First stories read by our parents,
fluffy pillow,
pleasant dreams.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Cold Feet
So called land pirates or wreckers used to light fires atop rocky outcroppings, luring merchant ships to their doom instead of safe harbors. Once wrecked goods were salvaged and any sailors who managed to swim ashore were killed. Experienced sea captains passed on these overtures of death but even the most knowledgeable captains had trouble navigating the waterway between the Carolina coast and the Outer banks. The Carolina coastal waters are veritable shipyard of wrecks, countless in terms of lost goods and unfortunate souls.
The Revenge had been beating hard to make the Carolinas. A run to Bermuda was out of the question with gunnels awash with every heel or big wave. The hold full of Spanish gold, she was bound for the briny deep if safe harbor didn't find her soon. Having slipped through the gauntlet of Spanish war ships and made it to safety of the intercoastal, Calico Jack was not new to the intercoastal but had been marauding in the Carib for the past three seasons. Shifting currents and sandbars were normal occurrences here and it was suicide to run at night. The fates had been with him so far and he had information that the Spanish lacked.
Blackbeard haunted these waters exclusively and few pirates dared poach on his hunting ground, but Jack had sailed with Blackbeard for a time and was a member of the bloody brotherhood. Estuaries were common escape routes and foul weather harbors. The common agreement between pirates was to light fires at night to identify these safe harbors.
Jack's wife and fellow pirate, Anne Bonny, leaned over the port side rail sweeping the shore line with her spyglass. It was uncommon for a women to sail aboard a pirate ship but the Revenge was an exception in many ways. Two women actually sullied the decks of the Revenge. Anne Bonny and Mary Read were both pirates in their own right, feared by pirate hunters and pirates alike. Mary Read huddled in the crows nest watching the same coastline. It was a blue moon but the Revenge stayed in the middle of the channel which was safer than risking a grounding close to shore. Estuaries cut deep channels into the intercoastal and were usually safe to navigate. The problem was finding them in the dark. Jack had assured his crew that a safe harbor was close and would be fire by brotherhood agreement. Mary Read was feeling the effects of a long watch but kept her post as any man would. She scanned the East, praying for any signs of signal fire. The light of the moon made it difficult as reflections created ghost images on the waves. Several times she thought she had seen fires only to have them disappear with the crest of a wave. Way off in the distance, an orange glow caught her eye. It played in and out of her vision for minutes before she was sure.
"Signal fire!" Yelled Mary Read.
"Where away?" Jack hollered back.
"Mid ship off the port side!" She yelled. Bonny swept the glass mid ship and orange filled the end of her spyglass. "There Jack," she said pointing the way for the captain. Jack spun the wheel to port yelling commands as sailors hauled on ropes and repositioned sails to make a run for the coast. Jack felt a bit of relief but kept his guard. It had been some time since this ploy had been used and wasn't sure if it was still safe. Fear of grounding was a pirates worst fear and the intercoastal was a deathtrap at night. However, the prospect of dancing from the yardarm of a Spanish war ship was not palatable either.
Read climbed down the mast and joined her comrades on the poop deck. Another pirate was ordered to the crows nest and the trio sailed the Revenge toward safety.
Jonas Tibble knew to keep his gaze away from the fire so to keep his night vision keen. The blue moon had been much luck in the past, making it easy to see signs of sail well into the early morning hours. Jonas had set this trap after running afoul of the brotherhood and jumping ship in the night just ahead of a death sentence. Jonas had seen Blackbeard turn into fire lit rivers to escape bad weather or British pirate hunters. Soon after jumping ship, finding a stake and joining a group of cutthroats, he suggested a trap at the mouth of the Cape Fear River at Southport. This was just past where Blackbeard normally placed his fires to slip past Fort Caswell and seek shelter in the river. This night would prove his scheme in spades. As Jonas squinted at the horizon, sails danced into his vision. Jonas signaled his man, who passed the word quietly as the sound of excited shouts might carry across the water to the unsuspecting ship. Like jackals, they waited patiently with longboats ready on the beach. Jonas had gathered twice the number of men as the usual ships compliment to be sure his prey was outnumbered. Most groundings in the intercoastal were really beachings, leaving the ship in tact in shallow waters. Cape fear was so named due to a healthy outcropping of granite that pierced the sand in a wide arc. It was difficult to see during the day but impossible at night. At low tide, the water was deep enough to take a whole ship. Jonas employed only men who could swim in order to make salvage on the wrecks goods.
Patience paid off and the loud cracking sound of heavy timbers carried to Jonas's ear. He sent out four boats to mark the wreck and depth. The longboats balked at the surf then slid into the bay toward the ship. The first longboat to the wreck bumped against floating debris. An arm came over the side followed by the face of a breathless pirate. His gasping was abruptly silenced as a cutlass separated his head from his neck and a fountain of blood washed the cutthroat. Jonas waited for the return of his boats or for any survivors to find the shore. Helping the cutthroats, survivors usually swam towards the light of the fire.
Mary Read and Anne Bonny swam together, silently. They had tried to rally wreck survivors to sighted long boats until they saw the carnage being perpetrated upon them. They hoped to beach down shore of the fire and escape into the night, but the current had other ideas.
Jonas saw two sailors emerge from the surf cutlasses in hand. He only knew one kind of man who would swim with his cutlass.
"Name your vessel dogs or feel my metal on your innards!" Jonas called to the pair outing them as pirates to the rest of his crew.
Bonny edged to the side of Read as they slogged out of the surf so they could come together, back to back. Daggers appeared in each of the others hands as they became a wheel of pointed death.
"The Revenge," Bonny proclaimed hoping that the name alone would cause these dogs to flee. Yet one of the men, silhouetted by the fire, started to laugh.
"Anne Bonny, you Irish whore, who be that with you?" Jonas said recognizing her brogue.
Bonny dipped her cutlass, wary but not off guard. Had they been set upon by fellow pirates? Could they maybe find quarter?
"It be not Calico Jack, you black bastard. He is bound for hell and you soon after unless you see us safe to Blackbeard," Bonny said, hoping to illicit fear into those around her.
"It is another woman Jonas," said one of his men, now having surrounded the two on the beach.
"Aye, but a better hand than you any day, " said Read on her behalf.
Jonas laughed again and said, "Well lads, all we're missing is the ale since we have wenches. This started a low laugh among the circle of men. Rape was always central on the mind of pirates. Even as crew mates, until they could match men in a fight, women were prone to abuses. Bonny and Read were not the push overs these men thought. Rape was in their pasts and not something they were ready to revisit.
"Well lads, have at them, they be only two, but look sharp! Bonny is a snake with that blade." Jonas said.
"If you don't mind, I'll be knowing your name before I run you through," hissed Bonny.
Jonas moved around the circle till firelight caught his face, then smiled.
"Jonas, I thought you'd be still swinging. Bastard, come get what's aching for you!" Said Bonny
The dance commenced. The men weighed in one at a time, having difficulty with the idea of killing a woman. They became more willing once a few had been run through. Then the real dance began. Men darting in, flashes of steel catching the light of the moon then dampened by dark blood dripping to the hilt. Arcing steel weighing into then flesh of men. Both women were masters with a sword and were fast friends, hell bent on saving the other from rape and a sure death. In the midst of the fight Jonas kept his distance, biding his time. Soon after the last man fell, kicked off the end of Read's sword and a quick stab to the neck, unneeded but for effect, the women turned to face Jonas.
Jonas clapped his hands and said, "Mores my share! Many thanks my ladies." Jonas bowed and made a sweeping gesture with his arm while reaching to his back for the volley gun stuffed in his belt. He came around with the end of the flourish and gave them all four barrels. A loud shot sounded as acrid smoke billowed around the gun.
