Route 49

Route 49

By Sharon McGee

About 10 miles from the main road into Sharkey County, deep in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, is where Route 49 connects. Undeniably, east and west of this 60-mile stretch is a nature lover’s paradise. Pictures of fertile fields, catfish-filled lakes and plush landscapes are often plastered on many of the state’s tourism brochures, but like most brochures, it’s the ugly that gets left out. The “ugly” in this case was the bizarre feud that existed between the residents east and west of Route 49.

To an outsider, it would be easy to assume that the origin of ugliness stemmed from mile-markers of cultural and economic disparity, which blatantly distinguished one end from the other. Travelers venturing west of 49 would soon encounter the rapid growth of industry, housing, and even a Starbucks or two. Meanwhile, east of the stretch, Time neither limped nor crawled, but had come to a sanctimonious halt. In fact, the only recent development in the area occurred when the postal service replaced the rusted and weathered residential mailboxes strewn in clusters along the highway.

These stark differences between East and West, though at first only superficial, slowly began to manifest themselves into something more primal and inherently dark. To the Easterners, the progress of the West was a betrayal of nature and a mockery of a sacred trust to maintain the land, one never written or sworn to, but certainly irrefutably understood. In turn, the Westerners believed the Easterner’s opinions had become too closed-minded and antiquated, leaving them prone to infectious superstitions that governed every aspect of their lives. So, therein lay the root cause of the feud—two extreme views which not only feasted on differences but gorged on assumptions as well.

The spring my friend, Jamie, and I were fated to survey the area, we knew nothing of this obscure part of the country or of the discourse which existed between its tenants. We were two travelers whose destinies dictated we turn east on 49 that day. Jamie, a self-proclaimed tycoon and business guru, had inherited a “delectable” piece of property in the area which, ironically, his father had never been able to sell. Jamie had always loved a challenge, especially if it meant he’d best his old man.

“One week,” he bragged as he drove his 67’ black Corvette above the speed limit, “We’ll meet with the buyers tomorrow, and in one week we’ll be in escrow and back in Atlanta before I can say Ava or Eva.”

I didn’t respond; I knew better. Even in college, Jamie usually got whatever he aimed for. I guess it was this over-abundance of self-confidence that prompted me—against my better judgement—to become his business partner.

The sign displaying Route 49 loomed ahead of us, but it had been three hours since our last stop, so I motioned Jamie to turn into the nearby gas station nestled in the bend of the crossroad. As soon as he pulled the Corvette up to the vintage pump, an old Man magically appeared. His skin had more wrinkles than the clothes he wore and fit just as loosely.

“Fill her up?” he asked through loose dentures.

Jaimie nodded his permission as we got out to stretch our legs. I wanted to laugh at how “Mayberry-like” it all seemed, and at any moment I was expecting Andy Griffith to appear next. The Old Man began to fuel the car and suddenly turned his steel blue eyes in my direction.

“Where y’all headed?’ he asked.

Searching for adequate reception, I held my cellphone high in the air in slight frustration and waited for Jaimie to answer the question, but he was too preoccupied with grooming himself in the sideview mirror.

“We’re headed to see about some property my friend is trying to sell,” I responded.

“Not trying—selling,” Jamie chimed in while still grooming.

The expression on our attendant’s face indicated to me that he had switched modes from hospitality to small-town judgement. I attempted to change his perception of us with an appeal to his local expertise.

“Can you tell us if there are any hotels around?” I asked.

Jamie finally stopped gazing at his reflection to do a quick survey of the area and its owner, and then announced his brief assessment to me.

“I’m guessing the Bates Motel can’t be far,” he joked.

The Old Man’s brow furrowed in disapproval, and I stifled the urge to laugh because, in that moment, the decrepit and wrinkled Bird’s approval outweighed Jamie’s well-timed sense of humor. Those severe blue eyes swiveled back to me, but then the Old Man paused abruptly, as if the question required more extensive contemplation.

“East or West?’ he finally submitted.

“We’re going east,” I replied.

Another pause ensued until, eventually, my answer was replaced with an awkward silence. After he had finished topping off the Corvette, he instructed us to pay inside.

Across the store’s threshold, the smell of something fried stung our senses, as Patsy Cline’s, Walkin’ After Midnight, played in the background. As a happily married man, I paid no attention to the young girl behind the register, singing along to Patsy, but Jamie noticed her the second we entered. Before he could render a suave hello, the Girl jumped from her stool to greet him, her earrings dangling wildly from her excitement. I left them to converse as I went to search for the restroom. Wading through a deluge of shelved brochures and outdated grocery items, I marveled at the store’s curious collection of Barn Owl paraphernalia, which seemed to fill every crevice of the store. Humph, Mayberry meets Call of the Wild, I thought, and that was my only thought of the owls before we headed east.

