Dan
I was standing in the kitchen of my parent’s house looking out at my dad’s banana trees in the backyard yesterday when I saw our pup Lilah take off running towards the front of the yipping loudly. It was too early for dad to be back from work at the surgery center, but I could hear a large SUV pulling up the driveway. Walking around to the front of the house I saw Lilah sitting, tale wagging, in front of a beat up landrover that was more rust than red paint. The windows were rolled down and, looking at the driver, it was clear that the AC didnt work. Beer gut, muddly tennis shoes, and pocket knife on his belt, the man looked like any other average Joe from the Priceville-Hartselle-Decatur area: the complete opposite of my tall, thin, indian father in his Brooks Brothers suits. He bent down with a huff to pet Lilah with an obvious familiarity and, before i could say anything, looked up at me and asked, “Well who’re you then?” in a thick Alabama accent as if i were the one out of place standing here in front of my house.
“I’m, uh, Sidarth Kantamneni.” He stuck out his sweaty hand to shake and laughed.
“Well shyeet Ah didn’ know Doc had a boy. You’re Babu Jr then, huh? That’s funny.” With that he walked around to the back of the truck to open the tailgate. I followed him.
“So. Who are you?” I asked.
“Dan. Here, start carryin’ these inside. I gotta take a piss.” He pointed into the back of the truck before casually walking off towards the poolhouse. Ten cases of cold beer sat glistening with a thick, dripping layer of condensation. I just shrugged and took the cases in twos into the poolhouse bar. On the last four Dan came out of the bathroom and helped.
“Hooooey i feel better, you know. God derned heat. Sheesh.” With the last case he shook my hand and started to get back in his truck. Somewhat confused I just pointed towards the bar where we’d stocked the beer and asked “So..?” He smiled.
“Ah was jes’ driving by.Thought Ah’d up and drop some off.”
“Oh. Ok.” as if it made total sense.
He reached into the driverside door of his truck and pulled another cold beer from somewhere within. Taking a sip, he leaned agains the rusty machine. “You see, yer daddy is a hell of a good guy.”
“Yessir.”
“I mean, he does alotta good fer alotta folk ‘round here.”
“Yessir”
“Lemme tell you what. If all the men in the world were men like me and yer daddy, thar wouldn’ be no wars, no killin’, no hatin’, no nothin’. And that’s how it should be.”
Not knowing what to say to this stranger standing in my driveway, I replied stupidly “Here’s hopin’?” He laughed and took another swig.
“Shyeet, boy. Ain’t never gonna be a world like that.” With that he hopped in his truck, gave a final “Nice to meetcha, Junior”, and drove away. Lilah followed the truck down as far as the bend in the driveway, running alongside and barking.
I may not want to stay here, but I do love being from Decatur, Alabama.