As soon as Bonny saw the gun, she knew it was close to over. She took the shot, well into her first step towards Jonas. She felt the hot lead and kept stepping. By the time the smoke cleared she had closed the gap, leading with her cutlass. It found the middle of Jonas, the silly grin still on his face. He looked down at the length of metal attached to his innards. Then surprise took over his visage. Bonny Smiled and pushed in to the hilt. The sound of tearing sinew and the cracking of ribs could be heard over Jonas's strained cry.
"No man but Jack will ever touch me again in heaven or hell, you bastard. As for you, " she said and pulled hard on her sword, twisting it as it came, a length of intestine squirming out of the seeping wound.
"Hell waits for you here on this beach. I put a curse on you and yours in this life and the next. If I can't have a life with my love then no one on the blue moon shall either." Said Bonny.
She didn't wait to watch Jonas fall, instead she turned and pushed a finger into the bloody hole below her sternum. She looked up to see if Mary Read was satisfied with the demise of their tormentor and gasped. Mary Read was down on the sand, bleeding from her neck. Bonny fell to her side, cradling Reads head.
"I cursed them Mary, I cursed them all. Our blood will be the bond of my words. Together, they died as they lived. Their blood washed out with every surge of surf. The current took the blood out, where the intercoastal washed it onto every beach along the Carolina coast.
Will and Laura, just married, hand in hand, walked the beach. It was late November and a blue moon had risen huge over the breakers of the outer banks. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day and a romantic start to the rest of their life. Despite the chill in the air they had gone shoeless, feeling the primordial urge to dig their toes into the sand as they walked, just one more thing they shared. They stopped to let a cold wave wash over their cold feet. They embraced, each melting into the other, lips touching, nose to nose. Suddenly Laura felt a burning on her feet. She tensed and Will stepped back to see what happened.
Laura was trying to step away from the surf. Will looked down to find his feet covered in a dark ichor. It started to burn, not a warming heat burn like an icy hot. Soon, they were both stomping and trying to use sand to get the ichor off. Suddenly, as quickly as it started, it stopped and was gone. They both looked at their feet in disbelief. They looked to each other with reticent smiles, thinking maybe it was just a weird illusion put upon by the moon. They started to laugh and again joined hands. As they did, skeletal fingers erupted from the sand and grasped the couple by the ankles. In horror and disbelief they looked between each other and the hands grasping them. Hand over hand they were pulled down into the sand. Will reached for Laura hoping to stave off what seemed a crazy nightmare. Bony arms kept them separate. To their necks now, face to face, no words, no screams, as the bony hands covered their mouths and pulled them beneath the sand. Mouths filling with sand, lungs, their brains not understanding what was happening and losing consciousness at the same time. A wave erased any evidence of their struggle. On the wind, a woman's laughter could be heard, just louder than the surf.
The Revenge had been beating hard to make the Carolinas. A run to Bermuda was out of the question with gunnels awash with every heel or big wave. The hold full of Spanish gold, she was bound for the briny deep if safe harbor didn't find her soon. Having slipped through the gauntlet of Spanish war ships and made it to safety of the intercoastal, Calico Jack was not new to the intercoastal but had been marauding in the Carib for the past three seasons. Shifting currents and sandbars were normal occurrences here and it was suicide to run at night. The fates had been with him so far and he had information that the Spanish lacked.
Blackbeard haunted these waters exclusively and few pirates dared poach on his hunting ground, but Jack had sailed with Blackbeard for a time and was a member of the bloody brotherhood. Estuaries were common escape routes and foul weather harbors. The common agreement between pirates was to light fires at night to identify these safe harbors.
Jack's wife and fellow pirate, Anne Bonny, leaned over the port side rail sweeping the shore line with her spyglass. It was uncommon for a women to sail aboard a pirate ship but the Revenge was an exception in many ways. Two women actually sullied the decks of the Revenge. Anne Bonny and Mary Read were both pirates in their own right, feared by pirate hunters and pirates alike. Mary Read huddled in the crows nest watching the same coastline. It was a blue moon but the Revenge stayed in the middle of the channel which was safer than risking a grounding close to shore. Estuaries cut deep channels into the intercoastal and were usually safe to navigate. The problem was finding them in the dark. Jack had assured his crew that a safe harbor was close and would be fire by brotherhood agreement. Mary Read was feeling the effects of a long watch but kept her post as any man would. She scanned the East, praying for any signs of signal fire. The light of the moon made it difficult as reflections created ghost images on the waves. Several times she thought she had seen fires only to have them disappear with the crest of a wave. Way off in the distance, an orange glow caught her eye. It played in and out of her vision for minutes before she was sure.
"Signal fire!" Yelled Mary Read.
"Where away?" Jack hollered back.
"Mid ship off the port side!" She yelled. Bonny swept the glass mid ship and orange filled the end of her spyglass. "There Jack," she said pointing the way for the captain. Jack spun the wheel to port yelling commands as sailors hauled on ropes and repositioned sails to make a run for the coast. Jack felt a bit of relief but kept his guard. It had been some time since this ploy had been used and wasn't sure if it was still safe. Fear of grounding was a pirates worst fear and the intercoastal was a deathtrap at night. However, the prospect of dancing from the yardarm of a Spanish war ship was not palatable either.
Read climbed down the mast and joined her comrades on the poop deck. Another pirate was ordered to the crows nest and the trio sailed the Revenge toward safety.
Jonas Tibble knew to keep his gaze away from the fire so to keep his night vision keen. The blue moon had been much luck in the past, making it easy to see signs of sail well into the early morning hours. Jonas had set this trap after running afoul of the brotherhood and jumping ship in the night just ahead of a death sentence. Jonas had seen Blackbeard turn into fire lit rivers to escape bad weather or British pirate hunters. Soon after jumping ship, finding a stake and joining a group of cutthroats, he suggested a trap at the mouth of the Cape Fear River at Southport. This was just past where Blackbeard normally placed his fires to slip past Fort Caswell and seek shelter in the river. This night would prove his scheme in spades. As Jonas squinted at the horizon, sails danced into his vision. Jonas signaled his man, who passed the word quietly as the sound of excited shouts might carry across the water to the unsuspecting ship. Like jackals, they waited patiently with longboats ready on the beach. Jonas had gathered twice the number of men as the usual ships compliment to be sure his prey was outnumbered. Most groundings in the intercoastal were really beachings, leaving the ship in tact in shallow waters. Cape fear was so named due to a healthy outcropping of granite that pierced the sand in a wide arc. It was difficult to see during the day but impossible at night. At low tide, the water was deep enough to take a whole ship. Jonas employed only men who could swim in order to make salvage on the wrecks goods.
Patience paid off and the loud cracking sound of heavy timbers carried to Jonas's ear. He sent out four boats to mark the wreck and depth. The longboats balked at the surf then slid into the bay toward the ship. The first longboat to the wreck bumped against floating debris. An arm came over the side followed by the face of a breathless pirate. His gasping was abruptly silenced as a cutlass separated his head from his neck and a fountain of blood washed the cutthroat. Jonas waited for the return of his boats or for any survivors to find the shore. Helping the cutthroats, survivors usually swam towards the light of the fire.
Mary Read and Anne Bonny swam together, silently. They had tried to rally wreck survivors to sighted long boats until they saw the carnage being perpetrated upon them. They hoped to beach down shore of the fire and escape into the night, but the current had other ideas.
Jonas saw two sailors emerge from the surf cutlasses in hand. He only knew one kind of man who would swim with his cutlass.
"Name your vessel dogs or feel my metal on your innards!" Jonas called to the pair outing them as pirates to the rest of his crew.
Bonny edged to the side of Read as they slogged out of the surf so they could come together, back to back. Daggers appeared in each of the others hands as they became a wheel of pointed death.
"The Revenge," Bonny proclaimed hoping that the name alone would cause these dogs to flee. Yet one of the men, silhouetted by the fire, started to laugh.
"Anne Bonny, you Irish whore, who be that with you?" Jonas said recognizing her brogue.
