Something About Sammy. Blaine Sims

our separation long before, made easier by the fact he treated me less than human, and it wasn’t the first estrangement. I hit back with a vengeance if I sense aggrievement by a person. It’s a fault of mine.

      My propensity for not forgiving rises to the level of ruthlessness. An example entangled the son of my wife’s eldest brother, Cody’s cousin, Jeffery.

      My brother-in-law showed aloofness and did not have a close relationship with this youngster. An occasional hushed reference to physical abuse surfaced, although signs were not apparent.

      I tried to mentor this boy and his step-brother. He spent many weekends at our house and confided in me. I tried to assuage him. Our place served as a sanctuary.

      On my way home from work one day, and after stopping for drinks, I decided to drop by. Unbeknownst to me, my brother-in-law and his wife had gone out. The boys were home alone. We enjoyed our time together, and without concerns mentioned, I headed to my house, a twenty-minute drive away.

      My wife greeted me with a glass of wine in hand.

      “Little Jeffrey called,” she said with derision. “He said you were on your way home drunk.”

      A bomb may as well have exploded. First, I was not drunk. Second, her normal state included intoxication. Livid, I began to shake!

      “What the Hell gives him the right to call and tell you I’m on the way home drunk?” I said. “Who died and left him in charge?”

      In ensuing weeks, futile attempts to explain the reason he called amounted to he was concerned about me.

      “He never called to say my wife was drunk and on her way home,” I said.

      “What are you implying, he doesn’t care about his aunt?” she asked.

      No one ever called me with such a revelation. Further, spare me, please! He didn’t care. He cared for a shoulder on which to cry.

      Jeffery betrayed me by snitching to my wife, and I have no tolerance for it. Memory of an angrier time eludes me. Our relationship changed. After the divorce, we never maintained interaction.

      Deep inside, Cody remained in my heart and soul. Several people I spoke with reminded me of what I languished through in the past. But, as my dear friend Helen (God rest her soul) stated: “It’s your nickel. You decide if it’s worth it.”

      I returned his call.

      Divorced from his wife, they had a daughter, Kelli, who’d turn nine in a few months. He said he lived in Bluewater Springs. Although we maintained no contact for ten years, I had knowledge of the marriage, but not the divorce.

      Privileged to know he fathered a daughter; I wasn’t aware of her name or age. He continued he worked as the Banquet Manager at a Marriott Resort, and he and his fiancé, Heather, made a recent house purchase.

      We talked for near two hours. I don't remember if it came during this call or a subsequent one, but we arrived at an agreement for me to drive from Little Oak Isle to Bluewater Springs to reunite.

      A momentous event, apprehensiveness washed over me as the time approached. I was upbeat, but three experiences with Cody brought a numbness to bear.

      Was this another game of his? Would I open myself to heartache and let down once more, or had he made a positive change and growth in the ten years gone by?

      The possibilities were endless, and I had but one choice to discover the true motive. Confident and uncertain at the same time, resistance was futile. Destiny beckoned.

      In December 2008, I made the trip. The drive was lengthy and my mind wandered as it had since Cody made the call. My thoughts were better organized despite this, as driving calms my nerves and focuses my concentration.

      What is Heather like? I speculated what her thoughts might be of me. Had Cody divulged I cut him off? Did he share details of our past differences leading to splits? How about Kelli? What stories, tall tales, and facts did he disclose to her?

      Visions of what they look like were brought to the forefront, yet I couldn’t grasp a picture. Heather is petite and attractive, if not on the average side. Kelli is the spitting image of her father when he was her age.

      I visited Bluewater Springs once prior. My father took me when I was eleven. Memory tells me the place did not impress an 11-year-old.

      Alone with my father, and staying in a motel, the business’ adjoining restaurant did not offer a children’s menu, and the staff and patrons were not tolerant of non-adults. Everyone appeared snobbish.

      I don’t recall taking in sightseeing, but if we did, the town did not excite. My other reminiscence of the trip pertained to the swimming pool. It was my first time in one. Until then, excursions to the lake, and every once in a blue moon, a jaunt to the ocean, comprised my dips.

      Cody reserved a room where he worked and made arrangements to meet him, Heather, and Kelli for dinner the first night. The hotel rated amongst the nicest I’ve stayed.

      A surreal moment enveloped me after ten years of separation. A range of emotions churned like a propeller through water. Upon finishing our dinner, when we were to part company, I asked, “Give me a hug.”

      He used to in his younger years and they were always meaningful. We finished our meal and made plans for me to come to their house the next night. We went to the parking lot to say goodnight.

      “Kelli and I will wait in the car,” Heather said.

      Without hesitation, he gave me a hug, sheer joy, and happiness. The rest of the time progressed well. We talked and reconnected.

      Out of many memories came the one of his first amusement park adventure. It was not the type of outing which interested me, so the thought never entered my mind. At the age of ten, Cody hounded us to take him. He hounded us.

      Though reluctant to try because of a height phobia, he wound up loving roller coaster rides. I’m glad I relented and took him.

      A hilarious event took place the following night at their new house. They invited me for a home-cooked meal. Cody considered himself a “Chef.” Lamb chops were the main entrée.

      As he was cooking with a new oven, and not being familiar, a temperature/time issue arose. Heather and I like our meat medium-rare.

      “Cody, I don’t think they’re done,” Heather said.

      “You and my Dad like medium-rare,” he replied. “That’s what they are.”

      Cody cut into his, then snatched ours from the plates to return to the oven. Kelli leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

      “You call yourself a Master Chef?” she said.

      He married Heather, and in 2010, she gave birth to Rose — a beautiful, precious girl. I made many trips to see him. We kept in touch by phone — both calls and texts. Life progressed well for him, and for me, flying high with contentment, happiness, and fullness inside.

      Over the course of the next several years, I would travel to Bluewater Springs two or three times each year. Possessing a valid Georgia Weapons Carry license and not having purchased a firearm in years, I decided to buy one on a visit.

      As I lived at the prison, and since my physical address was exempt from public disclosure, all of my official documents had my post office box listed. Driver’s License, vehicle registration, insurance card, you name it. I selected my firearm and filled out the required forms.

      I explained I was a state correctional officer and lived at the prison. The sales clerk informed me the Federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms requires a current legal physical address on their form or else they permit no sale. Well, it raised a quandary.

      I had zero documentation to verify such a thing. The sales clerk told me something which blew my mind. He instructed me to go to Walmart and their sporting goods section. Once there, I was to ask the clerk for a Migratory Bird Stamp.

      He said there was