June 15, 2008, 2008-024
by Dwayne Phillips
The
summer sun broke the horizon in south Louisiana. Matthew met it on the
concrete steps in front of a trailer half as old as his 70 years. He
sipped dark coffee from a chipped and stained Corelware cup.
Mathew’s eyes burned. Sleep and heat didn’t mix; Louisiana summers had plenty of heat, and Matthew didn’t have air conditioning. His trailer was an oven reaching 100 degrees daily for four months in a row. Matthew slept only when fatigue overwhelmed him.
Matthew tossed half the contents of his coffee to the side. The coffee was now cooler than the water-laden air of the morning. Matthew stood slowly and walked away from his trailer. He crossed a gravel and mud road and walked into the woods. The temperature in the woods was 20 degrees lower, and Matthew took comfort where he could find it.
Behind him, at the edge of the woods, lying on the ground was a sign.
Posted
No Trespassing
Golfways Corp.
* * * * *
The same summer sun was an hour above the horizon in Washington D.C. July in Washington was warm and humid. The residents felt it was stifling. The diplomats, congressmen, and staffers from points north and west sweltered and called it unbearable. They cursed this swampland on the Potomac River.
Esther was ending her morning jog through the city She held her security card to the machine and pressed her PIN on the keypad. The front door of her apartment building clacked, and she pushed through to a chilly, over-air-conditioned lobby. Goose bumps rose on the backs of her upper arms. She completed her daily work out by taking the stairs to her 4th floor apartment.
An hour later she exited her apartment. She wore a dark blue dress with matching jacket. That was not practical for the weather, but she would only be out in the weather a few minutes on her commute to work. Dangling about her neck was the security card that would allow her entrance at work at the Washington bureau of CNN.
* * * * *
Matthew walked 103 paces into the woods. He always counted as he walked. 103 paces brought him to the stump of an oak tree. This was a marker. He turned left and started on the next 39 paces that would bring him to a small clearing in the brush in the piney woods. Matthew spent much of the summer days in the small clearing. There was enough room to lie on a cushion of pine needles. His clearing was ten degrees cooler than the edge of the woods and 20 degrees cooler than Matthew’s old trailer.
“16, 17, 18,” counted Matthew as he walked towards his clearing, but he stopped before he reached 20. Something was different. Matthew could see a flash of red through the trees in his clearing. He smelled something burning. An instinct told him to run as fire was ahead. Curiosity won over instinct, and Matthew walked the remaining 18 paces. A man half Matthew’s age was sitting on the ground and leaning back against a pine tree at the edge of the clearing. He wore a tattered red shirt and puffed on a cigarette.
“You might not ought to smoke while sitting on a bed of dry pine needles,” said Matthew.
The young man took another drag on his cigarette and exhaled smoke slowly. “Yeah, I know. But this is my last one and this spot felt cool and comfortable.”
Matthew sat at the opposite edge of his small clearing and leaned against a pine tree so that he was facing the intruder.
“You live in that trailer over there?” asked the young man as he pointed to where Matthew had come with a nod.
“Yes, that is my place.”
“I figured you’d be along sometime. The trail from there to here was too easy. I guessed that someone used it often, at least this time of year. I passed by your place a few hours ago. You were probably sleeping or trying to sleep. I don’t know how anybody sleeps in this soup without air conditioning, and you don’t have any in that trailer of yours.”
The young man finished his cigarette and crushed its ember on the bottom of his walked-smooth boots.
“It seems you have a problem here,” continued the young man.
“Me? I don’t follow you young man. I have a place to live and by the look of your boots it seems you have been walking a long way.”
“Yes, I have been walking a ways. I don’t have a home, and that means I don’t have a home to lose like you.”
Matthew sat quietly. He thought hard about this young man sitting opposite him with no means and one cigarette less than one. It is true though, when you have nothing you have nothing to lose and nothing to be taken from you.
“Keep talking young man.”
