Sunday

Once, spring morning melted into afternoon. Drinking games lulled and after the sun rose, one by one, the party moved to the front lawn. A Fisher Price piano played on the broken couch outside; we spoke in hushed morning tones. One friend reached with a bedsheet behind her, arched with the sky, and greeted the sun.

Chorus hymns from across the street quieted for announcements, the sermon, and prayer requests after the offering. Baskets filled, hands raised, amens given, and everyone stood up. The breathing pipe organ ushered them slowly and they all congretated outside.

At our front lawn, someone brought out last nights leftovers refinished for today's brunch and the sheet was laid out for a picnic. Pink boots changed feet and a washed out bean can working as a water cup rounded the picnic like a Lazy Susan. Shirts came off for the sun.

An old man donned a thick mustache twirled upward at the ends and a grey fedora. He spoke excited, but not loud, glad to find such easily approachable people as he welcomed himself to our picnic with a smile.
<> Many great places 'round here, I tell ya. Any of you been near the hospital? There's a hill there and the sun sets jus' other side of a small pond down there at the bottom. <> Some smiled polite as they could, a couple of us shyly said no, while all eight stared in wonder. Why'd this man stop? When would he ask for something?

<> No? How 'bout the small forest there North side of town? Not much left, but its outside the gritty, you know? Quiet, <> yet no one had been.
Still blank and curious faces.

The man looked quizical. <> Well, I'll leave ya. <> He sauntered off, mumbling to himself so we could hear, <> Jus' so much great things 'round here, shame no ones been around to see 'em. <>
We continued our sluggish banter and smiled most of the time.

Ties loosened from fathers' necks, mothers said last goodbyes, and children chased each other, or stood shyly by, holding rolled up or otherwise proudly displayed colored Jesus stories. Then the road filled with motors as families went respective ways for Sunday dinner, then quieted as they ate.
Forks poked the plates and knives scratched as many mashed potatoes into as much of Granny's gravy as a mouth could hold. Green bean cassarole and chicken, sweet tea or Dr. Pepper?

Dinner finished and several relaxed. Granny tried to help with the dishes. The daughters, a husband, and the middle nephews gathered plates and glasses, put them in water, and an aunt rinsed them, fitting what would into the dishwasher. A neice wiped the table and a nephew staggard through the crowded bodies to wipe countertops. Conversation settled into old couches and the '78 television set showed the game just fine.

Our picnic finished. We each took our own dishes inside and piled them haphazardly beside the sink, among the clutter and mess of last nights party, to return to, together, after our walk.