The overpowering Scent of bordello perfume vanished, extinguished by something more powerful. The home was spiced with the bonding of women—a fragrant bouquet of friendship. It occurred to me then. I had condemned and convicted others without true knowledge. I vowed not to make that mistake again.
Excerpt from The Last Bordello
Mario didn’t want a Replacement for his missing tooth. I’m glad. Because when I met him in Italy, he was perfect the way he was.
painting by me, CDW
I don’t know why, but it makes me kinda proud that Clyde’s best weapon came from the town where I was born. Bonnie and Clyde entered my life several times one way or the other before the Texas Rangers finally gunned them down.
In February 1934, right after we moved to Rotan, Bonnie and Clyde robbed the National Guard Armory in Ranger. The armory was where Clyde got his favorite weapon, an Automatic rifle. He cut off part of the barrel, got three ammo clips and welded them together so it would shoot fifty-six times without reloading. That’s why Clyde called it his scatter-gun.
Amelia Earhart was another celebrity who came through Ranger. She landed her Autogyro at the Ranger airfield in 1931. It’s a shame that she went missing just six years later and that we still can’t find her.
But for me, the real celebrities from Ranger are Ma and Pa.
I close my eyes again but it’s no use. My seat companion says, “You ain’t done yet, Cono.” Again, I give in to the nudge and open up that old cigar box of things I don’t care to see. I picture that tiny little girl sock, the one that used to be in the box of specials, the one that belonged to my kidnapped little sister.
Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper, a story about my father
Ten minutes later, Sadie pulled me in front of a shabby, metal warehouse. The sign painted above the door read “Ben’s Den.”
“What is this place?”
“I’ll only be a moment, Meta. Will you wait for me out here? I’ll be right back.”
Before I had time to respond, Sadie entered through the shoddy door, allowing me a quick peek before she closed it behind her. The musky smoke Filtering out didn’t come from cigars or cigarettes.
An opium den? I had read about them, but never knew any existed in San Antonio.
Two minutes had passed. Sadie exited the building, her pace had slowed, her glazed eyes and serene.
“Are you okay, Sadie?”
“Perfect. You should go in with me sometime. The owner is a nice young man. Although,” she said, giggling, “Ben has crooked teeth. Makes me cross-eyed if I stare at them too long. Oh, and his face pocks. Big enough for fairies to bed in.” She threw her hands toward the sky. “A beautiful day. Oh, and please don’t tell Miss Fannie. Some things I must keep to myself.”
I wondered what else Sadie kept to herself. Intuition told me she stored secrets the way Mama and I stored canned vegetables.
Excerpt from The Last Bordello
There are those who I remember
And prefer to let them dwell
Within the ghostly shadows of a Nostradamus spell
Whether prophesy or heresy
Or the cost of Simple jealousy
Is life a simple parody?
Since it’s me I know not well?
Even in Texas, we felt the Devastation and sorrow of Mother Nature’s wrath on August 29, 2005. Here is one of the newspaper clippings I taped inside my journal as I wrote about Hurricane Katrina.
“Hurricane Katrina was the costliest natural disaster and one of the five deadliest hurricanes in the history of the United States. The storm is currently ranked as the third most intense United States landfalling tropical cyclone, behind only the 1935 Labor Day hurricane and Hurricane Camille in 1969. Overall, at least 1,245 people died in the hurricane and subsequent floods, making it the deadliest United States hurricane since the 1928 Okeechobee hurricane. Total property damage was estimated at $108 billion (2005 USD),[1] roughly four times the damage wrought by Hurricane Andrew in 1992 in the United States.[3]” From Wikipedia.
I do believe that all the marchers on Saturday were part of an Oversight committee. We will keep our eyes on the new President, while our hands remain over our hearts.
How I love this piece of art by Louisa Cannell!
and this t-shirt some friends of mine wore at the march!
Daily prompt: exposure
Had I been alive, I would have attended the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago. There, I would have seen the first of these edibles:
I’m not a beer drinker so I would have passed on the Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.
I would have seen for the first time:
At the party, they thought she was overly concerned with her beauty.
She wasn’t.
They didn’t know her.
She had other things on her mind.
Like life.
Like what really mattered.
They judged her anyway.
She didn’t care.
Painting by CDW-(me)
I set down my lunch sack, take off my Mary Janes, and step over a railroad tie that borders the sandbox. “Hey, Scoot,” I say.
“Emmy!” he says without looking up from the hole he’s already made. “Dig for gold?”
“How deep’s it buried?” I ask.
“To the island,” he says, loud enough for others to look over.
If Miss Primrose is in sight, the bullies shut their traps and don’t make fun of him for the way he talks, or the way he likes his blond hair cut into a burr but makes his Mama leave the three red patches an inch longer. “Strawberries patches,” he calls them.
Seven-year-old Janie clambers over and says, “I want to find an island.”
Me too. I want to find an island. Anywhere but here in the Hilltop school yard. Stupid name, Hilltop. We no more sit on a hill than Mama’s home cooking chicken and dumplings.
Janie and Scooter start chattering, so I dig my toes further into the sand and imagine pulling Mama out between my toes. That’s all the treasure I need.
A shadow hovers over me, but I don’t turn when it says, “Playing with retards?”
Scooter pays no mind to the comment and keeps digging for gold.
I look behind me. Frank’s hands are in his pockets. He’s pushing himself up and down by his toes.
“Don’t know how tall you are?” I say.
Frank looks at me like I have an ostrich head. “Huh?”
“You keep bouncing on your toes. You wanna be a ballerina Someday?”
“You gonna play in a sandbox all your life? Even when you’re all grown up?”
“You’re not grown either, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’m older than you. So, you’re that girl whose Ma disappeared.” He’s not nice when he says it. “And your daddy’s missing.”
I look toward the seesaw for help. The top hairs of Rachael’s red bob take turns bouncing up and down with Carla’s blond ones. They don’t pay me any mind.
“You’re stupider than you look,” I say. “Daddy’s at work.”
Scooter stops digging and looks up into Frank’s face. “Can’t disappear. Houdini died!”
I love how Scooter accents the words that are important to him. It’s his way of saying something important without having to string a bunch of words together to make a proper sentence. Scooter’s world is filled with magic, and not just because he loved Houdini.
Frank shakes his head and looks at me. “This dimwit your friend?”
“At least you got one part right.”
He puzzle-faces.
“Who’s stupid now?”
“Keep playing in the sandbox, Enema,” he says.
I go back to digging trying my best not to stand up and claw out his eyes. I hear him spit and stomp off.
I want to speed through time so Miss Primrose can ring the dismissal bell. Nothing’s the same, and now it’s worse since Frank-furter entered my life. I think I’ll call him that. No, even better. I’ll call him Franken-Farter. I smile and yell the name inside my head and reach for my lunch sack. It’s gone.
Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket
Featured image photo credit
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 