“That sign on the edge of the woods, the one from Golfways Corp., the paint is fresh, no scratches, no rust. Any sign in south Louisiana that has no rust on it is new. Some has recently pulled it from a tree and tossed it to the ground. Someone who lives across a quiet dirt road from a patch of woods that will one day be plowed under to be a golf course and condos for rich people from the city.”
“Yeah. Your pretty sharp for someone wandering about.”
“That’s me, sharp but wandering. Ask my mother, she’ll tell you. Anyways, I’ve seen good old GC do this in several places. I even worked for them once. Foreman of a crew building luxury homes in six different models. Yes, GC knows what it is doing. Everyone in the way be damned.”
The young man paused. They both stopped breathing for a moment.
“And you, old man, are in the way of this one.”
* * * * *
Esther sat smartly behind the reporting podium. The director was talking non-stop in her ear piece while other people tugged at her jacket and pressed a loose hair into place. A set of papers was pressed into her hand.
Esther waited a moment for her cue. She glanced at the papers in her hand. She had written these herself, but nervous energy moved her eyes over the words one last time.
From across the set, the hour’s anchor person read the cue. “The strong economy continues to bring golf communities to what used to be out-of-the-way places. Reporting on this trend is correspondent Es Thompson.”
The anchor turned in a direction that seemed natural for Esther to be sitting. They were all well practiced in the banter that would occur before a story was reported. That was only a show as Esther was in a far corner of the studio. “Es, tell us about this. Quite a welcome sight in these communities.”
Esther mimicked the imaginary turn, remembering which direction the anchor person was supposed to be sitting. “Yes, it is quite a development for these places.”
Esther turned forwards to face the camera whose light was blowing red. She thought about the mindless show they projected. “How stupid do we sound?” she thought. “Everything is ‘quite this’ and ‘very that.’ Mindless.” She read her papers, pausing at the times that the video showed with her recorded voice playing with the video.
The story was presented well. Esther showed the cost of golf course communities and living on one. She also showed how a strong economy produced a small number of people able to afford such living each year. That small number, however, was large enough to make the economies work.
Esther had moved up the ranks of television reporters quickly. She was smarter than the vast majority of female journalists, actually earning a degree in journalism with a minor in history. She also had the appearance of a model. Esther learned how to play that down instead of playing it up as did most women in her trade. Her beauty came to people slowly and steadily instead of overwhelming them.
* * * * *
As Es Thompson’s report drew to a close, Matthew’s television blinked off with a squeal of static.
“Damn TV. It does that when it gets hot.”
“Well, sir, that makes it fairly useless in these parts,” said the young man.
Matthew sat with the young stranger in the kitchen. Rain had chased them from the woods back to Matthew’s trailer. The doors and windows were open to allow some breeze to flow through as well as goodly amounts of water.
“True, but it works okay. I get more news than I want, and Esther is on a couple days a week in the morning.”
“Esther? Is that was ‘Es Thompson’ is about? Esther?”
“Yes, her full name is Esther.”
“Hmm, I’ve never heard that. How did you know?”
Matthew started to go into a long speech, but stopped himself. “Oh, I just heard it somewhere. Which reminds me, I haven’t heard your name young man. What is it?”
“Mike, Mike Jordan, and before you say anything about my name, yes I have heard it all before. That is the same name as that basketball player turned underwear salesman.”
“My name is Matthew Thompson.”
“Thompson, any relation to Es Thompson?” asked Mike with a laugh. He cut his laugh short and continued with his questions. “Isn’t Es Thompson from South Louisiana. You’d never know it by her accent as she has learned to speak ‘television English.’ No relation to you Matthew?” Mike laughed and slapped his leg. The joke struck him. A rich national TV personality that looks like Miss America and this old man “living” in a trailer that should be condemned. Right! These two could be related.
“Yes,” was all Matthew answered.
“Yes, I know she is from South Louisiana. Everyone knows that.”
