Motorcycle ride to Memphis; part VI, more about Thyatira

John Beldin and Ric Baker outside store in Thyatira

Mary Baker

Motorcycle ride to Memphis, Part I - Shreveport, West Monroe, and Jackson

Motorcycle ride to Memphis, Part II - Jackson

Motorcycle ride to Memphis, Part III - the Natchez Trace

Motorcycle ride to Memphis, Part V - Thyatira

PREFACE: As you can see, this article starts with Part IV. If you have not read Parts I - V, please do not proceed (although each article can stand on its own). Go back to the other installments by clicking on the links below the picture, and catch up on the story. If you do, you’ll read about our trip from Shreveport, Louisiana to Columbus, Mississippi; the journey is half the fun.

Part VI, more about Thyatira

Walk past the bikes, past the gas pumps and past the old couple sitting so rigidly on the porch that you have to look twice to make sure they’re even alive. Glance over and you'll see a scrawny kitten gingerly licking a piece of bologna, not sure if it's safe to eat. Look at the freshly picked peaches in the farmer's basket sitting on the stool near the old man. Notice the weathered look of the building and the cobwebs spanning the corners and atop the old refrigerator. Notice the peeling paint coming off the old cinder blocks in huge chips making you want to grasp a corner and peel it yourself just like the loose skin on a really bad peeling sunburn. Make your way through the creaking screen door that slams behind you, before slamming back into its frame. You jumped just a little and slowed down your pace before proceeding, didn't you? Look to your left and you'll see a little section of shelves with a few hardware items for sale; a plunger here, a shovel there, and a few boxes of screws, nuts and bolts placed in baby food jars and labeled with black permanent marker. There’s a mop and broom, and on a shelf by itself some Zest soap faded in its wrapper lying next to a four pack of toilet paper for two dollars and ninety nine cents. Proceed down the narrow hall and notice ahead and to the right, the old man staring at you over his spectacles. And when you look at him, notice how he turns and looks at the television blaring from the shelf in front of him. Keep looking, now back to the left and you've found the jackpot, the food section. There are fifty kinds of pork rinds and chitterlings, various beef jerkeys and slim jims galore. You'll have your choice of cheetos, doritos, funyuns, pretzels or pringles. There's one of every kind of candy bar ever made; the Zero, Baby Ruth and Hershey’s all look good. There's a Zagnut, a 100 Grand Bar and a 5th Avenue if you choose. If you can remember penny candy, you'll delight in the shelf containing all of your favorite childhood treats including the Neco chocolate, the atomic fire balls, the banana splits, and the Bit ‘O Honey. Over there is a Big Cherry and the Beeman's Black Jack Gum. There's even some candy cigarettes. On the next shelf you'll find the Jiffy brand corn bread mix, the Campbell's cream of mushroom soup and chicken noodle soup to soothe your ills. There's a couple of containers of Morton's salt and some dusty bags of rice. Now, look at the back wall, and you'll find what you really want, an ice cold drink. The dust in the store, and the antique look of everything including the food makes you a little bit leery of eating or drinking anything from here. For a brief moment you're back at Hu&*%y's in Jackson. But you scold yourself as you reach in the cooler and retrieve the water and take it to the cash register where the old man is standing ready to take your money. You engage in a brief conversation about the Breaking News of a terrorist attack in Scotland, and spend a couple of minutes catching up on what is happening in the outside world, away from Thyatira. You both shake your heads as if to say "what is this world coming to?"

Looking around at the place, you can only imagine what the bathroom looks like, but you also know you are about to find out. Meekly, you ask the man if there might be a bathroom you can use, and he points to a dark doorway to the right of the soda coolers and in the very back of the building. "Thanks", you say, and make your way back through the door into the dark room. The clutter here is worse than in the main store with old, unidentifiable farm implements and other items lying askew throughout the room. You peer into the darkest corners, in the shadows, and wonder what might be lurking there, as you hurriedly make your way to the tiny little bathroom. You feel like you’re in a horror movie and in your head you hear the thump, thump music similar to that in “Jaws”, and you tense up waiting for something to jump out and grab you, or for one of the tools to come flying toward you in an attempt to decapitate you. In the bathroom, there's a toilet and a sink and you audibly thank God you don't weigh 300 lbs or more, because there's no way you'd be able to do anything in this confined space. Quickly you finish up and turn to the sink to wash your hands. There's an old bottle of Mercurochrome on the shelf and a rusty, antique, metal can of band aids lying next to it. You envision the old man treating a small wound on his weathered hand. I need not further describe the bathroom, except to say the state of disorder in the store and the back room spilled into this room. I rinsed my hands in the water, since there was no soap to be found, and wiped them on my jeans, since there were also no paper towels.

Our work here is done, and we turn to make our way back through the store, (Memphis is our destinations), past the old man, mumble "thanks", and out the creaky, slamming door.

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