TBD on Ning
Parts
This thread is for those parts of tales we’ve written – inspired beginnings (or middles and endings) and flashes of brilliance that came out of nowhere – only to mysteriously disappear as quickly as they came- leaving us stranded at our keyboards.
Good writing, but orphaned without a “rest of the story”.
Check your files…show off some of that stuff. Who knows? Maybe now is the right time to complete it.
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Replies to This Discussion
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Permalink Reply by Bmichael on
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Yeah...I know Cormac's "The Road". He's creepy good...not so much scary, but a master of dread. I'll be looking for "Suttree".
Thanks!
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From the porch, I watched them headlights turn off the road and onto the drive. It was nearly dark, but I could see enough to make out the Sheriff’s car as it stopped. I didn’t recognize the face in the driver’s seat as it looked up at me, and then turned backwards. Another car came around the bend with its turn lights on and stopped on the road. It flashed its lights – tellin’ the cop to pull on out…or move… That would be Tracy for sure, by the sound of that loud motor…back from the beer run.
The Sheriff’s car backed out onto the road and when Tracy pulled up even they both stopped. In a minute, I heard her laughin’ and carryin’ on with that deputy until she pulled in to the driveway with the cop followin’.
When I started thinkin’ clear again, I was standin’ over Bobby with the rock in my hand. The back of his head was caved in pretty good and there was a blood awful mess everywhere. Funny thing is…don’t really remember all that what happened…just some parts, here ’n there. Other strange thing was that I din’t feel anything…nuthin’…wasn’t no good or bad to it…I wasn’t scared, or mad… just lookin’ at a dead man face down in the dirt….Shoot, I guess it had to have been me what killed Bobby, but I damn sure didn’t know why. He came out all this way just to say he was sorry and give me that money…Damn! The money! Where was it? I looked around. It was right where he left it – tied up in a rubber band.
I sat down up against a tree and started countin’ – about three hunnerd dollars! And they was all in ones and fives. That was good…that way, if you ran into some trouble on the road, you could buy your way out with a rubber band full of short change, and still have the rest. And if you had to buy somethin’ with a twenty…then folks might remember it. But that wasn’t gonna happen. Naw, I needed a bus…get to Parkersburg…and walk the rest of the way. No…no,no,no…go the other way! Pikeville. Maybe even down to Jellico. Short trips. Long trips. Back ‘n forth. Mix ‘em up.
Only thing I could think was to get on outta there, right quick .
I grabbed Bobby by the legs and dragged him out of sight.
In the truck there was a .38 and two full clips with a box of hollow points for back up. Way to go Boy Scout Bobby…be prepared…ain’t that what they say? Yeah…you was ready…except for I don’t see no rocks in here…Rule #1, Bobby Boy – Never bring a gun to a rock fight…got it Bobby?… guess not…hahaha!
Awright…I had to get this truck ‘an me back on the road without no one seein’.
And then what?
And then I need to be a helluva a long way from here, real fast.
And then what?
That’s easy. Chicken.
Chicken? What about it?
Eatin’ it. I’m hongry!
I felt for Bobby’s .38 as both cars stopped at the end of the drive. Tracy got out first and waited just a bit for the deputy.
“Les, you remember Hollis, don’t you? Hollis Tatum? Jerry and Shirley’s boy – look at ‘im…he’s all growed up now…and a deputy sheriff, to boot!”
I looked at the kid…
“Mr. Mabry, nice to see you again sir…uh …if you’ll excuse me please…” and quickly went in the house.
“Doesn’t he need a warrant or somethin’?...”
“Fo what, darlin’? He just usin’ the bafroom.”
I flipped the safety. “Lemme help ya with that beer.”
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Permalink Reply by Westerly_2 on
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Ah, there's more. The plot thickens.
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Permalink Reply by Marilyn on
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Yes ... yes ... keep going! BTW, Ah jes' looooves yer hillbilly-style ritin'!
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I know BMichael will be back with more goodies . I just had to dish this out in the interim, as a diversion at intermission, as it were.
Josh’s room next door to mine is quieter now. No more fighting every day – Amanda’s shrill voice and Josh’s ugly swears, slams hitting the wall. Josh is my mom’s border to help out with expenses. I found him for her in my auto body class. Not a bad guy. My age, give a few. When Amanda moved in – more rent money for Mom – I had to step down as the main side-kick. A little bring-down, but understandable.
It started out all cheek-to-cheek and honey-mouth. She’s a cutie in her click-click stilettos and short, short shorts. Like a beautiful dress hanging empty on the hanger, I thought. Not much solid there. He’d say, “Isn’t she gorgeous? Am I a lucky dude?” Then the fights. Every day last 3 weeks. About what? Nothing I could figure. She ate all his gum. He failed to answer her text. She had the gall to ask to go somewhere when he was working on the car.
One time she told him everything that was wrong with him. “That’s why you can never keep anybody,” she said. I don’t know what-all, unless it’s his habit of needing all eyes turned on him all the time. All must stop and listen.
Some days ago she loaded most of her stuff in the back of her grandma’s bright red pick-up. All that pink and purple glittery fairyland pile cinched down. Don’t imagine she got it all. I found one high platform shoe in the driveway, clear plastic like a glass slipper. Will Prince Josh track her down and return the shoe on bended knee?
I think not. I was in his room visiting today, and I noticed new magazine pics tacked on the wall near her side of the bed, although there was plenty of room on his side. Pictures of beach beauties wearing almost nothing. Skimpy underwear with the ladies reclining camera-ward, their gaping tops presenting their cleavage, wide and deep, or rollicking on rugs on their backs, open to topping like custard pies awaiting the whipped cream.
