File #502: "Mosaic vol. 1 1993_012.jpg"

THE POINT
CHRISTIAN GARRISON
John Stranton walked briskly up the incline, his feet moving with the confident ease of one who has traveled a path often. As a matter of fact, Stranton had traveled the path often. When he was a child, the point was his favorite place; his special place where a boy could come to get away from the scornful eyes of adults and just be himself. He and Droopy his pet basset hound, used to spend hours here running and fetching and doing all the things little boys and their dog's do. Droopy was 15 years in his grave now. When he died, Stranton buried him up on the Point, and sat up there for hours with tears streaming down his face. Burying the old dog was the saddest time in Stranton's lite... until now.
A warm August wind blew his shoulder length blond hair about his face and neck and he kept pushing it away with his hands. But the hair was persistent, as was the wind. There was always a breeze on the Point, even on the hottest days. Stranton supposed the altitude had something to do with that. Logan's Point was 150 Et. above the Duck River. From the top, the view was astounding. The river below was a beautiful sight to behold, and beyond the small town that took its name from the point.
Logan's Point, Tennessee was a small town, with only 1300 residents. Stranton had grown up there, moved away, and then recently moved back. Beth, his ex-wife, had never liked the place, preferring the bigger cities with their busy schedules. Stranton once took her up to the point soon after they were married, but she was never affected by the beauty as he was. The town where he grew up was typical of most small towns in rural Tennessee: they rolled up the sidewalks at ten most nights, except on Friday when Buck's had the weekly dance contest until midnight. Even then the Baptists were trying to get it stopped., Reverend Caldwell never had liked the dance and had always been vocal about it. But used to he couldn't do much, the Baptists never had much attendance until recently. Most of the residents went to the Methodist church on Elm. Logan Drake, the missionary who settled in the town, and for whom the town was named, was Methodist. So most of the residents ancestors were Methodists, and the people stayed true. Change comes hard in small towns, and always with a fair amount of skepticism. But recently outsiders had settled in the Point, and a lot of them were Baptists, so the church and thus the Reverend, gained strength. Most of the town's activities were centered around one of the four churches in Logan' Point. Seemed every weekend one of the churches was having a fellowship. This was favorable to the townsfolk since the point had no restaurants. Stranton had some of his fondest memories of the Methodist fellowship dinners. Card tables full of fried chicken, green beans, cured ham, and other things found at the typical church supper. You'd sit outside and eat yourself silly and wash it all down with a tall glass of iced tea. Stranton was convinced that southern church ladies held the patent on iced tea. He had spent five long years in New York with Beth, and never did he find tea to compare with that drunk on the front steps of Drake United Methodist ChurchStranton settled down on the blanket he had unrolled on the ground and looked out upon the town where he lived the happiest days of his life, playing baseball in the abandoned lot behind Martin's General Store. How ironic that now in the saddest time of his life, this is where he was; but the point had always drawn him there when he was feeling down, drawn him like some magnet of sorrow. Sitting on the Point, looking out over the river had always made him feel better, always taken his sorrows away. Would it still work as an adult as it had when he was a child? le didn't know. All he did know was he needed help. He had taken the divorce hard. He had loved Beth more than anything, had even left the town that he loved to be with her. Now she was gone, and he had nothing. no house, no wife, no identity. He felt lost as he looked out over the river. He didn't want to live. Not even the Point could take his sorrow now... or could it? An idea hit Stranton like a brick and he leapt to his feet like a shot. He fumbled through his backpack for the paper pad he kept in his possession at all times. He hastily scribbled something on the paper, Weapped his wedding ring in the note and threw it over the edge. He watched it hit the river with a splash and sink to the bottom. A weight was released from him instantlyhe felt like a new man again,
Stranton jumped.