Bongo’s aunt passed away and left him an acre of land. It was mainly pine trees, scrub oaks, and palmettos, but it looked like paradise to Bongo. It was littered with old tires, pieces of several washing machines, and a couple of ancient televisions. Some of the nearby neighbors had dumped household garbage there, but bears had eaten all the old apple cores and stinky fish heads.
Bongo was a middle-aged fisherman/fishing guide/carpenter, who lived with his longtime girlfriend, Marie. He was heavy set, very strong, with a head full of wavy gray hair. Marie was a short, plump, redhead, and mean as a hungry dog fly. Bongo, on the other hand, was easy going and sweet tempered. He had acquired the name ‘Bongo’ because he carried a weathered old pair of bongos in his truck, in case he felt moved to accompany a song on the radio. He would pull off the road, turn up the volume, and imagine himself to be a famous drummer.
This would cause problems if Marie and he were on their way to church, or had an appointment somewhere.
Marie got real good at making up excuses for being late, but everybody in town knew Bongo and his fits of inspiration. “One day, I’m gonna yank that radio out of your truck!” she would threaten. But somehow, she never got around to it and Bongo kept on drumming.
Now, they had arrived at his acre and were making plans to move their trailer in. “Just think, Marie! We won’t have to pay no more lot rent!” he exclaimed. “Ain’t room for our trailer in this junkyard!” she sniffed. “Oh, just wait. I’ll have this place cleaned up and churn the dirt so we can plant corn and collard greens. You can plant you some zinnias and petunias and morning glories. It will look so nice!” he speculated. “We’ll see.” she sneered.
He moved all the junk to one side and got his cousin to bush-hog the rest. They cut a few pine trees and sunk a septic tank. The bank loaned him money to set up a power pole and buy some tires so he could move the trailer. He was feeling good and was full of fresh plans for his new property. Meanwhile, Marie was grumbling about having to live in the same old run down trailer. “It’s a wonder this thing didn’t bust in two when you moved it!” she fussed.
Within a few weeks, Bongo had gotten his utilities hooked up, built some new front steps, cleared out an area for a garden, and was feeling happier than ever. Marie was complaining about having to live way out in the woods without a convenience store nearby. “We ain’t got all that traffic driving by now. Think I’ll get me two or three new dogs!” Bongo put in. “You got three dogs already. Iffen it was up to you, they’d all be sleeping in the bed with us!” Marie griped.
“They don’t need to. They got the whole couch to themselves!” Bongo explained.
“This here toilet is leaking. It’s about to rot the floor out.
What we gone do without a bathroom to go to?” Marie yelled the next morning. “Settle down. Ain’t nobody lives close by.” Bongo offered. “I ain’t going in the bushes. You can forget that!” Marie shot back. So Bongo sighed and began fixing the floor and toilet. When that was done, he felt tired and went to lie down. Pretty soon, here came Marie with a fresh complaint. “Them new steps done sunk down into the dirt and now they’re all sloped to one side. You trying to make me break my neck?” she shrieked.
Bongo got up wearily and claimed he was going to town to get him some dip and a Coca Cola. “Get me some hair spray and a pack of Virginia Slims and a beef jerky. And hurry back!” she demanded as he walked out to his truck. When he cranked it up, one of his favorite songs came on the radio.
About ten minutes later, Marie noticed that he was still in the driveway. She stomped out the door, screaming that the sink was plugged up and the television was blurry and she needed a cigarette. Bongo looked at her, turned up the volume, and kept on playing his drums. Eventually, her voice sounded farther and farther away, until all he could hear was the music.
