French Kissing Freddy Emerson

French Kissing Freddy Emerson

Dad drives like a maniac. Ma hates it. I don’t mind it so much, all the rolling around in the back of the station wagon with pillows and blankets is actually pretty fun. I do sometimes get a little sick to my stomach when he takes the hills too fast. There are times it feels like there’s an old elevator falling from the top floor of a really tall building at warp speed in my belly. Once after an especially steep knoll I threw up a whole package of Fun Dip all over a brand new Archie comic we bought at the grocery store with our road trip snacks. Ma was pretty peeved but more at Dad who made me barf in the first place. He just laughed his fool head off. Hey, I’m only a ten year old girl I can’t control what he does even when I tell him he’s not the boss of me even though he is and then Ma doesn’t like it when I tell her to get control of her man but he gets a real kick out of it. He drives like a freak on purpose just to get on her last nerve. On any given run to the store or road trip her head explodes from the twisty turns and sudden stops. She’s forever calling him Larry-Lead-Foot and a few other things I’m not allowed to repeat while her knuckles turn snow white gripping the dash. The last time he herky jerked the breaks Ma’s forehead smashed into her sun visor that flopped down. She punched him so hard in the forearm. I thought he was going to flip his lid or go off the road for real but he just rubbed the spot where her nubs landed and joked, “Punch buggy, no return?” He loves her so much, maybe even more than me. I don’t care because I’d rather them be lovey smoochy than be like my best friend Margie’s parents, always bellaring and hollering and calling each other God awful names. Don’t tell anyone but I don’t even know what some of them mean. For example, the last sleep over at her house, her mother said right at the breakfast table that her husband was a cocksucker. What the inferno is that? Candy shaped like a rooster? A chicken flavored lollipop? I wanted to ask someone so bad but was too nervous. Like, what if I should know that it means at my age and I don’t? Just like when I thought French kissing was two French people sucking face but then Benny Briggs demonstrated on the back of his hand what it actually was. So disgusting. I’ll never live down the fact that I didn’t know what tongue kissing was so forget even asking what a cocksucker is.

So, me and Ma and Dad just got back from a weekend in Pugwash. They failed to mention they were going to a funeral and that I’d be staying with Fiery Toots, Dad’s older sister and my Amma Louise. We call her Fiery Toots behind her back because she has something called an irritable bowl and it causes her to breaks wind twenty four seven that is so rank it would send Satan back to Hell. I protested the whole time we were packing up the Buick that I’d rather pull my fingernails off one at a time with rusty pliers than stay there without them for two whole days. I tried everything, I faked a stomach ache, stomped my high-tops, threatened to lock myself in the attic, and even swore to run away and never come back. Nothing got their goat. I had no choice but to climb in the wagon with my book bag full of Archie comics, cassette tapes, my Sony Walkman, and a stash of penny candy Dad bribed me with, “Sour lips for my sour puss?”  I grabbed the bag reluctantly and took a chance, “Cocksucker.” And, that’s when I discovered the word had nothing to do with candy of any kind. Dad snatched the sour lips back after slapping mine.

Amma Louise was on the front porch waving like a crazy person when we pulled into her driveway after two swervy hours on the road. I imagined she was farting up a blue streak while flailing her meaty arms all around like a demented windmill. Dad shunted me up the front stairs, his quick shove made me plummet straight into her ginormous dupes for a bone crushing hug, “Oh my God, let me look at you, Annie-Poo. When did you get so tall!? Who said you were allowed to grow!? I got the room all set up for you. You even get your own bathroom all to yourself this time now that cousin Marty is up in Halifax.”  This was most excellent news since Amma Louise’s bedroom is on the third floor and cousin Marty’s room is the in the basement. I retreated to my room at record speed, threw my bag on the double bed and peed. My first order of business was ripping down the naked girl calendar on the wall in front of the toilet. It took me a minute to realize her vagina was showing because she looked like a smooth caramel. I wondered if maybe she was sick because there was no hair on it. It freaked me out so I shoved it behind the clothes hamper so I wouldn’t have to wonder about her. When cousin Marty joined the Navy he left his stereo system behind with all of his records. I got busy standing in front of a floor length mirror belting out the words to every Dr. Hook song into the end of my hairbrush. Amma Louise tired of that quickly. I knew I was in for it when she pounded her hefty heel on the floor overhead and wailed, “Plug the GD headphones into that thing would you!” I did as I was told until I got tangled up in the long cord from vigorous dancing and accidentally jerked it out of the stereo. Since I had headphones on I turned the volume up sky high so when the plug popped out of the socket AC/DC literally shook the foundation of the house all night long. Amma Louise blew a gasket. She flew up out of her arm chair and swiftly booted my arse outdoors, “Stay where I can see you, young lady. And, keep your nose clean, you hear me?” 

