In Piedmont, spring means a great many things. The azaleas bloom like they have somethin’ to prove. The pollen whips through the air like yellow smoke from a freight train. And every Mama in Calhoun County gets struck with a sudden and mysterious fever that compels them to scrub, mop, scour, rinse, shake, beat, sweep, and rearrange every object they own.

This annual affliction is known as Spring Cleaning.

Now Jimmy Matthew, known around town as Jimmy Hardhead for reasons well established and regularly updated, had never in his life cleaned anything on purpose. He was blessed with the sort of mind that could hold a hundred schemes but not one single chore. So, when his Mama marched out onto the porch that morning with a broom in one hand and righteous purpose in the other, Jimmy knew disaster was on the wind.

She pointed the broom at him like a sheriff layin’ down the law.

“Boy, you are fixin’ to help me clean this place before company comes on Saturday.”

Jimmy blinked.

“We got company comin’?”

“No. But we might someday, and I refuse to be caught unprepared. Now fetch me a bucket of water.”

Jimmy considered his options. They were slim.
He could run away. But his Mama had long-distance speed unmatched by any human over forty.
He could pretend to faint. But he had done that last time and she had poured a pitcher of cold water down his back to revive him.
He could simply do the chore. But doing chores was against his personal creed and upbringing.

So, Jimmy Matthew devised a plan.

A grand plan.

A lazy boy’s dream.

He would not do the spring cleaning.
He would outsmart it.

He pulled a dusty tarp from under the porch, shook out a family of disgruntled spiders, and draped it over the entire living room like a circus tent. Then he stood back with the pride of an artist unveiling his masterpiece.

His Mama walked in, stopped short, and stared.

“What in the world is this supposed to be?”

“Mama,” Jimmy announced, “I have solved spring cleaning for the rest of our days. If the house is dirty, you simply cannot see it. Which means it is clean.”

His Mama gave him a look that could wither crops. The broom bristled in her hand like it wanted a turn speakin’.

“You take this mess down before I lose my religion in front of witnesses.”

Jimmy sighed and removed the tarp. His Mama put him to washin’ windows. He washed the first one with such half-heartedness that it looked foggier than before.

His Mama marched over, inspected the streaks, and announced, “You have cleaned this window so well I believe it is now dirtier than the outside of the house. Try again.”

Jimmy tried. He made it worse.

It was at this moment that Jimmy had his stroke of what he considered genius.

He called out to his best friend, Jim Leroy, who lived two houses down and possessed both a bicycle and a poor sense of self-preservation.

“You want to make a nickel?”

Jim Leroy arrived in a heartbeat.

“What I gotta do?”

“Help with spring cleaning.”

Jim Leroy considered this, then shook his head. “A nickel ain’t worth that.”

Jimmy sweetened the deal. “I will throw in a Moon Pie.”

Jim Leroy made the sign of the cross for protection and accepted.

The boys cleaned precisely nothing but succeeded in spreading chaos like two untrained goats loose at a church potluck. They knocked over a potted fern, spilled half a jug of vinegar, and somehow managed to get a dust rag tangled in the ceiling fan. That fan then flung the rag with such ferocity that it slapped Jimmy Matthew across the face like a personal message from Heaven.

His Mama appeared in the doorway with an expression that foretold doom.

The boys froze.

In the stillness, only one small piece of dirt drifted lazily through the air, betraying them like a tiny witness.

She marched both boys outside and handed them two rakes.

“If you can’t clean inside, then you’ll clean outside until you learn the meaning of effort. Jimmy Matthew, start with the yard. Jim Leroy, start with your soul.”

By late afternoon, the yard was cleaner, the house was calmer, and Jimmy Matthew was reflectin’ on whether laziness was worth all this trouble.

Naturally, he concluded that it was.

When the chores were finally done, he sat on the porch, sweat streaked across his brow, and proclaimed to Jim Leroy:

“I’ve learned an important lesson. If you pretend to be bad at something long enough, grownups will stop asking you to do it.”

Jim Leroy nodded in admiration. “That’s mighty wise.”

Unfortunately, Mama overheard this.

Both boys found themselves repaintin’ the porch railin’ as punishment.

And that, y’all, is how Jimmy Matthew discovered that spring cleaning might be a yearly tradition in Piedmont, but foolin’ your Mama ain’t.

He never did learn the art of cleanliness.
But he became a master at creatin’ new chores where no chores had existed before.

*****

New Yesterdays can be found at: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon, as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon.