Jason Deas - Benny James 03 - Brushed Away Read Online Free PDF

was wrong she scolded, “Uncle Karl! The church bell is for emergencies only.”
    “This is an emergency.”
    “Mr. James is here, what could be your emergency?”
    “He won’t rub aloe on my back. Says he’s allergic.”
    “For heaven’s sake,” she said taking the tube of aloe from her uncle. “Good morning, Mr. James,” she said pleasantly, turning and smiling at Benny.
    “Good morning.”
    “Uncle Karl, you have got to stop welding with your shirt off.”
    “This is the first time this has happened.”
    “Really?” Angel rubbed lotion into his shoulders with attitude. “Would you like to try that one more time?”
    “It’s the first time it has happened this month.”
    “It’s the first day of the month! It happened once last month. And, it happened last Thanksgiving. Remember how you missed the meal because you couldn’t sit down? I don’t even want to think about how it happened.”
    “I was welding in a strange position behind me and the flap of my pants was blocking my vision.”
    “I said I don’t care.” Angel finished rubbing the lotion and handed the tube back to him. She wiped her greasy hands on the back of her jeans and looked at Benny. “I think I’m starting to be allergic to aloe myself.” She turned and walked out of the barn.
    “Where were we?” Uncle Karl asked.
    “You were just about to tell me about the art scene here in Tilley.”
    “Ah. Chattanooga, Tennessee.”
    “No. I said Tilley, Georgia.”
    “But the riff started in Chattanooga. Sit down.”
    Uncle Karl pointed to a purple bean bag chair behind Benny. It had been a long time since Benny had sat in a bean bag chair, and he slowly lowered himself to the ground and fell into the oddly-shaped thing. Uncle Karl grabbed a wooden rocking horse and pulled it in front of Benny. From a post, he unhooked a cowboy hat, put it on his head, and climbed onto the wooden rocking horse. He began rocking.
    “In 1960, I was twenty and full of ideas. Still am. I left the plantation here in search of ideas.” Uncle Karl continued rocking and adjusted the cowboy hat atop his head. “This house here was all about money. I wanted something more. Art in the 1960’s was evolving as it always does, and I had heard about a group of artists forming in Chattanooga. A bus full of flower-power folks stopped in, heading that way, and one of them let me look at his sketch book. Now, I didn’t know one thing about art. I couldn’t draw a stick person or dog or pony to save my life. But, I wanted to be a part of what I was seeing. Something about the images in that sketch book set my soul on fire. I wanted to learn how to do that.”
    Uncle Karl once again pulled the tube of aloe out of his pocket and started rubbing it on his chest and shoulders. As he reached for his back, Benny reluctantly pulled himself out of the bean bag chair and held out his hand for the tube.
    “Stop rocking and give me the tube,” Benny said.
    “I thought you were allergic?”
    “I lied. I’m allergic to hairy old white men, but I’ll get over it.”
    Benny filled his hands with aloe and covered Uncle Karl’s back with the lotion. As he rubbed, Uncle Karl continued his tale.
    “When the next flower-power bus came through town, I climbed aboard and went with them. They didn’t care that I didn’t understand art. They were just happy that I was in love with it. I soon found out that I was actually talented at making sculptures. I could make anything I could touch. It was so easy; I was a natural. And then I tried painting and drawing. I was lost. I failed. My brain didn’t think that way. I guess I could say I have a 3-D brain. To make a long story short—I have devoted my life to art. I still make my sculptures with ease, but I live in hopes that one day something in my brain will click and I’ll be able to paint and draw the things I see in my mind’s eye.”
    Benny handed the aloe back to Uncle Karl and once again lowered himself into the purple