La Vielle Grange Rouge

For those who want to be specific, and Jameson always did, the shade of red had always been and always will be 98% saturated and 49% bright. For reference purposes this dark shade of red has a specific hex value, and Jameson knew the chart by heart. “Get it right Theo, careful, careful, easy.” Jameson breathed heavily down Theo’s neck. Theo stood up and pushed his stool across the dirt floor. He then pulled up his goggles and placed them on his head as I wiped the sweat dripping down his face.

“Do, do you want to do th-this?” He asked with a slight stutter.

“Its too much blue. Get it right, that’s all I’m saying.” Jameson inspired Theo with his passion. Theo pulled down his goggles as I grabbed his stool and slid it under him in the knick of time.

“Hand me the red Simon.” Jameson snapped his fingers at me. You would have thought we were performing brain surgery, we were all locked in.

Painting the barn was our mission. Theo’s hand trembled as he added the green and blue paints with the bubbly red. Jameson burst out in tune with the song on the radio, “Doo, doo, doo, lookin’ out my back door. Tambourines and elephants are playin’ in the band,” Jameson song was interrupted by his own startling yell, “Stop. No more blue!” a swift smack across the back of Theo head always kept him in check.

Jameson was the leader, Theo was the brains and I was the assistant to it all. Because we all understood this and lived by this, there was the perfect chemistry, the excellent mixture in front of us. All eyes were on the beautiful “Barn Red.” We had done it. Mixing it ourself saved us seven dollars and fifty cents. It was glorious. Theo and I didn’t dare say anything until Jameson pulled out the paint stick, stuck it up to the sun, turned it slowly, kicked his foot around and said, “boys that right there is how you do it. Out-and-out Barn Red, let’s do this.” Soon we were moving our paint brushes up and down on the old red barn and singing in harmony, “When I was just a little boy stand-in’ to my daddy’s knee my Papa said ‘Son, don’t let the man get you and do what he did to me.’” That was our Creedence.

We weren’t born on the bayou, but our Mama and Papa were. Because of this, we remembered every fourth of July. A day and a half later our entire family stood in awe at the barn’s beauty. “She’s beautiful boys.” My dad said as he pulled my mother close. “Do you like it Sugar-Babe?” Dad was so sweet with our mother and tough as nails on us. “I do.” She whispered, “I really love the color, you got it right boys.” We all couldn’t have felt any taller that day or anymore appreciated.

Jameson yelled up, “Parachute.” “Ch-Check,” Theo yelled down. That was the end of our check list and the beginning of an adventure. We had found a parachute in the loft of the old red barn, and of course Jameson knew exactly what too with it. Theo would take flight at zero nine hundred hours. There was Theo on the highest point of the old red barn. Waiting for me and Jameson to count down and take off on the motorcycle below.

Jameson and Theo had studied about flights and we were going to make history. Theo with a thumb up pulled down his goggles as Jameson and I strapped on our crash helmets. I could hear Jameson talking to Theo on their walkie talkies. “Theo the parachute works by forcing air into the front of it. This will create a wing. The wing is how you will fly. No wing, no fly.” Jameson revved up the bike. “Ra-Roger that b-brother. Adrenaline pump-pumping. With luck the bike picks up th-the need for sss-speed and I go sailing peacefully in the wind. Wat-Watch me in the re-review. I’ve lived a good life.”

Theo looked like a decked out war hero standing tall on the two story barn. “Theo you’re living the good life. You get to soar, while we are stuck down here with our feet on the ground. Do you want to drive the bike. I’ll switch gladly.” Jameson could manipulate Tom Sawyer to paint his fence and ours while singing our favorite tune. “I’m alright brother. Got no-no re-reservations about his one. Got the sun and sss-sky over me.” Theo held the straps tight. The countdown was complete, the review mirrored the red barns beauty and our brothers courage one last time. We were sailing across the yard. Living on twenty acres had many advantages and we took every one we could. Jameson had strapped the ends of the parachute to me. As we picked up speed I felt the straps lifting. We knew our brother would be soaring through the air in no time. “Watch Simon, you’ll be next.” Jameson’s voice assured me. Suddenly we hear a pop noise and a scream. “Simon is he soaring, is he in the air?” Jameson asked multiple times before I heard myself saying, “Stop, Jameson stop.” By the time I arrived Jameson had already propped Theo up and was pouring water into his mouth. “Your ok,” Jameson said as he checked for injuries, “No blood, no cuts. You are ok. Theo are you ok?” He asked after telling him he was. Slowly a thumbs up. We were grounded for weeks and not allowed back in the old red barn for weeks.

I woke up and flew like the wind. I ran like a south bound train. Our punishment was up. Slowing down only to grab biscuits and bacon, my Mama said “You boys better behave in the barn. Do you hear me.” When I got to the barn, my dad and brothers were sitting on milk crates, dad pulled up one for me.

“That Parachute stunt.” He said while a cigarette danced on his lips.

“Sorry dad” Jameson said respectfully.

“I get it. Me and my brothers could act senseless. The stupid things I done, we done.” He took a drink of his beer and lit his cigarette.

“Tell us dad,” our eyes and words begged.

Dad flipped his milk crate on its side sitting now higher than us. “Before we go any further here, I need to tell you this, before I met your mom, I barely knew what love was.”

“Oh shit.” Jameson stood up frustrated. He didn’t want to hear love stories. My dad patted his crate, Jameson sat down. My dad had a great sense of humor and his timing was on point. “I built this barn with my brothers. We cooked up some crazy ideas no different than the parachute.” He blew a ring with his cigarette smoke. “Did I ever tell you the story about using Howard as gator bait?” Theo and Jameson didn’t even blink. “It was Eve’s idea. We’d rope him up by the feet. Little Pete was the look out. Moe and me would be in the loft. Eve would stand on the edge giving signals. We lowered him slowly. ‘WOE.’ Eve bolted out. ‘Pull him up when I point up. Be quick. These gators jump 15 feet. It’s an incredible site to see, they spring off their tails. Lower him, be ready to pull him out.’ Howard held a chicken on a hook. When the gator got the chicken, Eve would have us pull Howard and the gator up.”

Theo was leaning forward excitedly and asked, “d-dddid you catch him pops?” My dad grinned and pointed with his cigarette resting between his two fingers at Theo, “Damn sure did son. We damn sure did.” Dad stood up, grabbed an ice cold beer out of the fridge and gave tossed us all a soda. “We had no choice. Little Pete ran to the edge and fell over.” Dads voice went low. “Eve told us to drop Howard to the ground to get Pete. We could see the gators eyes popping up from their hiding places. Howard hit the ground on his head first. He threw the chicken at a gator. Once Howard scooped Pete up Eve pointed to the sky. Too bad we didn’t have those videos cameras. Gators were flying into the trees and jumping at Howards head. We see Howard boots then little Pete flying into Eve’s arms and just in time too, one gator latched onto Howards shoulder.” I saw the fear in my dad’s eyes. “Eve took off running as we drug Howard and the gator over the edge. Howard was in the gator’s grip. Moe stopped pulling and we jumped out of the loft. I grabbed a pitch fork. I raised it and heard, Stop. Suddenly my ears were ringing. Moe pulled Howard to safety. The gator flipped and flopped. Eve shot the gator with a perfect shot, saving not one but two of our brothers.” Dad chugged his beer, finished his smoke. We sat in silence. Hearing dad tell that quick story was the worse punishment. We heard him, we could have lost Theo.

Many stories were repeated over the years and now many more were being told at our fathers funeral. Jameson was in college and Theo had just graduated one month before. I would be facing my sophomore year without my dad. After the services everyone came to our home to be with us and support my mother. The priest said he had never seen so many people attend a funeral in his life. Our house filled with people I didn’t even know. My attention is drawn to my brothers. I watched Jameson get up, take his coat and tie off and walk out the back door. Theo was close behind. I dropped my tie and coat on top of the pile and headed to the same place, the barn. “We should really paint her again.” Jameson said pulling a piece of the paint off. “I’m in.” Throwing my arm over his shoulder, while Theo leaned on me.

“Your dad was proud of you boys.” My uncle Pete told us. “He was always bragging about you. Telling us the funniest stories.” He blew his nose and cleared his throat. “He told us some great tales about you and your brothers as well.” Jameson said laughing just like my dad would. He definitely inherited his sense of humor and timing of a good story. “Did he ever tell you about the ghost in the chicken coup?” My Uncle Moe asked. “Yes.” Theo held back tears. “Never saw him scared of anything but the chicken coup.” Pete said. Our Uncle Eve had passed away long ago. Little Pete as they called him was now fifty years old. “Let me tell you how we pulled it off.” Moe pulled up a crate and we all followed. “We had a neighbor named Harold. Eve and me talked him into painting him with the old red barn paint. Harold sat in that chicken coup two or three times and James never came to collect the eggs. Finally he came jumping over the fence and whistling. He was always whistling. When he opened that door and saw the White man we had been talking about for weeks, I never saw anyone move that fast. He ran straight through the wall. It was plywood and half rotten, he had splinters and cuts from the barb wire everywhere. We laughed until we realized he was seriously hurting. Our Dad actually pulled a splinter out of his leg that was at least an inch thick and seven or eight inches long. It got infected and was terrible.” Moe had tears falling as he smiled. “He never complained. Our mom said ‘Tell me what happened, Jim?’ He said ‘there was a red man in the chicken coup. He said he was sitting there just starring in to the air, while chickens were pecking him.’ Our mother didn’t believe him. The only reason he didn’t get the beating of a life time was because he was suffering already. Years later we told him the truth. He never held a grudge, so we thought. Sure enough we are in the old barn and a Native American walks out of the woods and right up to us. He had a he had a head band and the shoes, remember that Howard?” Moe held his cigarette the same way my dad did. “I sure do.” Howard laughed so hard he actually bent over. “We hauled ass out of that barn, ran down the path, flew in the house, and across moms freshly mopped floor.” All three of our uncles were laughing and crying. “Jim had asked a guy help him prank us. If this old barn could talk, the stories it would tell.” Howard said as we all listened to the silence