Go to Hell Ole Miss by Jeff Barry - A Southern Literary Novel - A Personal Favorite for 2024

 

“Start acting right and he’ll take you on a ride sometime,” Pearl said. She winked at Myles. “The back seat has plenty of room for long-legged boys.” Momma, the worst cook in at least one state, came to mind as I wolfed down the world’s best cobbler and watched Myles’s face turn red. Momma swore on the family Bible he could sell condoms to the pope without breaking a sweat. If that didn’t send me from the kitchen at a trot, I’d hear that Myles had the looks of a movie star—Robert Redford was her standard pick—to go with a wallet thicker than King Solomon’s. Sounded sketchy to me, but anything that took her mind off Deddy couldn’t have been the worst sin in the Good Book. 

Big John cleared his throat. “Myles, I hear you liked the Rendezvous.” “Best ribs this side of the Mississippi, Mr. Jackson.” “Son, how many times do I have to remind you to call me Big John?” “Sorry, my parents are sticklers for manners,” Myles said, flashing a line of white teeth that should’ve made Big John think twice about his crooked yellows. Big John pulled a rag from a drawer, wiped at Deddy’s leftovers, and looked my way. “Slide, you’re bound to be tuckered out. Let’s head on up to your room.” Myles glanced at the clock above the back door. “Goodness, Slide. It’s three in the morning. I’ll see you at church in eight hours. Then we’ll have us a time at Big John’s birthday dinner.” 

“I hope so,” I said. Myles put a hand on my shoulder and stared through me with his warm blue eyes. “Your father will make it through this valley. The same God who looks after the sparrows will take care of him.” I’d seen plenty of dead sparrows but nodded anyway. “Meanwhile, lean on this wonderful family of yours. And know you have a friend in me.” 

Myles. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but something about Pearl’s latest suitor was different. From a pat on the back to a corny joke, Myles knew how to make me feel like his best buddy and only brother all bundled into one special package. Pearl wrapped an arm around his waist. “Slide, let’s help my man to his truck. He’s scared of the dark.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Whatever you say, Boo-bear.” Shitfire, Myles wasn’t perfect after all. Baby talk and Boo-bear made a bad mix in my book. We filed through the back door and down the steps to Myles’s pickup. Pearl locked her hands around his neck, planted a long kiss, and slapped him on the bottom as he got behind the wheel. I turned for the house, wondering why the hell I hadn’t stayed in the kitchen. BIG JOHN STOOD BY THE BED as I slid under the covers. He knelt and bowed his head. I wasn’t high on prayer but didn’t mind his. His prayers didn’t ramble from one eternity to another with strange voices and long words other grown-ups thought God made a big to-do over. They didn’t take forever to start either. “You praying or not?” I asked. “Afraid I don’t have it in me tonight.” He grunted to his feet. “I love you, Slide. So does your deddy. Try and get some sleep.” His shoulders filled the doorway as he paused and looked back. 

“Slide, when have you been the happiest? What comes to mind?” “A couch,” I said. “I’m sorry Deddy ruined your birthday.” He walked back and sat on the edge of the bed. “Having you here makes my birthday. You got that?” I nodded. “Now toss me a happy.” A happy? Staying with Big John and Shine would be one. Playing with Annabelle in her puppy days would be another. I was five years old when Santa left her in a kennel under the Christmas tree. We wrestled in the yard the whole summer. By September she could plant her paws between my arms, pin me down with her chest, and go to town with a tongue that felt like worn-down sandpaper and soft-warm butter all at once. “Annabelle,” I said. “Your Annabelle’s quite a dog.” “Best yellow Lab ever. Best dog.” “Course I’m more of a cat person, but—” 