“Yes to your other question.”
“What other question?” asked Mike as he stood and stretched. He pushed the mud around the cracked linoleum floor of the trailer. The mud forming as the rain came through the opened windows and mixed with the dirt on the floor.
“The question about being related. The answer is yes.”
Mike stopped mid stretch and held his arms out, bent at the elbows with his fists near the sides of his face. His face curled in curiosity and his eyes darted side to side as if trying to find an answer somewhere in the trailer.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Esther and I are related. Her half brother is my grandson, or something like that. I’m confused about what you call it given all the divorces and out-of-wedlock kids and remarriages these kids have. But I held her in my arms when she was a baby. I haven’t spoken to her since. Her mother took her away from her father. Some folks called that kidnapping, but I don’t know how protecting a child from a drunk is kidnapping. Anyways, I claim Esther as one of my 23 grandchildren.”
* * * * *
“Good story today,” said David Bennett.
“Thank you. Did you notice how I worked in the part about eminent domain and local governments?” answered Esther.
“Yes I did. Where did you find that information Miss Journalist?” asked David with a grin.
“Well, Mr. Bennett. Some promising law student told me about it last week. He said it was something he learned as a clerk on some little court here in Washington.”
“So, Es, you hang out with soon-to-be lawyers do you?”
“Yes I do. Well I hang out with one soon-to-be lawyer who is well connected with the senior Senator from Louisiana.”
“Enough about my dad Miss Journalist. Now, what are we doing this weekend?” inquired David.
“I don’t know about you, but I was going back to Louisiana to check on some leads I had with this golf course story. There may be a few angles I haven’t pursued yet.”
“Oh Es, there are always a few more angles. Anytime there is that much money riding on real estate you can find someone who is losing. That’s the nature of things. The economy is strong, people are building – some people are building – and others are left behind.”
“David, please show a little compassion here. You grew up in McLean, Virginia so it’s hard for you to identify with people in Louisiana. I grew up there. Besides, your father doesn’t want any surprises about abuse of power on these land deals. That might kill him next year as he is up for re-election. If there is anything wrong happening, he would want to know now. Right?”
Esther picked on David about how he grew up outside his father’s home state. She claimed Louisiana as her home, but she had not told David or any one else the details of her childhood. She didn’t grow up on the wrong side of the tracks as there were no railroad tracks or anything else that advanced in her childhood. She managed to make it as a reporter, but only after many nights of speech practice to rid her of a white trash accent.
“Es, don’t worry about my father. He has the seniority to weather anything.”
“I realize that is probably true David, but your father is a good man and will do what is right when he is aware of bad situations. Now, would you like my trip to Louisiana to be our trip to Louisiana? Or do you have something else to occupy you this weekend?”
* * * * *
“Es, I think we’re lost,” mumbled David Bennett.
“No, we aren’t. Look.” Esther held the Garmin towards David’s face. David glanced towards the device in Esther’s hand, but the bright Louisiana sun turned the display silver.
“I can’t see anything Es.”
“Look, we’re right here on this road.”
“Es, I wouldn’t call this a road.” With that, David stopped the rental car in the middle of a muddy road.
“You can’t stop here. This is a road.”
“Es, we may be the only car to travel this road in years. I think it’s okay to stop here and get our bearings.”
They both sat quietly for a long moment. “Well, do you have your bearings now?”
“Let me see the map Es.” David unfolded a map and held it in front of the two of them. Their view out the windshield was blocked completely. David traced their path from the New Orleans airport. Esther thumbed the buttons on the Garmin zooming in and out trying to gain a perspective on their location.
“I think I see us now,” said David.
“Yes, me too. We are right here, David.”
David crunched the map down to peer at the device in Esther’s hand. The two of them jumped in their seats. Two men were standing in front of their car.
“Move slowly Esther. We don’t want to startle anyone.”
“David, get a grip.”
