She lifted the mic cord before it became entangled around her feet.

“Johnnie, help this girl.” The director called out to his flunky. “It’s clear she’s never been on stage. Which may or may not have been true. She’d danced on a platform but never strummed her guitar and belted out the lyrics to the oldie but goodie she planned on singing here today. 

She turned to look at the backdrop. It was fitting, a railroad and sunshine, reminded her of the journey here to Nashville, hitching rides and befriending strangers. 

“Where’s your shoes?” The director spoke through a megaphone this time, scurrying back and forth in front of the girl.

She shrugged in response. 

“Johnnie, grab her a pair of flip flops from wardrobe – HURRY!” He screamed.

“I haven’t time for these backwoods’ shenanigans. I hope she’s not pregnant too.” He tried to whisper in his assistant’s ear but wasn’t quiet enough. “Barefoot and pregnant, isn’t that a thing?” He laughed. “I hope this hick can sing.”

It was at that moment Flower Bayou Hebert knew what she must do to win this contest and gain her fame with the reward of a spot on the Grand Ole Opry!

“Excuse me.” Her voice low and raspy, she spoke to another contestant. “May I borrow your banjo for a moment? I’ll be careful with it.” She kept her head down.

The stranger obliged.

She slipped the strap over her shoulder, brushed her hair from her face and strummed that banjo, bare fingers. Her voice echoed throughout the venue. The director melted into his chair, crying tears of joy, he abruptly ended the competition. “Dear Lord, I have found my Loretta from Louisiana!”

Flower would never go homeless, hungry or without shoes again.

The people cheered as if Queen Estra were not sick, heeding every word of her last speech. She swore to protect her kingdom from the Biancola school, a group of man-sized fish, breeding in every body of water around. Once fully grown, they would walk from their habitat onto land, wreaking havoc on any thing in their way.

Since her husband, Nathaniel had been called away, Queen Estra had become somewhat of a recluse. She insisted staff place her throne at the window in the tower, so she could watch over her land. She sat there day and night.

Sleep deprived, she began to hallucinate. “They’re coming!” She yelled. “Their hot fishy breath mixing with the frigid cold has caused the fog to uprise.” She stood from her position, summoning her troops to bring an extinction upon the Biancola.

Sub-zero temperatures caused every pathway leading to the mountain-top to freeze. The Biancola headed towards the palace anyway.

She surveyed her army as they gathered their gear. She pulled the commander to the side and whispered something to him. He nodded, agreeing and then took her hand gently in his. “Your husband is back from war, Queen.”

She gasped and crookedly ran towards the entrance. Her purple silk robe flew up and around caught by the wind her rush produced.

“This thing is not my husband!” Pushing the large fish with all her might, she sent it’s scaly, slippery body flopping and bouncing back to its starting place.

“It is better to have loved and lost than to have loved a fish!” She slammed her golden crown to the ground. Her naked, near frost bitten feet kicked in defiance as she was dragged back to her quarters.

“I can’t stop looking at it.” Jason said. “It looks just like an Apple watch.”

“Sort of.” Chris replied. He rotated his wrist to get a better look. “Siri?” He laughed.

“The only person you can reach on that is Sheriff McAbee.” Jason said, picking up the dice. He paused before letting them drop. “Did you do it? Did you hack Principal Houser’s Facebook page and post those videos of him and that child?”

A silence ensued.

Chris had become quite the tech guru over the years, once enrolling every student at his school in Honor’s classes, an obvious suspect. He pleaded not guilty, was sentenced to house arrest, and given a bracelet to track his whereabouts, born without legs, an ankle monitor wasn’t an option.

“And if I did it?” Chris asked his best friend.

“The man killed himself because of those posts!” Jason tossed the dice, one landing on the edge of the table nearly falling into Chris’s lap.

“It’s a two.” Chris stared at the die then rolled it between his fingers. “If I did?” He questioned Jason again.

Jason shrugged his shoulders, continuing with the game.

“This is no admission but how do you feel knowing Mr. Houser did that to a child? Who knows how many times or how many others! The child’s face was blurred out, but he needed to be seen by every member of this community!” Chris pounded his fist against the table before collecting all the dice in his hand.

“I’m just saying, he is dead because of this!” Jason replied.

Chris tossed the dice high in the air, letting them fall to the ground. “YAHTZEE!” He shouted. “See yourself out! A friend of my enemy is my enemy, no matter how you roll the dice! Game and immoral friendship – over!”

