Memories in Green
By James E. Gurley

David Kelly wasn't looking forward to another Saturday afternoon alone. He had been in his new home in Buckhead for almost two months now and he hated Atlanta. At least in Ohio he had friends. At least in Ohio he wasn't the new kid in school.

Fourth grade was horrible for the just-turned 10-year old. A new kid with glasses and a Yankee accent was the butt of all the jokes and pranks, and the school bullies tormented him to no end. Complaining to his father had produced less than desirable results.

"Grow up! Fight back!" had been his father's pearls of wisdom.

Fighting back had only resulted in a black eye from the bullies and a spanking from his father for losing the fight.

The house on the tree-lined street of Windsor Parkway was large and comfortable. He had his own bedroom and bathroom. The basement had a pool table and a ping-pong table and a large screen television. He had a basketball goal in the drive. What he didn't have was anyone to play with. All the neighbors were old people with no kids at home. His father was out of town on business all the time, and his mother was often at neighborhood meetings or playing tennis or bridge at the Club.

Only the South American housekeeper, Imelda, was ever around, but she was always too busy to play. She had once carried him to a nearby park at his mother's request, but she just sat and smoked cigarettes while he tried to look like he was having fun swinging and riding the merry-go-round alone. There had been no other kids there.

His house sat on a two-acre lot, but most of it was wooded and covered with English ivy and Kudzu. All the trees were draped with the clinging vines, creating an impenetrable green wall behind the house. He had tried exploring several times, but the Kudzu had seemed to push back at him and grab at him until he found himself back in his own backyard.

This was one Saturday he was especially not looking forward to. This would be the Saturday afternoon following his birthday that Granny wouldn't be here.

Grandma Kelly had been David's favorite. She had told David stories, baked him cookies, and played his imaginary games with him. She came the first Saturday after his birthday each year just to play with him. She called it "David Day." He liked having a day named after him, even if it was just one day a year, and even if only he and Granny celebrated it. Granny had died just five short months ago; her heart had given out.

Today his father was out of town again. He hadn't even been here for his birthday on Thursday. His mother was once again at some meeting or other and Imelda was vacuuming the carpet. He was all alone. Even the birds seemed to be somewhere else. There was no sound of chirping or cawing from the woods, as there almost always seemed to be.

David walked around the yard, kicking at pinecones and sweet gum balls, bored with his life and with this town. David remembered his Civil War history. General Sherman should come back and burn Atlanta again. Maybe this time it would stay burned and he could go back to his house in Ohio.

As David walked along the edge of the Great Kudzu Wall, as he called it, he felt a breeze blowing through the vines and the smell of something familiar -- cookies! Peanut butter cookies, his favorite! As he tried to force a way once more through the impenetrable barrier, amazingly the vines seemed to open up before him, revealing a path deep into the verdant mass.

He followed the path and the smell of fresh-baked cookies until he came upon a small cottage in the woods. The porch and pathway were open to the sky, but the cottage itself was covered top to bottom with Kudzu. Windows, doors, everything was tightly wrapped with a green ribbon. Only the front of the house was visible.

"It must be a neighbor's house," he thought, though he had once heard his father say there wasn't another house behind them for over a mile. Surely he had not walked that far. The smell of cookies grew stronger. Slowly he walked up the path to the porch. Just as his foot touched the first step, a woman opened the door and came out onto the porch. She carried a tray of cookies!

"Why, hello!" she called jovially. "You're here just in time. Do you like peanut butter cookies?"

David just nodded his head.

She returned with a pitcher and two glasses. She offered one to David. It was cool but not cold.

"Do you have any ice?" he asked.

The woman laughed. "Why, no, child. We haven't had ice for a long time now, but I have a clay jug I hang from the ceiling. The air cools it off real well, don't you think?"

"Yes, ma' am," he said politely.

She offered him the plate of cookies. Mindful of his manners, he took only two and laid them on the little blue plate she had set before him. He bit into one of the cookies. They were warm and chewy and filled with the taste of peanut butter and honey. They were delicious! Much better than any store bought cookie he had eaten. They tasted even better than Granny's.

"Eat those two and you can have more if you wish," she said, watching him wolf down the cookies. "I don't often get company," she said. "Especially little boys. Where do you live?"

He pointed back toward his house. "Over there. The big, brick house. Have you seen it?"

She shook her head. "I never get out."

"Don't you get lonely?" he asked.

"At first I did at times. But Mr. Kudzu keeps me company." She waved her hands at the encircling greenery. David saw large magnolia blossoms and roses and even fragrant camellias growing from the Kudzu. He wasn't sure, but he didn't think they were supposed to grow that way. He had never seen them growing from the ever present Kudzu anywhere else in Atlanta. Birds of all sorts flittered in and out of the Kudzu vines singing and calling to each other in a chorus of avian harmony.