Asleep at the store.

Dead in the Afternoon
Episode Two: Cofield

- by Marvin T. Jones

The hours of my father's store were from 8am each morning to 9pm each night, except that he'd close the store at 10pm on Saturday. With long days like that, Daddy would take naps in the back of the store while someone else ran the store in the afternoon. Business usually slowed down after 1-2 in the afternoon, even more so in July and August when Cofield was closest to the Sun's heat.

There was one afternoon on a still, sweltering, summer day when there was no one to help Daddy. There were no lingering customers in the slightly air-conditioned store to keep him awake, but Daddy could not go to the back and leave the store unattended. He sat on the stool and slumped his head and arms on the counter.

Like Clint Eastwood in Pale Rider, through heat waves in the distance, an unknown car appeared from Winton. (Strangers never came from Tunis, Harrellsville or Ahoskie).

The driver of the car, wanting a pack of Lucky Strikes and a Dr. Pepper, slowed down and looked for a store that had the look of being open. He saw no one on the streets, and no one under any trees. Tal Reid's garage door was closed. So was James Bazemore's garage - no cars to repair. The stranger saw no cars anywhere. He also did not see a "THIS TOWN IS CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE" sign, so he peered a little harder and saw a light in T.W. Jones' General Merchandise. He parked the car in front and entered the store.

The door made its customary rattle, waking Daddy up. He rose and scuffled to the front counter while straightening his hair and brushing the sleep from his face. The new customer, taking it all in, asked, "Mister, how long has this town been dead?!"

Daddy slowly said, "Not long, sir. You're the first buzzard I've seen."

Many a nap was taken in the store on this table, called Paradise. Paradise was never long enough, and it only had a 1" piece of foam for cushioning. Sometimes there wasn't enough ventilation, but there were many times I was relieved to get a half-hour or so on it. The pan behind T.W.'s head is atop our trusty hotplate where our daily meals were re-heated.

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