 

I was recently introduced to Johnnie at a family reunion in Opelika, we’re cousins. Our mothers are sisters. Mine, mall-shopping, Mercedes-driving, latte-sipping, and beautiful. His, cow-milking, horseback-riding, corn-shucking, also beautiful.

     I’d never been to Alabama, raised near the beaches of San Francisco, across the bay from Alcatraz, where my father was supposedly serving life – another lie mom told me. 

     I talked to dad daily on the burner phone he sent me, never thinking to ask for a photo.

     Divorced twice, mom took a modelling gig in Paris, no kids allowed. So, she left me here… in… Bama country… heard that constantly, but the people were nice. 

 

      “If we swim through that circle, we’ll be lost forever.” Johnnie said, pointing towards the bridge and its reflection.

     “Is that a fact?” I said, removing my socks, and shoes. I tucked my cellphone beneath my waistband in a water-proof pouch.

     “You ain’t gonna do it!” Johnnie said, sweat beads formed on his forehead, shaking his hands, he begged me not to. 

     “One shalln’t fear anything but fear itself.” I said, tossing a smelly sock in his face.

     Branches crackled, a bird called, and a rock skipped thrice across the water – all planned.

     “Signs from God.” I said, diving into the lake.

     “Warren!” Johnnie yelled.

I swam fast, underwater, through the ‘circle’ until hidden. My father maneuvered the shore concealed by a thick tree line. He pulled me from the current, carrying me to a car as we’d discussed.

     “Never break a promise.” My father said.

     My phone began to ring – DAD CALLING.

     The man smirked, tightened his grip on me, and covered my mouth with his hand. 

     “Johnnie!” I screamed – unheard.

Johnnie would tell the story for years to come, how his cousin was swallowed up by an Alabamian subaquatic world.

I find it hard to believe that a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, yet here I was considering the hike back across Joshua’s ruins – a discreet New Hampshire architectural fail, left abandoned before completion. I heard stories about its existence and even managed to locate it when my circumstances became dire.

I stood on a rugged ridge nearly five hundred feet from the brush covered hilltop, the sun putting a tremendous burden on my already failing eyesight, genetically destined for blindness before age forty.

I rummaged through my backpack, feeling for the hard lumpy outer shell of my binoculars. Once in hand, I scanned the land for a sign, a clue that I needn’t journey back through the wild. A group of large buzzards circled over the ground tempted of the now rotting flesh I placed there during my mission to dispose of a flagrant female, a wife by name, jezebel by standards.

My mind’s eye wouldn’t clear itself of the truths revealed to me by an early arrival home from a business trip. She and he, him and her, betrayal cast upon my faithful heart.

I kept fit, ate healthy, and brought her flowers in the name of love. I was the best husband a woman could ask for, atoning for my vision loss, that now stood at only thirty percent. Yet, she placed herself in another man’s arms, drunkenly laughing and cursing, making verbal her doubt that I couldn’t have seen them in their intwined frenzy of fornication.

I had to go back to my dump site, I needed confirmation that she was still deceased.

I find it hard to believe that a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, yet here I was considering another hike back across Joshua’s ruins.

It’s real,

The feel.

The stress,

The mess.

The fear,

The near.

Embrace it,

Face it.

Move through,

Make do.

Another day.

Make your way.

Time conquers all.

Stand tall.

🙏♥️

“Those girls have no couth! Half dressed, screaming in public! This vacation stinks, Roger!” Carol said.

Our get-a-way location was also the video spot for the band my wife passionately hated for no reason. The release of their Christmas album, Stayin’ Warm was coming up, heard about it on the radio. I liked them. I’ll admit I was jealous of their flowing hair, and all three sang tenor, unique for sure.

   They strolled out to the castle’s front veranda followed by a group of cameramen, and a mob of fans, nearly crushing anyone in their paths. 

The performers wore the biggest fur coats I had ever seen, caught myself staring. Carol brought me back to reality with a swift punch to the arm. I rubbed the pain away and followed her to the elevator. I noticed the lead singer gawking at my woman’s behind, I grunted and kept moving.

   We reached our floor, the doors slid open, and we walked down the long corridor to our room. 

“Ah, ah, ah, ahhhh, stayin’ warm, stayin’ warm…..Ah, ah, ah, ahhhh….” They sang loudly. The music disturbed our peace. Carol kicked her shoes off, screamed, jumped in bed and covered her head with a pillow.

I laid back and watched the local news. Carol dozed off.

Later that day, Carol suggested dinner at the hotel restaurant seeing as our options were slim, stuck on this snowy mountain.

Once in the hall, we passed the group again. The lead singer abruptly stopped. “Carol, I thought that was you!” He said.