Bonny dipped her cutlass, wary but not off guard. Had they been set upon by fellow pirates? Could they maybe find quarter?
"It be not Calico Jack, you black bastard. He is bound for hell and you soon after unless you see us safe to Blackbeard," Bonny said, hoping to illicit fear into those around her.
"It is another woman Jonas," said one of his men, now having surrounded the two on the beach.
"Aye, but a better hand than you any day, " said Read on her behalf.
Jonas laughed again and said, "Well lads, all we're missing is the ale since we have wenches. This started a low laugh among the circle of men. Rape was always central on the mind of pirates. Even as crew mates, until they could match men in a fight, women were prone to abuses. Bonny and Read were not the push overs these men thought. Rape was in their pasts and not something they were ready to revisit.
"Well lads, have at them, they be only two, but look sharp! Bonny is a snake with that blade." Jonas said.
"If you don't mind, I'll be knowing your name before I run you through," hissed Bonny.
Jonas moved around the circle till firelight caught his face, then smiled.
"Jonas, I thought you'd be still swinging. Bastard, come get what's aching for you!" Said Bonny
The dance commenced. The men weighed in one at a time, having difficulty with the idea of killing a woman. They became more willing once a few had been run through. Then the real dance began. Men darting in, flashes of steel catching the light of the moon then dampened by dark blood dripping to the hilt. Arcing steel weighing into then flesh of men. Both women were masters with a sword and were fast friends, hell bent on saving the other from rape and a sure death. In the midst of the fight Jonas kept his distance, biding his time. Soon after the last man fell, kicked off the end of Read's sword and a quick stab to the neck, unneeded but for effect, the women turned to face Jonas.
Jonas clapped his hands and said, "Mores my share! Many thanks my ladies." Jonas bowed and made a sweeping gesture with his arm while reaching to his back for the volley gun stuffed in his belt. He came around with the end of the flourish and gave them all four barrels. A loud shot sounded as acrid smoke billowed around the gun.
As soon as Bonny saw the gun, she knew it was close to over. She took the shot, well into her first step towards Jonas. She felt the hot lead and kept stepping. By the time the smoke cleared she had closed the gap, leading with her cutlass. It found the middle of Jonas, the silly grin still on his face. He looked down at the length of metal attached to his innards. Then surprise took over his visage. Bonny Smiled and pushed in to the hilt. The sound of tearing sinew and the cracking of ribs could be heard over Jonas's strained cry.
"No man but Jack will ever touch me again in heaven or hell, you bastard. As for you, " she said and pulled hard on her sword, twisting it as it came, a length of intestine squirming out of the seeping wound.
"Hell waits for you here on this beach. I put a curse on you and yours in this life and the next. If I can't have a life with my love then no one on the blue moon shall either." Said Bonny.
She didn't wait to watch Jonas fall, instead she turned and pushed a finger into the bloody hole below her sternum. She looked up to see if Mary Read was satisfied with the demise of their tormentor and gasped. Mary Read was down on the sand, bleeding from her neck. Bonny fell to her side, cradling Reads head.
"I cursed them Mary, I cursed them all. Our blood will be the bond of my words. Together, they died as they lived. Their blood washed out with every surge of surf. The current took the blood out, where the intercoastal washed it onto every beach along the Carolina coast.
Will and Laura, just married, hand in hand, walked the beach. It was late November and a blue moon had risen huge over the breakers of the outer banks. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day and a romantic start to the rest of their life. Despite the chill in the air they had gone shoeless, feeling the primordial urge to dig their toes into the sand as they walked, just one more thing they shared. They stopped to let a cold wave wash over their cold feet. They embraced, each melting into the other, lips touching, nose to nose. Suddenly Laura felt a burning on her feet. She tensed and Will stepped back to see what happened.
Laura was trying to step away from the surf. Will looked down to find his feet covered in a dark ichor. It started to burn, not a warming heat burn like an icy hot. Soon, they were both stomping and trying to use sand to get the ichor off. Suddenly, as quickly as it started, it stopped and was gone. They both looked at their feet in disbelief. They looked to each other with reticent smiles, thinking maybe it was just a weird illusion put upon by the moon. They started to laugh and again joined hands. As they did, skeletal fingers erupted from the sand and grasped the couple by the ankles. In horror and disbelief they looked between each other and the hands grasping them. Hand over hand they were pulled down into the sand. Will reached for Laura hoping to stave off what seemed a crazy nightmare. Bony arms kept them separate. To their necks now, face to face, no words, no screams, as the bony hands covered their mouths and pulled them beneath the sand. Mouths filling with sand, lungs, their brains not understanding what was happening and losing consciousness at the same time. A wave erased any evidence of their struggle. On the wind, a woman's laughter could be heard, just louder than the surf.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Blue Moon
A blue moon is not really blue but a second full moon in the same calender month. It was typically thought of as a bad omen and made it difficult to calculate the calender and seasons in early history.
There are over 600 species of Conus, with 16 new species identified each year. All species of Cone Shell having a venom with multiple toxins in its arsenal, make it one of the most successful killers on the planet. There are roughly 15 envenomation deaths a year attributed to the Cone Shell mollusk.
Laura and Will had met only a week ago but felt a strong connection. A spur of the moment flash of spontaneity put them together for a weekend trip to the beach. The full moon inspired them for a romantic walk on the beach. Hand in hand, feeling the warmth of each others grasp, they dug their toes into the cold sand as they walked. It was late November and there was a chill in the air but how could you not feel the sand between your toes when at the beach. They walked in silence, enjoying the second full moon of the month.
Each day, beachcombers spent hours plucking the shells and the occasional shark tooth out of the surf line. By the time evening rolled around, the shore was a veritable desert with only mounds of sea grass marking the high-tide line. As Laura and Will walked the desolate shore, Laura was feeling very enlivened, whether the night air or the instinctive tug of the lunar cycle, she was sure this would be a night to remember. Will likewise was starting to feel the effects of the moon and cast furtive glances at Laura hoping she was feeling the same. Like a beacon in the middle of their trail, a lone conch shell washed up with the next wave. Pulling them out of their romantic interlude, natural curiosity drew them to the shell. Laura broke hands with Will and bent over to pick up the shell.
"Careful, there might be something living in it, " said Will.
"No, only empty shells wash up on the beach," Laura said as she picked it up and dumped the water out. Laura bent too the next wave and gave it a short wash in the surf to get rid of sand that it had plowed from the beach. When finished, she held it up for will to admire. In the light of the full moon it held a ghostly glow akin to the moon itself. As Will took the shell from Laura, she noticed another white image in the surf. A second conch had washed up behind Will.
It could feel the warmth of touch through the shell. Sensing the heat of its victim had secured its place as a cold-blooded killer in a cold environment. Fish could smell death in the water and early on in its evolution stopped swimming close enough to catch as pray, but the animals that lived in air were always curious and and offered themselves easily.
Will said, "I wonder if I can hear the ocean?" As Laura bent to retrieve the second one, Will held the shell to his ear.
No sooner than Laura had picked up the second shell, another and another, washed up in the surf.
So close, the heat poured into the shell opening. The proximity of its prey triggered the primordial sense to feed. In a flash, it extended a specialized tentacle and stung the warm flesh offered to it. Retracting quickly to reduce any damage to itself, it now waited for the quick death of its prey.
Laura heard a yelp behind her and turned to see Will drop the shell from his hand and sink to his knees. In the moment she wondered if he was kidding, she felt a sharp sting on her ankle. She only had time to look down to the shell at her foot before the world started to swim before her eyes.
In the silence of the night, only the blue moon was a witness to the completion of a romantic walk. A wash of shells on the beach extended tentacles to attach themselves to motionless bodies. At great risk in the fullness of the moon, lifeless bodies were pulled into the surf, all trails in the sand washed away in the foam of the next wave.
