined gentleman that I am today. My childhood was one of extreme deprivation and poverty, living with my grandparents while my parents sought work downstream on the bubbling brown waters of the mighty Myassa River, spewing from the depths of Myassa Hole, through Myassa Crack and tumbling down Pratt Falls. My grandparents, Rantin Rodomontade Demi-Taux Raven-Faux XVI and Jeannie-Thalia, were tenant farmers on a dirt farm who could never quite produce enough to pay off the credit which the owner had extended to them and feed themselves as well. The owner, of course, knew that they would never pay it off and would work his dirt farm for life. He was a freaking dirtbag. Free King Dirt-Bag XII, 37th generation owner of Dirt-Bag Plantation to be exact.

I learned survival skills quickly. I had to. Daily, I would walk three miles each way to the Dirt-Bag Plantation Compound to taunt Dirt-Bag's kids and they would throw sticks and garbage at me as I dodged and ran to avoid them. It wasn't too hard. At their ages they were terrible at throwing. The youngest child was 57. I would dodge until they ran out of sticks and garbage and got bored. Then I would collect all the sticks and garbage and take them all home for Grandma to fire up a wood stove, find, and fix dinner. Then Grandpa built another wood stove after the old one burned up with the rest of the wood.

All of my friends pretty much lived the same life of poverty, so I didn't feel particularly deprived. Kids didn't want nothin' because there was nothin' for them to want. Personal possessions didn't exist to be desired, only what they desperately needed. But I had aspirations and a goal to be somebody. Who'd have guessed that it would result in me.

One day, after school, I came home dragging a rock tied with a string. My Grandma demanded to know why I had a rock. She knew there were no rocks on the plantation. Rocks came from another plantation. They were on a dirt farm and were only permitted to grow dirt. Grandma and Grandpa had once dreamed of farming the more prestigious rock gardens, but fortune never smiled upon them. As I look back on that time, I realize that Grandma never asked where I got the string.

I told her that the rock followed me home and please, please could I keep it? Please? Pretty please! I promised to take care of it so nobody else had to and that it wouldn't get in anyone's way. It could stay on my bed so it wouldn't interrupt anyone's sleep. Grandma had sympathy for me because she once, as a young girl, had a ball of tangled fishing line that was very important to her. One day, while she was at the stream sifting through swamp grasses for the edible ones, her mama gave it to another kid that she said ''needed it more''. Grandma never saw it again.

But Grandma had a rule. If it was in her home, it had to work to earn its keep. I had to find the rock a job. First, I named the rock 'the 'rock. ''Does 'the 'rock need training to find a job on the dirt farm?'' I wondered. It could be a paper weight if they had any paper. It could be a door stop but the door was sliding glass, which, not unlike the windows, had no glass. It was Grandma's single extravagance. She dragged it home from the trash heap at a demolition site.

One day, while I was taunting Dirt-Bags, I had an inspiration! A great idea! After the Dirt-Bag kids finished trying to pelt me I hurriedly gathered all of it and ran home as fast as I could carry all that dinner. I lost my breath half way home and had to stop to let it catch up. When I got home I excitedly told Grandma that I knew the job for 'the 'rock! Grandma said enthusiastically ''Don't just stand in the doorway! Bring that dinner in here, boy.'' She didn't ask what job 'the 'rock could do. That's what she'd do when she wanted it to be a surprise.

Like all the tenant farmers, we had a weather gauge hanging outside the front window so we knew what the weather was like. It was a rope about 3 feet long and when it blew back and forth we knew it was windy. If it was dry and warm, it was a sunny day. When it was wet, it was raining. If it was frozen we knew it was cold outside. If we couldn't see it, it was nighttime. We could test it through the empty window. As I tied 'the 'rock with the rope, I thought about the extra services it would be giving us. If 'the 'rock was bouncing around it meant we were having an earthquake. If we looked for it and couldn't find it, we would know there was either a tornado or a hurricane. If it was shattered into pieces and charred it would indicate a lightning storm. If it glowed, we could presume there had been another secret nuclear bomb test.

The neighboring farmers all gathered to admire our new weather gauge. One of the other kids wished he had a rock, but his father told him they couldn't afford one. But I told them that, any time they wanted to know the weather, they were welcome to come check 'the 'rock at our house. After that, Grandpa got out the whittlin' sticks and the men started whittlin'. All but one: Farmer Hawgpoller got out his juice harp and provided ambient music. Grandma and the ladies foraged for pine needles and wove them into neckties, corsets, thong bloomers, leiderhosen, and napkin holders. They all brushed their hair and used the stray strands to secure their pine needles. Grandma showed her approval of 'the 'rock's new job by weaving it a nest of pine needles so it wouldn't get rope burns. Us kids sat under 'the 'rock excitedly waiting for something to happen.

When Momma and Poppa came back upstream, they paid off Mr. Dirt-Bag and my grandparents and I went with them to the bright lights and strange noises of the big city, Myassa, Florida. Poppa told me to leave 'the 'rock for the other farmers to use, and promised to buy me as many rocks as I could carry. Using the money they earned downstream, they built Myassa Liquors Bar and Grill, then an extension which became the Myassa Town Hall Building. When those proved successful, they built the The Newly Renovated Santorum Ballroom.

Sometimes I reminisce about the farm. I don't really think about taunting the Dirt-Bags, but I sure miss 'the 'rock.

(The rock in the above photo is not 'the 'rock, but a highly trained professional stunt double. Do not attempt this at home.)

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Learn more about The Mayor and Myassa, Florida, here:
http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/wacks-museum.html?tab=artworkgalleries&artworkgalleryid=536130