083. Heal

"The bugle sounds upon the plain; our men are gath'ring fast;
you would not have your friend remain, and be among the last.
cheer up; cheer up, my Southern flow'r, there's joy for you and me,
while Right is strong and God has pow'r, the South shall rise up free!
While Right is strong and God has pow'r, the South shall rise up free!" I sang as I drove my truck along the solemnly calm back road.
Alfred frowned at me, "Is that one of your songs from the War?" he asked quietly.
Grinning, I winked at him, "I'm not going to tell you; let me finish singing and maybe you'll be able to figure it out." I teased.
"When by the campfire's fitful light, beneath the starlit sky,
I picture scenes of young delight; your form shall hover nigh.
Your smile will cheer the lonely hour, your eye my lodestar be,
for well I know while God has pow'r, the South shall rise up free!
For well I know while God has pow'r, the South shall rise up free!
When to the field of fight I rush, and raise my battle shout,
a soldier's pride each doubt will hush, though bullets fly about.
I'll boldly face the leaden shower, and trust to Destiny;
for Right is strong and God has power, the South shall rise up Free!
For Right is strong and God has power, the South shall rise up Free!" I sang, the tune as fresh on my tongue as if I had uttered it yesterday.
I may have sung it that recently too…I'm quite a rock star in the shower.
"Our Starry Cross flaunts in the air, and guides each soldier on;
where'er it shines our braves are there, unflinching, every one.
Then cheer up, cheer up! Southern flower, there's joy for you and me;
for Right is strong and God has power! The South shall rise up Free!
For Right is strong and God has power, the South shall rise up Free!" I finished, smiling at my brother for a brief instant before turning my attention back to the road once more.

"Definitely one of your songs," Alfred commented, and I nodded in admittance.
"The South Shall Rise Up Free's what it's called," I shared, and I heard him go 'Hmm' in thought.
"Want to hear another?" I asked and he reluctantly nodded, even he had to admit that I was a good singer. I like to sing while I work in my garden and along to the radio when I drive; I think it goes back to my heritage.
"Okay, but you're not going to like this one as much; it's about us kicking your butt," I laughed and he chuckled, adjusting Texas.
"When you're done, I'll just annoy with one of the Union's songs about whooping Rebels," he replied, grinning.
"Fair enough," I agreed; after taking a sip of sweet tea, I took a deep breath and began to sing again.
"I come from old Manassas with a pocketful of fun, I killed forty Yankees with a single barreled gun; it don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, big Yankee, little Yankee, all run or die!"
Hearing a sigh, I glanced at Alfred and saw him grimacing, "Yes?" I quipped, raising an eyebrow.
"A 'pocketful of fun'? And what is a 'niff-a-stiff'rence?'" he asked, groaning with a wince.
"Just let me finish, will you? Then you can have your say." I said and he reluctantly nodded.
"I saw all the Yankees at Bull Run, they fought like the devil when the battle first begun. But it don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, they took to their heels, boys! You oughta seen 'em fly! I saw Old Fuss-and-Feathers Scott, twenty miles away, his horses both stuck up their ears! You oughta hear 'em neigh; but it don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, Old Scott fled like the devil, boys; root hog or die!"
"Root hog or die?" Alfred interrupted and I shrugged.
"I didn't write, so darned if I know what it means… I think it's talking about rooting the Yankees out of the South…" I explained and he nodded in agreement.
Taking another sip of tea, I picked up where I'd left off, "I then saw a "Tiger" from the Old Crescent City, he cut down the Yankees without any pity. Oh! It don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, we whipped the Yankee boys and made the boobies cry.
I saw South Carolina, the first in The Cause; shake the dirty Yankees till she broke all their jaws. Oh! It don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I; South Carolina give 'em hell, boys; root hog or die! I saw old Virginia, standing firm and true, she fought mighty hard to whip a mighty dirty crew! Oh! It don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, Old Virginia's blood and thunder; root hog or die! I saw old Georgia, the next in the van; she cut down the Yankees almost to a man! Oh! It don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, Georgia fought the fight, boys; root hog or die!" I stopped singing to take another quick sip of tea; it was hot out and my throat was getting pretty dry with the air conditioner blowing on me and all.

"I saw Alabama in the middle of the storm; she stood like a giant in the contest so warm. Oh! It don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, Alabama fought the Yankees, boys, till the last one did fly! I saw Texas go in with a smile, but I tell you what it is, she made the Yankees bile. Oh! It don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, Texas is the devil, boys; root hog or die!" I stopped to give Alfred's glasses a quick nod; you did good Texas.
"I saw North Carolina in the deepest of the battle. She knocked down the Yankees and made their bones rattle! Oh! It don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, North Carolina's got the grit, boys; root hog or die! Old Florida came in with a terrible shout; she frightened all the Yankees till their eyes stuck out; oh! It don't make a niff-a-stiff'rence to neither you nor I, Florida's death on Yankees, boys; root hog or die!" I finished with a triumphant smile; those songs always put me in the frame of mind I'd had at the start of the War. I had felt ready to take on the world at that time…