There are over 600 species of Conus, with 16 new species identified each year. All species of Cone Shell having a venom with multiple toxins in its arsenal, make it one of the most successful killers on the planet. There are roughly 15 envenomation deaths a year attributed to the Cone Shell mollusk.
Laura and Will had met only a week ago but felt a strong connection. A spur of the moment flash of spontaneity put them together for a weekend trip to the beach. The full moon inspired them for a romantic walk on the beach. Hand in hand, feeling the warmth of each others grasp, they dug their toes into the cold sand as they walked. It was late November and there was a chill in the air but how could you not feel the sand between your toes when at the beach. They walked in silence, enjoying the second full moon of the month.
Each day, beachcombers spent hours plucking the shells and the occasional shark tooth out of the surf line. By the time evening rolled around, the shore was a veritable desert with only mounds of sea grass marking the high-tide line. As Laura and Will walked the desolate shore, Laura was feeling very enlivened, whether the night air or the instinctive tug of the lunar cycle, she was sure this would be a night to remember. Will likewise was starting to feel the effects of the moon and cast furtive glances at Laura hoping she was feeling the same. Like a beacon in the middle of their trail, a lone conch shell washed up with the next wave. Pulling them out of their romantic interlude, natural curiosity drew them to the shell. Laura broke hands with Will and bent over to pick up the shell.
"Careful, there might be something living in it, " said Will.
"No, only empty shells wash up on the beach," Laura said as she picked it up and dumped the water out. Laura bent too the next wave and gave it a short wash in the surf to get rid of sand that it had plowed from the beach. When finished, she held it up for will to admire. In the light of the full moon it held a ghostly glow akin to the moon itself. As Will took the shell from Laura, she noticed another white image in the surf. A second conch had washed up behind Will.
It could feel the warmth of touch through the shell. Sensing the heat of its victim had secured its place as a cold-blooded killer in a cold environment. Fish could smell death in the water and early on in its evolution stopped swimming close enough to catch as pray, but the animals that lived in air were always curious and and offered themselves easily.
Will said, "I wonder if I can hear the ocean?" As Laura bent to retrieve the second one, Will held the shell to his ear.
No sooner than Laura had picked up the second shell, another and another, washed up in the surf.
So close, the heat poured into the shell opening. The proximity of its prey triggered the primordial sense to feed. In a flash, it extended a specialized tentacle and stung the warm flesh offered to it. Retracting quickly to reduce any damage to itself, it now waited for the quick death of its prey.
Laura heard a yelp behind her and turned to see Will drop the shell from his hand and sink to his knees. In the moment she wondered if he was kidding, she felt a sharp sting on her ankle. She only had time to look down to the shell at her foot before the world started to swim before her eyes.
In the silence of the night, only the blue moon was a witness to the completion of a romantic walk. A wash of shells on the beach extended tentacles to attach themselves to motionless bodies. At great risk in the fullness of the moon, lifeless bodies were pulled into the surf, all trails in the sand washed away in the foam of the next wave.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Dirt Clods
It always came down to this, three in the pile, one in each hand. Fern had at least that and a fresh arm. The wind made the trees creak and leaves rustle while slowly turning the wet dust on my neck to a hardening, itchy coating. Dirt clod fights used to be fun, ending in the requisite creek swim to clean off, not anymore. Other side of the tracks in our town actually meant other side of the Parson's Creek. There were the kids who lived in town and the kids who lived on a few farms out past the creek. Mostly tenant farmers, Dad said were dirt poor. I never really understood the meaning of that phrase since they lived on the land but "dirt" seemed to be used off-handedly as a qualitative term, for the tenant and the dirt. I also don't know when the rivalry started between the "Townies'' and the "Dirts". It seemed like forever cause I couldn't remember the one that divided us. Funny how we accept the conditions we live in as a given instead of changing them for the better. Fern probably would have been the first girl I kissed. Fat chance now. She's a dirt. I'm a townie. "We don't have to do this Fern," I said, hoping she would maybe see reason through the layers of dust furrowing my brow.
"Chicken?" She taunted. And an echo from behind the berm chimed in with a cacophony of clucking.
Fern turned to shush her flock. Flushed with rage at the insult, I let one fly. A hard clod without any grass and no gravel, caught her square in the mouth as she turned back toward me. I saw her eyes close involuntarily as the clod exploded against those kissable lips. Fern waivered but stayed up, a single tear cutting a stream down her cheek in red, the new color layer of dust. If I had had any hope of being with Fern, it was gone for sure. I don't know how many trips to the soda jerk this would take to make right.
"My turn," she hissed through a split lip. She spit blood on the clod with disgust, then winged it at me. There isn't any rule about dodging, it just would have confirmed her earlier taunt. I took it square in the chest, an explosion of dust filling my nose. I had a sneezing fit, which caused my eyes to water. Little Piney, Ferns younger brother was out, but stuck his head above the berm to look at his sisters shot. He saw the rivulets down my cheeks and started a litany of "Crybaby, crybaby....," to which the rest of the dirts joined in. I shifted the one in my right to the empty left. Fern saw this but didn't have time to warn Little Piney. Only a fraction of his head was above the berm, but it was enough. Piney didn't have any hair to cushion the blow on account of the fact that he had lice most of the time and was clean cut down to the pate. When the clod hit, one of the little veins on his scalp exploded with it, spraying blood and dust in a plume like a red halo around his head. His litany ended in mid sing and he slumped below the berm. Fern dove behind the berm, there was much whispering and muffled angry words.
"Time out!" Ferns voice was shaky from behind the berm and more emphatic, "time out!" She yelled, "We have to take Piney back to the house, now!"
From behind me Bobby Tillman jumped up and cried, "We win, you lose!" I socked Bobby in the stomach to shut him up. "Dammit Bobby, he's bleeding. I think I really hurt him," I said. "So what?" Said Bobby, "He's a dirt!" When does a twelve year old get so vicious? Piney was eight but had a good throw if you weren't watching for it. I watched them rise from the berm and the four of them started through the brush onto the cultivated field.
I yelled after them hoping they would hear a hint of apology. "Do y'all need help?" All I got was a blazing stare from Fern.
The next day at school was really uncomfortable. The two room schoolhouse was divided by grade, the younger on one side, the older on the other. Fern sat two seats ahead of me in the same row. We had assigned seats but the room might as well have been polarized. I also knew that Little Piney wasn't at school.
Recess was usually good hearted taunting about who was gonna win the days dirt clod fight. Today, each group gravitated to the far sides of the playground. We speculated what the days outcome would be. The twins started planning where they were gonna get the best dirt clods.
"I'm not going today," I said.
"If you don't we won't get any for you," Mike said, the more freckled of the two. "How do you expect to put those dirts out of commission if you don't get a good arm full?"
"No. I'm not fighting today," I said.
The townies descended on me with queries and scorn, each ending with pleadings and taunts. Bobby Tillman shushed everybody and eyed me seriously before he spoke for everyone else. "You know we need you. You have the best arm. We have even a better chance since they are short one man," Bobby said.
"This has gotten out of hand. I hurt Piney and we don't know how bad. I don't want to play anymore and neither should any of you," I said. Bobby sensed the shift and took the lead.
"OK. Fine. We don't need you," Bobby said.
The other townies backed from around me to Bobby's side and made me odd man out. They didn't know what it felt like, didn't understand. There was no sense in trying to argue the point.
After school each group left the school in a clutch. I watched them go, heading for the road where the bridge crossed Parson's Creek. I had to walk that way home and didn't want to go afoul of either group, so sat down on the steps and waited for them to disappear over the hill. Mrs. Slocum, my teacher, came up behind me and asked, "Not going to the creek today?"
"Nope," I said.
"Good for you," she said. "So what are you waiting for?"
"Waiting for them all to go over the rise. Then I'm going to see if Little Piney is OK," I said.
"Good for you again," she said. "Well, I will see you tomorrow. I hope you find what you want there."
Mrs. Slocum, shouldered her book bag and walked to her bicycle. I wondered what she meant by that but didn't really think on it further. I got up and made my way down the road. I thought about who might answer the door when I got there and then thought about going home instead but stayed my course. When I got to the bridge I looked down the creek to see if there was any evidence of the fight but because of the bend, it was not in sight. I resumed my march down the road, trying to think of what to say when I wound up at their mailbox. Wilcox was awkwardly painted on the side of the box. I moved up the path worn through the weeds in the front yard. I could see that the door was open behind the screen. I tread up the steps, each creaking a different chord of wood on wood as I went. I knocked on the screen door frame, slapping it against the door jam. There was rustling inside. A thin, haughty woman came to the door. She was not unattractive but looked warn by time. Her calico dress was dirty and a little wrinkled. I could see Fern in her face, mostly the eyes. She said, "Well?"
"I came to see if Little Piney is OK. I'm the one who hurt him," I said. I looked her in the eyes. Dad said it showed integrity and sincerity. I hoped she would see it. Then, the hard part. "I am really sorry."
She looked hard at me, as if trying to make up her mind how to respond. She said, "Wait here."
I shifted from foot to foot thinking about whether she might call my Mom or worse, my Dad. While I was agonizing over the prospect, Piney came to the door. He had a gauze headband holding a mound of cotton to the side of his head. He stood there quietly. Waiting.
"So I wanted to say that I was sorry about your head and hope you are OK," I said. "Will you be returning to school soon?"
"Ma says maybe on Thursday if my head scabs over." "You throw hard," he said.
"I was mad. I hate being called a chicken. I guess everybody does, 'cept chickens," I smirked.
Piney smiled in spite of himself. "Yea, 'cept chickens. His face returned to seriousness and asked, "Do you think they are fighting without us?"
"I don't know, but I'm not going anymore. I'm done," I said.
"Really? What about your friends? You townies won't leave us alone," he said.
"What are they gonna do if I don't go? I mean, really, think about it. Without us, it won't be fun anymore," I said.
He smiled again. "OK."
We said goodbye and I turned to go, as I jumped the steps to the path and started home, I heard the screen door slam and feet slapping behind me. I stopped and turned around. Fern was behind me at the mailbox. She said, "Are you serious about not fighting anymore?"
I thought she was at the creek. I was a little stunned to see her and tongue tied.
"Were you serious about what you said to Piney?" She said.
"Yes," I said. That was it. I had brain freeze as I looked into her eyes and saw her mother, then noticed her busted lip.
"So what are you gonna do after school tomorrow instead?" She said.
I looked her in the eyes and took a chance. "Thought I would get a soda at the malt shop. Wanna go?"
She eyed me oddly and said, "Yea."
I turned and went home, not wanting to press my luck but felt a rush of accomplishment and said to myself, "That's one."
"Chicken?" She taunted. And an echo from behind the berm chimed in with a cacophony of clucking.
Fern turned to shush her flock. Flushed with rage at the insult, I let one fly. A hard clod without any grass and no gravel, caught her square in the mouth as she turned back toward me. I saw her eyes close involuntarily as the clod exploded against those kissable lips. Fern waivered but stayed up, a single tear cutting a stream down her cheek in red, the new color layer of dust. If I had had any hope of being with Fern, it was gone for sure. I don't know how many trips to the soda jerk this would take to make right.
"My turn," she hissed through a split lip. She spit blood on the clod with disgust, then winged it at me. There isn't any rule about dodging, it just would have confirmed her earlier taunt. I took it square in the chest, an explosion of dust filling my nose. I had a sneezing fit, which caused my eyes to water. Little Piney, Ferns younger brother was out, but stuck his head above the berm to look at his sisters shot. He saw the rivulets down my cheeks and started a litany of "Crybaby, crybaby....," to which the rest of the dirts joined in. I shifted the one in my right to the empty left. Fern saw this but didn't have time to warn Little Piney. Only a fraction of his head was above the berm, but it was enough. Piney didn't have any hair to cushion the blow on account of the fact that he had lice most of the time and was clean cut down to the pate. When the clod hit, one of the little veins on his scalp exploded with it, spraying blood and dust in a plume like a red halo around his head. His litany ended in mid sing and he slumped below the berm. Fern dove behind the berm, there was much whispering and muffled angry words.
"Time out!" Ferns voice was shaky from behind the berm and more emphatic, "time out!" She yelled, "We have to take Piney back to the house, now!"
From behind me Bobby Tillman jumped up and cried, "We win, you lose!" I socked Bobby in the stomach to shut him up. "Dammit Bobby, he's bleeding. I think I really hurt him," I said. "So what?" Said Bobby, "He's a dirt!" When does a twelve year old get so vicious? Piney was eight but had a good throw if you weren't watching for it. I watched them rise from the berm and the four of them started through the brush onto the cultivated field.
I yelled after them hoping they would hear a hint of apology. "Do y'all need help?" All I got was a blazing stare from Fern.
The next day at school was really uncomfortable. The two room schoolhouse was divided by grade, the younger on one side, the older on the other. Fern sat two seats ahead of me in the same row. We had assigned seats but the room might as well have been polarized. I also knew that Little Piney wasn't at school.
Recess was usually good hearted taunting about who was gonna win the days dirt clod fight. Today, each group gravitated to the far sides of the playground. We speculated what the days outcome would be. The twins started planning where they were gonna get the best dirt clods.
"I'm not going today," I said.
"If you don't we won't get any for you," Mike said, the more freckled of the two. "How do you expect to put those dirts out of commission if you don't get a good arm full?"
"No. I'm not fighting today," I said.
The townies descended on me with queries and scorn, each ending with pleadings and taunts. Bobby Tillman shushed everybody and eyed me seriously before he spoke for everyone else. "You know we need you. You have the best arm. We have even a better chance since they are short one man," Bobby said.
"This has gotten out of hand. I hurt Piney and we don't know how bad. I don't want to play anymore and neither should any of you," I said. Bobby sensed the shift and took the lead.
"OK. Fine. We don't need you," Bobby said.
The other townies backed from around me to Bobby's side and made me odd man out. They didn't know what it felt like, didn't understand. There was no sense in trying to argue the point.
After school each group left the school in a clutch. I watched them go, heading for the road where the bridge crossed Parson's Creek. I had to walk that way home and didn't want to go afoul of either group, so sat down on the steps and waited for them to disappear over the hill. Mrs. Slocum, my teacher, came up behind me and asked, "Not going to the creek today?"
"Nope," I said.
"Good for you," she said. "So what are you waiting for?"
"Waiting for them all to go over the rise. Then I'm going to see if Little Piney is OK," I said.
"Good for you again," she said. "Well, I will see you tomorrow. I hope you find what you want there."
Mrs. Slocum, shouldered her book bag and walked to her bicycle. I wondered what she meant by that but didn't really think on it further. I got up and made my way down the road. I thought about who might answer the door when I got there and then thought about going home instead but stayed my course. When I got to the bridge I looked down the creek to see if there was any evidence of the fight but because of the bend, it was not in sight. I resumed my march down the road, trying to think of what to say when I wound up at their mailbox. Wilcox was awkwardly painted on the side of the box. I moved up the path worn through the weeds in the front yard. I could see that the door was open behind the screen. I tread up the steps, each creaking a different chord of wood on wood as I went. I knocked on the screen door frame, slapping it against the door jam. There was rustling inside. A thin, haughty woman came to the door. She was not unattractive but looked warn by time. Her calico dress was dirty and a little wrinkled. I could see Fern in her face, mostly the eyes. She said, "Well?"
"I came to see if Little Piney is OK. I'm the one who hurt him," I said. I looked her in the eyes. Dad said it showed integrity and sincerity. I hoped she would see it. Then, the hard part. "I am really sorry."
She looked hard at me, as if trying to make up her mind how to respond. She said, "Wait here."
