Alabama Reign

“There is no place like Alabama,'' I exclaimed as I walked into the tavern at the corner of Mill and Dockery road. The dreary eyed patrons canceled all conversation and began to stare. I’m totally drenched from head to toe as I made my way to the bar. With every step, my galoshes leave a puddle of disfigured footprints on the wooden boards supporting the 90 year old structure. The bar seemed to move further from me as I approached. I can hear the snickering and whispering from the old men who reaped aged beer and cheap whiskey. Finally, I secured my corner seat at the end of the bar and yelled, “Butch, the usual.” As Butch slid the cold IPA my direction, I gestured for him to come closer, so I could unload the woe’s of my day. “Wow! Mack, it looks like you’ve been to hell and back”, Butch shouted with a devilish smirk. I hesitantly responded, “Shut up Jerk, and listen to what I’ve been through, my friend’. By this time, the patrons had drawn seats and were pushing to grab a position to listen in.

My morning started as usual, waking by 6 a.m., and out the door by 7 to make my way to the County Mill by 8 a.m.. In almost 30 years, my routine has gone unblemished, except for a few weeks years back when my wife left me, but that’s for another story. As a young adolescent, I was taught that a man should make a living and finish what he started. Some would argue that I've grown bitter with the world, but I find this new generation grotesque and not worthy of the stripes we earned in life. I grew up in a small Alabama town with one red light, a court house, a market store, and a sheriff who roamed the entire county. I am talking about good country living folks’. Throughout the decades, things have changed with the world. Just today, on my way home from the mill, I saw two young men wearing their dungarees below the belt-line. In my day, the price for such disrespect for our fellow man, would be a good show down in front of the entire village. Please pay me no mind, I often tend to travel the road of what once was.

As the whistle blew about a shake past 4 p.m., I prepared to make the all too familiar routine home down Jefferson Street for a quarter mile, merging onto Elm. My 1984 Cadillac Eldorado has been a staple of dependability; however, today was the exception. As I approached the four way intersection in an attempt to yield at the stop sign, I noticed that my temperature gauges had exceeded the danger zone and smoke was protruding from the hood. Not wanting to cause any further damage by continuing, I pulled into the lot at the corner market. From experiences, I knew better than to lift the hood of a car that was overheating. I sat at an idle position in the car, giving the radiator time to calm it's nerves and return to a manageable temperature. After listening to the entire B side of my Lynyrd Skynyrd cassette, I figured it was time to make my move. I approached the front of my vehicle and slowly lifted the hood. With my left arm holding up the hood, I remembered that the swing bar used to hold the hood upright was missing. I gently placed the hood in the close position and made my way to the adjacent path in the woods to find a stick that would support the weight of the heavy cast iron hood. I had a real car, not one of those cheap plastic formats promoted in today's for thousands of dollars. I reluctantly began to wander in the woods behind the old corner market. The area reminded me of a forbidden forest. All of a sudden, appeared a path that just might yield a apparatus that could support the hood. At the end of the path there lied a debris field and a humongous tree. At the bottom of the tree was the perfect limb just the right length. The old maple tree was very distinctive with a trunk that had a purplish blend.

“Can my day be any worse”, I sighed as I realized that the branch was just a tad out of my reach. I believe at least 20 years have passed since the last time I did any calisthenics or physical activity of any kind. “Here goes nothing”, I murmured as I bear hugged the tree in an attempt to scale the humongous trunk. At that moment, the gigantic maple tree grew life and the branch I was once reaching for swooped down and grabbed me. Suspended from the earth, I was in the arms of a Maple tree. “Please, Sir, put me down,” I cried. The Maple, said in the most intimidating voice I've ever encountered, “Who dares attempt to take life from Reign”. “Please, Sir”, I cried. The thought of myself attempting to reason with a tree may seem far fetched to you; however, it was my only defense. The Maple began to laugh hysterically as it shook me from side to side as if his leaves were being dictated by the wind. I’m starting to lose consciousness as the side ward motion has become too much to bear. My body is soaked as the precipitation accumulated on the dirty brown leaves slap against my face.

It’s been 30 years and the great folk tale is still in circulation throughout every barbershop and watering whole about the myth of killer trees in Alabama. Legend has it, a Dekalb County man and his son were fishing near barber creek when a large maple tree attacked and mutilated the father. The author of the tale spoke of a Maple towering an amazing 40 feet with red eyes and human-like features. I can’t confirm; however, according to rumor, the son was incarcerated for the gruesome murder and presently he is serving a life sentence. The entire County and jury found the defense claim of a killer tree on the loose as pro-ponderous. "There was no way, or could there be some validity to the tale", I pondered, as I began to swell from the grasp of the Maple’s tremendous grip. Reign is growing more irritated by my resistance. I can feel myself fading in and out of consciousness as my diagram is being compromised like a rat caught in the web of a boa constrictor. "What will become of me"?

“I don’t want to die, please, someone help me”, I screamed as I pleaded for my life. At that moment, the large maple began to show empathy and said in a generous voice, “Go, and never take from a Maple Tree again, or Reign is coming to get you!” Reign gently returned me on the same path I had once entered. I gathered myself, and ran non stop to the tavern, and “that’s what happened” I explained. The entire bar erupted in laughter. "Oh, I guess the tree ate and regurgitated you" said the burly drunkard sitting at the end of the bar. I humbled myself as I fought back the fury that was boiling on the inside of my wet fragile frame. I paid my tab and retreated to my home. Maybe they were right? Just maybe, I was off my rocker or quarter the way past sane; however, I know what happened and that is all that matters.