When the Universe pushed her buttons, she pushed back too hard. And, since the soul and spirit can be stubborn, it took a long time to find her Center. But when she did, she discovered that Life is a Cabaret.
One of my first paintings.
Frank’s nervous, too. The way he strangles the steering wheel reminds me of the time Daddy taught Mama to drive. Mama had Jiggled nervous sweat. Daddy stayed calm and quiet like he was reading the death notices in the Galveston Post. I sat in the back giggling my socks off.
Mama kept turning to see if I was still alive. “You okay, baby? You okay?”
“Bernice, sugar. You have to keep your eyes on the road.”
Daddy and me didn’t have much to worry about. She never went more than five miles an hour.
Daddy had tilted toward me and winked, “Hope you’re not too hungry, Little Tulip. This might take a while.”
When we got home, Mama had to change out of her sweaty clothes. Daddy gave her a big hug and said, “Bernice, you make me proud.”
But that was then.
Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket
1940: Fresh Air and Dusted Britches — Last weekend Mr. Green asked Delma and me if we wanted to spend a night with him and his wife. I think maybe he’d heard a few things about what was going on at my house, about how Dad was treating me. Either way, it sure was good to get away for a night.
Mrs. Green made us corn on the cob with fried chicken and I ate every bit of mine. Then we played checkers, and even taught Delma how to play. It was like a vacation from the desert with no water into a place with fresh air and cold iced tea. It was a full belly.
The next morning before we were about to leave, Mrs. Green hugged Delma, turned to me and said, “Now Cono, you keep sittin’ on the shiny side’a that star.”
It sounded like a real nice thing to say, but I’m still trying to figure out what in tarnation she was talking about.
Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper
The Great Gatsby stands and walks toward me. I back up and wonder where his slingshot is. “We won’t bother with a real handshake,” he says. “Just give me the damn hooch, and we’ll call it a deal.”
I hand over the Mason jar. He unscrews the lid and takes a big gulp.
“Damn, this is the Real McCoy.” He takes another swig. “Why’s your dog got three legs?”
I tell him. Three years ago, Daddy took Choppers into town. Choppers wasn’t full grown yet, so he didn’t think twice about biting the tire of a delivery truck filled with sacks of grain. When he got run over, Doc Dennis took off one of his back legs. A month later, when he acted normal again, I’d asked Daddy why Choppers had the guts to forget losing something so important as a leg. “Because, Jellybean, he got used to the change.” Daddy had pointed to his temple. “He adapted. Choppers knew that, even with three legs, he still had plenty of life to live and enjoy.”
“I don’t think he remembers it’s missing,” I tell Frank.
“Wish humans could do the same,” he says. “Speaking of, why’d your Mama leave?”
I look away and stare into the thicket. I’d rather talk about Choppers.
“Aunt Sissy left me too. By dying. ’Yes sir, that’s my baby, No sir, don’t mean maybe yes, sir, that’s my Baby now,’” he sings.
Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket (1928)
photo credit
Dad never owned a car long enough for him to learn how to drive, or for that matter, long enough for me to learn to drive. Until we moved to Temple, that is. Dad was the odd man out, never having an interest in cowboying or even getting on top of a horse like the rest of the Dennis’.
Dad tried to ride a bull once. Maybe it was a low point for him. For for me it was anything but. We were living at the Dennis ranch when Dad came home drunk and decided it was time to act like a real rodeo star. I was standing outside the corral, where we kept one of our two-year-old bulls. Dad saunters over to me and slurs, “Cono, grab that bull o’r yonder. Hold’em still ‘til I get on. I’m gonna ride that son’a bitch”
“Sure I will, Dad.”
It was better than watching a picture show. While I was putting the rope around the bull’s neck, Dad went over and fixed Ike’s spurs to his shoes! Not to his boots because he didn’t even own a pair of boots, but to his shoes! Then he slapped on Ike’s chaps. I helped him get on top of the bull and stood there holding his rope.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I said.
“I’z ready,” he Slurred.
I let go.
Dad put one hand up in the air and said, “High, ho, silv……”
That bull didn’t even buck. He just turned around real slow like he was trying to see what kind of idiot would sit on his back. Well, that slow turn was all it took. My Dad fell right off that lazy bull and straight into the dirt, Ike’s spurs dangling from Dad’s shoes.
I turned around and looked in the other direction. I didn’t want Dad to see my shoulders quivering from laughter.
Dad got up and staggered back to the house mumbling something about killing steak for dinner.
Some things sure were funny back then, but other times? You couldn’t find “funny” anywhere you looked.
Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper
Carol, Donna an me (me the skinny minnie on the right) discovered this Hideout. (Donna’s taking the picture from my Polaroid camera) In the wooded area near our houses, and just over the railroad tracks, we found this tin shack. It wasn’t surprising since “hobos” often frequented the trains. A pipe suck out of the so-called roof where the smoke from the inside-makeshift-fire-place could escape. We never built a fire, nor did we ever sleep there. But it was a place to go at the age of 15 to get away from (egads) the parents and the world. It was there we puffed on cigarettes.
1971, when the New York Times begins to publish sections of the Pentagon Papers showing the US Government had been lying to the American People.
And then, we have:
There’s more. Much more. But some secrets must be kept! 🙂
Right before it’s time to go home, Mrs. Alexander starts to teach us a new song called Home on the Range. “Oh give me a home, where the antelope roam and the deer and the antelope play. Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day. How often at night, where the heavens are bright with the light of the Glittering stars, have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed if their glory exceeds that of ours. Home, home on the range….”
I like those words. They make me feel almost as good as when I’m riding on ol’ Polo, free and easy like deer and antelope playing together without any bickering. I like that she tells us what the words mean, words like “discouraging.” She says that “discouraging” means that you don’t like something much, like something makes you feel uncomfortable, something that spoils your spirit. So now I can say, that “Home on the Range” is my new favorite song. I can also say that recess today sure was discouraging.
Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper
photo credit
Mayor Marshal Hicks
Mayor Hicks slammed a fist on the table. “This is a damn murder investigation. That woman had her throat slit. The whore sitting here is known to pull out a knife. Plus, she had possession of the deceased’s scarf. Sheriff or not, you can’t just take them out of here. Miss Dubois has a cell waiting with her name on it.”
Sadie shuddered. Van Riper sat motionless, the emotion behind his squinting eyes, unreadable. Anger? Curiosity?
John shot a dogged grin at Hicks. “What murderer would flaunt a scarf belonging to the person they’d killed? What murderer could slit a throat and have no blood on their clothes when they returned home? Now, step aside. We’re leaving.”
Hicks’s face flushed with rage. “So you can go back to your whore madam? Make a sandwich between the sheets? Talk about a conflict of interest!”
In a Blur of motion, John pinned Hicks to the wall, his hands around the mayor’s throat.
Excerpt from The Last Bordello
Last
March, when Scooter turned fourteen, the handmade crown Miss Primrose gave Scooter never stayed on his head. I’m not so sure it was the crown’s fault.
“I agree, Scoot, ol’ Buddy,” Frank says. “We should wait until we’re real kings to wear crowns.”
“King Scooter Hutchings.” Scooter chuckles. “King Scooter Hutchings doesn’t walk on crutches.”
“Frank,” I say. “Are you teaching Scoot to rhyme?”
Frank shrugs and smiles.
“All the time,” Scooter squeals.
We laugh our way to the final steps of the schoolhouse. “Scooter, remember about tonight. We can’t tell Bernie about our plans. It’s a secret,” I tell him. “I want our plans to come to fruition.”
Scooter crinkles his nose.
“You know—”
“Work as planned,” Scooter says, pulling out his pocketknife.
Scooter is the smart crust around the Juicy apple pie that holds everything together.
Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket
Cono Dennis and his sister, Delma
1934: We walk into the barber’s shop and Dad shakes hands with Mr. Kindle. The place looks pretty much the same as Grady’s in Ranger, but instead of a boxing poster, there’s a framed picture of President Roosevelt. Something else different too. There’s a colored man standing in the corner holding a rag. Dad walks up to him, shakes his hand and says, “How ya doin,’ H?”
“I’m jest fine, Mr. Wayne. How ‘bout yerself?” They shake hands.
“Any better ’n I’d be dead.”
“Well, that’s fine then, jus’ fine,” H. laughs.
“H., this is my boy, Cono.” H. bends down, looks me square in my eyes and says, “We’ll, it’s a real pleasure Little Dennis, a real pleasure.”
I like how he’s Squatting so he can see my eyes. Like we’re playing on the same team. I don’t have to look up to him and he doesn’t have to look down on me. I stare back into his eyes where I can see right into the middle of him. What I see is safe and comfortable. So I say, “I ain’t never met a real colored man before.” I hear Dad laugh.
“‘S’at right?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, sir,” corrects Dad.
“Yes sir,” I say.
“Well, Little Dennis, I’ve never met a young man so strong and smart lookin’ as you.” Dad gets in the barber’s chair and H. pulls up a stool to start shining Dad’s old black shoes.
I like the way H. looks at me, like I’m worth a jar full of quarters.
Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 