"My turn," Alfred said, smiling. "What was that last one you sang, by the way?" he asked.
"Flight of the Doodles," I said with a laugh. "I think it has to do with Yankee Doodle," I shared.
He nodded with a sigh, "Yankee Doodle…there's a depressing song; if you hear the right version," he admitted and I nodded in agreement.
After taking a swift sip of Coke, he cleared his throat and started singing, "We live in hard and stirring times, too sad for mirth, too rough for rhymes; for songs of peace have lost their chimes. And that's what's the matter! The men we held as brothers true, have turned into a rebel crew; so now we have to put them through, and that's what's the matter!" he sang, and I swallowed a little, hearing the emotion in his (somewhat off-key) voice. It had hurt us both to find each other, only to discover that we had to be enemies.
"That's what's the matter, the rebels have to scatter; we'll make them flee, by land and sea! And that's what's the matter! Oh! Yes, we thought our neighbors true, indulged them as their mothers do; they stormed our bright Red, White and Blue; and that's what's the matter! We'll never give up what we gain, for now we know we must maintain Our Laws and Rights with might and main; and that's what's the matter!" he sang the chorus, giving me a glance every now and then; even though I wasn't looking at him, I could feel his gaze on me.
"The rebels thought we would divide, and Democrats would take their side; they then would let the Union slide, and that's what's the matter! But, when the war had once begun, all party feeling soon was gone; we joined as brothers, every one! And that's what's the matter!" he continued; his voice starting to get heated and hurt.
"That's what's the matter, the rebels have to scatter; we'll make them flee, by land and sea, and that's what's the matter! Oh! Yes, we thought our neighbors true, indulged them as their mothers do; they stormed our bright Red, White and Blue; and that's what's the matter! We'll never give up what we gain, for now we know we must maintain Our Laws and Rights with might and main; and that's what's the matter!" he paused a moment and downed a gulp of his soda; then took a heavy breath and began again.
"The Merrimac, with heavy sway, had made our fleet an easy prey. The Monitor got in the way and that's what's the matter! So health to Captain Ericsson; I cannot tell all he has done, I'd never stop when once begun, and that's what's the matter! That's what's the matter, the rebels have to scatter; we'll make them flee, by land and sea, and that's what's the matter! Oh! Yes, we thought our neighbors true, indulged them as their mothers do; they stormed our bright Red, White and Blue; and that's what's the matter! We'll never give up what we gain, for now we know we must maintain Our Laws and Rights with might and main; and that's what's the matter! We've heard of General Beauregard and thought he'd fight us long and hard; but he has played out his last card and that's what's the matter! So what's the use to fret and pout, we soon will hear the people shout, 'Secession dodge is all played out'! And that's what's the matter!" he stopped to take another deep breath and a quick sip of his drink. I swallowed, a bit taken aback by the emotions in his singing and took a shaky sip of my tea.
As soon as we'd both finished our sipping, he looked at me and slowly sang the last of the song, "That's what's the matter, the rebels have to scatter; we'll make them flee, by land and sea, and that's what's the matter! Oh! Yes, we thought our neighbors true, indulged them as their mothers do; they stormed our bright Red, White and Blue; and that's what's the matter! We'll never give up what we gain, for now we know we must maintain Our Laws and Rights with might and main; and that's what's the matter!"

"What was that song?" I asked, trying not to let my guilt at how I'd hurt him and my confusion show.
"'That's What's The Matter.' Not the most original title, but it'll do." he answered quietly.
"The way you sang that…it sound…"
"Hurt? Angry?" Alfred asked, finishing my statement and I nodded slowly.
"I thought we were brothers, real brothers, but you weren't." Alfred clarified.
I shook my head, "I am your brother, but I had to listen to my folks," I said softly, finishing the last of my tea.
Downing the dregs of his Coke, Alfred cocked an eyebrow at me, "Like Iggy and I during the Revolution?" he asked.
Hope gripped at my heart; maybe we could finally reach an understanding?
"Yes, exactly like that." I agreed and I saw his eyes go dim with faint sadness.
"I understand his feelings a little bit better then…" he thought aloud.
I gave him a quick hug; I had parked my truck on the side of the road long ago, "I'm sorry, but you understand…" I said quietly.
Nodding, he returned the hug, "I think I do… I read your blog, by the way; why'd you make me out to be a jerk?" he asked.
Running a hand through my blond hair, I let out a shaky breath, "Well, you can be pretty tough on me…and a little of it was because I…" I stopped, trailing off; feeling too guilty to continue.
"You?" Alfred prodded.
Sighing, I looked him square in the eyes, "I wanted to teach you what it's like to be seen as an unlikable bastard and how easy it is for words to damage how others are viewed." I admitted.
Alfred blinked in shock, "Ouch…" he said, a bit stunned.
Nodding, I took a deep breath, "You really should ask about my side of the story, instead of just believe the history books about everything." I said quietly.
"Okay then, when we get back to your place; we'll talk." Alfred vowed.
I smiled; I'm one step closer to telling ya'll and my brother what really happened and perhaps it'll help heal the rift between Alfie and myself.