Chapter Eleven

A Strange Journey: Mama Root

 

The following is an excerpt from Chapter Eleven of Mama Root: The Old Woman of Loop Road

 

 

~~~     Jeff traversed the cypress walkway to the building, paused on the broad porch to scribble a few notes, then entered the structure.  He was now in a state of sensory overload; everywhere he turned he saw items he thought no longer existed in twenty-first century Florida.  Jars of homemade beautyberry jelly sat next to hand-labeled jars of kumquat marmalade sat next to jars of local honey containing a piece of the honeycomb.  Outdated roadmaps still bearing the names of such places as Andytown, Centralia and Okeelanta sat in a faded Hav-A-Tampa cigar box missing the lid and bore a handwritten price tag of thirty-five cents each.  Citrus crates with barely legible Waverly Famous labels had become home to plumbing parts, fishing net floats and stacks of Butterick dress patterns in yellowed packets.  A galvanized two-gallon bucket held an assortment of fans made from palmetto fronds, one of which Jeff picked up to inspect.

         “Fingers ain’t nimble as they useta’ be – can’t make the folds tight like ya’ should for a proper fan.”

Jeff turned towards the rasping hinge of a voice and saw its owner seated at an oblong yellow pine table.  A mason jar containing iced tea with a sprig of fresh mint sat in front of her and another sat in front of the empty chair to which she beckoned.

        “Please, make ya’self ta’ home.  Tea’s sweet, just the way ya’ like it.”

        Normally Jeff would have been amazed by the fact that she knew his favorite beverage was sweetened iced tea with a sprig of mint, but he was too taken aback by her physical appearance.  An age of 146 years became much easier to believe; her face was gaunt and set with eyes that nearly disappeared into caverns of dark sockets.  Her hair was the color of wood that had burned far past the charcoal stage and was now the stark white ash favored by soap makers.  She was slight of build, with leathery skin that appeared to be stretched over her bones with very little intervening muscle.  Hands with prominent veins featured pencil-thin fingers that terminated in thick yellow fingernails of varying length.  The most concise explanation of her appearance would be that if she laid on her back with her eyes clamped shut and a white lily clutched to her breast she could easily pass for dead.

        Jeff was generally unflappable, having faced down rattlesnakes, ‘gators and surly swamp dwellers wielding shotguns, but the very sight of this woman had him flapped.  He pulled the black medium point Bic pen from his shirt pocket and reached for his notebook.

        Mama Root grinned.  “Y’okay boy?  Ya’ look like ya’ seen a spirit.”

        Jeff manufactured a smile and reassured the old woman that he was fine.  Attempting to unsheathe the business end of the pen he squeezed on the bullet-shaped cap, causing it to squirt from between the fingers of his perspiring hand like a watermelon seed.  The cap rocketed across the room, bounced off a metal  Orange Nehi sign on the far wall, clattered to the floor, spun around three times and came to rest near a rusted Hills Brothers coffee can containing an assortment of galvanized lag bolts and matching washers.~~~