The Country Poet

“I’m not sure I’m the girl you’re looking for,” I said doubtfully.

Hannah shook her head. “He’s not trying to court you. He just needs a friend. He can’t talk to nobody in this town.”

I wasn’t convinced. It’s not that I didn’t trust Sam; I did. I just wasn’t confident that my involvement in this particular piece of family drama would yield positive results. He was having trouble with his woman – actually, with two of his women. His ex-wife was giving him grief over custody of their two kids, and his current long-term girlfriend had stolen from the family and used the money to buy drugs. And although Hannah was simply worried about her eldest son, I couldn’t help but feel like I would walk into my office on the morning after our conversation to a very angry dope head and a twelve-gauge.

“Just take down his number,” Hannah pleaded. “He saw you in town the other day and said to me, ‘Mama, I just feel like I can trust her.’”

Against my better judgment, I added Sam’s number to my contacts list. I kept it there for a week or so and contemplated what my best move would be.

As much as my common sense was telling me to lose the number and forget about it, I couldn’t. Sure, my job title is “Elderly Caseworker” and I have absolutely no professional or personal background to help a fellow through a situation like this one. But this was family. Just a few weeks ago I’d gone to their reunion and shared stories, laughs, and wonderful food with the whole lot of them. Heck, I’d even gotten up in front of a hundred strangers and belted out “Amazing Grace” with banjo and steel guitar accompaniment. In short, there was an established bond there, and it counted for way more than common sense. And so I decided to call Sam.

Truth be told, I was as curious as I was concerned. Sam is your quintessential stone-faced, strong and silent farmer. Tall and gaunt, his face is a constant ashen color, his cheeks and eyes sunken in and partially hidden under a baseball cap pulled down low. He seldom smiles and never laughs. And while he’s always regarded me with kindness, I’d never had a conversation with him that extended past “Hey, how are ya?” Frankly, I could count on two hands the number of words I’d actually heard out of his mouth. Needless to say, I was intrigued to find out what it was that he believed he could share with me.

I waited one night until the Jackson House had wrapped up dinner and walked outside onto our porch with my cell phone. I found his name and hit Send, a strange butterfly fluttering in my stomach. Sam’s voice ended the ringing on the line and I told him who was calling. “Hiya, Sam. It’s Bridget. Your mom gave me your number.”

He sounded a little awkward on the other end, though not at all surprised. We exchanged pleasantries for a few moments, but it quickly became apparent to the two of us that if we’d never spoken this way when spending hours in each other’s company, then we certainly weren’t going to start on the phone this night. So we jumped right into it.

Sam told me about the two women he’d loved – how he’d given everything he could to them and how he’d been taken advantage of when they both turned to drugs. He told how his first wife had tried to use his kids to hurt him, and how his current girlfriend had proven to be a pathological liar.

“Bridget, I know that I’m capable of loving so much,” he said, his voice rising with emotion. “I just want to find a woman who’s going to love me as much as I love her.”

I’m glad that we were having this conversation via phone because, for the half hour that Sam poured out his soul to me, my mouth hung open. I’d had no idea that underneath that gray, non-descript exterior beat a heart so full of warmth and passion. I remained silent for a long time and let Sam get everything off of his chest. He talked about being lonely, and how at thirty-nine he believed that it was too late to start over. He said that he felt trapped in this place due to the custody battle involving his kids, and knew that his options (so to speak) were limited here. He insisted that he really loved his current girlfriend despite – and really perhaps because of – all of her problems. He was eloquent in his sincerity, his speech almost lyrical in its beautiful honesty. Sam became a country poet to me that night, tragic and sad and much wiser than I.

Sam and his girlfriend are still together; he took her back, much to his family’s chagrin. He’s helping her to work through all of her issues with the patient stoicism and loyalty of a saint, and he continues to work constantly to support her and his children. Sam and I have since resumed our smile-and-nod friendship. There’s a certain understanding in our eye contact now, though. Our “Hey, how are ya?” is like a secret code for “Hang in there. Sometimes love is tough. But it’s always worth it.”