Parts

[Bmichael]

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.

[Bmichael]

Yes…it’s good to be read

Not as good as  been fed

But much better than  dead

Or smacked in the head, Fred

Additionally...well done!

:-)

[Marilyn]

Bmichael's a poet

And we know it

His feet show it

They're Longfellows!

(With apologies to my dad ....)

[Westerly_2]

I remember I cracked up when first heard that quip. A thousand years ago. I wonder if kids today know Longfellow.

He's been gone

So so long

Do the spawn

Know his song?

(Sorry)

[Bmichael]

Damn, it was hot.

Had been for days – how many, I’m ain’t sure. They was all runnin’ together in a blur – each one hotter’n  the last.

Ain’t  been any shade down this road for some time. No traffic, neither. Looks like I was gonna end up walkin’ out this hell-hole, or burn up tryin’. I knew Blue Jacket was East – that was the easy part. The hard part was the north/south drift, which I couldn’t fathom, and might end up in Memphis or Cincinnati.

Over to the right,  a full oak was standin’  by itself in the middle of a raised field with a herd of cows all crammed under it, tryin to stay out of the sun. I jumped the fence, made my way over there and sat down. Can’t say it was much better, what with all them damn cows, but I leaned back against the trunk, and I musta fell asleep, ‘cause when I woke up, the cows were gone.

I reached into my pack and found what was left of that bread I lifted from the back of the delivery truck in that last town…what was the name of  it? Oh yeah…kinda strange name…hmm, I remember - Druck.

“Where ya from, boy?”

“Well, I was born ‘an raised in Druck. “

“No foolin’! Well, ain’t that sumpin’, I used to drive a truck, in Druck.

Har,Har…shoot, that’s funny.

Druck wasn’t much to look at, and not very big- just a few blocks with some stores, a diner, and some city buildings. Sometimes, in these small places, if you acted right, you could explain at the diner that you was on the road, and down on your luck, and wonderin’ if there was any chores you could do to maybe earn a sandwich or a piece of pie.

A lot of places would help a guy out…with or without the chores. I stood with my cap in my hands , starin’ at the ground, humbly tellin’ my sad tale ,that ended pretty quick when the old man in the doorway started quotin’ the bible – somethin’ ‘bout sin and retribution… and bein’ blessed (or not) and slammed the door in my face.

No luck in Druck.

When I turned to leave, I saw the bread truck with the back door open in the alley. I grabbed a loaf and was tryin’ to stuff it in my bag when the screen door opened. There wasn’t no time…I was caught – standin’ there like a cat with a bunch of feathers stickin’ outta it’s mouth.

The driver was a young guy – big and stocky kid with a crew cut and a name tag sewed on his shirt that said “Bud”. There weren’t nuthin’ to say, so I just stood there holdin’ that bread and waitin’ to see what Bud was gonna to do next.

I was expectin’  a few things -a butt-whoopin’, or the cops, or both.

Bud stared at me for a bit while I was holdin’ up the bread to give back, and I could see he was thinkin’.

After a minute, in a low voice, he said “S’cuse me”, as he reached around and closed the truck door. And with that, he walked up to the front, got in and drove away, leavin’ me standin’ there in the alley with the bread.

 Now, I’m pretty sure that if Bud had caught me with his girlfriend, or maybe the wheels to his Chevy, things would’ve been a helluva lot different.

Back on Main Street I saw the parked cruiser and the cop saw me.

Druck Police Department “To Protect and Serve”, it said on the side of the old Plymouth.

I nodded at the Sam Browne hat and mirror sunglasses – my way of sayin’ “just passin’ through –  outta here in a minute”. ‘Course he didn’t say anything…but I knew he’d be checkin’ up.

I also knew we both wanted the same thing – me, somewhere else, other than Druck.

[Marilyn]

Ain't got no truck with Druck, but enjoying where this is going! More?

[Westerly_2]

Nice. Waiting for the carnage and cussing, for the chases on foot or in cars, for the grit we have grown to love. Yes, more?

[Westerly_2]

Guess we won't be getting more today. Sigh, Wanted you to know I love the spontaneity, the naturalness, the ease with which the dialogue rolls out. Love to read you.

[Bmichael]

Aww...thanks!

:-)

[Bmichael]

At the bottom of the hill  was an old two story frame house set back some from the road  with some kids runnin’ around the front yard, and behind it was a large barn that them cows was headed for – guess I ran ‘em off. My pouch was nearly dry and I figured there had to be a pump back there somewhere where I could fill up.

