More Than a Hashtag, page 10
I ran all the way to Boudreaux’s ‘spite of the heat. I could hear Chilly whistlin’ his one-note tune out back, so I didn’t bother goin’ inside.
“Hey, Chilly! I’m here!”
Chilly’d gathered some of those real strong, black trash bags with the red ties on the top so we could drag the clothes and things without spillin’ ‘em all over the bayou trail.
“Hurry! I don’t know how much time we got!” He was already outta breath, and we hadn’t even started.
“I hope Pinkie’s not mad it took us so long to start getting’ his stuff together. Did he give y’all a list of what he wanted?”
“Whadda ya think, Doofus? This is Pinkie we’re talkin’ ‘bout. He just said ‘stuff everythin’ in a bag.’ ” He knows I’ve been busy bein’ Jovie’s maid and y’all been writin’ for Miz J’s ever’ mornin’. We did the best we could under the circumstances.”
We worked like we were clearin’ out a house on fire. By the time we had a few bags full, we could hardly lift ‘em. I said we should double bag ‘em just to be safe, and Chilly went out to find more trash bags.
“Well, if it isn’t one-third of The Three Stooges. Where’s Chilly? What y’all doin’ in Pinkie’s room? Bet Daddy’ll be interested in this.”
Jovie. ‘Course. She was always drawn to where she wasn’t wanted, like a snake to a quail’s nest.
“None of y’all’s business. We have permission from Pinkie to clear out the trash in his room,” I lied with miserable effort.
The back door slammed, and thankfully Chilly was blockin’ her escape from leavin’ the house.
“Jovie, y’all just get on out and mind your business. This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you,” Chilly threatened. But nobody threatened Jovie. Even if she looked like a nine-year-old and was a full six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter’n Chilly, she looked like she could eat him alive and enjoy the burp afterwards.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Chilly. Y’all got no ‘thority over me.”
“Well, Queen Jovinne, maybe y’all will listen if we tell Pinkie you plan to tell Daddy. He can grind your sorry butt into the dirt like an old cigar.”
“Tell Mr. Pinkman to go ‘head and try.”
She turned on her heels, wavin’ her middle finger over the top of her head like a parade flag as she walked outta the house.
“Maybe she’ll fall down and break her other arm. Come on. Let’s get outta here, Tee.”
We took off fast we could, considerin’ the bags draggin’ ‘long behind us weighed a ton. I was thinkin’ this’d be a real good time to own a mule. I was glad we’d double bagged ‘em. We were meetin’ Pinkie at the end of the trail up by Trahan’s Pond. He’d load it all in his truck and carry it to Uncle Biggun’s house from there.
It was hot, heavy work draggin’ those bags, and it took a hundred years. My legs and arms were shakin’, and I could hear Chilly breathin’ like Mr. Dupuis durin’ pollen season. I always worried when Chilly pushed himself like this. I thought he might die on me, and I would lose my best friend forever over somethin’ real stupid. But we made it, finally. Pinkie was sittin’ on the tail gate of his truck.
“Where y’all been? I thought you got lost or even worse, somebody stole my stuff on the way over here. Did y’all get everythin’?”
“Heck no, Pinkie! Y’all lived in that room for nineteen years and never threw anythin’ away! You’re one of those hoarders on that TV show. We got a bunch more loads to haul. The worst news is Queen Jovinne caught us loadin’ it up and threatened to tell Daddy.”
“That little peeshwank,” Pinkie spit on the ground. “Y’all just leave her to me.”
“What y’all gonna do ‘bout it? She can’t be threatened or bought off. You know how she is. She lives to cause people trouble!” Chilly said.
“When she’s all grown up, I swear her career will be a professional witness for the prosecution,” I added just for good measure.
But Pinkie had his plan.
“Y’all ‘member watchin’ the Wizard of Oz ever’ year ‘round Thanksgivin’? ‘Member how scared she was of the flyin’ monkey music and gettin’ carried off by one of ‘em? Well, I’m gonna give that little Wicked Witch of the South a call and tell her Uncle Biggun has a coupla flyin’ monkeys in a cage on his property. I’ll threaten to let ‘em loose on her if she breathes a word to anyone. And maybe I’ll just pay a night time visit outside her window and make monkey noises. That oughta scare her skinny be-hind a good one.”
“Pinkie . . . She’s not a little kid anymore,” I explained like I was talkin’ to a first grader. “No way she’s still scared of the flyin’ monkeys. Y’all better think up somethin’ else to keep her quiet. Like a big bribe or somethin’.”
“I already told you, she can’t be bought!” Chilly said with frustration. “I offered her a one-pound Hershey bar at Christmas to keep quiet ‘bout me breakin’ Mama’s punch bowl with a dart gun, and she didn’t even blink an eye. Just stood there right in front of me and yelled for Mama!”
“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout no five-dollar bribe. Give her a hundred. Y’all gotta make this worth her while,” I suggested.
Pinkie sat there listenin’ to us go on and on with his girl-winnin’ smile stretched ‘cross his face. “Don’t y’all give it ‘nother thought. I got this one cold. On the Fourth of July, I heard her tell Ammie Joy Hoover and the rest of her posse the only thing she feared was flyin’ monkeys were gonna carry her off some day for bein’ so mean to Chilly this summer. She’s still a believer, and I filed that information away in my head to use on a rainy day. And boys, I hear thunder and I think it’s ‘bout to rain.”
14
Flying Monkeys
The month of August had flown by in a big old blur of busy. Mama and I did some school shoppin’ over at the Lafayette Walmart and picked up some school supplies to save us ‘nother trip. I had to clean out the britches and t-shirts I’d grown out of to make room for the new stuff.
My feet felt funny in the stiff new shoes I was wearin’. I knew some of the town kids would show up in brand-new Air Jordans, but those cost a week’s worth of groceries. We found some shoes on sale that looked a lot like red Nike Lunar Racers without the swoosh, so I was happy.
I didn’t really care ‘bout fancy named clothes anyway. I knew girls paid attention to that kinda stuff, so I should probably do the same if I was ever gonna get a girlfriend. Maybe I needed to start wearin’ some Old Spice too. Heaven knew I couldn’t afford Calvin Klein, even if Pinkie says CK is a girl magnet.
I was waitin’ on the porch for Chilly to come pick me up for school registration. It seemed unbelievable, almost impossible we was gonna be freshmen in high school! Somehow, I just couldn’t wrap my brain ‘round that.
Cypress Bend schools are set up kinda peculiar. The town has two school buildings that stand side by side: Cypress Bend High School occupies one of the buildings and both the elementary and middle school are in the other. It’s big and old and ugly, ‘cuz it was the the high school all the way back in Mamere’s time.
There are more kids goin’ to school’n they ever planned on, so a few years ago there weren’t ‘nough classrooms. The school district put some of those “T-buildings” outside ‘round the school. It kinda made the high school building look like a hen surrounded by her baby chicks.
Football’s a big deal in Cypress Bend. There are “GO BOBCATS” signs all over town. Our colors are purple and gold, so when all those signs are out and the school flags are wavin’, all our streets look like two-thirds of a Mardi Gras parade.
The gym isn’t very big and neither is the football field in the back of the property. There ain’t very many bleachers in either place, so any big Bobcat fans better get there early if they wanna find a seat.
The buildings don’t have a cafeteria, so kids eat outside. If it’s rainin’, we eat in our classrooms. It’s not the best situation, but our district don’t have money to build ‘nother school.
The big old elementary/middle school building might be ugly as a mud fence, but it has the coolest third-story fire escape grippin’ the outside wall. If the duty teacher wasn’t lookin’, kids would climb over the railin’ at the top and slide all the way down the big, thick support pole to the ground. If you dared do the Fire Stairs Challenge, it was like gettin’ a medal of honor. There’s a rumor somebody kept a record, hidden in the library, with the names of kids who did it and lived to tell the tale.
Nobody’s died tryin’ yet, but it was the scariest thing I ever did. I wouldn’t do it again for nothin’, not no way, not no how. I was a dumb little fourth grader when I took the challenge. Poor Chilly hasn’t yet built up the nerve to try. He’s ‘fraid of heights. His heart beats outta his chest and he starts wheezin’ when we even talk ‘bout doin’ fire drills from the top of those stairs.
I heard Chilly come whistlin’ ‘round the corner and got up to meet him. I hollered in through the screen door at Mamere to tell her we was leavin’.
“Hurry up. Let’s go,” I said to Chilly. “We gotta get ‘round the corner ‘fore Mamere comes out and sends us on errands or somethin’.”
Chilly’s Mama, Miz Marguerite, was the secretary in the high school office. When we arrived, she was busy handin’ out registration packets and pencils to a hoard of rowdy freshmen while the principal, Mr. Corridon, dealt with problems.
Some not very bright person, probably Mr. Corridon, decided puttin’ up two rows of orange traffic cones would keep the kids in line. Fat chance of that. Gah-lee . . . first thing that happened was LaShondra June Bell tripped backwards over a cone and cut her head open on the hard linoleum floor.
Mr. Corridon was holdin’ an old t-shirt from the lost and found on her head to stop the bleedin’. They was waitin’ for Miz Cope, the girls’ gym teacher, to bring her car ‘round to carry LaShondra to Doc Richard’s.
“She’s probably gonna need stitches,” Chilly whispered to me. “Too bad it wasn’t Jovie.”
We double-fist bumped and nodded in agreement. I liked LaShondra. Guess it’s true, bad things happen to good people. Nothin’ bad ever happened to mean old Jovie. That girl was Teflon. Bad things just never seemed to stick to her.
We knew Jovie was somewhere down the line behind us ‘cuz we could hear her posse of peahens doin’ their shrill cacklin’ that passed for laughin’. I hoped we’d be gone ‘fore they caught up to us.
Woody, Bobby, and Slugger walked in together and cut in line to stand by us. Everybody behind us made a few noises of protest but gave up fast, ‘cuz nobody messed with the Town Boys. They weren’t exactly bossy, mean bullies, but the Town Boys just seemed to always get their way.
We did the usual arm punches to greet each other. Woody turned to Chilly and said outta either envy or pity, “Hey, Dude! I hear y’all get to skip school for a whole month to catch gators with your daddy. Lucky, Lucky!”
“Yeah,” echoed Bobby, ‘til he gets a coupla fingers bit off by that old granddaddy gator over in Trahan swamp.” Bobby was talkin’ ‘bout a legend in the bayou.
When Biggun and Bubba were huntin’ together, ‘fore their feud started, they caught—and almost pulled in—a fifteen-foot gator. It took a chunk outta Biggun’s left arm, just below the elbow. When Biggun screamed, everybody looked over at him and lost hold of the gator. It slid outta the boat. Gator men say that old beast is still out there somewhere with the chunk of Biggun’s arm still in his belly.
“Passé,” said Chilly, “nobody ain’t seen hide nor hair of that gator in years.”
I could see Chilly gettin’ edgy even talkin’ ‘bout it.
“So, y’all know much ‘bout gator huntin’, Chill?” asked Slugger as we were handed our packets. We headed out to the hall to find a place to sit down and fill ‘em out.
“Yeah, I hear all the stories, and Daddy’s gonna teach me some stuff I need to know. Plus, he’s hired Gomer LeBlanc to help us. I’ve got ‘til the season opens next Tuesday to do some learnin’ from him too. I ain’t worried. It’s in my blood,” Chilly said bravely.
“More’n fine, Chilly,” I said, givin’ him my vote of confidence. “Y’all was born for this.” I slapped him on the back.
“What y’all know ‘bout gator huntin’, Tee? I think you better stick to quiltin’ and cookin’ and mowin’ lawns for the ladies,” teased Woody. “Hey, we should celebrate Chilly’s debut as Master Gator Hunter and have ourselves a fais-do-do. Maybe a camp somewhere? I can sneak some beer from Daddy’s garage frigidaire. Let’s camp somewhere out at your place, Chilly.”
Me and Chilly locked eyes, knowin’ this weekend was close to a full moon.
“How ‘bout we get our tents and put ‘em out at my place,” I offered. “I’ll mow down the weeds out back, and that’ll cut down on the skeeters. They’re bad bad out at Chilly’s. We can build a fire and cook in that old rock cookin’ pit way out back.”
I was grabbin’ at anything to find some safety from the rougarou nights.
“Good plan,” Slugger said. “That way we got a covered porch if it starts to pour rain.” This time of year, there was always a chance of a big old downpour or even a tornado.
We made plans to camp out Sunday night, the day ‘fore Labor Day. School started the followin’ Tuesday, and Chilly’s gator huntin’ days started the same day. It was a good plan.
We took our forms back into the office, paid our fees, and parted company with the Town Boys. Chilly suggested we cut through the playground and pick up some Fantas at Gautreaux’s ‘fore goin’ home.
He didn’t have to twist my arm none. We headed on over to the market. After we paid for our Fantas, I started lookin’ round for Pinkie ‘fore I ‘membered he’d quit. It seemed strange not to hear his laugh comin’ from the back room. We took our drinks and sat out at the dock to discuss campin’ and other guy stuff.
“Heard any more from Pinkie?” I asked. Chilly started to laugh and liquid grape shot outta his nose. He choked ‘til he got himself under control.
“Yeah, he tried callin’ me on the phone and Jovie answered. She said she knew we were takin’ him his clothes and was gonna tell Daddy. He tried reasonin’ with her. No luck. So, he threatened her with the flyin’ monkeys if she blabbed to Daddy. She just laughed in his ear and hung up.
“But nobody messes with Pinkie. He always gets in the last lick. He showed up with A-10 outside her window after midnight makin’ noises and scratchin’ on her glass, hummin’ the flyin’ monkey music. They was hunched over and jumpin ‘round just like those monkeys. She woke up screamin’ like she was gettin’ killed.
“Even better, when she went in to tell Mama, she didn’t get no sympathy. Daddy told her it was a bad dream and to get on back to bed. I heard her in there whinin’ and cryin’ in her pillow forever ‘fore she went to sleep. Next mornin’ she looked like a pillow-face monster with old red puffy eyes, grouchy as a panther with its tail in a knot. Best day ever. I guess she gave up thinkin’ ‘bout tellin’ on us and Pinkie, ‘cuz nobody ain’t said nothin’ at my house.”
“That’s awesome,” I laughed almost as hard as Chilly. “Wish I coulda seen it all. She oughta know not to mess with Pinkie.”
“We need to take the rest of his stuff to him sometime today if y’all can get away. I think after this load we’re through. Says he’s got somethin’ to show us too.”
“Let’s get goin’ then. I wanna get the backyard ready and make sure Mama’s cool with our plan. On the way, we need to talk ‘bout the ‘you-know-what.’ I’m gonna check the calendar for the moon phase and let ya know. I’ll meet y’all at your house in an hour.”
I hurried home to change into my summer gear and told Mamere I’d be back in a while to mow lawns. I ‘bout shocked the socks offa her feet. I never mowed lawns without bein’ reminded or sometimes threatened. I’m sure she thought somethin’ was up. Little did she know.
15
Pinkie’s Surprise and How To Catch A Gator
We fit the rest of Pinkie’s stuff in two trash bags. These two weren’t heavy compared to the last ten-ton bags we’d already hauled. The task took more trips and effort than we’d figured ‘cuz like I said—Pinkie is a hoarder.
We didn’t have to sneak ‘round today ‘cuz Jovie was still at the high school, waitin’ for Miz Marguerite to finish getting’ kids registered. After that, they were goin’ school shoppin’. Chilly and Jovie didn’t shop together. Ever. Miz Marguerite learned that the hard way long ago.
She’d take Chilly shoppin’ early Saturday mornin’ to the Lafayette Walmart. He was easy, ‘cuz he didn’t care what he wore long as it fit all comfortable. Well, things might change, now that Sue Ellen Landry was in the picture. I couldn’t wait to see what came home in those shoppin’ bags this year. I’d bet anybody a hundred bucks there was some Old Spice in one of those bags. Whoo-wee.
“So, what did y’all find out ‘bout the moon cycle?” Chilly asked.
“We’re cuttin’ it close, bro. The official full moon is Saturday, one night before. We’re still gonna need all the protection we can think of, seein’ as we’re sleepin’ outside. We’ll ask Pinkie if he knows anythin’ else we can do.” The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood at attention and I got a major frisson just thinkin’ how close we’d be cuttin’ the danger. I think I saw Chilly shudder outta the corner of my eye.
We calmed ourselves as we walked down the trail, listenin’ to the sounds of late summer in the bayou. It was one of my favorite times of year. The start of school was the only fly in the honey, but this year, I was kinda excited because we’d be goin’ to high school. If only Chilly could be walkin’ in the door with me on that first day.
We were discussin’ our schedules and weighin’ the goods and bads. I was pretty cool with mine, ‘cept for Miz Slaymaker—the Slayer—for English. Everybody knew she was the most intimidatin’ teacher at Cypress Bend.