Amma Louise lives between a small stretch of beach and a farm. That’s the one thing I do like about going there because I can hunt for cool rocks and beach glass plus if the Emerson’s are around they let me play in the barn and sometimes even ride the horses. I waded in the water for a little while trying not to step on the gazillion jellyfish that lined the shore. I poked a few with a stick but I was afraid they might fly up and suck my face off so I happily abandoned the ocean for the pasture. Freddy Emerson, the youngest boy next door, two years older than me, was messing around in the barn. He invited me through the fence to hang around, “You ever milk a cow before?” I told him I wouldn’t be caught dead doing that and then he dared me so I did. It wasn’t so bad once he showed me how to do it right. My first tug on the udder was an epic fail because I squirted myself right in the face. Freddy roared. “Frig you, snot burger! I’m out of here.” I got up from the little stool to race off and my bare foot came down in a baking heap of cow bleep, “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He doubled over laughing and I know my face was red as a beet from embarrassment. I was so mad at myself for doing that in front of him I wanted to die. But, Freddy helped me back to the stool and washed my foot off with warm water and an old towel he found nearby. With my putrid dung-stained toes in his hand he smirked at me and it made tingle in the same place that girl on the calendar had no hair. “You’re pretty cute, you know that?” I blushed and looked everywhere except at his stupid face, “Am not.” Could I have been any lamer?! “You are twelve ...,” he started to ask but I cut him off to tell a lie, “Uh huh. Yup, I’m twelve. That’s right. So?” Freddy chuckled, “So, you ever kiss anyone?” I started to sweat, “Have you?!” He wasn’t having it, “I asked you first.” I nodded yes, “I kiss tons.” Freddy put my foot down and inched closer to my face and in that moment I had the worst cramps in the pit of my stomach, “Kiss me then, with your tongue.” Oh, not the tongue kissing thing again I thought. I took a deep breath, “Fine.” Freddy put his face really close to mine and I could smell the mint of the chicklets he had been chewing earlier. I closed my eyes and prayed I didn’t shit in my shorts. Nothing good came of it. Keep in mind that my only reference to tongue kissing was Benny Briggs licking all over the freckled back of his plump hand. So, when Freddy leaned in to plant one on me I flattened my tongue against the softness of his lips, basically took a messy lick and hoped for the best. He winced on contact from the wet of my tongue and cracked up laughing. I was afraid to open my eyes. At the exact same time I slobbered all over his face, Amma Louise appeared in the barn door with a carton of fresh eggs in her hand from the Emerson’s coop, “Annie Cameron Landry! What on God’s green earth are you doing?! If your father could see you! Get out of that barn right NOW!” I was in deep trouble if Amma used all three of my names. Freddy disappeared like a bat out of hell and I got my ass kicked all the way back to the basement, banished to the basement for the rest of the night, “And NO stereo, do you hear me, young lady!? I mean business.” I laid there in the dark thinking about the day, the long ride to Pugwash, my marathon music fest, prodding jellyfish, exploiting a cow, and my first kiss. I mean I think it was my first kiss. I’d ask Ma but she’d probably tan my hide. Dad would for sure because he is always telling me that I’m too young to like boys or be worried about things like that. Things like what I’ve always wanted to ask but I keep my mouth shut. I should have kept my mouth shut today. I bet the naked sick woman on the calendar would know if it was really a kiss. There’s something about her that tells me she would.

When we got home I went to the arcade with Margie to hang around. After two days in the sticks I was dying to play Pac Man. Unfortunately Benny Briggs was there too and overheard me telling Margie that I was French kissing Freddy Emerson all weekend. He started mauling his hand with his mouth, calling me Annie-All-Night. Everyone busted a gut. I rolled my eyes and tried to hide my humiliation, “Cocksucker.” That time I got it right.

/the end

Three Things

Three Things

there are

three things

you should

know about

me

I

have

a deep

hunger

for

metaphors

possess

a strong

virtue for

creativity

&

am often

guilty of

purposeful

delay

***

It’s been a good while since my bud offered up writing prompts. I got one this morning so I opted to abandon my unfinished crossword puzzle and peck. It felt good.

