I’m All Shook Up
This Natchez Trace business has morphed into a series. Today, a character you may recognize, hiding within one you may not. If this is your first visit to the blog, or if you’re catching up, please go back to this post and read forward to digest it whole.
My brother, he’s only eight these days. Stuck in a no-count town in the middle-of-noplace. Tupelo. He takes hisself to school. He runs around outside. Chews some. Dips some. Ma don’t know none of that stuff, or she’d whup him good. To ever body, he’s just a regular kid.
I know better. I kin see things they cain’t, wanderin’ around out here in the wilderness. Like them Israelites. Down hollers and up hills. Back and forth. This-a-way and that-a-way. I don’t never git no rest. Don’t need it, anyways, in the shape I’m in.
It idn’t just that I see what he’s a-doin’ now, though. I’m what they call privileged. I kin see what he’s a-gonna be, kin peek through peep hole of time. That’s what the green leaves and all this open air does to a feller; it makes him see things, even when he don’t want to. When all they’re doin’ is showin’ him who he coulda been if he hadn’t been dead when he was born.
My twin brother, he’s a-gonna be somebody someday. He’s a-gonna git out of that podunk town, that beautiful boy who carries that face. That voice.
My face. My voice.
‘Cept nobody’s around to see. Just me, whistlin’ through the trees in the breeze, partin’ the confounded humidity like a tease, spyin’ on my twin brother Elvis like a whisper on the Trace.