The Redneck Party

Liz reminisces, 1990 style:

He had promised a redneck party, but we hadn't realized they would be authentic, backwoods, Liberty, MS rednecks. That's a whole new breed of country that none of us had ever encountered.

When we pulled up in Kim's Datsun, the scene looked low-key and charming. There was a cluster of old timers set up on the front porch of the modest home playing slide and steel guitars and a mandolin. The lead was singing Me and Bobby McGee in a shaky but determined voice. "This may be a dud," Kim declared, almost apologizing for hauling us deep into the woods for what appeared, at first glance, to be a Hee-Haw reunion.

We got out of the car, opened our beers, and surveyed the environment. Other than very young children, we were the youngest there. We made our way to the carport and engaged the hosts in conversation. My first encounter was with a woman, probably in her 30's, whom seemed much older with her rugged-face and smoke laden voice. She had brown nail polish that had grown away from her nail beds and was chipped. Her nails were yellow. I remember her most because I had never seen dandruff like that in my life. Huge flakes snowing around her, ever moving because it never stopped falling. Ah. Christmas in July.

The man with her also had that look of poor nutrition, no doubt reared by parents that made him drink beer at 7 so that they could laugh at him while he was drunk. I noticed a tattoo peeking from under his short shirt sleeve. "Is that a tattoo?" I asked.

"Sure is," he replied as he lifted his sleeve to show me. "Do you know what that is?"

"Ummm. Is that a spider?" He stared at me.

"Oh. It's a spider WEB, isn't it?"

"Hell no that's not a spider web," he said, spitting on the ground. "It's a tattoo of Liberty, MS. Did you know Liberty has seven highways that runs through it? I said SEVEN."

"Holy shit," I replied. "I had no idea."

The goat that was cooking on the Bar-B-Q had attracted a large crowd, eager to put something on their stomachs. They had been drinking all morning and it was well into the afternoon. After a short goat break, the band started up again and an old man asked me to dance.

"Why of course!" I said uncomfortably. He took my hands while standing under the carport and pulled me very close. He was very drunk. At first it was funny. It only became disturbing once he offered to rub me down with olive oil.

I too was surprised he said olive oil, but it's true. It wasn't Crisco or lard or anything like that. I guess they saved the good stuff for visitors.

Later, as evening approached, several of the children came running toward their parents screaming, "Grandpa's dead! He is behind the barn DEAD!" I stayed where I was as the locals ran behind the barn to find the patriarch. Moments later the group emerged from behind the barn, carrying my dance partner as he stumbled and swayed his was back to the carport.

He had passed out leaning behind the barn taking a shit.