“Nobody’s perfect,” I piped in. Snowball was meaner than a bobcat and would’ve passed for one if not for his long tail and bushy white fur. He liked only one person, and only one person liked him. Big John acted like Queen Elizabeth had honored us with a visit whenever his cat sauntered in from another hunting trip. “You’ll come around,” he said...

~~~

BIG JOHN FORCED HIS OWN SMILE as I crossed the porch. I rocked until I got tired of acting like everything was A-okay. “What was that about?” I asked. He raised a brow that needed a barber. “We can start with damn. Either one.” “Shine’s been slipping a little here lately,” he said. He leaned back, looking me over. “No wonder you’re so bright beyond those fourteen years.” “I’ll be fifteen in four months. Old enough to drive in this state.” “I’d wager it has more to do with your smarts, plus spying on grown-ups, than a driver’s license. How long were you nosing into our bidness?” “Long enough to know you weren’t leveling with me last night.” 

He sipped his coffee. “Not much to it, Slide. A little grown-up talk.” “If it’s okay for grown-ups to lie, why do kids have to tell the truth?” He stared toward the gate like he expected company. Shine rushed out and handed me a steaming cup of cream and sugar. “How’s it going today, Aunt Shine?” I asked, as if I didn’t know. “Fair to middling,” she said. “I’ll let you men enjoy the fresh air while I get ready for church.” Get ready for church? Who needed three hours to dab on some makeup and throw on a dress? Not Shine. Big John started rocking after the door closed. I studied the zipper boots he polished every Saturday night while tapping his foot and humming along to The Lawrence Welk Show. The boots were older than the pants that supposedly fit back in his courting days. “Slide, see my pear trees on the edge of the pecan grove?” “All three,” I said. “My pears’ll be ready for these beauties any day now.” His mouth opened wide to show a set of teeth that was better left hidden. “Lucky for me Deddy couldn’t afford braces when I was growing up in the Great Depression. Those pears are mighty sweet, but they’re hard too. Straight teeth wouldn’t have the angles to cut through those jessies.” “You should get some pointers from Myles,” I said. “On teeth and clothes.” 

He quit rocking. His smile disappeared. “What is it, Big John?” “Myles,” he said. “He seems perfect for Pearl. What’s wrong?” “Nothing like that. What he said about your deddy crossed my mind. Last night, remember?” “I remember how much better Myles made me feel, though I’m not sure about the sparrows.” “He said your deddy will make it through this valley.” “This valley? Add them up and we’re talking the Grand Canyon.” “Have you seen the Grand Canyon?” “What do you think?” “Well, I have, and it’s no match for what Cash is going through. Been through.” “I wish you were my deddy.” “Slide, every kid’s Santa pulls a no-show at some point.” “You haven’t.” “That would be for Pearl to answer,” he said in a way that said coffee-talk was officially over.

~~~

It's been many years since I read a novel from the Southern Literature genre... This story by Jeff Barry is an excellent example. The author chose to move from character to character, by chapter. by Chapter. I found myself, though, caught in the life of a young boy who is just 14 when the book begins. So much so, that I find myself writing as if he drove the book's point of view. You see, this young boy will capture your heart quickly, or at least it happened to me, so I was quite aware of all events as they affected Slide... Yes, Slide is his name--and several other names may seem strange. But, then, if Slide was not happy about his name, then we shouldn't be surprised that Slide agrees with us...

It is 1970 and Slide is where he most wants to be. With his Uncle John and his Aunt Shine. His deddy is home from the war and all he does is sleep and lay around on their couch. Yes, as I am sure you've already guessed. He has PTSD. But all Slide knows is that he's not there for him, even though he's now living with his wife and Slide... In other words, Slide feels no real relationship with his own Father, while his Uncle John is a man who is always available...

Uncle John and Aunt Shine have one daughter, Pearl. She's at the "thinking about marriage" stage which has Uncle John on edge, not knowing what she might get into...

Shall we just say that Uncle John and Pearl have a significant difference of opinion on to whom and when she should consider marriage. Pearl had been involved with a young local who had joined the service, leaving Pearl "antsy" about her future... and spending time at a local bar listening to Black Sabbath...

Enter Miles....

Miles was what you might think of as a southern gentlemen. Once he had met Pearl, Miles soon had brought her back into the church and was thoughtful and giving in all ways... And he was...rich... What more could a Father want?! Miles knew the words to songs and sang louder than Uncle John who was a church deacon... 

Years ago, one of the songs we either sung, or I played, as pianist, was God be With You... But that day at church, Pearl didn't wait for that final song. She needed to get out of there! So, since Slider was staying with Uncle John, he was there when Pearl grabbed his hand and pulled him outside of the church... Opened Miles truck and turned on her kind of music... and sat, moving her arms, dancing as she sat enjoying the music...

Miles was not happy, especially when she made fun of her just missing the last hymn, even referring to him as Daddy*...

Slider was young enough--but old enough--to start questioning exactly what the, supposedly, grownups did... He watched as his father did nothing but sleep on the couch... He was very excited when his Deddy got up and was again a contributing member of the family. He watched as his Aunt began to fail physically and wanted her to always be there in his life. And, he watched Pearl as she seemed to be changing--one day happy, the next day sad or even scared. 

But mostly Slider watched as his beloved Uncle John thought her present special friend was a good match, until... he... wasn't. And had changed when he lost his beloved wife and was now constantly bothered by his daughter's life... Uncle John would rock in his wife's chair, not saying his inner words: He now questioned whether he should even remain as a Deacon of his church... Because he knew of only one person who could clear up the mess that he had brought about.

His brother...

Barry writes like he was sittin' on my front porch swing, lookin' out on my land, as the latest Azalea bush begins to bloom, and starts telling me about the times back in his '70s. I start shakin' my head about how I saw so much of his time then and our time in the present very similar. Seems to me that time wasn't any different than what was happenin' here in the present... It is 'specially hard for we who know Jesus to see His words being said from the mouth of a conman as he wheels and deals tellin' lies to gain favor while his criminal activities are kept secret... and see some who choose to believe the cons... It is indeed a mystery to be solved over and over and over...

This book was published this year, 2024. I was sharing a little with my wonderful caretaker yesterday... The way I see it is that Jesus died for all of us, not askin' much: Just askin' that God be loved above all and that we love our neighbors, setting aside all the rules... Yet 2000+ years have passed and we still have wars, hate, violence... Why is that? I don't know the answer. What I do know is that those who are thinkin' and ponderin' about the wasted lives caused by those who choose, for whatever reason, to, instead, hate their neighbor, are left with such pain because of a loss of a family member, especially children...

But one thing I do know is that when a writer chooses to write this story entwining the PTSD of a troubled soldier with solving a problem that was destroying the lives of others, that writer is seein' exactly what I see. God Bless you Jeff Barry. I loved the way your title was enhanced and expanded upon through your novel. Your characters became so real to me that I found my writing changing to honor the family who I met.  Indeed, your final Author's Note told me exactly what I had known--that the story was based upon a real-life experience... Be assured that this reader felt

exactly what you hoped... That we... can... indeed... hope...

I recommend this fascinating novel for many reasons!

GABixlerReviews

*A side note, the author has used colloquial dialogue, so that when Pearl's father was mentioned, Deddy versus Daddy was used as spoken in the South, I gather...For me, I wasn't quite sure how to say Deddy--deady, dedy with a lone e, or just daddy with a southern drawl...I tried to have it pronounced online and it didn't work... LOL So don't be surprised when reading his novel you'll be stumbling over how to say Deddy--unless, of course, you're from the south and wonder what in the world I'm talking about...

Sharon Sala Speaks to Women in her Novel - Broke-Ass Women's Club

It was nearing the end of May. David had been working the St. Louis area for almost a week, and it was time for him to head southeast. He was packing, getting ready to leave, and Janie was fussing with his suits and clean shirts, always making sure he had everything he needed for the time he would be gone. “David, darling, I'm putting in a few extra shirts… just in case,” she said. David smiled, poked a finger through one of the red curls above her forehead, then ran a finger down the side of her face. “You, my love, are the best. I don't know what I'd do without you. I'm going to miss you so much. I'll text every night. Oh… and don't forget, the plumber is coming tomorrow to see about that garbage disposal, so be watching for his text.” Janie hugged him. “Thank you for always taking such good care of me.” “It's what I do,” David said, then closed his suitcase and picked it up off the bed. “Come walk me to the door.” And so she did, falling into his embrace and goodbye kiss, then standing in the doorway and waving until his car was out of sight. Only then did she go down the hall to her office to begin her workday.  