I looked back towards the road and saw that it snaked around a bit before it came back to the house – making a short trip from here a lot longer than if I just followed the cow path.  But I learned a long time ago that folks just didn’t care much for strangers suddenly appearin’ in their fields or poppin’ outta the woods at ‘em and were likely to come out with shotguns and dogs. One guy even let loose a pony – one of those little ones – I forget what they call ‘em – but they’re real small with shaggy hair on their heads, and they ride kids around at carnivals and fairs, and don’t seem to give a damn ‘bout very much, ‘cept for this one…who was fairly pissed, which I couldn’t tell until it was too late when the critter head butted me in the gut, and sent me flyin’.

Well, when I got up, I looked back over to the house where some folks had gathered in the yard and saw that they was havin’ one fine time at my expense – laughin’ and carryin’ on, and pointin’ at me. The pony charged again only this time he wasn’t so quick and I sidestepped outta his way.

I decided to get outta there and headed back the way I came and saw that the pony had stopped all that attackin’ and was grazing on some tall grass. I had gone about twenty yards when I felt this burning in the seat of my pants. That damn pony had snuck up and bit me. Well, I turned around and smacked it on the side of the head which did nuthin’.  It just stood there starin’ at me, I guessed, ‘cause I couldn’t see its eyes with all that long hair coverin’ ‘em. ‘Bout that time I heard the shotgun blast -  a warning from the house that I took to mean that this was now over… and I should get gone. Well, I waved at the house, and started walkin’ backwards, keepin’ my eye on the pony  who was acting like nothin’ happened, to more hootin’ and hollerin’, and it looked like someone was takin’ pitchers.

I went back to the road and started walkin’ – the long way – to the house.

[Bmichael]

Usually, all you had to do was show your pouch to whoever was at home – whether they was on a tractor, front porch, or lookin’ through a window… you’d get a nod when it came to water. Even the grumpy ones would give you a minute at the pump. Ain’t never been turned away.

When that house came into view again, somethin’ wasn’t right.

Them kids was still in the yard but they wasn’t playin’. They was gathered in a group and every now and then one would suddenly run up to the front porch and throw somethin’, and run back real quick.

When I got closer, I saw what happened. A large part of the portico had busted off and came down on the porch in a big pile – lots of busted up boards and shingles and such all pointin’ in different directions.  Well, when I come up the driveway, the kids saw me and took off runnin’.

I walked up to the porch wavin’ the pouch for someone to see when I heard a voice.

“Help!”

I stood still for a minute, listening, when I heard it again.

A woman’s voice sounded like it was comin’ from under that wood.

“Hello?” I hollered.

“Who’s there?”

“Uhh…ma’am…you don’t know me. I was just passin’ by when I saw what happened.  Are you hurt, ma’am?”

“My arms and legs are pinned and I might be bleedin’. Get me outta here, mister!”

This was one god-awful situation. That pile  was just barely standin’ – it looked like a strong breeze could take it down any minute. If I started pullin’ out pieces…

“Ma’am…I can’t do that…it ain’t safe. I need some help.”

“Awright, go on down 42 ‘til you get to…”

“…s’cuse me… how far is it…I’m walkin and…”

“Oh Lord Jesus! Listen, mister…you go into the kitchen. There’s some keys on a hook next to the refrigerator…take that white Ford pick-up out back and go 5 miles ‘til you come to Bailey’s Construction. Find my boy, Jim…and tell him what happened.”

“Yes ma’am…I’ll do it.”

In a soft voice she said “Mister?”

“Yes’m?”

“Please hurry.”

I found them keys, just where she said, and sat down at the kitchen table.

Now, I ain’t too much of a sinner, and won’t never be no saint, but I had to think about all this.

‘Bout 20 minutes ago, I was burnin’ up in a field with a bunch of stinkin’ cows, ain’t eaten hardly nuthin’ in days, and was fixin’ to beg for a drink of water …when everything switched up to where I’m coolin’ under this fan, suckin’ down a cold pop, and stuffin’my pockets with oatmeal cookies from off the table.

And I got the keys to a damn near new truck.

And nobody knows who I am.

Wonder if there’s any beer in the fridge?

 

[Westerly_2]

More than that, that '28 Ford is a rare antique and could fetch a dandy fortune from the right classic car nut. How will the drifter roll?

(course , the car is so distinctive, it's easily traceable too; so there's that. And then  there's that nagging conscience thing.)

[Bmichael]

Conscience? Not familiar with that word...

:-)