I shifted from foot to foot thinking about whether she might call my Mom or worse, my Dad. While I was agonizing over the prospect, Piney came to the door. He had a gauze headband holding a mound of cotton to the side of his head. He stood there quietly. Waiting.
"So I wanted to say that I was sorry about your head and hope you are OK," I said. "Will you be returning to school soon?"
"Ma says maybe on Thursday if my head scabs over." "You throw hard," he said.
"I was mad. I hate being called a chicken. I guess everybody does, 'cept chickens," I smirked.
Piney smiled in spite of himself. "Yea, 'cept chickens. His face returned to seriousness and asked, "Do you think they are fighting without us?"
"I don't know, but I'm not going anymore. I'm done," I said.
"Really? What about your friends? You townies won't leave us alone," he said.
"What are they gonna do if I don't go? I mean, really, think about it. Without us, it won't be fun anymore," I said.
He smiled again. "OK."
We said goodbye and I turned to go, as I jumped the steps to the path and started home, I heard the screen door slam and feet slapping behind me. I stopped and turned around. Fern was behind me at the mailbox. She said, "Are you serious about not fighting anymore?"
I thought she was at the creek. I was a little stunned to see her and tongue tied.
"Were you serious about what you said to Piney?" She said.
"Yes," I said. That was it. I had brain freeze as I looked into her eyes and saw her mother, then noticed her busted lip.
"So what are you gonna do after school tomorrow instead?" She said.
I looked her in the eyes and took a chance. "Thought I would get a soda at the malt shop. Wanna go?"
She eyed me oddly and said, "Yea."
I turned and went home, not wanting to press my luck but felt a rush of accomplishment and said to myself, "That's one."
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
If They Only Knew
Passing by in the blink of an eye,
only seen by midnight sky.
I see your lives, so petty and small,
if you only knew how fast it could fall.
So make a wish on me if you must,
place hopes and fears on gods you trust.
Go about your lives, your trivial ball,
if you only knew how fast I could fall.
only seen by midnight sky.
I see your lives, so petty and small,
if you only knew how fast it could fall.
So make a wish on me if you must,
place hopes and fears on gods you trust.
Go about your lives, your trivial ball,
if you only knew how fast I could fall.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Slip of Moon
Over the trees, a slip of moon
Under the stars, a slip into cold grass
Swaddled in denim, lips slip apart.
Under the stars, a slip into cold grass
Swaddled in denim, lips slip apart.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Paper dolls
I never really new we were poor till my sixth Xmas. My Mother always kept the house clean, we always had food and before I started going to school, I was happy to play with pots, pans or a large cardboard box. When I went to first grade is when I learned that we were poor. It wasn't the crusts cut off of sandwiches or new shoes instead of hand-me-downs that first clued me in, it was the way other kids talked about their stuff. My stuff was my sisters stuff and my brothers shared stuff. Our whole family shared. I thought that was what everybody did. I didn't realize that stuff was meant to be personal. And I really didn't understand that there was a difference between kinds of stuff that had to do with money. That was new to me, stuff and money or actually money for stuff. So it was first grade where stuff became an issue for me.
I had never gotten a doll in a box, covered with cellophane and a big price sticker on the front. First grade means show and tell. Marcie came to show and tell with just such a box and I got the wants. The doll had eyes that opened and shut when it layed down, curly blonde hair, rosy red lips and cheeks and a fancy plaid turquoise dress with black patten leather shoes. It was amazing and Marcie wouldn't even pass it around, which is a rule of show and tell. She just walked up and down the isles with it. At lunch I asked Marcie where you get a doll like that and she said from Santa. Turns out it was an early Xmas present cause she was such a good girl, on account that her daddy loved her and knew Santa personal. I don't think my parents knew Santa but it wasn't gonna hurt to ask. When my Daddy got home from work and he had settled into his chair, I ran and jumped into his lap and purred just like our cat. I asked Daddy if he loved me and if he knew Santa personal. Daddy said he loved me but didn't know Santa personally. He did know where to send Santa a letter, on account that he has lived in the same place for a really long time and that I should write him. So I went got my Big Chief and sat at the kitchen table so I could ask Mother how to spell stuff. We both had a hard time with cellophane but she said Santa would understand. She helped me put it in an envelope and address it to Santa. She said letters to Santa didn't need a stamp, which I was happy about, on account I didn't have one. I quick ran to the corner post box, reached up on my toes and slid it down the shoot. Proud of myself, I went back home for supper.
When Xmas rolled around, Daddy said I was fit to be tied, on account I was so excitable. I still had popcorn in my teeth from decorating the tree the night before. The angel I made at school was sitting crooked on top, ready to swoop down if anybody tried stealing my doll. There was never a lot of presents under the tree but each of us usually got one real good thing. Since I knew what I was gettin, I danced around while everybody else opened there's first. Mother came out of the kitchen with corn muffins and honey and about knocked me down in the middle of one of my whirlins. She finally set me down and planted a present in my lap. I looked at it and told her it wasn't mine. She assured me it was and I reassured her it wasn't, on account it was flat. Daddy came over to sit with me and said lets open it together. Sure enough, my name was on it and a note from Santa that said, got your letter, you will like this better. What was that old fatso thinkin? What could be possibly better than a cellophane boxed blondy in a turquoise plaid dress and patten black shoes? When I got it all unwrapped, it turned out to be a paper doll book. There was one stiff old flatty and ten pages of clothes for her to wear. She was not blonde, there were no turquoise dresses, not even black shoes. I was fumin and maybe Mother could smell it cause she offered me a corn muffin. No amount of corn muffins was gonna console me, I needed bacon. I told her so, and we went into the kitchen together. I got the big black pan off the pantry shelf, while mother started slicing long strips off the slab. She always got sugar cured bacon that left a sweet smell in the house all day. She fried it up and gave me two slices. That did the trick.
Mother got out her good scissors and put them on the table in front of me, for incentive I'm thinkin. So I opened the book, cut her out and named her Maizey. I started cutting out her dresses and outfits realizing that if I cut a dress in half, I would have twice as many clothes, a top and a skirt. I quick turned her clamdiggers into shorts, on account we don't have clams where we live and they seemed silly. She was so flat, it made imaginin hard. I quick shot a look at the cat to see if there was some way to attach Maizey to that skanky rat killer. Daddy said she wouldn't sit or stand for it, I wasn't sure. The problem was her clothes didn't stay on very well unless she was still. How can you keep a doll still while she is being at a tea party or chasing after varmits up into trees. Maizey would not survive. I went into the house, put her on the table and went back out in a huff. I knew thirty more minutes in the tree would make me feel better, besides Xmas was just another stupid day. When I got back inside, Mother was workin on that ol' paper doll. She had puffed it up so it was like a pillow. She said all it needed was some backing, stuffing and upholstery thread. She had also put backing on Maizey's clothes and put apron strips so they tied on. She was more like a regular doll now but she would have to wait till tomorrow for the tree test.
When I woke up, Maizey was already dressed and ready to go outside, which was funny, on account I didn't remember doin it. I took Maizey way up in the tree and put her to the test. I yelled Geronimo!, and let her go. She cartwheeled through the branches and smack! hit the ground. I scuttled down and eyeballed that paper doll for signs of damage. She seemed fine. So this was our pattern, playing and damage control. Everyday when I woke up, Maizey had on a new outfit from her collection which had been added to some how, mostly bows or straps to keep them on the dolls body. Now, I am not the brightest bulb in the box, on account of gene runout and I'm the youngest, but I knew Mother was dressin that ol' paper doll. I played along with her like Maizey was dressin herself. One day Mothers sister called and needed help with her kids while she had a procedure, on account of her big nose. Mother said it was call a plastic rhino or something like that. So Mother was gonna spend a few days away. Dad was in charge, which meant cheese toast and macaroni with ketchup. When I woke up the next day Maizey was dressed and ready to go as usual. Now this was a mystery. I played detective and asked my whole family who did it? Nobody fessed up. So I stayed up to watch for the sneak. I started gettin real sleepy and was bored. I snap had a better idea and hid Maizey in the closet. I'm not suppose to curse but hells bells is what Daddy says and I can't think of a better thing to say, on account that Maizey was dressed again in the morning. I did this for two nights puttin her in my best hidey holes. The final straw was hiding her and her clothes. She still turned up dressed the next day. This was crazy.