I suppose, in retrospect, the eccentric Old Man and the abundance of owl décor should have been enough to warrant a modicum of suspicion regarding these peculiar surroundings. But in our minds, we were young conquerors—lions in business and in life, immune to failure or fantasies, so the subtle attempts meant to alert us were easily dismissed. Although, in Jamie’s defense, he had not heard the Old Man’s warning. He had been too busy flirting with the cashier with the dangling owl jewelry who filled his ears—and he hoped his nights—with adolescent giggles and comments on how “Niiice” his car was (Jamie’s ego had always given him a false sense of security). As for me, I had no excuse to offer. I had heard the warning, heard the whistle of air which accompanied it as the Old Man tried to steady his dentures to utter two simple words under his breath.

“Go back,” he whispered.

“Beg pardon?” I queried to clarify.

Again, our attendant refused to respond when prompted, but began wiping the windshield and checking our tires as a courtesy. I shook my head in concession and eased into the car while Jaimie playfully revved the engine. This time, I did laugh, disregarding fear of condemnation, while Jamie still seemed unconcerned with the oddness of our experience. Persuading myself to adopt his demeanor, I harkened to the fact that I was not a superstitious man. I didn’t care if black cats crossed the road, nor did I cross my fingers or knock onto wood for good luck.

Refocused now, I searched for a signal again; I was anxious to call my wife, Dana, and relate our experience thus far, but seeing no bars, I assumed we were still in a dead zone. Unable to pick up a signal himself, Jamie slipped in his favorite Jazz CD and retracted the Corvette’s top. The open sky was a masterpiece of blue, and we relished in the wind and warmth of the sun as we listened to the sultry sounds of Etta James; Her voice luring us into blissful ignorance.

It was nearing dusk, and we had traveled only ten miles before the GPS directed us to turn left to our destination. Hesitant to leave Route 49, Jamie reluctantly eased the Corvette onto the buckled and broken pavement. A sentinel of overgrown Magnolia trees aligned each side of the road. As the car bounced up and down, Jamie blurted an expletive for every pothole not missed. I was about to sound off a few choice words myself when the Corvette suddenly reached the clearing and came to a halt in front of a great surprise.

I exited the car with my mouth agape as I gawked at the Colonial-styled, marbled mansion centered in the clearing. From its lamp-lit porch, white monolithic columns sprung up to the second level, supporting the structure like four Atlases burdened with holding up the world. To their rear, lesser demi-gods provided back-up and helped to support the balcony and accentuate a colossal and intricately carved oak door underneath.

“Yeah, Baby!” Jamie yelled with delight.

“Your father had trouble selling this?” I questioned.

“Go figure,” he replied, “He never mentioned this house being here…said the only thing still standing was an old barn, a half-mile down the road.”

Jamie chuckled. He was already wondering what his father was up to. Although they loved each other dearly, competition sometimes ruled their relationship. Once, they had even pursued the same woman, a competition which would still be ongoing if his father hadn’t proposed to their mutual interest, something Jamie knew he wouldn’t be ready for until he was eighty. I’d grown used to their rivalry and wouldn’t think to intervene, unless it adversely affected business. For now, I was just hoping that our business here would be settled quick enough to get us back home early.

Jamie was already on the porch with his tote before I realized I was still ogling the house. Sizing up properties and crunching the numbers was my area of expertise, but it was the mansion’s gable which transfixed me. Even at that height, I could make out the carving displayed at the center; It was another barn owl, beautiful, ominous and terrible, and the stark white background it imbued only added to its mesmeric and realistic features.

He rang the doorbell and motioned for me to join him. The door opened and a tall matronly woman with flowing white hair appeared. She gave us a cheery smile before ushering us into the foyer.

“You must be Jamie!” she surmised, “I’m Ada. Your father hired us to spruce the place up a bit.”

“Us?” I asked, searching for someone else.

“Why yes, I couldn’t clean up this big old house by myself,” Ada declared with a sort of nervous giggle.

“My son, Rocky and I been so busy. He couldn’t stay…he works nights.”

Another nervous giggle followed. As soon as Ada led us into the house, Jamie turned to me, ready to burst with laughter, and silently mouthed the name, “Rocky?” By the time she faced us again, Jamie had already recovered his cool demeanor.

