CREEK ROAD GANG
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The Misfits of Shallotte
by Laura Penrose
Sitting on the dark, hard earth under the shade of some trees that formed a stopping point on the path from my grandmother’s beautiful, big white house to my mother’s mobile home and then farther down to my uncle’s house, I sat learning to tie my shoes. I was four years old, and it was the day I was moving away from my grandfather with whom I spent every day from the time I awoke until bedtime. My cousin was seven years old and sat beside me on the path trying to instruct me on how to tie my shoes. As clear as a bell, I remember the scene. All morning there had been hubbub getting the trailer hooked to the truck and yanked out of the cornfield and on to the road. After so many failed tries, I finally had a successful time tying my shoe. My cousin leaped from ground and cheered, looking for an adult to share the moment, but instead at that instance the trailer took the stage as it had finally gotten onto the road.
In the new town of Shallotte, North Carolina, my bedroom was the same – the trailer had moved from one town to another, but the contents never budged, my bed was still unmade – but the yard was different. The yard was filled with cockleburs, mosquitoes and shell bits and was not at all plush like my grandmother’s soft green lawn surrounded by scores of blossoming flowers and cozy spots. At the end of the street was a deserted inlet waterway that looked like the water stopped when it met the sky.
As a four year old it was confusing to me that the squishy sand was visible some of the time but not at other times. The adults warned me – something about tide – but I couldn’t understand at which time it was safe to walk along the shore collecting clams and at which time it meant drowning. The whole street preceding the inlet seemed precarious with the man on the other side of the street who beat his wife, the boy further down the street who was a drug addict, and Nana, Mary Ann and Joe who lived at the end of the street and up the shell driveway.
Nana, Mary Ann and Joe were three lunatic siblings living together in an old, failing house that must have been glorious in its day, but in its current state looked like a haunted house from a cartoon drawing. The house could be reached from my home by walking across a field or by walking down the paved road to the inlet water way and up the long drive. Most days found me heading toward the house filled with old people, most probably searching to replace my left behind grandfather.
The house had belonged to the sibling's parents, but Nana, Mary Ann nor Joe had never moved away from the house and had no form of employment. They grew up in the house and once their parents died, they never saw fit to move out. Instead, the three siblings divided the house into three sections, one for each owner, and the boundaries were marked with black electrical tape and never crossed without permission or incidence.
Mary Ann's section of the house consisted of almost all of the big kitchen, her bedroom and the back door steps where she kept potted plants. Nana owned a tiny corner of the kitchen that housed a small table and two chairs, and three other rooms: her bedroom, an interior room used for storage and the dining room that also seemed to serve as a storage area. Joe had the front porch that stretched along the entire face of the house, as well as the living room and "piano" room -- there was no piano in the room, and since Joe owned no bedroom, he slept in the piano room or on a cot on the front porch.
Theoretically, one might think Joe cut the worst deal on room ownership because he had no kitchen access or a bedroom. However, Joe mostly drank and smoked and didn’t seemed concerned about eating at a table. When he wasn’t sitting upright, Joe was horizontal on a cot on the front porch or on the couch in the piano room. What seemed to matter the most to Joe was the privilege of holding court on his front porch and showing off to friends and visitors (like the mailman) that he was lord of the manor by constant occupation of the front porch.
This arrangement worked well, except for when it didn't work well, which was almost every day. The two women got along, and Mary Ann and Joe seemed to have a cordial relationship, but Nana and Joe hated each other.
One afternoon I was wandering around the house – I could cross the taped lines without any consequences – and came across Nana and Joe in a physical fight in the big hallway that lead from the front door to the back of the house. Nana had a broom and was beating at Joe as he tried to grab her.
Nana and Joe were in their seventies, and the fight was more comical than violent, although Joe did wrench Nana's arm. Nana, with her balding gray hair and wiry long whiskers mistakenly called Joe’s bluff and he tossed her onto the old green sofa in the piano room where her skinny arm snapped like a twig. The fight ended there and Mary Ann worriedly and hurriedly fashioned Nana a sling.
It never occurred to me that the happenings in the house were unusual. The siblings explained about the tape boundaries, but since I had no experience to judge that this was a strange arrangement, it didn’t register as weird to me. I could see Nana and Joe fighting with one another, but all three siblings were nice to me, so I had no reason to think anything was odd.
Mary Ann would make me a peanut butter and banana sandwich in her section of the kitchen, and I would eat it sitting at the table in Nana's section of the kitchen. If I had been visiting with Joe, he might stand in the doorway of the kitchen and join Mary Ann and Nana watching me eat. I think they all had an attachment to me and I had a unique relationship with each one of them.
Mary Ann allowed me to experiment in the kitchen with cooking projects and play in the sink with soapy water. Nana spent time with me in the yard watering plants. Joe sat in his chair on the porch and chuckled as I raced up and down the steps bringing him pretend medicine made from gravel.