When the Xmas holiday was over and I had to go back to school, Maizey got put aside. I would play with her when I got home, on account they don't give homework in first grade. When Mother got home, she was very interested in Maizey's dress up. Mother owned up to doin it before but she hadn't left any instructions for Daddy while she was gone. She seemed worried but didn't say anything. Mother started comin into my room to wake me and Maizey in the morning. She got to see first hand what Maizey was doin. She and Daddy took her one night to church and had the minister say a prayer on her. I guess they reckoned that would keep Maizey safe but one of my brothers said it was on account she was a demon doll. This didn't scare me much, on account I didn't scare easy. I just figured if Maizey wanted to dress herself it was less work for me.
Mother had started layin out my clothes when I started school. She said it was so I got ready faster, but I started thinkin if Maizey got to dress herself I should be too. I started pickin my clothes out the night before so I could quick get dressed up in the morning. Mother said to daddy that she had to bite her tongue on some of my combinations. But my Gram said, how is a girl gonna find out her style if she isn't free to explore the depth of her closet. My sister and I shared a closet and when she out grew somethin, she just moved it to my side. So I already knew what looked good and what didn't, on account I had seen it all before on Sissy. Who I should say has no style what so ever. She was always puttin the same colors together, which if you ask me is booorrring. I put different colors together like a I was a bouquet of flowers or at least that's what Daddy called me.
I knew, sooner or later, that my turn for show and tell would come round and sure enough that day came. I looked through all of Maizey's outfits and looked through all of mine to find a match. I settled on a green skirt and an orange top that had been part of a dress for Maizey, and for me a softball t-shirt from my sister. Mother said we were a sight and took a photo for posterior, postular, no, posterity. I asked daddy if he had a suitable box in the garage. He went out and came back in with a shoe box. Mother cut out the top and wrapped the whole thing in cling wrap, the same stuff that holds the jelly in my sandwich for school lunch. It was perfect 'cept for a big ol' price tag, which Mother said would be impolite and no she didn't care what Marcie had. I quick ran to school and got there before everyone else. My teacher asked me if I was OK, on account I was breathing hard and it was the first time I was early. I watched as everyone filed in and took there seats. There was always a lot of chatter before class started and it was when you got to hear all the gossip. Gram said that first graders didn't have much to gossip about but she couldn't remember that far back. It was time. The teacher called roll, we said pledge of allegiance and counted school lunches and bringin lunches from home. Show and Tell! I jumped out of my chair and marched to the front of the class, plopped Maizey on the desk and announced that she was alive.
Everybody started to laugh and the teacher shushed the noise while I was allowed to continue. I went through the whole story Santa letter to today. When I was finished, I walked Maizey up and down the isles just like Marcie. Billy Joe Turner asked the teacher if we were aloud to make stuff up during show and tell. I quick turned to snap at that boy, I was not makin it up. Then a clamor came and everyone set to arguin and shoutin 'bout what show and tell was and if it had rules and if it had rules where was the book for it. The teacher said an imagination was important and that I had followed the rules cause I showed my doll and told about her. Billy Joe Turner was not goin to let it go. He said a doll couldn't be alive and was not gonna believe it on my say so. I went over to Billy Joe Turner and asked him polite if he was callin me a liar. The teacher quick took me by the arm and sent me back to my seat. I think cause he remembered I had brothers and that I would have clocked that boy any minute. Bein the teacher makes you smarter than everyone else, so this is what he proposed. We would undress Maizey and see if she redressed herself anytime during the course of the day. I like that teachers mind and I already knew Maizey could do it, but would she durin the day. She had always done it at night before.
We all went about the business of learnin and the teacher not once looked over at Maizey on the shelf. Poor Maizey, I had to undress her for the experiment. She didn't have any, you know, parts, so I didn't think she would be embarrassed, just cold maybe. We went to lunch thinkin it would happened. You never saw so many kids suckin up mashed potatoes and chicken fried steak so fast. We lined up real fast and almost ran back to the classroom. The teacher stopped us at the door. And waited till we all settled down. I went to my chair but everyone else ran over to the shelf. Nothing. She was still naked. We went too art. The same. Music. The same. I will have you know, I was worried. Finally we went to third recess. I love to swing, and sometimes the teacher has to remind me when recess is over. Course I pretended not to hear the recess bell. When the bell rang, we ran to the door and lined up, again. I went to my seat again and Maizey was on my desk, dressed. Everyone in the classroom had a shocked face, like Gram when she farts in church. I was more surprised she was on my desk, movin was something new. Billy Joe Turner said I sneaked into class while we were all at recess. I hurried up out of my chair to clock that boy, but the teacher said that I had been swingin the whole time. Nobody knew what to say. I just started laughin. Then the whole class started laughin. We finished the day and when three thirty came, the bell rang and they went home. The teacher called me up to his desk and looked at me for a long minute. He said, he didn't do it. I said, I know. He asked if it worried me. I just smiled and took Maizey home. Gram said to me later, when we were both older, that I had great depth to my closet. Sometimes I think she meant I had style. Mostly she meant I was rich and didn't know it.
I had never gotten a doll in a box, covered with cellophane and a big price sticker on the front. First grade means show and tell. Marcie came to show and tell with just such a box and I got the wants. The doll had eyes that opened and shut when it layed down, curly blonde hair, rosy red lips and cheeks and a fancy plaid turquoise dress with black patten leather shoes. It was amazing and Marcie wouldn't even pass it around, which is a rule of show and tell. She just walked up and down the isles with it. At lunch I asked Marcie where you get a doll like that and she said from Santa. Turns out it was an early Xmas present cause she was such a good girl, on account that her daddy loved her and knew Santa personal. I don't think my parents knew Santa but it wasn't gonna hurt to ask. When my Daddy got home from work and he had settled into his chair, I ran and jumped into his lap and purred just like our cat. I asked Daddy if he loved me and if he knew Santa personal. Daddy said he loved me but didn't know Santa personally. He did know where to send Santa a letter, on account that he has lived in the same place for a really long time and that I should write him. So I went got my Big Chief and sat at the kitchen table so I could ask Mother how to spell stuff. We both had a hard time with cellophane but she said Santa would understand. She helped me put it in an envelope and address it to Santa. She said letters to Santa didn't need a stamp, which I was happy about, on account I didn't have one. I quick ran to the corner post box, reached up on my toes and slid it down the shoot. Proud of myself, I went back home for supper.
When Xmas rolled around, Daddy said I was fit to be tied, on account I was so excitable. I still had popcorn in my teeth from decorating the tree the night before. The angel I made at school was sitting crooked on top, ready to swoop down if anybody tried stealing my doll. There was never a lot of presents under the tree but each of us usually got one real good thing. Since I knew what I was gettin, I danced around while everybody else opened there's first. Mother came out of the kitchen with corn muffins and honey and about knocked me down in the middle of one of my whirlins. She finally set me down and planted a present in my lap. I looked at it and told her it wasn't mine. She assured me it was and I reassured her it wasn't, on account it was flat. Daddy came over to sit with me and said lets open it together. Sure enough, my name was on it and a note from Santa that said, got your letter, you will like this better. What was that old fatso thinkin? What could be possibly better than a cellophane boxed blondy in a turquoise plaid dress and patten black shoes? When I got it all unwrapped, it turned out to be a paper doll book. There was one stiff old flatty and ten pages of clothes for her to wear. She was not blonde, there were no turquoise dresses, not even black shoes. I was fumin and maybe Mother could smell it cause she offered me a corn muffin. No amount of corn muffins was gonna console me, I needed bacon. I told her so, and we went into the kitchen together. I got the big black pan off the pantry shelf, while mother started slicing long strips off the slab. She always got sugar cured bacon that left a sweet smell in the house all day. She fried it up and gave me two slices. That did the trick.