She nodded, handing me her purse. “Let’s go, Roger!”

“How do you know the lead singer of the Cee Dee’s?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, only blushed.

The singer turned back towards me. “She’s more than a woman.” He winked.

I often wondered if I played a part in her death. I didn’t know he was abusive; I did know they were together and shared a child.

 

When both of our black sports cars met at a red light, I gave him my number after he yelled across the white line and asked for it. No big deal: he calls me, I call her, we all meet. She’ll realize what a creeper he is, freeing herself from a life of infidelity; my foolish young thoughts.

She showed up with the baby, he showed up minutes later….. unexpectedly with a gun. He demanded his child, I demanded she give her to him…. sparing my own life, I suppose. He left with the baby, she sat on my sofa weeping. I didn’t know how to comfort her, crying it out was her best option.

I didn’t speak to either of them again, lost track of their where abouts, heard rumors they married and had another child, all true by the way.

Years later, a breaking news story showed her picture and his. I wouldn’t have recognized them if it weren’t for the large Owl tattoo on his neck, the creature had horns and four legs. Man kills wife, mother-in-law, before turning gun on self.

I hushed the room, turned up the volume and held in my tears when the reporter explained two teens witnessed everything. I went back to preparing Thanksgiving dinner. I felt a little guilty watching my own family laugh and play, my house full of joy.

I learned a long time ago; a person’s heart can’t be persuaded in and out of love by an outsider. I wish the lesson would’ve come sooner.

“Dinner time!” My husband called our kids to the table.

The Ice Queen was off limits to Trundivar; the snow maker, who stayed hidden, conforming to the illustrious white mountains. Still, she called out to him nightly as she sang her people to sleep. She taunted him with hidden words meant to lure him closer to her perch, flirting with that which was prohibited among the Drifter Kingdom. Should Trundivar become heated with desire, the caps would melt, and life would no longer exist for any of their world. 

“La-la-la-la……. Sleep my drifter loves. Trundivar is far from you, living amongst the stars.” At a higher pitch, she added lines that her people couldn’t hear, summoning Trundivar. 

And….. finally, he appeared. 

She wanted him to want her. 

“Why do you play with me, you silly girl?” His magnificent length and stature had surely taken her aback. But she laughed and stroked his mighty beak with the palm of her hand. 

“Trundivar, you know you cannot eat me as you do the others who wander to close to your nest. My flesh is deadly to you.”

He nipped at her hand. 

She giggled.

His nostrils flared as he moved in a bit closer, inhaling her beauty. 

“A tiny nibble, please.” He requested having never tasted royalty in all his centuries. “You taunt me with your beautiful voice and allow me to take in your sweet aroma. You must want to pleasure me in some way.” He held back no thought. 

The Queen blushed melting her own eye lashes. Trundivar’s tongue reached out and grabbed the liquified treasure. He groaned from delight, waking the kingdom. 

“Trundivar has our Queen!” The town’s people rushed out with weapons aimed to kill the beast. 

Trundivar quickly gobbled her up, having no regret. 

The caps instantaneously thawed bringing extinction to himself and the entire frigid nation.

“This is what you call a 16^th century thinking cap.”

“A what?”

“Put it on and reflect.”

“I will do no such.”

“You will because I’m your father and I say so.”

“I don’t know whose head this thing has been on.”

“You go out every Friday night and do God knows what with your friends, now you’re worried about who has worn this piece of metal armor I want you to try so, you can free yourself – mentally. I’ve heard stories and watched you stumble through the door in the wee hours of the morning, upsetting your mother. Tell me, please, how this could hurt you!”

“Let me count the ways; lice, spiders, germs – that we can’t even see. You’re a fool, old man.” The teenage boy chuckled as he turned his back to his father in an attempt to walk away.

A loud ding echoed from the helmet; the child tumbled to the ground.

The elder male looked down upon his son. “Are you seeing birds, Cinderella?” He gazed seriously at him.

   The boy sat up from the dirt and rubbed his head as he mindlessly stared back at his father. 

“Let’s get one thing straight. While your mother thinks we should spend outrageous amounts of money on therapists trying to figure out why you do the things you do, I have taken it upon myself to purchase this little beauty, here.” He held the head gear in the air, smiled and gave it a kiss, adding sound effects. “Mwah!”

“Next time you and those little hooligans you run around with decide to upset your mother, you’re going to experience this thinking cap again. If it makes you feel better and more prominent, we can just call it SHOCK TREATMENT!”

“Yes sir.” A faint whisper exited the boy’s mouth.