Pontons Store, VA

In another time, I was seated at the bus depot in Pontons Store, Amelia County, VA. The heat breathed heavy on my neck. The Route 153 sign, along the road, flickered in flames. Sweet pines scented the air and sweet tea (ice cold) hit the back of my tongue. I could feel the tiny ticks in the thickets thirsting for everything under my skin. I realized the shape of the bread to my peanut butter sandwich made the shape of Virgina.

Yeah, in a Southern flare, I tipped my fedora to the bus driver and boarded for Richmond. The old timers already en route on the earlier bus; like a pilgrimage to home fronts all across the Piedmont and Southside VA.

Pretty ladies in Sunday best, young and gracefully aged alike reminiscing on what they knew and didn't yet know. Stories and advice being transferred from one generation to another. Chicken bones scatter in a corner of the depot, alongside the dumpster. The hunting dogs stop for the leftovers. Grandma is in the kitchen of Pontons Store...fixing the fixins (in the belly of the Southside). Weary travelers eat the homecookin' far from home. Pontons Store feels like a house I once lived in. A snake stretched across the road, soaking in the heat of a summer sun. I sat at the window seat and admired everything that came to my senses. I worked on the algebra problem my daughter asked me to help her with. My scratch pad and pencil in hand, I relaxed and labored on the puzzler. She awaited my return to Shockhoe Bottom.

Months later, I returned to Pontons Store in the winter and the snow flew. Hot coffee brewed inside the Store. The smell of greens and fried chicken grew into my skin. I ate. The evening grew on and the snow piled to one inch on Route 153. Folks walked from the rural roads of Amelia to gather groceries and warmth and good conversation. The bus ran late due to the inclement weather. More stories were exchanged. Some slept on the bench seats. Some stood outside with cigars and cups of coffee. Their conversation becoming condensation in the frosty air. Young people made snowballs. In the distance, smoke drifted from chimneys. What a beautiful scene of hustle and bustle in the smoothest form. Cigar smoke hung in the air and waited, then moved on into the night.

I wanted the time to stand straight like six o'clock and move no more. Unfortunately, though, this is not possible. We have the moment and then memories. Boldly we look for the future to bring good tidings. My tidings were on the evening bus to Richmond. The rarity of the snowfall made the travel slower than usual. I remained patient and adorned myself with the pace of the Southside. Casual conversation and a flask of homemade rum hidden in my wool coat made the time more precious on the bus and in the depot prior to boarding.

Through the night we traveled. All of us on the bus had business elsewhere. I have the pleasure of returning home to more homecookin' and giving the girls a kiss on the cheek and reading a bedtime book. The little one tells me my beard is scratchy and I smell like chips and beer. Thank you, I love you, good night.