Within moments of getting on the interstate, David Logan shifted to his David Lowry alias and was on the phone with his third wife, Gretchen, in Springfield. She answered breathlessly. “David! Darling. What a perfect way to begin my day.” He chuckled. “You are such a sweetheart. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I’m headed your way today.” “Wonderful! Will you be here tonight?” “Yes. I think I have about a week's worth of work in the area, so we have some special time ahead of us.” “I'm so excited! Have a great day. I can't wait to get you home!” “I can't wait to get there,” David said. “See you soon.” After that, he put his phone on Bluetooth and headed south. Less than an hour out of St. Louis, he drove straight into a thunderstorm, turned his wipers on high, and found an oldies station on Sirius XM. The traffic was steady, and David was driving seventy. He was singing Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain with Willie Nelson and keeping up with the traffic when his cellphone rang. When he saw it was his second wife, Bettina Lee, who knew him as her husband, David Lee, from Kansas City, he let it go to voicemail. A few seconds later, it rang again, and he rolled his eyes. It was his fourth wife, Pauline Lord, in Columbia. He loved his women, but he often wondered what the hell had he been thinking? All of a sudden, a semi came flying past him in the fast lane, and he was abruptly awash in water. It hit the driver's side window so hard and fast, it startled him into thinking he was about to get side swiped. He swerved, and when he did, his car hydroplaned and spun him to the left, right into the fast lane of traffic, into the path of another fully loaded semi. It took a rescue squad two hours to get his car out from under the truck, and then peel what was left of him out of it. He was identified by the driver's license in his wallet, which happened to still be David Logan, and the tag number on his car, which was registered to the company he worked for. Then they found a briefcase wedged partially beneath the seat with three more driver’s licenses, all with his photo, but with different names: David Lee, David Lowry, and David Lord. At that point, it became the responsibility of the Missouri Highway Patrol to find his next of kin and to notify the local police to see if any of his aliases turned up in open crimes. A detective named Fairfield got the file dumped on his desk, shuffled through it, and began a search on David Logan, David Lee, David Lowry, and David Lord. What he discovered was shocking. The man had different Social Security numbers for each name, which led him to believe it was a case of stolen identities. But further investigation revealed that while the man had been using Social Security numbers of deceased men, he'd been paying taxes on all four identities. He also discovered David Logan had a rented mailbox in a post office in St. Louis, where the mail for his aliases was being sent. The detective was floored. 

David Logan wasn't just a bigamist. He was a skilled conman who knew his way around the systems it took to hide what he was doing. Now he had to find out if he had next of kin under any of his other names. That's when he found the four wives and didn't know who to call first. In the end, it didn't matter. They all had to be notified. After that, it was up to David Logan's first wife to claim and bury him, although he was in so many pieces, there would have been enough to go around.

It was just after lunch when the doorbell rang. Janie was mopping up a spill on the kitchen floor, and when she heard it ring, was glad for the momentary reprieve. She leaned the mop against the cabinet, ran her fingers through her curls to get them off her forehead, and hurried through the hall to answer. What she didn't expect to see were the two Missouri Highway Patrolmen standing on her doorstep. And she still wasn't processing what she was seeing until they asked for her by name. “Janie Logan?” “Yes, I'm Janie,” she said. “Mrs. Logan, I'm Officer Danfield from the Missouri Highway Patrol, and this is my partner, Officer Kirby. May we come in?” “Yes, of course,” she said, and led them to the living room. As soon as she was seated, Danfield delivered the blow. “Mrs. Logan, I am sorry to tell you that your husband was in a car accident on I-44, and he did not survive.”

This book is for every woman who finds herself on the hard side of life through no actions of her own. 