We were led into a huge and empty main hall, but even in scarcity, the mansion’s interior was just as aesthetically pleasing as the outside. The expectantly elaborate stairwell and tall ceilings were impressive, but it also made me wonder all the more regarding its hard sell issue. Even if the buyer no longer wanted the house, the land alone was ripe for development.

“Now, the only furniture is in the first two bedrooms,” Ada related at the end of the short tour, “but there are two chairs by the fireplace and enough food in the fridge for a week.”

She turned to address us as if troubled. “You boys aren’t vegetarians, are you?”

“No-no ma’am,” answered Jamie.

I lifted my cell phone in the air again to locate a signal. Ada shook her head in dismay and lowered my arm.

“Won’t do you no good, no cell towers, no cell service,” she informed us.

“So, what about internet…I meet with the buyers tomorrow,” Jamie exclaimed.

“I need to call my wife,” I added.

Listening to Jaime rant about how inadequate things were, somehow made me calmer, and I realized that we probably sounded like two Millennial brats, unacquainted with adversity, but that didn’t matter; What mattered was that Jamie and I were now on the same page. Ada didn’t appear to be ruffled by our frustration, but in one swoop, whipped her lengthy white tresses into a big bun which she stacked on top of her head and then calmly addressed our communication problems.

“Now, now, don’t fret. There are house phones in the kitchen and main bedroom, but don’t stay on too long if it’s long distance, and I suppose I can ask Rocky if he can rig up something for internet tomorrow…”

Handling us like children satiated us, but like the Old Man at the store, the uneasiness I felt around Ada was unshakeable. Jaime escorted her to the door, while I headed to the kitchen to find the phone. This short business trip had unexpectantly become more complicated, not to mention weirder. I located the rotary phone sitting on the kitchen counter, just as Ada had said and was about to dial the last four numbers when a flicker of light from outside caught my eye. Unable to dismiss my curiosity, I returned the phone’s handle to its receiver and crept through the French doors for a closer look.

It was dark now, but the moon was out, and the sky had more stars than I’d ever witnessed in Atlanta. The light I’d seen from the kitchen swung back and forth and appeared to emanate from a lantern. Although the lantern’s owner was not as visible, the huge white bun identified her; It was Ada. Where was she going? I wondered. Thinking we should have thought to offer her a ride, I was about to call out to her when another lantern suddenly appeared. As illuminant as the night was, the tall and manly stature of the second light-keeper were the only recognizable features. I guess that’s Rocky. I surmised. I kept watching the swinging lights as they walked further into darkness. Then, like the toll of a monastery bell, the phone’s piercing ring startled me from my spying. I chastised myself on how jumpy I’d become and ran to answer it.

“Hello?” I answered, still a little rattled.

“Hello, Kid!” bellowed Jamie’s father from the other end.

I was glad to hear a familiar voice, and no matter how many years passed, to him, I would always be that shy and scrawny kid his son brought home from college. But after knowing Jamie’s father for so many years, I didn’t mind this depiction or the moniker he used when addressing me. I had long realized that his use of “kid” was a term of endearment.

“Hello, Sir,” I responded.

“Where’s Jamie, chasing skirts or sales?” he laughed.

“We only just got here, but tomorrow is a new day.” I countered.

More hearty laughter—altered by cigar smoke and alcohol—resonated from the other end of the phone.

“Good answer, Kid,” he replied, “tell Jamie, I’ll call in the morning. Just wanted to see if he was surprised. You know he only likes challenges.”

“Well Sir, speaking for myself, there’s no shame in staying in a beautiful mansion before you sell it.”

“Oh good! Ada had it all ready for you then? Can barely speak English that girl, but she and her crew are top notch”

A coldness slithered through me, as though it was Winter. I tried to recall if the Ada we’d met had showcased an accent other than the syrupy Southern one she’d greeted us with.

“Kid? Kid you still there?”

“Y-yes Sir,” I managed to answer, “So, exactly what ethnicity is she?”

As I awaited his answer, a knot began to form in the pit of my stomach.

“Err, Guatemalan? Mexican? Hell, I can’t remember which, but that little woman is a real professional.”

Winter came again, and this time the receiver fell from my hand onto the floor, taking the entire assembly with it. I didn’t stop to pick it up but hurried from the kitchen to search for Jamie. I returned to the living room to find him sitting in one of the chairs by the fireplace, browsing the brochures from the store. I didn’t stop to give any details but blurted out what I believed was most pertinent.

“We are leaving!” I yelled, already heading for the door. Puzzled, Jamie got up to intercept me.

“Why would we do that with buyers coming tomorrow?’ he snickered.

As frantic as I was, I wanted to slap the smirk from my best friend’s face. My instincts about this area and the people we’d encountered had been right. It was his dismissiveness and nonchalant attitude that had made me doubt myself.