I have been wrestling with a new short-story lately. I’ve got about three pages down but my brain is full of fog and noise so it isn’t coming as fast as I’d like. I seem to lack focus. I’d blame it on summer but I wrote every single summer day with Sillyheart last year so I can’t use that excuse. I suppose it’s just me with my private junk. I need to figure out a way to re-commit to creativity beyond poetry. I’m grateful for the poems but I want the meat and guts of fiction, I’m yearning for it. Perhaps that’s the problem? Wanting it so badly? It’s difficult to ascertain.

This little ditty came quite easily this morning on my commute while holding my breath as a result of weed smokers with poor hygiene. How I miss the weekend.  

Happy Monday, folks!

In propinquity,

Nic

The Chapel

The Chapel

Wilma was never miracle-minded. If anything, she regarded those with the spiritual instinct as naïve, callow even. And, then Ivy fell ill, ailing with the kind of sickness most don’t recover from. No mother should ever have to watch her baby suffer was all she could say when others dispensed words of ease, support and offers to pray for her daughter. No amount of warm thoughts and prayers are going to cure my baby girl she’d retaliate. There was nothing she could do to help little Ivy; their lives now depended on the expertise and care of strangers, what good would prayer do? And then, one grievous morning she found herself in the hospital chapel desperate for a way to disintegrate her despair. Wilma, the cynical shattered mother of a darling blonde hair blue eyed angel, found herself on her knees entreating to God.

Her mournful cries were culled by a gentle hand on her trembling shoulder. She looked up into the kind face of an elderly woman with dull grey hair swept up scrappily in a bun and an ornate cameo brooch on lapel of her nubby coat sweater, “My stars, are you alright, dear?”

Wilma wiped the tears from her cheeks urgently, “I don’t think my baby girl is going to make it. I don’t know what to do, I can’t live without her. I feel so helpless.”

Wilma slipped up onto the wooden pew and tucked a mangled tissue into the sleeve of her plaid shirt.

“I understand your pain, I know how you are feeling,” the old woman empathized and sat down beside her.

Wilma shook her head defensively, “I highly doubt that.”

The old woman sat silent a moment with her eyes closed and drew in a calmative breath, “You’ve come to the right place if you’re looking for something, the chapel. It’s peaceful here, easy to think and pray.”

Wilma glowered, “I don’t know the first thing about praying. I don’t even know who to pray to. I mean, what kind of God would burden such a child with so much pain and agony,” her voice cracked.

There was a long pause before the woman replied again, “Yes, I asked myself that too when my daughter died all those years ago. I was angry. I needed someone to blame.”

Wilma’s heart sunk for reprimanding her, dismissing her compassion so quickly. She respired with a heavy sadness, “What happened to your daughter?”

The old woman looked down at her disfigured hands placed daintily in her skirted lap, “House fire. She was just four.”

Wilma’s breath caught in her throat, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s been a good many years since I thought about the actual ‘event’. There are times I can’t recall the details at all but it never really leaves me. You see, we’d all gone to bed, tuckered out after a long day of celebrating my husband Earl’s birthday, God rest his soul. There were balloons, a crooked chocolate cake the kids helped to bake, music, and a big feed of corned beef and cabbage, his favorite. I put my son Roy to bed first, he was almost six then and a real rascal to get settled down at night. Once he was tucked in I went upstairs to Dolly’s room. Ah, she was in there jumping up and down so hard on the bed I thought the springs might snap. She was just as rambunctious as her brother, two peas in one pod they were. Eventually I got her to sit down and combed that wily head of hair she had. It was that bad I called her Tangles Tillie more than I called her by her own name. It was in constant knots, and no wonder, the child never sat still. She had ants in her pants all hours of the day. She was something else, gave me a real run for my money. Anyhow, I tucked her in tight with Brown Bear and went back downstairs to clean up from the party. Earl was already sawing logs in his chair in front of the TV, happy as all get out. I quietly put the kitchen back together and finally tucked own tired myself in. I was out like a light from the excitement of the day. It was Earl’s howling up the stairwell that scared me out of a deep sleep in the middle of the night. The house was on fire. You see, Earl stayed asleep downstairs in his chair so he rushed in and gathered up Roy from his bedroom just off of the kitchen. Dolly and I were trapped up on the second floor. The fire gobbled up the stairwell. There was no way up or down, only thing that traveled up were Earl’s tortured screams for us to get out through Dolly’s window onto the roof and then climb down the trellis. So, that’s what I did. Or, I thought I did.”

Wilma winced and tried not to stare at the old woman’s burnt hands, “You thought you did? I don’t understand.”