I dedicate it to the strong ones who refused to quit. You are my sisters. And you are not alone.

~~~

This is a book for women--all women... Men are free to read it as well if they want to learn an important lesson... Still, given the numbers of books, movies and personal stories shared by one friend to another, most of us--women, that is--knows what it is like to be "screwed" by a man, or even...many men... Name one good man and most of us will match you to those that could be called, simply, Bad... And, in the case of David, it was pure Bad to the Bone!

Have to tell you, Sharon Sala knows how to tell a gripping story! Real, Honest, and in-your-face Truth! Some men are naturally working a con, no matter what they are doing... men--you know what I mean. Of course, we've lived with the biggest conman of all, haven't we...?

The thing is, though, that most women, are pretty open and involved with their emotions. When they fall for a guy, they're going to try to stick it out. Sure, there are some players out there (and I think I'll share next an article I wrote about them...) but their long game is almost always to find somebody to love and be loved by and move on into family life of some kind.

So, it was with all four women who had, in good faith, married a conman named David... He had been playing the game most of his life, but then figured it was time to think about the future... So he looked around for a job that would take him away from home to work... Then, he planned it meticulously, using the social security numbers of dead men and establishing different lives for each life... In his mind, he had it made, he could travel around his area and always have a woman in his bed no matter where his job led him...

But then in the midst of relocating from one home to another, he was killed in a horrible accident which left his body in pieces... By the time that each of his four wives discovered what had been happening, they all decided--burn him and throw away the ashes!

And, then, each woman had to look hard at where she was, realizing that the man she had loved had left her penniless and without a home! But she knew one thing, she would make it... All she had to do was figure out that first step...

Janie was David's first wife, thus, the only legal wife of the four. She also had owned a family home and had her own accounting business, so she was at least minimally able to continue without too much damage of her husband's theft via credit cards... After learning what had happened and especially that the other three would probably wind up homeless, it didn't take long for Janie to make a very important decision...of love and friendship...

She opened her home and her heart to who quickly became sister-wives--in the truest sense of the term!

From the very beginning, once everybody got settled, it was as if it was truly meant to be... With a home that was wonderfully available, each began to think about what they could do for the future--to help bring in money to maintain and build on what they were now sharing!

At first, gossip was tough and seemed to be the only thing people wanted to talk about... But, then, each of the women began to work or take on tasks at home to fulfill the day-to-day operations of running a househld. Soon, even a next-door neighbor, whose son had moved in and was, somewhat crowding her out of her past life, was spending time next door...

“It's so sweet of you to invite me to your picnic,” she said. “Our pleasure,” Janie said. “Take a seat, and what's your poison? Iced tea or lemonade? Oh… and the tea is unsweetened.” “I haven't had lemonade in ages, and it sounds so good. I'll have that,” Florence said. Pauline scooped ice into a glass from their ice chest, filled it with homemade lemonade, and set it at Florence’s place, and then they all sat down. Just before they started to eat, Janie tapped her fork against her glass, and then picked it up. “Ladies, a toast! We've gone from sad-ass to bad-ass. To friends and sisters of the heart!” 

“Sisters of the heart!” they said, and lifted their glasses in unison. After that, it was all about passing food and filling plates, with AC/DC blasting “Highway to Hell,” a song that could have been their anthem. “This is the best time this house and I have had in years,” Janie said, as she served herself another deviled egg. “True that for me,” Bettina said. “Just think of all the weeks and holidays we spent alone.” Florence frowned. “What do you mean?” Gretchen shrugged. “Think about it, honey. You're a man with four wives, strung out from one side of the state to the other. You can't be in four places at once, so you pick one location, and spin some big story to the wives in three other places as to why they're spending yet another holiday alone. Then you’re so charming to all of them when you do see them, they blindly accept the

bullshit.” 

Florence's eyes widened. “Oh my God! I never thought… I didn't realize the ramifications of…” And then she stopped and shook her head. “My hat's off to all of you, and my sincere sympathies for the tragedy and the travesty of your lives.” And in that moment, Janie knew Florence meant it. “Well, you can bet the last piece of fried chicken in the bucket that it'll never happen again,” Janie said...

