JOHNNIE COMES HOME

#153 - “Hey, Dad, I saw your friend, Johnnie, a couple of days ago. He was leaving the JD Bank parking lot in that rig of his. You know, with that white hair of his, he looks like Elwood from ZZ Top.”

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JOHNNIE COMES HOME

Dan and his dad were out for a spin in his new flat-bottom boat. It could go just about anywhere in the marsh.

On a windless day, they cruised the calm waters on Big Lake south toward the Gulf.

They passed the huge engine block that was ripped out of a ship during Hurricane Audrey in ‘57. It rolled five miles on the storm surge from where the storm hit it out in the Gulf, and across two miles of land finally resting on the shallow lake bottom.

It’s been there ever since. A fitting monument to the storm’s power and lives lost.

It rises ten feet above the surface. People fish around it now.

They joined the ship channel, which is also the Calcasieu River on this stretch, and had to slow down for the ferry at Cameron near the entrance to the Gulf.

Seagulls swarmed and screamed and dove for their dinner in the ferry’s wake. One learns to give a flock of feeding gulls wide birth, a lot of droppings come with the territory.

A couple more miles to go. They would turn back soon. They could be back home in an hour.

“Hey, Dad, I saw your friend, Johnnie, a couple of days ago. He was leaving the JD Bank parking lot in that rig of his. You know, with that white hair of his, he looks like Elwood from ZZ Top.”

“Johnnie Boy? I haven’t seen him in months. He lives in that tricked out old box truck ambulance van. It has four-wheel drive. You can stand up in it.

“You should see the inside. Everything he needs. Even has a firewood stove, smokestack and all. He lived in it in California and Alaska, he says.

“He was long-haul trucking for years. Then he got into gold prospecting. It suits him. I think he did well. I don’t know what else he did. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a lot of money.”

“How did you know him?”

”We lived down the street from each other. I don’t remember not knowing him. We snuck on the airbase to go swimming, built Christmas tree forts, went to school, chased girls.”

“Why doesn’t he live in a house?”

“I guess that van is easier. In case he wants or needs to pick up and go. He stays down at Holly Beach a lot. Probably has a few places to stay.

“How long had he been gone?”

“Going on fifty years. He came back for a visit once in a while. To see his family, a few friends. Never stayed long. Sure didn’t think he would live this long. He kind of pushes things.”

“I’m surprised he’s stayed around as long as he has. Family and most anyone he’d like to look up has moved away or died off.”

“Why’d he leave in the first place?”

“He got in trouble with the cops; it was in the early marijuana days. Back then, it was a long jail sentence if caught. He was lucky.

“He wasn’t working, almost broke, and rent was due. I saw him just before he left. We had a good time.

“A couple days later, I went over to tell him about a driver’s job with an oil rig supply company he could apply for. He was gone. Didn’t see him for years.”

“Why did he come back now?”

“He says, ’It’s home, it’s in my bones.’”

They entered the Gulf and swung wide as a large tanker made its approach to the channel. Its destination, thirty miles up channel to the LNG port for loading the gas, going to who knows where.

The water was clear, light blue and turquoise to the horizon. A seldom seen condition.

The many rivers and bayous, especially the Mississippi, empty their milk chocolate silt saturated waters into the Gulf, and on the prevailing current, a muddy plume spreads through the coastal waters. So thick it kills fish. It’s miles out before the water clears.

A day or so of a stiff north wind can blow the shallow coastal waters further out to the sea. Surrounding clear water comes in from the sides and underneath replacing it. It only lasts a day or two.

Cutting the engine, they drifted with the silence on slow rolling swells.

Dan said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the water like this. Look at all the mullet.”

“I know. Maybe a few years. And it’s calm, not the usual wind-blown chop.

Looking at his cell, checking the signal, he asked, “Dan, do you have to get back early?”

“No. What do you have in mind?”

“Got gas?

“Plenty gas,” Dan said.

From an app on his cell, he read, “High tide in an hour and a half, winds calm ‘til late afternoon.

“Let’s go over to Holly Beach. There’s no wave action; the boat can handle it. It won’t take long. Maybe we can see Johnnie’s rig. Might see it from the beach, there aren’t many houses rebuilt. I’ll text home that we’ll be out here a while longer.”

Dan throttled up and they cruised west along the shoreline.

Seven miles of nearly nothing. Marshland on one side and on the other, out-bluing itself into the distance; the Gulf spreads out and melds with the sky. The sea’s deep satisfying smell goes deep in the lungs.

A couple of offshore oil rig platforms stand on the horizon.

In fifteen minutes, they made it to Holly Beach and, there was Johnnie’s rig, right up near the beach.

Dan got in the ankle-deep water at the shoreline, pulled the boat up as high as he could and dug the anchor into the sand. They would have to watch the boat as the tide finished its rise.

They walked up the remaining width of the beach, now narrowed by the tide, and stepped up on the beach grass.

Johnnie stood by his grill working a spatula, his white hair sticking out in all directions as if being shocked.

His dog let out a howl from the small trailer behind the van, jumped to the ground and ran up to Johnnie, looking towards the beach.

Johnnie looked, at the same time hearing, “Hey, Johnnie Boy!”

He recognized the caller.

“Hey, Sammy Boy! Come on over here. Who’s that with you? I’ll put on some more burgers.”

part 2 next time.

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