The circumstances that caused my friend Randy Jackson to quit smoking at age twelve weren’t a blessing, although the result was.
Randy’s best pal had spent the night with him, and school being out the next day, they had big plans. As they headed out for much mischief, Mrs. Jackson said, “Randy, I’ll be home from work at four o’clock, and Dad won’t get in until five, so you’ll have to tend to your baby brother Dwayne today.”
“But, Mom, with a kid tagging along, we can’t do all the fun things we’ve got planned,” Randy moaned. Three words killed that argument: “Mind me, boy!”
A week earlier, Randy’s dad built a backyard shed, but nothing had yet been stored in it. Determined that Dwayne wouldn’t foil his plans, Randy lured him into the shed and locked it.
“We’ll be back before Mother gets home,” Randy said to his pal. “If I bring my brother some candy bars, peanuts, and a drink from Collins Convenience Store, he won’t tell. While we’re there, I’ll steal a pack of cigarettes.”
Old man Collins knew the boys well, and continued reading the newspaper, paying them no mind when they sauntered in, so Randy had no problem making the heist.
Around mid-afternoon, they returned home, smoked a few cigarettes, and released the detainee. Poor Dwayne … all day, he’d been incarcerated, with no food or water. When Randy opened the door, he was crying.
“Aw, come one, Dwayne, don’t be upset,” Randy said. “Look — I brought you some candy, peanuts, and a soda.”
Famished, the boy wolfed down the snacks, but Randy had a spooky premonition that his wickedness might not escape retribution, due mainly to the vengeful gleam in Dwayne’s eyes.
Having grown accustomed to the shed’s darkness, those eyes were watching when Randy slid the cigarettes under the back wall of the shed. That was all the evidence Dwayne needed.
Sure enough, when Mr. Jackson pulled in the driveway, Dwayne showed him the cigarettes. “Look, Dad, Randy’s been smoking.”
“Boy, where did you get those cigarettes?” Caught dead to rights, Randy was nailed for two of his three evils that day, and for once told the truth, hoping Dwayne wouldn’t throw in the third crime.
“I stole them from Mr. Collins’ store.”
When Mr. Jackson and juvenile delinquent Jackson pulled up to Collins’ Store, there were no cars around. Randy volunteered to go in and confess his crime to Mr. Collins.
“Wait,” his dad said. Soon, several carloads of customers pulled up and went into the store. “Now, go ’fess up.”
“Please, Dad … those folks know me.”
“That’s exactly why I made you wait.”
Dwayne never told his parents about being locked in the shed all day, but he got his revenge by listening to his older brother wail when Mr. Jackson administered a thorough thrashing.
“Did you ever lock Dwayne in the shed again?” I asked Randy.
“Nope. And furthermore, that whipping broke me from stealing … and smoking, too.”
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