Did those photos appear just after Amanda left? Or before?
Now, that's gotta sting.
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Ha!
Did you ever consider "mommy porn"? You've got all the ingredients, right here.
Click-click stilettos, indeed.
:-)
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he he, Just trying to keep it interesting.
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I liked "Like a beautiful dress hanging empty on the hanger, I thought." Bubblehead!
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Here's the first part. I'm working on it.
Lunch in the Park
That couple in the park….I saw them again today, 3 days in a row now, like before it got so hot and I stopped coming every day. It seems a regular thing for them, meeting for lunch like that. They drive separate cars, meet in the lot. He drives a silver 4X4, and she a blue Jeep. They arrive within minutes of each other and park side by side. One of them brings lunch, either a picnic basket or paper bags of take-out. They take some time between the parked cars greeting each other by rubbing cheeks and draping arms over shoulders. Then they set out, hand in hand, for the furthest bench, near the creek. They spend an hour or so, come back and press the flesh again in the shelter between the two parked cars. Not young these two, not beautiful. Maybe late 30’s or 40 something. Short on hair and color and long on stored fat in all the usual storage sites.
I wonder what the heck their story is. Married? Single lovers? Married to other partners? And why this ritual in this park? We can imagine the narratives, can’t we?
Okay, first a married couple…. Let’s say the guy’s nickname is Skip. Just say he was a mover in his day. The woman’s name is Pam, which drops to the ground with a thud, and maybe Skip needs an anchor in his life. No fault in a anchor when you need one. Look in on their lunch now as they spread out Pam’s fried chicken and potato salad, with egg and onions just the way Skip likes it.
Skip says: “Darlin’, this was a wonderful idea. Good advice from the counselor for a change - god, we pay him enough - to make time every day for a little romance. We had romance once, didn’t we?” He picks up a wing and gnaws heartily.
Pam: “It’s a relief out here under the blue sky. No phone, no traffic. No teenage music at high volume.” She says this last thought after a pause and with an apologetic smile.
Skip: “Hey, I saw some movement in that hole near the rocks. Panfish maybe. Sunnies or perch.”
Pam: “What?”
Skip: “Fish, Pam. They’re in season.”
Pam: “Fish, Skip? That’s where your mind is? I thought this was all about rediscovering what we inspired in each other.”
Skip: “Oh, yeah, that’s right. I forgot you hate fishing.”
Pam: “I don’t hate it, Skip. I just hate it that you won’t give up ‘til the last dog’s hung. Until you have snagged all your tackle on the rocks or in the trees and the sun is setting and the mosquitoes are eating us alive.”
“Perserverence, Pam. That’s what fishing is about. And life, too really. Maybe I’ll take Skip junior out sometime.”
“Yeah, Skip. He’s all about perseverance, isn’t he?” He’s all about propping his rod and checking his phone and sooner to leave than I am.”
“Smile, Pam. Counselor said to leave or lunch date smiling. Smiling and hugging.” He throw the trash in the can, grits his teeth and smiles big.
“Right,” she says, stretching her lips, and they stride back over the uneven ground faster than they had come, and parked their arms upon each other’s shoulders, as prescribed.
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"Grazin' in the grass is a gas - baby can you dig it?"
(an old soul song from ages ago)
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So, maybe not that couple, maybe another deal. Could be 2 single, loving partners. Different names, of course. He is Steve and he’s an accountant who does taxes in season. She is Melissa who does massage out of her home, only it’s not what you think. Wipe that greasy grin off your face. It’s really just massage; she went to school to learn it and she really was annoyed with Steve when he got fresh with her his first trip in.
So here they are at the park. They have met and smooched and ambled hand-in hand to their table in the back. Steve has unpacked two foam plates – General Tao’s chicken for himself, lemon chicken for her, and egg rolls. Where is this going? He does not know.
“Romantic setting”, he says, biting into the hot greasy goodness of the egg roll.
“ I love this spot,” she says. I grew up right near here you remember.”
He suddenly spits it out. It’s been praying on his mind. “We have to come to terms. Get a grip, make a move. Take the next step. We shouldn’t be living apart at this stage.” He gulps his tea. It seems his cheeks are on fire.
“I mean, lying in bed, talking on the phone for 2 solid hours before we fall asleep? How sorry is that?”
Melissa has been waiting for this pitch. She is ready, but not ready. “It doesn’t seem natural, I know. But consider the financial facts. I own a house, you have a house. And all that’s inside – china, silver, all that crap, antique highboys. You have a son. I have my nephews. All in line for the house. We can’t…you know, cut the family out of the property.”
“We can just move into my place…or yours, if you want. Rent the other one out. Nothing on paper.”
She sighs. “Shack up, like a couple 40-year old hippies?”
“We’re not 40 yet,” he says. He lifts his chin like he has scored a point. “ ‘Grazin’ in the grass is a gas.’ Remember that? From the old folk concert days?” He smiles a blissful smile, his eyes searching way back.
“A few steps short, no? Forty is actually a rather large deal. And, uh, no, about the gas thing.” Her eyebrows bunch together. “Don’t recall. Should I?”
Steve smiles wide and hugs her. “Never mind, You won’t be sorry,” he says. “I promise. You risk not one thing, and neither do I. Let’s do it!”
Did her returned hug and smile say yes? Seemed it might.
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