The old woman turned her bony knees a little more in Wilma’s direction, “I rushed into Dolly’s room and forced the window up as wide as it would go and I gathered her up in her blankets and escaped out like Earls said. As soon as my feet hit the ground there was a sort of explosion that threw us all back and I dropped the blankets I had balled up in my arms that were protecting Dolly only Dolly wasn’t inside at all, just Brown Bear. In all the panic of trying to get us to safety it didn’t register that my arms were empty, I just wanted to get us out of there. They found her little body curled up in a ball inside of her wardrobe hiding from the fire. She’d be in her fifties now, bless her heart. So, when I say I understand how you feel, I truly do.”

The old woman swiped a thin tear from her wrinkled eye and patted Wilma’s hand. Wilma welcomed the human touch, “That’s … it’s just so … how did you make it through?”

The old woman smiled, “It was a Godless time, and I waged war on everyone and everything but mostly God. I could not for the life of me understand how he could let such a thing happen. Earl and I almost divorced it got so bad. I blamed myself for what happened and cursed God for not taking me instead of her. I said this much to Father Matthew, who came calling one late afternoon to see how I was doing and to see when I’d be coming back to church. I told him never. And, then he asked me why I was choosing to honor her memory with anger. That struck a chord. I didn’t want to do that all, I just wanted her back I told him. Father Matthew kindly reminded me that Dolly’s destiny had been fulfilled here on earth and that God’s plan for her had been brief but important.”

Wilma scoffed, “Now, that kind of statement would make me lose my mind.”

The old woman nodded, “In that moment I thought I might too but Father Matthew reminded me that while I was busy forsaking God I was forgetting to ask him for the strength and courage to carry on. Nothing was going to bring Dolly back to us. Earl still needed a wife and Roy still needed a mother. I had to find a way to make peace with it all. I had to summon the mettle from somewhere so that we could survive. I couldn’t do it alone, so finally I asked God for his guidance. And, he listened. He filled me with the will to carry on for my family and for all the memories we had with Dolly. I like to imagine sometimes that she is at His right hand, in the whitest of light, pure and joyful, doing Heavenly work. Authentic prayer is what helped me rise up out of my rut and reclaim my humanness and mend my broken heart. It took a long time to admit that Dolly’s work here on earth was done but I still had more to do. And, in some fateful way, he may have kept me around long enough to see my great grand baby be born so I could sit next to you and impart my wisdom. It might even be Dolly’s doing, God works in mysterious ways, you know.”

Wilma tried to smile but her heavy heart anchored the corners of her lips downward, “Would it be … um… too weird to ask if you’d say a prayer … with me?”

The old woman appeared moved and extended her hand, “Yes of course. There is a sort of prayer that I have since committed to memory. It’s from Ecclesiastes and it helps me to make it through the bad days because I do still have them. Are you ready, dear?”

Wilma offered a quick nod and accepted the old woman’s open palm, “Ready.”

The old woman began, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under Heaven, a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up. Dear Lord, please give this mother and child the strength and courage to endure whatever is before them. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Wilma sobbed uncontrollably, “I am so ashamed to admit this but if I’d known I was going to lose her I wouldn’t have had her. I’m not strong enough to do this. But then at the same time, despite all of the agony, I’d go through this a thousand times over because I have never loved anyone or anything so much. I knew when Ivy’s complexion grew pale and she lost her appetite and was too tired to play hopscotch, and this kid loves hopscotch, something was really wrong. That was six months ago. We’ve been in and out of here so many times she’s more at home here than in our own. This time only one of us will be leaving and it won’t be my baby girl. I’m terrified.”

The old woman rubbed Wilma’s shoulder tenderly, “There is nothing harder in this world than losing a child, nothing. My heart goes out to you because the living hell before you will be insufferable, I couldn’t candy coat that truth for you no matter how much I’d like to. You’ll wish some days you had died right along with her. It may not be evident to you right now what Ivy’s purpose is here on earth but I am certain it is meant for good. I am confident that Dolly allowed our paths to cross today. And, if you ever need someone to talk to, I can be that person. I’m an old woman. I’m alone all the time. I knit and watch my soaps now mostly so it’d be no bother.”

Wilma chuckled, “That’d be nice, thank you. I’m Wilma by the way,” she fished her tissue from the cuff of her sleeve and dabbed her nose.

“And I’m Freya. I’m so happy to meet you, dear,” she replied pleased with herself and handed Wilma her phone number written down in perfect cursive on a piece of paper from her tiny clasped purse that sat beside her on the pew.

Wilma accepted the note and asked, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Jessica Tandy?”

Freya erupted in a crackling belly laugh, “I’ve been the butt of a good many ‘Driving Miss Daisy’ jokes in my day.”

In propinquity,

Nic