More Than a Hashtag, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Penny Poulsen Watson
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the publisher. For more information or permission, write: PennyPoulsenWatson@gmail.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, dialogue, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Published by PPW
First Edition: September 2023
Printed in the United States of America
1
Paperback ISBN 979-8-9887636-1-1
Ebook ISBN 979-8-9887636-0-4
I dedicate this book to all y’all who never thought I’d finish. You were my motivation and my inspiration. Sometimes I need a little opposition and a firm kick to make me realize . . . I can do hard things.
Contents
Cajun Words and Sayings
Prologue
1. Chilly
2. Ro-Day and the Rougarou
3. Bad Dreams
4. Family History and Fais-Do-Do
5. Burnin’ Down the House
6. Miz Johnson and the End Of My Life
7. Fishin’ On The Dock
8. My Daddy’s Story
9. The Boudreaux Feud
10. A World of Hurt
11. Girls
12. Yankee Advice and Pinkie’s Truck
13. Undercover Agents
14. Flying Monkeys
15. Pinkie’s Surprise and How To Catch A Gator
16. Amos Moses
17. Aunt Mary Lou
18. The Plan
19. Itchy’s Secret
20. High School Frisson
21. What Emma Knows
22. Rougarou
23. The Tale of Two Brothers
24. Operation Batcave
25. The Warehouse
26. Sunday: The Day After the Night Before
27. Monday, Monday
28. Chatty Cathy Boudreaux
29. A Picture’s Worth a Thousand Words—Plus 23 Cents
30. Captured On Film
31. The Stranger
32. Elmo Dumas Astle
33. The Chill Man Is Back
34. Emma To The Rescue
35. Birthday Boy
36. Fear
37. Stranded
38. The Waitin’ Game
39. Pinkie Meets Elmo
40. Rainy Days and Mondays
41. Tell It To the Sheriff
42. Caution: Danger Ahead
43. The Long Arm of the Law
44. Shhh! Quiet in the Library
45. Time To Par-Tay!
46. The Last Best Halloween
47. No Couch To Sleep On
48. Explorin’ the House That Hopper Built
49. Straight from the Horses Mouth
50. Big Tom and Miss Cecelia
51. Gone Fishin’
52. I Have a Voice
53. Pardue Ranch
54. Guess I’m a Baptist Now
55. Fish Tales
56. Unsettlin’ News from a Friendly Face
57. Ghosts in the Attic
58. Secrets in the Forest
59. The Walk Home
60. A Week with Juniper
61. A Howl in the Night
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Don’t blame a gator for actin’ like a gator.
Ask yourself why y’all keep swimmin’ in the swamp.
Cajun Words and Sayings
Andouille (ahn-'doo-ee) spicy Cajun sausage
* * *
Bayou ('by-you) a slow moving creek or swampy area in a pond
* * *
Beignet (ben-ˈyay) a New-Orleans-style donut without a hole
* * *
Boudin (boo-'dahn) another form of spicy Cajun sausage
* * *
Cher (shar-'ay or shaw) a term of endearment
* * *
Cho-co an interjection similar to “woo-hoo” or “wow”
* * *
Co-faire (co-'fehr) “What do you mean?”
* * *
Coo-'yon (phonetic spelling) used to describe a person acting crazy or being a rascal
* * *
Envie (ahn-'vee) to have a craving for
* * *
Fais-do-do (fay-ˈdoo-ˈdoo) a big party
* * *
Frigidaire ('fri-juh-dehr) a refrigerator
* * *
Frisson (free-sahn) to get the shivers or chills
* * *
Gah-leean expression of surprise
* * *
Got da’ gumbo to have saggy pants
* * *
Go to bed an expression of disbelief similar to “no way!”
* * *
Grandpere / Grandmere (gran-'pehr / gran-'mehr) Grandfather / Grandmother
* * *
Gris gris (gree gree) a spell or a curse placed on somebody
* * *
Hainta ghost or evil spirit
* * *
Lagniappe (lan-yahp) a little something extra
* * *
Mah-naise ('maw-nays) the Cajun pronunciation for “mayonnaise”
Mais (may) “oh gosh”
* * *
To make groceries to go shopping
* * *
To make a bah-binto pout or pitch a fit
* * *
Mamere (muh-'mehr) a term of endearment for “grandmother”
* * *
Maudit (mo-'dee) an expression of frustration, a cuss word
* * *
Mizan informal spelling of “Ms.” Used to show respect and regard
* * *
My foot! “No way!”
* * *
Noonie (noo-nee) a baby pacifier
* * *
Passé (pass-'ay) “go away” or “leave me alone” (Cajun specific)
* * *
Peeshwank (pesh-wank) “little punk”
* * *
Pirogue (ˈpee-row) a Cajun canoe
* * *
Ro-daya day where one wanders or runs the roads
* * *
Rougarou (roo-ga-roo) a monster of Cajun folklore, similar to a werewolf
* * *
When a person wants to emphasize something, the adjective or adverb will be said twice. For example, “We ran fast fast, fearin’ we would be late for school.”
* * *
Surname Pronunciations
* * *
Arceneaux (ˈAr-sen-ow)
* * *
Herbert (ˈAy-bare)
* * *
Aupont (Aw-ˈpawn)
* * *
Richard (Ree-ˈshard)
* * *
Boudreaux (Boo-ˈdrow)
* * *
Gautreaux (ˈGo-trow)
Prologue
Uncertain, Texas, February 2011
* * *
Uncertain, Texas. If there was a name for a place I just might belong, I couldn’t think of one that described it better’n “Uncertain.” I tried keepin’ my eyes lookin’ anywhere but at the two people arguin’ ‘bout my future outside the car. I felt better, ‘cuz the windows were startin’ to steam up and it made me kinda invisible. Their voices were gettin’ hard to ignore ‘cuz ever’ few seconds, they got louder. It was like havin’ somebody with their thumb glued to the TV volume control, pressin’ and pressin’ ‘til your eardrums were gonna burst. The longer the discussion went on, the more I wanted to get outta the car and run. Run and run ‘til I dropped and never got up again.
After a while, I had to see what was happenin’, so I wiped a little circle in the steamy window. Yup, they were still goin’ at it almost nose to nose.
To distract my mind and calm my poundin’ heart, I looked over to study the funny, crooked old house that would become my new home. I could tell somebody had tried to restore it to its beauty of a hundred years ago. I could see the forest that started a ways back behind the house and the overgrown path that led to a lake filled with cypress trees. Their old crooked knees looked like they had the arthritis, and their droopy branches matched the mood of the dark, cloudy day.
The hard rock of sadness that lived in the space ‘tween my belly and my heart shifted when my belly started grumblin’ with hunger. I looked up at the saddening sky growin’ even darker, and I knew a storm was ‘bout to burst. The clouds made curtains for the lightnin’ that was arguin’ with the thunder. Big arguin’, just like the man and woman standin’ at the bottom of the saggin’ stairs.
The stairs led to a porch that stretched out ‘long each side of the giant, double front doors. Those huge doors hid whatever lurked inside the old house, waitin’ to swallow me whole. In the time I’d been lookin’ at it, the house began to resemble an old witch who’d put on her makeup to try coverin’ her hundred-year-old warts and wrinkles, thinkin’ she could lure in a victim to cook in her oven.
Miz Thomas rapped on the window of the car and scared the devil right outta my soul and the witch outta my head. I was ‘bout to meet somethin’ far, far worse.
“Thomas Edison, come on out here and meet your grandfather.”
My grandfather . . . oh Lord, send me your angels, ‘cuz if looks could kill, that man’s gonna send me right on up to meet y’all in Heaven.
No fear, no fear, I thought as I got outta the car with my head down. I could hear his thunderous boots walkin’ closer to me.
“Look at me, boy,” he commanded. I could hear the Texas in his voice. Scary, redneck Texas: gruff and loud and soundin’ like a bone caught in a meat grinder. I looked up and stared into the face that’d become my own in ‘bout sixty years or so. He was tall and burly with wavy, iron-gray hair and a face that was a mountain range of wrinkles.
But there was no mistakin’ that nose. A big old boudin sausage growin’ on his face right ‘tween his hazel eyes. Eyes that looked no older’n mine. Mais! Those eyes could shoot lightnin’ and send a soul straight to the afterlife.
“Thomas Edison, this is your grandfather, Thomas Eugene Hopper. Be polite and shake his hand.”
I held out my hand and looked up into his eyes ‘cuz it was the polite thing to do, but only for a second. My hand just hung there for ‘bout an hour, and then he took it in his giant fist and gave it one shake.
“Didn’t your mama teach you how to give a proper greetin’ when you meet your elders? Or don’t they have manners down there in the swamp?”
My eyes were startin’ to sting. Why did he have to mention my mama? Oh, please don’t let me cry. The angels heard my plea, ‘cuz just then a clap of thunder and a bolt of lightnin’ struck ‘bout a hundred feet away. Down poured the rain. A southern deluge was never more welcome.
“Get on the porch everybody; no need to stand out in the rain and get soaked!” my grandfather commanded and hustled us up on the porch where we huddled ‘gainst the side of the house.
I heard Miz Thomas say, in a voice loud ‘nough for my grandfather to hear over the rain, “I told you he is unable to speak because of the trauma he suffered.”
I guess I didn’t have to say a polite greetin’ after all. My grandfather made a huffin’ sound like he was a great, wild bull blowing air through his nostrils, but ‘stead of chargin’, he just shook his head.
“Well, Mr. Hopper, all the paperwork is in the file. His medical and school records and a few pictures along with a few things they saved from the fire. He’s a fine boy. You can call me if you have questions. I will be checking in from time to time, but a Texas social worker will be assigned to your case.”
Miz Thomas turned to look at me. “Thomas Edison, you will be fine. You just remember all the things we talked about.”
She paused for a minute and then hugged my neck like she was sendin’ me to the gallows, then turned again to face my grandfather. “May I have a few more words with you in private, Mr. Hopper?”
“Guess I don’t have much choice, do I? You hold all the cards. Boy, you go on inside. Up the stairs, and the first room on the left is yours. Juniper put sheets and towels in there for y’all. Go on now and settle in.”
I went inside, tryin’ to go slow ‘nough so I could hear the last words Miz Thomas was goin’ to say to this fearsome man. The rain was too loud on the roof to hear her, but there was no mistakin’ my grandfather’s voice. He would have the final word.
“Hell, woman, I’m seventy-seven years old, and I didn’t even raise my own son right. I guess this here situation will mark the title of my life’s final chapter: ‘Tom Hopper Gets Another Chance At Fatherhood.’ Then what do they write these days? ‘Hashtag, I’m a Daddy again!’ ”
He laughed bitterly, turned, and yanked the door open so fast I didn’t have a chance to run for the stairs.
“Get on upstairs, boy, I have some thinkin’ to do.”
Just like that, I was a burden, a leftover thought, a hashtag in someone’s life. It is what it is.
1
Chilly
Cypress Bend, Louisiana, July 2010
* * *
When I was small small, I learned ‘bout consequences from pickin’ poison ivy. I’d wanted to give my mama a real present, so I’d decided to pick a big bunch of wildflowers and give ‘em to her like the men did on Mamere’s TV stories. I learned real quick from a bad case of poison ivy that sometimes, even when you do the right thing, ‘stead of gettin’ a reward, there may be bad consequences to deal with. Life wasn’t always fair.
Mamere once told me, “Well, it just goes to show, no good deed goes unpunished.”
I was too young to wrap my brain ‘round that bit of wisdom. It would be a few years ‘fore I fully understood, but when I did, it would be carved in my heart.
If lawn mowin’ was a sport in the Olympics, I’d just won the gold medal. I was up early and had our yard and Miz Johnson’s mowed ‘fore the thermometer even reached ninety-five degrees. I hadn’t slept much last night ‘cuz I was so excited. Today was the third of July, and me and Chilly had planned a ro-day.
I didn’t even mind mowin’ Miz Johnson’s yard for once. Mama’d volunteered me to do her yard work ever since Miz Johnson twisted her ankle on the garden hose in May. Sometimes Miz Johnson had to use two canes when she walked ‘cuz she felt poorly. I think she felt poorly all the time, but I didn’t dare say that to Mama.
Mama and Miz Johnson had been friends forever. They were roommates at the college in Lafayette and been best friends ever since. Their friendship was the biggest mystery in the whole world. It was like tryin’ to imagine a gator bein’ good buddies with a house cat. Mama was the nicest lady I knew, but Miz Johnson’s face’d crack like a boiled eggshell if she even tried to smile. ‘Sides that, Miz Johnson was older’n Mama. I didn’t know any of the fellas at school older’n me. It was one of those things that made ya go, “Hmmm.”
Miz Johnson musta finally recognized my mowin’ skills after half the summer, ‘cuz today was the first time she didn’t sit inside and watch me outta the window to make sure I didn’t miss cuttin’ a single blade of grass. Ever’ yard day, for no reason at all, she’d raise up the window and holler at me in her loud teacher voice. That woman could holler so loud that, even over the mower, I could hear her voice.
“Thomas Edison, you missed a whole patch over there!”
