“How could this happen?” I ask the stoplight, the only one in this little town of Hartfield as I head toward my mama’s place. All poll projections pointed in my favor for this year’s mayoral primary election, but here we are, a neck-and-neck race between me, a Republican, and newcomer and Independent, Jansen Johnson, or Jay, as everyone calls him.
I run my fingers through my hair, no longer caring that I’ve ruined the styled look I sported earlier at my day job, Donwell Family Law, which is named after my grandfather, Donwell Austen. He's the one who encouraged me to pursue a degree in law instead of taking over the family’s financial business. My brother, John, does a good enough job managing that, anyway.
His constant and unwavering support allowed me to pursue a life I love—practicing family law. I entered the political arena four years ago because no good candidates were running for office. Good people, sure, but not ones who could really make a difference in the town. More like old codgers who knew they could at least keep the status quo around here.
My job as mayor of Juniper Grove, Mississippi, Hartfield’s neighboring college town, seemed secure. My first term went splendidly. I passed many affirmative legislations to make Juniper Grove a better city to live in by focusing on tourism, which is hard to come by in the Delta region of the state. I also amassed cohesive support between both Democrats and Republicans, and I even continued my positive work as the head lawyer at Donwell Family Law practice.
I was a shoe-in for re-election…
Until I wasn’t.
Untilheentered the race.
For once I wish this city held primaries for city elections.
The silence in the car is interrupted by an incoming call over the system.
Marcus Long.
“Hello, Knightley speaking.”
There’s a loud bang like an engine misfiring, which considering Marcus’s workplace, could very well be the case.
“Sorry about that,” he says breathlessly. “Just saw the news. Want to come over for pizza and beer in an hour? I’m about to close up shop for the evening.”
The light turns green, and I rev the engine of my day car, a white Maserati, before speeding off, letting my frustrations out on the road.
Calm down, Knightley. The last thing you need is a speeding ticket. Then you can really kiss your second term as mayor goodbye.
Though sometimes, I wonder if I would survive a second term.
The people are good to me in this town, but those who are adamant I’m not qualified to be mayor of Juniper Grove are loud. Their reasons are: I didn’t grow up in the town, I’m unmarried and therefore don’t understand how to properly protect families, and, of course, those who despise Republicans. Though, to be fair, those are the ones I have the least encounters with. My most prominent opposition is from those who follow the local Southern Baptist association’s new president, Pastor Vance Green, who I continually push back against for twisting scripture to fit his political agenda.
Whether I let people see it or or not, the constant pushback and workarounds do get to me. Especially when they accuse me of not being a true Christian because I don’t interpret scripture the same way they do.
“I’ll stop by Mama’s place first, but yeah, that sounds like a good plan.”
Not one for continuous conversation over nothing, Marcus hangs up. The rest of the ride home is uneventful, just me all up in my head and ignoring constant calls from my small campaign team. I do mean small. It consists of three people plus me.
After swinging by Mama’s house to reassure her that I am, in fact, okay, I make my way a little farther into the sticks,until I find myself at the end of a mile-long dirt driveway staring at a simple but nice cabin in the woods.
A few magnolia and oak trees are boasting tall around the cabin, creating a good source of shade in the midst of the summer heat, but here in the dimming evening sun, it creates a sea of orange and yellow hues that even the best painter could never recreate as purely and perfectly as God is presenting the image in front of me. Shaking my head clear of the marvelous picture, I take the three steps that lead me into the quaint home. Log beams hold up the roof; wood covers the walls, the floors, and the cabinets. The matching maroon furniture breaks up the monotony of the light brown wood color. An unlit fireplace sits against the wall with a bare mantel waiting for pictures of a thriving family.
Cami, my deceased wife, once stated that no matter what home we settled into, she wanted a fireplace with a mantel to show off the amazing family we would grow together.
An idea that died alongside her in the cold expanse of Alaska.
“Right on time.” Marcus rounds the corner holding two beers, and I smell homemade pizza wafting from the kitchen.
“Are you sure you don’t have Italian roots instead of Korean roots?”
Marcus laughs, his monolid eyes crinkling in the corners as he hands me a drink before leading the way back to the tiny kitchen. “I’m a mutt. You’ll never know ‘cause Mama will never tell.”
He’s a shorter guy, though not small by any means. His past job as a farmhand and his current job as a mechanic shows. Plus, if I was to challenge him in a wrestling match, he would smirk and shake his head, knowing well and good he’d take me down withinan instant. Marcus is a competitive mixed martial arts fighter, and he often competes around the state.
“If you’re the mutt of your family, then I’d hate to see what your child will look like one day.” I grab a slice of Hawaiian pizza topped with mushrooms and peppers before sinking into one of the two recliners.
Marcus joins me on the other recliner, then in unison as if we are Chandler and Joey fromFRIENDS, we lift the side levers and groan in pleasure.