“Jamie, trust me on this; We can talk on our way back to Atlanta!”

I reached for his tote, but he grabbed the other end and planted himself by the chair.

“I trust you, Man!” he cajoled, “Just tell me what is going on!”

I took several deep breaths and tried to express myself more calmly.

“Your dad called…Ada is not Ada…I don’t even know if there is a Rocky, but there is someone walking in the dark…I don’t understand the thing with all the barn owls…the Old Man told us to go back, but just like you, I wanted this sale…but your dad was trying to make things easy for us…and Dana is going to kill me for not calling…”

The slap I had intended for Jamie was the one I received. I couldn’t get mad at him; I knew it was needed. I could hear myself rambling but had been unable to stop. Jamie’s expression was serious now. In all our years of friendship, we had never had a disagreement, so this incident was unnerving for us both.

“I’m-I’m sorry, man, but this isn’t like you,” he reasoned.

I took in another breath and assured him that I was okay, but I still needed to convince him to leave.

“Listen,” I began with more control, “Something’s not right here; and once we’re gone, we can alert the authorities…I spoke with your dad, and from what I gathered, there’s no way the woman we met tonight was Ada!”

Jamie nodded his head as he contemplated all I had said and sat back in the chair. Feeling that I had finally gotten through to him, I sat in the chair adjacent to his. A swell of silence formed between us and was then broken by Jamie’s laughter.

“You spoke to my dad tonight?” he confirmed and began to laugh again. Seeing a look of pure confusion on my face, he fought to regain his composure.

“Dude, my dad set us up!” he concluded, “This entire escapade is a classic Jamie McFarland Sr. prank.”

“How do you know that?” I asked.

‘I know my dad. You know my dad!” he rationalized.

I needed Jamie to be right; I prayed that he was. After pondering the idea for a moment, I was convinced. This probably was some elaborate hoax his father had conjured up; they were always trying to best one another. Why else would he not tell us about a mansion sitting in the middle of nowhere? I felt foolish and I began to laugh too, and the more I dissected the idea, the more we laughed. Still giddy, Jamie held up the local brochure which highlighted hotels, restaurants, and bars—even a Starbucks.

“We’re going West, young man,” he joked, “That end of the route is our way back to civilization—another detail my Pops left out, or how else could he spook us out of this sale.”

The more he talked, the more sense it made, and before I knew it, we were speeding down Route 49 heading West. A myriad of lights greeted us as we neared our destination. Jamie had read about a local bar there called the Wolfpack, the namesake of his college football team, so naturally, it was our first stop.

For a smalltown bar, the Wolfpack’s layout was impressive. Large- screened TVs adorned the walls. Waitresses in Daisy Dukes and spandex tops distributed beer and other libations to minimally rowdy patrons. Locals shot pool in the far corner, while customers at the bar ate wings and watched sports events from the past. As normal as it all seemed, I still felt as though something was off. I took out my cellphone to test my suspicions. After a brief moment, Dana’s number began to ring. Immediately, she started crying and venting simultaneously while I remained unresponsive; With two years of marriage behind us, I had grown used to it; I was just grateful to hear her voice.

After about a hundred “I love yous”, we finally managed to say goodbye, and I decided I’d rather join Jamie in the corner than watch old football playoffs. As always, he had conned the locals into believing he was a novice at the game. By the time I’d made it over, he’d already collected a nice sum from the unsuspecting who’d bet against him. Usually, someone would have figured the con out by now, leaving us with the options of “fight or flight, but not this time. This time, the vibes at the Wolfpack were smooth as a ride in Jamie’s mustang, and I slowly began to feel a sense of normalcy again. Not wanting to lose this feeling, I was tempted to suggest we finalize our business from here, but my ego had already been bruised and I didn’t want Jamie to laud my recent hysteria over me until eternity.

The pool crowd howled as Jamie made one trick shot after another. I gave the signal we shared for him to tone it down, but the more he put on a show, the more the crowd reveled in it. One emaciated looking fellow, with a wolf’s head tattoo stamped on his forearm, seemed overly impressed. With each shot made, he’d congratulate Jamie and me with free beer. I decided to accept just one because I knew Jamie would accept them all.

