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

Well, I’ve already heard some complaints that I’m taking too long to tell about the night I slept with Cy Dillon’s mother. Please, just be patient. A good story (and this is a good story, isn’t it?), like a fine wine, is meant to be savored. You don’t buy a good five-dollar bottle of wine and just start swigging it. You have to take the top off first. And, I’ve been taking the top off of the story, if you will. I promise you, all in good time, my friends, all in god time.
Rather than repeating myself, if you haven’t read parts I and II, or if you’ve forgotten what you read, just go back and skim those two thrilling chapters before you go any further. I’ll wait right here.
Okay, ready?
Here I am, the butt of all the neighborhood kids’ jokes – Steve the chicken, Steve the sissy-boy. Steve can’t spend the night away from his mommy. I heard ‘em all. Can you imagine how that scars a precious little eight-year-older? Well, I was being scarred. I needed another sleepover. Finally, my chance came, no, not Cy Dillon yet. Otho Bowman, who I believe was some kin to Cy, but I can’t remember. I know he was kin to somebody…anyway, Otho Bowman invited me to spend the night at his house. Like the Kingerys, the Bowmans lived on a farm. Otho and I really weren’t that close, but, hey, I needed a place to spend the night. I needed to redeem myself, to prove, as it were, I was a man, albeit an eight-year-old one.
Otho had one particular claim to fame. He had memorized Andy Griffith’s routine, "What It Was Was Football." It was hilarious the first time I heard Otho recite it. It was pretty funny the second through the tenth times he recited it, which he did every chance he got. But, after a while, I just got tired of hearing it. Not that I blame Otho. I’ve been known to run a joke into the ground myself.
Back in Boones Mill, in the fifties, there were still a lot of folks who didn’t have television sets. And even radio reception was not too good. So Otho, along with Charles Wimmer, another kid in town, would go door to door entertaining the locals. Otho would do his "What It Was Was Football" bit and Charles would sing "How Great Thou Art." It was quality entertainment from top to bottom, as they say in show-biz. Charles would also chew ABC gum to entertain the other kids, but that’s a whole other story to be saved for another day.
Well, anyway, Otho invited me to his house for a sleepover. I was a little apprehensive, since he and I were not all that close, but I knew his family, and they seemed nice. I did ask him if he had any pictures of dead grandmothers lying around the house. He didn’t.
So, on the big day, I once again packed me some clean underwear and left for school. The whole day every time I ran into Mickey (my brother), he would do his chicken dance, telling me that I’d never make it through the night.
To kill the suspense, I’ll say right now, Mickey was right. I would have been surprised had I made it through the night myself. For starters, when the sun went down it was just too dark out on Otho’s farm. Plus, it was storming badly that night, and, yes, I did miss my parents.
Otho could tell I wasn’t having a good time. He tried to cheer me up by telling me that in the morning he and his brother took turns watching for the school bus, while the other watched Captain Kangaroo. This may sound like blasphemy, but I hated Captain Kangaroo. I guess I really didn’t even like people who watched Captain Kangaroo.
When I learned about the morning visits to the Treasure House, I’d heard enough. “I need to go home,” I told Otho. I’m happy to say he didn’t cry.
He did tell his parents they needed to take me home. In retrospect, I suspect Otho was not enjoying my company.
There was one rather large hitch in my plans to go home. The Bowmans lived down a long dirt driveway and the heavy rain had made it all but impossible to get the car to the road. I heard Otho’s parents discussing this little situation. I politely informed them that I really needed to go home. I don’t even think I said I was sick, just that I needed to go home. My need to go home probably wasn’t as much a motivating factor as were my tears. Because, I was the one who started to cry.
Finally, Mr. Bowman goes out in the torrential downpour, gets his tractor, and pulls the car out of the mud, and takes me home. In all the confusion, I don’t think the Bowmans even remembered to tell me how much they enjoyed my visit. I didn’t care. I was so anxious to leave, I would have ridden the tractor back into town.
After what seemed like an hour or two ride in the storm, I was home. There was only one problem. Both of my brothers would still be up. They would take such delight in my second failure at sleeping over. But, heck. I’d deal with that tomorrow. All that mattered to me as I climbed the porch steps to my front door, was that I was home.

TOMORROW – I SLEEP WITH CY DILLON’S MOTHER – I PROMISE.