 “Oh, my Lord… I am so full, I don't know if I can eat another bite,” Bettina said. Pauline came back with a plate piled high with the little buns, and Bettina was the first to take one. She ate it in three bites. “Yeah, that's how I diet, too,” Gretchen said, and snagged one for herself. They were sitting around the table, still telling stories from their childhood when Spotify shifted to a new song, and all of a sudden, the girls squealed and began a litany of comments. 

“Yes!” “My favorite!” “Oh my God! I can't sit still and just listen!” “Nobody like Queen!” Florence waved her hand. “I'm older than you girls. I don't recognize this song. What is it?” “It's Queen! The song is ‘Somebody to Love’!” Janie said, and bounced up from her chair, grabbed a spoon for a microphone, and started dancing and singing with the song as she moved up and down the length of the verandah. Bettina licked the potato salad off her spoon and joined her. Gretchen stood up, threw her arms up into the air and started belting out the chorus, with Pauline right beside her. 

Florence sat back in her chair, reveling in their abandon and the joy on their faces. In that moment, she knew if her hip wasn't so arthritic, and she knew the words to the song, she'd be dancing along with them. These women weren't bemoaning their fate. They were celebrating their own independence on Independence Day. But once they were up, they danced and sang from one song into the next until sweat was running down their backs and beaded across their foreheads. Still, it didn't matter. When one song ended, their neighbors on the other side of the fence started clapping and shouting, “More, more, more!”

Janie took the lead on Bon Jovi's, “Livin' On a Prayer.” Bettina did the same on a Green Day song.

And Pauline rocked out on Nine Inch Nails. It was all music from their youth. And then it shifted to Chris

 Stapleton's bluesy, country song called, “You Should Probably Leave.” By the time the Stapleton song was over, they were laughing. “That's something we should have told He Who's Name Shall Not Be Mentioned,” Bettina muttered, and they laughed even harder, because it was easier to laugh than it was

to let go of the tears they still held inside. “It's getting too hot for this, and I need to get the potato salad back in the refrigerator,” Janie said. Florence stood. “I ate my way from one end of this table to the other without having to cook a thing, but I'll sure help you clear the table,” she said, and together, they began carrying food into the house. While Janie put leftovers in the refrigerator, the others started clearing off the table. Before long, the only thing left as a reminder of the day were the two flags still flying from the porch. They sent Florence home with leftovers for her supper, and a round of hugs for her company. And all the way back to her house, Florence kept thinking of what amazing women they all were, and how horribly, terribly wrong she'd been. It had been a life-changing day for Florence Lane. And it had been a life-changing day for the residents of the Broke-Ass Women's Club, as well. They'd hosted a party. With guests. Well, one guest. And they'd danced themselves into a whole new mindset. It was a good day, and it wasn't over yet. As soon as the kitchen was clean and everything put back to rights, Bettina spoke up. “I have an announcement to make.” They all stopped and turned around, giving her their full attention. “I am full as a tick and going to take a nap so I'll be ready for fireworks tonight.” Gretchen grinned. “Fireworks as in the kind you and Johnny shoot off, or the kind that explode in the air?”

And every single sister found herself in a situation where her personal ethics, her truth, her reality was tested...and she won!

She couldn't get over the randomness of leaving the office for lunch. She'd never done that. Not once since she began working there. But today, on the anniversary of the day David Lowry had sworn everlasting love to her and said “I do,” she’d broken her routine. 

Today, because she was sick to her stomach angry at a dead man, she’d saved a little boy's life. She saw the pattern—how one little rock thrown into the ocean can cause ripples forever. If David hadn't died. If he hadn't left her penniless. If Janie Logan had not invited them into her home. If she'd never gotten the job at the insurance agency. If this hadn't been her anniversary. If she hadn't been so angry, she would never have left the office. Or bought the cookies. Or gone to the park. They might never have found Billy Royal until it was too late. One rock… A million ripples… It was nothing short of a miracle...

Sharon Sala has presented all women with a sure knowledge that they are able...to be free...to be real...to be accepted just as they are... and never, never alone... Give yourself a Christmas Present! Get Broke-Ass Women's Club! You're Gonna Love It!

God Bless

Gabbi