Esther quickly unbuckled her seat belt, unlocked her door, opened it, and stood next to the car. Her movement was so quick and startling that David couldn’t say anything.
“Do you know where we are?” asked Esther loudly.
David instinctively ducked. The only sound was the hum of the car’s engine. Everyone waited for someone to say something.
“You are right in the middle of the road,” said the younger of the two men.
“I guessed that,” replied Esther. “Can you do any better?”
David opened his car door and stepped half way out. “Es, maybe you should get back in the car. I…”
“Es?” asked the younger man blocking the car’s path. “Are you Es Thompson? From CNN?”
“Why yes I am,” answered Esther. She raised her sun glasses so they sat on the top of her head. She stepped towards the two men extending her hand. “I am Es Thompson, CNN. I’m here looking for the site of Golfways Corporation’s newest development. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes,” answered the older man. “It is right here. Your car is probably sitting on a fairway or swimming pool, Esther.”
David exited the car and stood next to it. “Esther?” He looked at Esther and continued. “I thought only a few people knew your full name.”
“Some of us here knew her name before she did,” added the older man.
“What’s that mean?” asked David.
“I think it means we should all talk a while,” concluded Esther.
* * * * *
“Dad, I think you should listen to some of this,” shouted David into his cell phone. He was standing outside Matthew Thompson’s trailer in the twilight. He, Esther, Matthew, and Mike Jordan had spent hours walking through the woods and sitting in the trailer drinking the strongest coffee David had ever sipped. “No Dad, I am not over reacting. You should really know about this. It would mean at least ten points for you in this part of the state. Dad, this is the right thing to do, and that is what you always told me was most important. Yes, I advise you come down here next weekend and see for yourself. Sure Dad, we’ll be careful. See you in a day or two. Bye.”
“Well?” asked Esther. “What do you think?”
“I think Golfways Corp. is going to change their plans. Dad listened, and I am pretty sure he understood what is happening and what he wants to do.”
Esther sighed and clasped her hands together on top of her head. She looked down and pushed the gravel and mud about with the toe of her shoe. “And you? You heard a lot this afternoon that you had not heard before. Do you know what you want to do?”
“Not yet Esther or Es or who ever you are. Why did you keep all this from me?”
“I don’t know. I was afraid. I am afraid. I was trying to move beyond my past. I didn’t want my past to hold me back. I was moving in my career. I am confused David. I never imagined I would run into someone who says he is my grandfather. I’m not sure I want to believe him, but…”
“But he knows so much about you. He knows much more about your past than I did. And he is far more sure of himself than you are of yourself.”
“I know David. I know. This business I’m in, so much of it is reputation and background. How was I to break in with my trailer trash childhood? And now this story.”
“Is this a story Es? Do you report it? Do you explain how you came across this information? Do you tell people your connection with the story?”
The two of them looked at one another and then back to the ground.
“The birthplace of Es Thompson about to be bulldozed for a putting green. Poor people be damned. That is quite a headline, but if you take the first half off…”
“It doesn’t have the same result,” Esther finished the thought. “I know David.”
“So, Es Thompson – ace reporter – do you know what you are going to do?”
“Your Dad does the right thing, doesn’t he? That old man in the trailer – I guess he is one of my grandfathers - he has done the right thing all his life. Sort of makes it tough to do any less.”
“Yes. When you stand next to people like that some of the tough decisions become easier,” added David.
“Easier to make, but are they easier to live with?” asked Esther.
“Well Es, is it easier to live with bad decisions?”
“When you put it that way David.”
Esther Thompson took a deep breath, pulled her cell phone from her pants pocket, and hit speed dial #1.
After a pause, she started, “Hello, this is Es Thompson. I need to speak to Mr. Douglass. Yes, I know what time it is and I know what he is doing, but believe me, he wants to talk to me. Tell him I have a story. I know all reporters say that, but I don’t unless it’s true and Mr. Douglass knows that about me.”