The Last Time I Was In Colley's

The Last Time I Was In Colley's by Line Fisch My timing's just about right I thought as I turned off the main highway at the first intersection. A few minutes to relax and grab a bite to eat and then head on up to Major by seven-thirty or so. But I hadn't figured on getting lost. Not really lost, just right smart confused for awhile, as Daniel Boone is supposed to have once said. I realized that it had been several years since I had been in these parts. Things change, even in the mountains . 15 I stopped at a new shopping center and asked my way at the Donar Store. The clerk said, "If you come in off the highway , go back down to the first road, turn left over the bridge, go past the pizza place and pretty soon you'll see it. ' The directions were accurate. Past the bridge, the road wound through McCoy to Lrishtown, former coal camps in a string that stretched on up to Mineral. I passed familiar landmarks and pretty soon I pulled into the parking place under the Goodyear Tire sign. Colley's hadn't changed much. There seemed to be an addition put on the side. Or was it? Maybe it had just been painted. I walked past the gas pumps and in the door, letting the screen slam behind me. It was the same. The counter on the right. The door to the back room, the calendars on the wall. The smells. The same, after over 40 years in business. "Got any peanut butter pie tonight?" I called to the empty counter. A head popped out of the kitchen. Corrie grinned. "I haven't baked any since the last time you was in and asked me to. It's been a long time." "Yes, it has," I said. "Too long, maybe seven or eight years." "You want some supper?" she asked. "Wouldn't miss it, I replied as I walked into the back room and sat down. I glanced at the menu. Not much change there. Still the same biscuits. The daily specials. Prices a little higher maybe. Stul probably the best meal for three-fifty anywhere around, I thought. My eyes scanned the room. The same pictures hanging on the wall. A couple of bunches of varnished gourds hanging near the door. The flowered curtains. The floor slanting toward the back. My eyes came back to the menu as Corrie approached. "You made up your mind, yet?" she asked. "Not quite. What do you recommend ?" I replied. "The roast beef's always good." "Yeah. I remember. I'll have that." "Biscuits or rolls?" "Biscuits-of course. And some of that good coleslaw." "You want a vegetable? Green beans or cushaw? The cushaw's baked with butter and syrup in it." "Sounds good. I'll have the cushaw. And save me a piece of pie-you got some butterscotch?" "Yep," she said and scurried back to the kitchen. A table away were three women. Two, sort ofdressed up, seemed like they were outsiders. I realized I had on a coat and tie myself; I loosened the tie and unbuttoned my collar. The third woman, in jeans and a sweater, was younger and talked like maybe she was a new teacher in the county. She was telling them how much she liked it here in Maggard. I tried not to listen. She found the right place to eat pretty quick, I thought. The food came. It was hot and delicious . Being behind schedule, I ate quickly. But I lingered over the pie, a huge wedge, rich golden in color and topped with almost two inches of real meringue, just like I'd remembered it all these years. I finished and went out to the counter to pay my bill. A gray-haired man was sitting there, smoking a cigarette. As I walked up he turned to me, smiled, and held out his hand. I greeted him, "How ya doin', Mr. Colley?" "Pretty good, pretty good. Especially since I retired and let Ma take over," he said, glancing to Mrs. Colley standing behind the counter. "I did...