Poppinjay

Trash. That's all that ever came from Jones County. It was never a destination for anybody except those who were exiled there. It was an old southern county with old, southern attitudes. Segregation was well in effect thirty years after being declared illegal. This is how Roger Haleigh was raised.

Roger became a man in the eyes of the state when he was just 12. He received his birthday money from his relations, from far and near. The total came to $13.42. The forty two cents came from his uncle who worked down by the fish shop. The biggest part of the loot had been sent from Bethesda, where the wealthiest aunt lived.

"Watcha gunna do wit' your treasure?" asked his mother. Roger had three specific things. "I'm gunna go to the pool with my brother." The pool, formerly owned by the county, was recently purchased by "concerned" citizens who then started charging a buck a swim, or, if you were a member, you could swim for free. Membership cost differently for different people.

"What else?" asked his mother.

"I need a new tube for my bicycle tire." Roger's front tire had been slashed from bad kids back of the county when he went down there to fish. "and I wanna get the new spinners at the fish store."

"You be careful, be respectful at the store and the pool."

Roger went by his brother's place. Delfayo was 10 years older and lived on top the garage where he worked for Mr. Barringer. "I got my treasure! We gunna go to the pool and swim!", said Roger.

"Fool."

Roger was stunned. His brother was looking at him with contempt. "Watch you call me a fool for?"

"If you think spending your treasure to swim some place they don't want you, you a fool."

"What you wanna do then, go swim in the river?"

Delfayo had other plans. "Let's go to Mr. Mitchell's hardware store." They left, and Roger figured it would be good, because he could get his tube there. After they got to the hardware store, Delfayo took Roger back to where they sold guns. Mr. Mitchell had followed them back from the moment they entered the store. Delfayo addressed the owner.

"Mr. Mitchell, my bubba needs to get hisself a rifle so he can hunt some food up now and then for the table." Mr. Mitchell looked suspiciously at the boy and said, "you got any money boy? Guns cost money."

"I got my treasure today, more 'n thirteen dollar."

Mitchell hesitated, "... we-ell, I gues we got a .22 that'll bring down rabbits, grouse, varmints mostly." Delfayo offered up, "you know how we do in the back county Mr. Mitchell. If it got legs or fins, we can make supper from it."

Mr. Mitchell sold Roger a .22 short rifle and a box of Westminster ammunitions, muttering, "don' know is at it's good a-tall to be giving out guns to you folks, hell to come, you ask me."

Delfayo took Roger in his truck out to the Wheatly house. In another time, it had been the Wheatly plantation. Their mother had worked for the Wheatly family and the relationship was friendly. Mr. Wheatly hired Delfayo on occasion to dig up stumps in the horse field. They knocked on the door, and the new maid answered, the one who replaced their mother. She had gone to school with Delfayo.

"Hey, Delfayo, how you going?"

"I'm doing good, Shawna. My brother here got his treasure today and we got him a gun so he could hunt. Mr. Wheatly be okay with us hunting on his land?"

"We-ell, I gotta ask him."

Mr. Wheatly came to the door. "Hey Delfayo, Roger, how you going? How's your momma going?"

"She allright. She keeps busy with church more 'n anything. We came to ask if we could hunt some on your land. Roger got his treasure and needs to start puttin' something on the table."

"Yump, I guess you can do the acres around the river. They's plenty varmints there. Let me get my gun and I'll come along."

Mr. Wheatly joined Roger and Delfayo back of the house to tramp down to the river. "This your first hunt, Roger?"

"Yessir, I ain't even fired no gun." Roger was nervous. All he knew about guns was the trouble they caused when people were angry.

"Ah hell, that ain't nothing but a pea shooter," said Delfayo, "you ain't got nothing to worry about." They tramped along the river until they spotted a covey of grouse. "Roger, you take the first shot," said Mr. Wheatly, "get on up close."

Roger stalked the birds, with his gun in his hand, Delfayo had shown him the safety and how to take it off. "You just point that thing at them birds and get one!"

All at once, the grouse took off, and startled Roger with there ferocious wing beats. He recovered to trace one as it flew by him, and fired.

Mr. Wheatly dropped to his knees. Then fell on his face.

"WHAT YOU DO?!?!" screamed Delfayo. "I..I... we gotta do something! I was just trying to shoot a ol' bird!"

"We? Hell with that! I'm gettin' my ass outa here! What you think they do with a couple black boys and a white man dead? You and me better both get!"

"I ain't doing that! I gotta tell somebody! I gotta get help!"

"You on you own then." Delfayo ran straight towards the road.

Roger made it back to the house and told Shawna what happened. She called the ambulance. The ambulance people called the police.

Roger ended up standing trial for the murder of Mr. Wheatly. It was as his brother expected. Delfayo, who could have served as his only witness was no where to be found. His truck was eventually found in another state. But he was never found. The DA was somewhat sympathetic to Roger's version of the events, and was willing to settle for manslaughter, but the judge in the case wouldn't allow it. Behind closed doors could be heard his exclamation that, "trash. Trash is all that comes from Jones County. We gonna try that boy, and we gonna try him like he's a man."

The DA did his job. Roger was sentenced to 60 years in R. Gregg Cherry Prison.

In Mr. Wheatly's will, the executor was surprised to read a passage that gave an allowance of $10,000 a year to the Haleigh family. The executor paid a visit to Roger's mother and told her about the windfall. "That's quite a treasure you're coming into. What you gonna do with that money?"

She looked at him, through thick glasses he didn't see the bags of many tears. "all my treasure gone, sir. My treasure gone."

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I think the Apocalypse is happening all around us. We go on eating desserts and watching TV. I know I do. I wish we were more capable of sustained passion and sustained resistance. We should be screaming and what we do is gossip. -Lydia Millet