Love
By Jenny McKnatt

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.”
― John Steinbeck

We couldn’t have been more different, my love and I. We met at, of all places, my brother’s wedding. My brother and I were not very close; he’s eight years older than me. But, that didn’t stop him from letting all the boys know that his sisters (the three of us) were absolutely off limits.

Don’t ever tell a teenager that he can’t because he can. And he will.

I was a city girl, a good girl. I was an Honors student at the best public school in the city. I never got in trouble and always did things the right way. I liked to read, draw, and watch movies. Indoor stuff. My childhood was very sheltered and safe. He was a good ole boy from a small town in Arkansas. A one-stoplight-town. He spent all his time outside. He had one of everything with a motor and wheels and even learned how to drive before he was ten. He was also a rebel. He always dressed real nice, put gel in his hair, and didn’t care what people thought of him. He wasn’t much for rule-following.

Everyone has a weakness. Mine was for bad boys. It was something about how they always did what they wanted, when they wanted, and where they wanted. No one could understand how such a good girl could possibly be with such a rebellious boy. But, no one knew him like I did. No one knew that he’d catch me when I fell, that he’d lift me up and push me to be better, stronger. He opened up the world for me.

The first time he takes me to his childhood home was also my first out-of-the-city experience. About an hour into the ride, I feel the car slowing down. I look up and realize that we have pulled over in the middle of nowhere. Well, it looked like the middle of nowhere. All I see are miles and miles of nothing. My first thought is that something has gone wrong with the car, and so, I panic. What’s wrong? Are we broken down? Who’s going to come help us? Are we going to be stuck on the side of a dirt road FOREVER??? No. As it turns out, he had pulled over to show me something. When I step out, I realize that we are at the edge of a field, but not just any field, a cotton field. I get out of the car and all I can see are rows and rows of pure, dainty-white cotton. As we walk up to the first row of plants, he pulls out his pocket knife and cuts me off a limb. Isn’t this illegal or something?? He tells me they won’t miss it and hands the limb over to me. It was stunning. I think about all of the things made with cotton. My t-shirt is made of this. How crazy is that? What would we do without cotton?

At some point before the trip, I mentioned to him that I had never seen a cotton plant before, in real life. Have you? This may seem silly and juvenile, but how could I possibly consider myself a true Southerner without ever having seen a cotton plant? I had never seen cotton on the stalk, never held a cotton boll in my hand. It was the first day I started living. The first day my eyes were opened. Many years later, I am still learning from that good ole country boy, and I like to think that I’ve taught him a few things, too!

 

Tags: