The Night I Slept With Cy Dillon's Mother - Part I

I went through my old hometown, Boones Mill, several weeks ago. It really is the land that time forgot. It’s just a little spot in the road between Roanoke and Martinsville. And, it has remained virtually unchanged since I grew up there in the mid- to late-fifties.
Every time I go to Boones Mill, I’m reminded of one of the most horrible nights of my life. It was the night that came to be referred to as “the night Steve slept with Cy Dillon’s mother.” Now, before you go getting your prurient interests aroused, let me assure you that this is a perfectly innocent story. I was eight years old at the time, and believe me, nothing untoward occurred.
Still, it was a horrible night. There were events that led up to that night that I think I need to explain. First, let me say that in the mid-fifties, in rural southwestern Virginia, there were not a lot of recreational opportunities for kids. Sleepovers were the rage.
Nothing was more exciting to a kid than being allowed to spend the night at a friend’s house. At least to most kids, nothing was more exciting. To me, a sleepover was something to be dreaded.
It had all started several months prior to that fateful night (the night with Cy Dillon’s mother). One of my third-grade friends, Lee Kingery, had invited me to stay at his house for the night. Lee lived on a farm and he told me how much fun that would be. Although I was living in a farming community, I didn’t really know much about farm life. I had been born in Richmond, and my family had moved to the Roanoke area when I was five. My father was the town doctor in Boones Mill. I remember asking him why he didn’t do something important. I was embarrassed that my father wasn’t a farmer like most of the fathers of my friends.
Anyway, I do tend to make a short story long. I remember the day I headed for school, my little suitcase in hand, excitedly planning on spending the night at Lee Kingery’s farm. My mother had given me a laundry list of instructions, such as say “yes ma’m” and “yes sir,” and that sort of thing. She also had asked me about a dozen times if I had remembered to pack clean underwear. Clean underwear was evidently right at the very top of the list of the most important things in life, to my mother.
The whole day, in class, Lee kept telling me what a great time we would have. He did warn me that his grandfather, who lived with the family, expected everyone at the dinner table to join hands and to have a share in saying the prayer. But, he assured me that his father had informed the grandfather not to ask me to pray. I guess the whole town must have known that my family was not very religious at that time. Maybe there was an article in the county weekly that proclaimed, “The Cook’s Don’t Pray.” Whatever the case, it was a subject that had already been discussed around the Kingery table.
Anyway, after school, Lee and I get on the school bus and headed out to the country. His house was just an old farmhouse, but I thought it was cool. And, the farm looked like it would be an interesting place to explore.
Lee’s mother was very kind. She had some warm, homemade cookies waiting for us. I was afraid she might try and make me drink milk with it, but fortunately, she didn’t. Milk made me gag…still does, for that matter. Lee and I took our schoolbooks up to his room and then came back down to the kitchen to devour the chocolate chip cookies. We then took a tour of his farm.
Before too long, we heard his mom calling us. Dinner would be ready in about ten minutes. Up until this point, I was having a great time. This sleepover thing was fantastic. Little did I know the horrors that awaited in the house…only moments away.
When we got back to the house, we still had a few moments to kill before dinner. Lee, oh so innocently, asked me if I would like to see a picture of his grandmother who had died a few months previously. What could I say? I wasn’t dying to see her picture, but, hey, what could it hurt? If only I’d known then what was just around the corner (figuratively speaking). I would have fled the Kingery home, and never looked back.
Lee proceeded to go over to the piano, in the parlor. I guess it was a parlor. I always heard farm folk kept a piano in the parlor. He opened the piano bench and pulled out a picture in a gold frame. He looked lovingly at the picture and handed it to me. I’ll never forget that moment…a truly frightening moment. There, in the frame, was a picture of Lee Kingery’s dear, sweet, old granny…lying in her coffin.
Here I was holding a picture some morbid family member had taken, of women, dead as a doornail, lying in a casket. I think my own heart stopped there for a moment. I mustered up all the courage I could. And, even if I didn’t pray all that much, I’m sure I was saying a few prayers at that moment.
As casually as I could, I handed the picture back to Lee. “That’s nice,” I squeaked. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go home.”
TOMORROW – THE NIGHT I SLEPT WITH CY DILLON’S MOTHER, PART II.