That is why is was especially sad when we moved after a year, and I had to leave Nana, Mary Ann and Joe. It was just like the year before when I moved away from my grandfather.
In the new town of Shallotte, North Carolina, my bedroom was the same – the trailer had moved from one town to another, but the contents never budged, my bed was still unmade – but the yard was different. The yard was filled with cockleburs, mosquitoes and shell bits and was not at all plush like my grandmother’s soft green lawn surrounded by scores of blossoming flowers and cozy spots. At the end of the street was a deserted inlet waterway that looked like the water stopped when it met the sky.
As a four year old it was confusing to me that the squishy sand was visible some of the time but not at other times. The adults warned me – something about tide – but I couldn’t understand at which time it was safe to walk along the shore collecting clams and at which time it meant drowning. The whole street preceding the inlet seemed precarious with the man on the other side of the street who beat his wife, the boy further down the street who was a drug addict, and Nana, Mary Ann and Joe who lived at the end of the street and up the shell driveway.
Nana, Mary Ann and Joe were three lunatic siblings living together in an old, failing house that must have been glorious in its day, but in its current state looked like a haunted house from a cartoon drawing. The house could be reached from my home by walking across a field or by walking down the paved road to the inlet water way and up the long drive. Most days found me heading toward the house filled with old people, most probably searching to replace my left behind grandfather.
The house had belonged to the sibling's parents, but Nana, Mary Ann nor Joe had never moved away from the house and had no form of employment. They grew up in the house and once their parents died, they never saw fit to move out. Instead, the three siblings divided the house into three sections, one for each owner, and the boundaries were marked with black electrical tape and never crossed without permission or incidence.
Mary Ann's section of the house consisted of almost all of the big kitchen, her bedroom and the back door steps where she kept potted plants. Nana owned a tiny corner of the kitchen that housed a small table and two chairs, and three other rooms: her bedroom, an interior room used for storage and the dining room that also seemed to serve as a storage area. Joe had the front porch that stretched along the entire face of the house, as well as the living room and "piano" room -- there was no piano in the room, and since Joe owned no bedroom, he slept in the piano room or on a cot on the front porch.
Theoretically, one might think Joe cut the worst deal on room ownership because he had no kitchen access or a bedroom. However, Joe mostly drank and smoked and didn’t seemed concerned about eating at a table. When he wasn’t sitting upright, Joe was horizontal on a cot on the front porch or on the couch in the piano room. What seemed to matter the most to Joe was the privilege of holding court on his front porch and showing off to friends and visitors (like the mailman) that he was lord of the manor by constant occupation of the front porch.
This arrangement worked well, except for when it didn't work well, which was almost every day. The two women got along, and Mary Ann and Joe seemed to have a cordial relationship, but Nana and Joe hated each other.
One afternoon I was wandering around the house – I could cross the taped lines without any consequences – and came across Nana and Joe in a physical fight in the big hallway that lead from the front door to the back of the house. Nana had a broom and was beating at Joe as he tried to grab her.
Nana and Joe were in their seventies, and the fight was more comical than violent, although Joe did wrench Nana's arm. Nana, with her balding gray hair and wiry long whiskers mistakenly called Joe’s bluff and he tossed her onto the old green sofa in the piano room where her skinny arm snapped like a twig. The fight ended there and Mary Ann worriedly and hurriedly fashioned Nana a sling.
It never occurred to me that the happenings in the house were unusual. The siblings explained about the tape boundaries, but since I had no experience to judge that this was a strange arrangement, it didn’t register as weird to me. I could see Nana and Joe fighting with one another, but all three siblings were nice to me, so I had no reason to think anything was odd.
Mary Ann would make me a peanut butter and banana sandwich in her section of the kitchen, and I would eat it sitting at the table in Nana's section of the kitchen. If I had been visiting with Joe, he might stand in the doorway of the kitchen and join Mary Ann and Nana watching me eat. I think they all had an attachment to me and I had a unique relationship with each one of them.
Mary Ann allowed me to experiment in the kitchen with cooking projects and play in the sink with soapy water. Nana spent time with me in the yard watering plants. Joe sat in his chair on the porch and chuckled as I raced up and down the steps bringing him pretend medicine made from gravel.
That is why is was especially sad when we moved after a year, and I had to leave Nana, Mary Ann and Joe. It was just like the year before when I moved away from my grandfather.
copyright 2008
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Laura Penrose writes everyday like her life depends on it, and oddly her family, friends and co-workers have no inkling that she has this hobby...this need. When not writing, she balances two small children on her right hand, a small business on her left hand, a super cute husband on her knee and two college-aged stepchildren on her hip. Alongside the traveling show marches her faithful and very old cat, Thomas.