It was way past midnight when we finally left the bar. I couldn’t discern if it was talking with Dana or the good times that had me on such a high; I reconciled that it was both. Passed out in the passenger seat, a cacophony of snores streamed from Jamie’s mouth. I searched for a radio station to drown him out. The only station available had Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire nearing its end, but then fell silent soon after. It was when I reached down to see if the volume needed increasing that I heard it, a low snarling sound followed by a howling echo. It seemed to be in such close proximity that I quickly turned to see if Jamie was taking his turn to prank me. But although his snoring had ceased, he hadn’t awakened. Meanwhile, somewhere distant, Patsy Cline’s Crazy crooned over the airwaves. I tried calming my nerves with humor again. Yep, that’s it; I am going crazy.

The further east we drove on 49 the more the station darted in and out of radio silence, and with each break, the howls inched closer. The GPS chimed to announce the distance to our next turn and I began to perspire uncontrollably. I shook Jamie to wake him up, but received only a noncommittal snort before he repositioned himself to face the window.

I swerved into the exit after almost missing it and hoped the potholes we’d encounter earlier would jolt us enough to awaken Jamie from his coma. I braced myself, but the road was just as smooth as the main highway. Did I take a wrong turn? Frantic now, I began yelling for Jamie to wake up, but he didn’t respond. I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate to slow down.

Overly perfumed Magnolias seeped in and we were soon in the driveway of the mansion. That’s it! I’m getting our things, and when Jamie wakes up, we will be in Atlanta. I listened closely before opening the car door; the howling had stopped. I rummaged through the glove compartment to find the box cutter Jamie kept there, though not ideal, it was better than nothing. I gathered all the courage I could muster and made a mad dash for the mansion. I’ll grab Jamie’s bag and just go.

We had purposely left the lights on and the door unlocked in case we were too inebriated to get in. I strode across the room into the main hall. Jamie’s tote was still sitting by the chair. I quickly snatched it up and headed for the door, but it was the voice of Jamie’s father that froze me in my tracks.

“Jamie! Jamie? Is there anyone there?” he yelled from the phone in the kitchen.

I’d forgotten that I’d left him on the phone. I hesitated to go answer it, but felt he deserved somewhat of an explanation. Still carrying the tote bag, I ran into the kitchen to offer an apology. The phone was still sprawled out on the floor where I’d left it, but what I hadn’t remember leaving was Ada and Rocky standing in the kitchen.

“What are you doing here? I demanded.

“You went West,” she simply stated, “You shouldn’t have done that,”

“No, you shouldn’t have done that, Rocky echoed.

I stood still, readying the boxcutter tucked in my pocket, but I was sweating so profusely, the sweat began to seep in my eyes and impair my vision. From my view, Ada and Rocky appeared to merge into one, their faces now taking on the shape of the many barn owls I’d seen since we got here. I heard a scream not realizing that it was my own. I’m losing my mind, Dana. This was my last thought as the room began to spin into an abyss of darkness.

When I came to, Dana and Jamie were standing over me talking. Dana was dabbing my forehead with a cool towel and crying. Somehow, I felt I was to blame. Jamie put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her and revealed the snarling wolf head tat, he’d gotten in college. Before I could ask what happened, the cashier with the owl earrings came in dressed in a nurse’s uniform. She flashed Jamie a flirtatious smile, which he reciprocated, and then began checking the IV line in my arm. Where am I? And what is she doing here! I yelled to Jamie, but suddenly realized none of them could hear me.

“Don’t worry,” The cashier turned nursed consoled, “This antibiotic should take care of whatever’s causing that high fever.”

“Thank you, Jenna,” Dana replied, “And could you let Dr. Howell know I’m…I’m ready to have that talk?”

Dana nodded in affirmation and exited the room. Meanwhile, Jamie paced the floor in clear frustration.

“So, you’re going to move him to the long-term facility?” Jamie asked.

Dana nodded again to confirm.

“It’s been a year, and he hasn’t gotten better,” she explained.

“This all my fault, I should’ve been driving; it should be me lying in this bed.”

It was Jamie’s turn to cry. Dana implored him not to think that way, but he didn’t seem to want absolution.

“At least he won’t have to see that Nurse Ada anymore,” Jamie began, “She acts more like a drill sergeant than a nurse. I kept having to remind her to leave the radio on. You know how much he likes music!”

“I know-I know,” Dana agreed as she wiped new tears from her eyes, “I only hired her because Reverend Wolfe recommended her.”

An awkward silence entered the room briefly and then Jamie began to laugh as he always had.

“Dad and Wifey #3 came to see him today, some of the guys too. We had the best time, Dana. I really thought he could hear us,” encouraged Jamie.

Of course, I can hear you. Jamie. Why can’t you hear me? Dana, If you listen, you, can hear me…Please.

Dana kissed my forehead and continued to hold my hand.

“I love you,” she whispered in my ear, “I don’t care how long this coma last; I’m not going anywhere.”