"Restless Hours and Thoughts of Age"

Johnsonville, SC, as Alicetown, Georgia, in Painted People Story.

It’s late again — well past the bewitching hour — and like every other night owl wandering around their apartment instead of sleeping, I’m still awake, tending to small tasks before finally giving in. Oddly enough, I sleep better from 6 a.m. to 1 p.m. than during the hours the world insists are meant for rest. Seven hours never feels like seven hours anymore. I need more than that these days.

I try not to dwell too much on age or the strange process of growing older, especially since I never expected to see forty. Yet here I am — this old body still moving along, while so many people and places exist now only as memory.

Progress on Painted People
For the first time, I’m genuinely satisfied with where Painted People is heading. That’s not something I say lightly. In my imagination, I’m back in Georgia — in Johnsonville, the town that shaped me and now serves as the bones of my fictional Alicetown. And I have to admit: I’m enjoying the story as it unfolds. It feels alive in a way it hasn’t in years.

Below is a small sample from the latest work — a scene I’m finally proud to share.


Painted People — Sample
Alicetown, Georgia wasn’t the kind of place that let go of its dead. The red clay roads, the leaning pines, the sagging porches — everything seemed to hold the memory of those who’d passed through and those who’d passed on. As Travis followed Miss Etha Lee up the steps of her trailer, the air felt thick enough to swallow. The confrontation with Tyrone still clung to him like sweat, but something heavier pressed in now — a sense that whatever truth he’d come seeking was waiting inside, patient and unblinking, ready to strip away whatever illusions he had left.

Once inside the warm trailer house, the woman slammed the door and swished ahead of him, studying him up and down, her fingers tapping the snuff‑swollen side of her jaw.

“Well, ya ain’ so weak kneed an’ dat uggy,” she nodded, “an’ ya ain’ necessarily look lak one o’ thom funny fallas I sees up in At lanta. I thinks ya be righ’ phine fir a lily skin boy. But chile, ya needs som’ grits on yar ribs. Don’t ya eat out dere in California?”

“Yes ma’am, I eat all the time.”

“Den where ’bouts ya put it?”

“You mean food?”

“Yep — de food ya gotta eat ta live!”

“Well, I chew it, swallow it down my thro—”

“Chile! It can’t be gawn nowhere. I see I be havin’ ta fatten ya up ’fore ya leave dis house. No one — ’specially a man — oughta be dat poh.”

“But I’m not skinny, ma’am.”

“Ya is poh, chile. Now let me take yar suitcase an’ ya sat yar sef righ’ down on dat chair ’til I gits back an’ fix us som’ o’ momma’s good ole stemmin’ black coffee and den a hearty breakfast.”

Travis cleared his throat and handed her the suitcase. His lip throbbed. His chest still felt tight from Tyrone’s grip — shame, fear, and something else he didn’t want to name.

She started out, then swirled back.

“Yar neck ain’ botherin’ ya none now, is it chile?”

“No ma’am,” he said, touching his mouth. “It’s my lip. The skin’s broken. It stings a little, but I’ll be all right.”

“I get ya some ice ta keep de swellin’ down. I guess ya jest shook up afta big ole Ty rone gots hold of ya.”

“Yes ma’am. I expect I was a bit taken back.”

“Well, dat’s over wit now, chile. What’s done is done. Ty rone awright. He jest upset. He wuz crazy ’bout his big brother Clarence. An’ seein’ Clarence die de poor way he lef dis earth — hurt him. But once ya gits ta know my babie boy, ya gots yarsef a sure enuf friend fir life. Ya hear me, chile?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, clearing his throat again. “And I’ll hear you even better once you get some ice for my lip and put that coffee on.”

“Ya got a mighty fine point dere, chile. I jest can’t git gawning lessin’ I have my strong black coffee. It’s kinda like wontin’ a strong black man ’round. I’m always needin’ a good one ta hold an’ squeeze me in his thick arms, but he ain’ never ’round when de spell hits me. Now I reckon you know righ’ well what I’m talkin’ ’bout, chile?”

“Yes ma’am, I expect I do.”