Biscuit Crumbs and Chicken Gizzards

All I have are memories. Well, technically that isn't all I have. I have photos that serve as a precious reminder of who he was; funny, stubborn, loved. His sunglasses still hang from the rear view mirror of his truck, and Hardee's biscuit crumbs can be found sprinkled throughout. I also have a tiny, rose gold necklace in the shape of a heart which houses part of the physical remains of the greatest man I've ever known.

In the early '90s, riding around Slocomb, Alabama in a little Nissan truck, windows down, listening to country music were the best days of my life. When "Meet in the Middle" by Diamond Rio came on the radio, we became professional singers and musicians who vocalized all instrumentals and lyrics. We were a solid duo. We lived on dirt roads and always went "the back way" to every destination possible.

We'd make a stop at the BIG/little to get gas, and I always had high hopes we'd also be grabbing lunch. My go-to order? Fried chicken gizzards, macaroni and cheese, tater logs, and a roll. If you know, you know. While he never understood my love for a delightfully crunchy, tender yet chewy chicken gizzard, he never discouraged me. Sometimes, we'd go there just for the food. No gas required.

We'd make stops to socialize with family and friends. I wasn't always keen on this, but it may have been his favorite thing to do. He loved a crowd ripe for entertaining. He knew how to get a laugh out of even the most down-trodden.

Our evening routine consisted of my sister and I sharing a bubble bath, complete with foam dinosaurs that started off small and grew bigger in the water, followed by TV programming on one of the four stations we could pick up in the country. He'd sit in a rocking chair blow-drying my long, strawberry blond hair; and I just knew he was the smartest person in the whole entire world when he would solve the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune or answer the Final Jeopardy correctly. He'd "wager" more money any time he was certain he'd gotten it right.

Then we'd all have supper; me, my mom, my sister, and my daddy. We'd talk about the day we'd had, and I'd excitedly recount every last detail of what we'd done because I wanted to relive it all over again. Most of the meals were the best I'd experienced up until that point. Food was a passion we shared.

Everything now is something shared, because there is no future where we share anything. The funniest, grouchiest, most stubborn, loving, soft-hearted, loyal, hard-working, dependable man left me behind five months ago. I now sing those same country songs alone. I close my eyes, and I remember every detail of his face, the texture of his hands, how soft his hair was, the smell of rubber on his clothes when he would come home from working at the Michelin plant making tires, and the way it felt when he hugged me.

I guess I do have my memories. Clear, vivid memories that feel like they were experienced yesterday. I have the knowledge he instilled in me. I, too, solve many Wheel of Fortune puzzles. I have yet to remove the biscuit crumbs from his truck or the parking permit stickers from his trip to Talladega in 2017. They're faded by the sun and shall remain untouched. That rose gold heart now hangs with his sunglasses, and when I sing those songs, I give it a squeeze because I know he can hear me and he's singing right along still.