Mother got out her good scissors and put them on the table in front of me, for incentive I'm thinkin. So I opened the book, cut her out and named her Maizey. I started cutting out her dresses and outfits realizing that if I cut a dress in half, I would have twice as many clothes, a top and a skirt. I quick turned her clamdiggers into shorts, on account we don't have clams where we live and they seemed silly. She was so flat, it made imaginin hard. I quick shot a look at the cat to see if there was some way to attach Maizey to that skanky rat killer. Daddy said she wouldn't sit or stand for it, I wasn't sure. The problem was her clothes didn't stay on very well unless she was still. How can you keep a doll still while she is being at a tea party or chasing after varmits up into trees. Maizey would not survive. I went into the house, put her on the table and went back out in a huff. I knew thirty more minutes in the tree would make me feel better, besides Xmas was just another stupid day. When I got back inside, Mother was workin on that ol' paper doll. She had puffed it up so it was like a pillow. She said all it needed was some backing, stuffing and upholstery thread. She had also put backing on Maizey's clothes and put apron strips so they tied on. She was more like a regular doll now but she would have to wait till tomorrow for the tree test.
When I woke up, Maizey was already dressed and ready to go outside, which was funny, on account I didn't remember doin it. I took Maizey way up in the tree and put her to the test. I yelled Geronimo!, and let her go. She cartwheeled through the branches and smack! hit the ground. I scuttled down and eyeballed that paper doll for signs of damage. She seemed fine. So this was our pattern, playing and damage control. Everyday when I woke up, Maizey had on a new outfit from her collection which had been added to some how, mostly bows or straps to keep them on the dolls body. Now, I am not the brightest bulb in the box, on account of gene runout and I'm the youngest, but I knew Mother was dressin that ol' paper doll. I played along with her like Maizey was dressin herself. One day Mothers sister called and needed help with her kids while she had a procedure, on account of her big nose. Mother said it was call a plastic rhino or something like that. So Mother was gonna spend a few days away. Dad was in charge, which meant cheese toast and macaroni with ketchup. When I woke up the next day Maizey was dressed and ready to go as usual. Now this was a mystery. I played detective and asked my whole family who did it? Nobody fessed up. So I stayed up to watch for the sneak. I started gettin real sleepy and was bored. I snap had a better idea and hid Maizey in the closet. I'm not suppose to curse but hells bells is what Daddy says and I can't think of a better thing to say, on account that Maizey was dressed again in the morning. I did this for two nights puttin her in my best hidey holes. The final straw was hiding her and her clothes. She still turned up dressed the next day. This was crazy.
When the Xmas holiday was over and I had to go back to school, Maizey got put aside. I would play with her when I got home, on account they don't give homework in first grade. When Mother got home, she was very interested in Maizey's dress up. Mother owned up to doin it before but she hadn't left any instructions for Daddy while she was gone. She seemed worried but didn't say anything. Mother started comin into my room to wake me and Maizey in the morning. She got to see first hand what Maizey was doin. She and Daddy took her one night to church and had the minister say a prayer on her. I guess they reckoned that would keep Maizey safe but one of my brothers said it was on account she was a demon doll. This didn't scare me much, on account I didn't scare easy. I just figured if Maizey wanted to dress herself it was less work for me.
Mother had started layin out my clothes when I started school. She said it was so I got ready faster, but I started thinkin if Maizey got to dress herself I should be too. I started pickin my clothes out the night before so I could quick get dressed up in the morning. Mother said to daddy that she had to bite her tongue on some of my combinations. But my Gram said, how is a girl gonna find out her style if she isn't free to explore the depth of her closet. My sister and I shared a closet and when she out grew somethin, she just moved it to my side. So I already knew what looked good and what didn't, on account I had seen it all before on Sissy. Who I should say has no style what so ever. She was always puttin the same colors together, which if you ask me is booorrring. I put different colors together like a I was a bouquet of flowers or at least that's what Daddy called me.
I knew, sooner or later, that my turn for show and tell would come round and sure enough that day came. I looked through all of Maizey's outfits and looked through all of mine to find a match. I settled on a green skirt and an orange top that had been part of a dress for Maizey, and for me a softball t-shirt from my sister. Mother said we were a sight and took a photo for posterior, postular, no, posterity. I asked daddy if he had a suitable box in the garage. He went out and came back in with a shoe box. Mother cut out the top and wrapped the whole thing in cling wrap, the same stuff that holds the jelly in my sandwich for school lunch. It was perfect 'cept for a big ol' price tag, which Mother said would be impolite and no she didn't care what Marcie had. I quick ran to school and got there before everyone else. My teacher asked me if I was OK, on account I was breathing hard and it was the first time I was early. I watched as everyone filed in and took there seats. There was always a lot of chatter before class started and it was when you got to hear all the gossip. Gram said that first graders didn't have much to gossip about but she couldn't remember that far back. It was time. The teacher called roll, we said pledge of allegiance and counted school lunches and bringin lunches from home. Show and Tell! I jumped out of my chair and marched to the front of the class, plopped Maizey on the desk and announced that she was alive.
Everybody started to laugh and the teacher shushed the noise while I was allowed to continue. I went through the whole story Santa letter to today. When I was finished, I walked Maizey up and down the isles just like Marcie. Billy Joe Turner asked the teacher if we were aloud to make stuff up during show and tell. I quick turned to snap at that boy, I was not makin it up. Then a clamor came and everyone set to arguin and shoutin 'bout what show and tell was and if it had rules and if it had rules where was the book for it. The teacher said an imagination was important and that I had followed the rules cause I showed my doll and told about her. Billy Joe Turner was not goin to let it go. He said a doll couldn't be alive and was not gonna believe it on my say so. I went over to Billy Joe Turner and asked him polite if he was callin me a liar. The teacher quick took me by the arm and sent me back to my seat. I think cause he remembered I had brothers and that I would have clocked that boy any minute. Bein the teacher makes you smarter than everyone else, so this is what he proposed. We would undress Maizey and see if she redressed herself anytime during the course of the day. I like that teachers mind and I already knew Maizey could do it, but would she durin the day. She had always done it at night before.
We all went about the business of learnin and the teacher not once looked over at Maizey on the shelf. Poor Maizey, I had to undress her for the experiment. She didn't have any, you know, parts, so I didn't think she would be embarrassed, just cold maybe. We went to lunch thinkin it would happened. You never saw so many kids suckin up mashed potatoes and chicken fried steak so fast. We lined up real fast and almost ran back to the classroom. The teacher stopped us at the door. And waited till we all settled down. I went to my chair but everyone else ran over to the shelf. Nothing. She was still naked. We went too art. The same. Music. The same. I will have you know, I was worried. Finally we went to third recess. I love to swing, and sometimes the teacher has to remind me when recess is over. Course I pretended not to hear the recess bell. When the bell rang, we ran to the door and lined up, again. I went to my seat again and Maizey was on my desk, dressed. Everyone in the classroom had a shocked face, like Gram when she farts in church. I was more surprised she was on my desk, movin was something new. Billy Joe Turner said I sneaked into class while we were all at recess. I hurried up out of my chair to clock that boy, but the teacher said that I had been swingin the whole time. Nobody knew what to say. I just started laughin. Then the whole class started laughin. We finished the day and when three thirty came, the bell rang and they went home. The teacher called me up to his desk and looked at me for a long minute. He said, he didn't do it. I said, I know. He asked if it worried me. I just smiled and took Maizey home. Gram said to me later, when we were both older, that I had great depth to my closet. Sometimes I think she meant I had style. Mostly she meant I was rich and didn't know it.
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