Shepherd Moon

It’s late Christmas Eve as I write this, dear friend. I’m returning to the city by train three hours out of Mayberry. A cold rain was falling earlier, but now as I look out the window it’s cleared, except for a lonesome cloud trying to hide the full silver moon. In the aftermath of the service for Aunt Bee, I’m flooded with memories of home. Some flowed like a quiet stream during the brief return, others are fragmented flat stones skimming the calm surface I see now in vivid black and white.

Did you see me at the All Soul’s Church? I wish I’d had time to talk to you, your smile is worth a million dollars alone. I longed to be near you - to sense your warmth, and to hear your familiar voice rising and falling - to hear your stories and songs. But it’s rush rush rush for me these days. Back to the push and shove I go. Remember when Dr. Breen spoke there about hurryin’ and Gomer started to snore? Did your chin sink forward too? Well, I think you’d agree Gomer, with those expressive lips, sang a lovely tribute to Bee yesterday. His deep passionate love of singing illuminated the church.

It really was great to see you! Mr. O’Malley was so kind to let me stay at his cabin overnight. I built a big fire with kindling from nearby and watched the shadows dance on the timber. The most action there since Floyd single-handedly captured Ralph Henderson and her desperate gang. (Did I print the real story? The details don’t mesh somehow.)

I’m in the dining car and it’s empty. I managed to get a cup of coffee from a yawning porter in a dirty white apron. With his oily hair and Salvador Dalí mustache, I’d say HE is from somewheres else. The cream colored porcelain cup is chipped and the coffee is horrid! Dinner served a few hours ago still lays on my chest. Warm and chunky applesauce. You get the picture. I mention the cracked cup because it reminds me of a singular visit I had with Aunt Bee years ago.

Late one autumn afternoon, can’t remember how many years ago, I went over to Andy’s to complain about a parking ticket Barney had slipped under my windshield wiper - in front of my own house!, and I was steamed. Anyway, Andy wasn’t home, and sweet Aunt Bee was so kind and concerned about me being upset, she made some coffee and we sat alone on the couch. Our conversation drifted over small town gossip (stuff I would NEVER print), and as I was simmering down and able to focus again I noticed a little hairline fracture in the coffee cup.

I pointed it out to her and she scooted closer to me and she asked where and I said right there and she said there? And I said no, right here, see it? She said no, I don’t see it, you mean here?, she’d squint. No, right there by the handle, I said. And, pushing a few wisps of gray hair away from her forehead, she said she didn’t see it. By this time Andy had walked in and asked “where’s there?” and we all laughed. They insisted I stay for supper. (You remember how she smelled like her kitchen?) During which Opie(with his own Dalí milk mustache) told a bizarre story about a Mayberry lineman who could make smoke come out of his ear.

So, anyway, one of the things Aunt Bee had told me that day was about how Andy had met his wife. Her father moved the family to Mayberry and, the way Aunt Bee put it, Opal shyly walked into the fourth floor classroom and the teacher, Mrs. VonRoder, put her at the desk right in-between Andy and Barney. I’m not sure how old they were, but I figure it was the age somewhere between Barney striking matches on his daddy’s rock and bucking down to make bad grades. He won’t admit it, but I bet the reason Barney shot for the bad grades is because ’The Beast’ made those that got an ’A’ on spelling to stand in front facing the class, and knowing young sickly Barn, that made him squeamish. Boy, he’s sure changed. That ’Deputy Fife Hero In Cave Rescue’ headline is still hanging in the courthouse. As it should be! His unshakable and resolute performance that day instilled in us the faith of a mustard seed to move a mountain.

All that from a cracked coffee cup. So, Andy and Opal were sweethearts from day one. He helped her with the re-enforcements on her loose leaf notebook and they were forever inseparable. Pardon me if I drift now. I’m getting sleepy and the light is bad here in the dining car. Dalí is snoring his tortured dreams as he leans against the coffee cart. The moon has crossed the zenith and has slipped passed the point of no return. It’s Christmas Day! Richmond is the next stop, so I’ll post this at the station and glance at the moon and think of you. I’m so glad you got to stay in a small town where tradition thrives. I owe everything to Mayberry. I think about her all the time. You will write to me soon won’t you?

Much Love, Al