Please Don’t Walk on the Grass! - Dedicated to the Memory of a Good Friend

One day, a couple of years ago, Abby and I were standing beside her house talking. As I said something, she got a funny look on her face. She just stared at me, silently, until I asked what was wrong. She looked me square in the eye and said “Where are your feet at?” I looked down and discovered, to my horror, that her grass had crept under my feet. “Sorry Abby” I said as I quickly moved back onto the sidewalk. Rule number one, don’t walk on the grass.

Another time we were talking on her porch. She interrupted me, “Phillip!”, cocked her head a bit, and waited for my response. “Oh, sorry Abby” I said as I continued what I was saying. A moment later she interrupted again by sticking her finger in the air. “Abby” I pleaded “we’re not even inside your house, so it really doesn’t count.” Now she shook her finger and said “Do you know how a Marine talks?” I laughed and said it was probably a lot like me, but she was not amused. “Now Phillip, if I can get Barack (her nephew and a U.S. Marine) to talk right around me, then I think you can too.” Rule number two, don’t cuss around Abby.

Abby had two basic rules. Everyone knew her rules and everyone abided by them. And if you occasionally forgot, she had her subtle ways of reminding you. And if that didn’t work, then the conversation was over. The first rule was usually pretty easy for me to abide by. But that second rule was like learning a new language. She was worth the trouble though. In fact, for Abby, I probably would have even put up with a few more rules.

Several years prior to that afternoon on Abby‘s porch, during my first winter here, a young man came from across the street one night and asked if I had a truck. I couldn’t help laughing a bit, since I was unloading my truck as he asked the question. He said his Aunt Abby wanted to know if I’d help her move, as He pointed to her house. I went over and introduced myself to Abby, and told her I might be able to help sometime the next day.

Well, Abby was very persuasive, so a few minutes later Barack and I were loading up the furniture as she supervised. Barack rode with me as Abby followed behind, and the atmosphere in the truck was a little tense. I couldn’t figure it out at first, because although he had an almost angry look on his face, his talk was polite. Somehow the conversation drifted to racism and I remember him saying “I treat all people fair, black or white. Aunt Abby says that’s the way people should be.”

I remember that as we carried the furniture into the other house, the people there looked at me a little funny also. So a few minutes later, here we all were, setting in a basement of some house a couple of miles from my home. I had no idea who these people were, and I probably couldn’t have found my way back home alone. As we all sat there resting for a minute and talking, the strangeness of the situation became more clear.

I have always been somewhat of an optimist, and a bit naïve sometimes. And that’s why it took a minute to realize that most people would find it odd for a stranger to stop what he was doing to help them, then walk into the basement of an unknown house with them. This was especially strange for the neighborhood we were in, and even more unbelievable when the people were of different races.

The reality of the situation began to hit me. Yes, this is THAT area of town, where people are found shot and stabbed in abandoned houses and basements. And here I was, in the basement, with a bunch of strangers who knew that I was not from around these parts. I didn’t feel scared though, no one had made any intimidating remarks. I realized then that the strange looks weren’t hostile at all. They were just surprised that I wasn’t scared shitless to be there under such circumstances.

As we walked outside, I admitted that I didn’t know where I was at. Abby led me back home, then tried to give me money for helping. “What’s a little bit of gas among friends?”, I said as we parted that night.

I got to know Abby well during the next couple of years. She was always one of those neighbors you could call on if you needed some milk or an egg. One day there was a knock at my door. It was Bernie, Abby’s young son, asking if I was hungry. It seemed like a strange question, but I answered honestly. “Yeah, I’m always hungry.” He just said “Well, my momma’s got some food for you. You need to bring a plate.” Then he turned and walked away.

What the hell, I was hungry, so I grabbed a plate and went across the street. When I walked into her kitchen, I was surprised to see a feast of food on the table. Abby began filling the plate as she called off each item. “I saw you were home on Thanksgiving”, she said, “and I know you don’t have any family here, so I thought you might be hungry.” I told her it almost felt like I had family here, as I lifted some turkey from the table.” She gave me a hug, and a huge plate of food, and sent me on my way.

A couple of years later, and another knock on the door. It was early in the morning and it was Bernie again. It had taken me a minute to get to the door, and Bernie acted a little angry. He was older now, a teenager, and it showed. He just said, demandingly, “I need a ride.” I was ready to say no, just as sharply, but instead I asked where he needed to go at that time in the morning. He said “I missed my school bus.” I think he sensed that I was a little irritated, so he shrugged his shoulders, said “That’s OK.”, and began walking away. What the hell, I told him to give me a few minutes to get dressed. At least it was for a good cause. And besides, Thanksgiving was coming soon.

A few years later, Bernie had begun spending a lot of time on the corner in front of my house. There was a rather serious incident that occurred in my front yard one night. After the police uncuffed Bernie and left, I walked over and talked with Abby for a few minutes. I then told Abby that I’d like to speak with Bernie for a minute. He was standing beside his house talking and laughing with his friends when Abbey said “Bernie, get over here now. This man wants to speak with you.”

My words to Bernie were brief and direct. “If I walk out of my house, and see someone standing there with a gun in their hand, they might get shot. Maybe I’ll get shot. Who knows, maybe we’ll both end up shooting each other. I suggest that you give serious consideration to what you’re doing. You need to decide whether the games you’re playing are worth you and me dying over. Because that is what guns are for, killing people.”

I then asked Bernie if he wanted to kill me. He looked at his mother and she said “He asked you a question, Bernie.” He looked me in the eye, and said No, so I figured that was enough said. Abby looked at him for a minute, then told him he could leave. We stood talking for a few minutes more and Abby put her arms around me, giving me a firm hug, and said “Thank you, Phillip. I really do try with him, but I don’t know what to do sometimes. God bless you” As I walked away Abby said “You know, I think maybe you’ve got a little bit of Ben in you.” As you’ll understand from my next post, I took that as a high compliment.

So let’s look at the relationship between Abby and myself. I tell her own son that I might shoot him. Does Abby respond by defending Bernie? No, she responds by thanking me for helping. And as far as my views towards Abby - she fed me! In my book, that qualifies as family. Over the years, Abby helped me a lot with the problems I had here. And as I began to understand the relationship between her and her son, my views towards some of the dealers was tempered a bit. After all, they’re all somebody’s son. And many of their mothers were my friends.


Respect yourself, respect others, but mostly - respect the rules!
Always remember to stay off the grass & don't cuss.