When we make an impact but don’t know it

I’ve been Tempted to share something with you but I didn’t want to come across as egocentric. Maybe the word prompt was a sign to follow through. Besides, each of us during our lifetime will experience a moment (hopefully more than one) that will puff us up and make us feel good about something we did – even if we didn’t know the impact we had at the time.

You may or may not know that I am retired Early Childhood Specialist.

So in awe of what occurred on September 17, 1999, I asked if I could keep her notes. Here they are, framed, with my explanation typed at the bottom: PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU CAN’T READ IT!

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Crossing the Mayor then sitting cross-legged

Featured image photo credit

 

Miss Helen towers over the short mayor but she looks small with worry.

His hands are glue-stuck to his hips. “… promised! … You can’t … like wolves … and what about…” His cheeks jiggle and get redder.

Miss Helen says something and the Mayor smiles. His cheeks still look jelly-filled, but now they’ve returned to pink.

“Fine then,” he says, and shakes her hand before rolling his roundness down the street.

Finally, Miss Helen unties the apron, mops her brow, then buries her head inside its faded flowers and ruffles. She tilts her head down until her shoulders shake.

“Miss Helen?” I poke an index finger on her arm to make her talk instead of cry.

“Oh, Emma June. I’m stuck in a hurricane of worry.” Her voice hitches.

I can’t help it but I say, “You’re in the Sad Thicket?”

Right on Main Street, she laughs and cries herself straight down to the sidewalk and leans against the hardware store under the sign that says, “Free Hammers Yesterday.”

I sit next to Miss Helen, cross-legged like hers. I look around to see who’s watching her dramatics. She doesn’t seem to care one iota.

“Emma June. I’m at the end of my wits. How in the world can I put socks on a rooster?”

The image makes me laugh, so I turn away.

“Now, Leonard is crippled. This batch was going to bring us heavy sugar. Enough to get a tutor for Scooter. And maybe a new purse and clothes for me.” She sniffles.

Now I understand. Scooter thought he found his new tutor at the swimming hole.

I’m sorry for Miss Helen’s woes. Daddy used to say problems are born just so we can solve them. That was before Mama left.

 

From my upcoming novel, The Moonshine Thicket.

Crossing

Interior of a Class A Bordello

Photo is of the real Madam Fannie Porter who was made famous by harboring Butch Cassidy and his Wild Bunch.

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The portal to the unknown inched open and revealed a handsome woman, her head held high like a proud Thoroughbred. Her eyes looked stitched with a dark-brown thread of authority and were the same color as her perfectly coiffed hair. Perhaps in her thirties, she wore a lavishly brocaded burgundy gown that cinched her waist and revealed her curves. And her shoes! I had read that Mrs. McKinley had worn such shoes at the president’s inauguration—white satin slippers beaded with color.

“Miss? How can I help you?”

“I…I’m Meta Duecker.” I hated my fear, my uncertainty and lack of confidence. “It seems I have been misled to this address. I was hoping for a glass of water and directions, perhaps?”

“Meta, I’m Madam Fannie Porter. Please come in.”

She grabbed the heavy hatbox and steered me away from the inappropriately dressed women in the parlor.

“Have fun, boys,” she said to the salivating men.

Frozen, I averted my eyes from the coquettish prostitutes and their clients and focused on the opulent décor.

To my left, an ornately carved baluster led to upstairs. Through the upstairs banister, I counted six closed doors. A grand chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and a large gilded mirror above the hearth doubled the brilliance of the room and cast a sensual glow on the two red-velvet settees and the wingback armchairs upholstered in Oriental fabric. Next to the chairs sat tea tables covered in tatted lace. A slightly faded Persian carpet lay beneath the furniture. Never had I seen such grandeur.

“Meta? Shall we?”

I followed the madam through the parlor to the right. An old upright piano stood in the corner just before the swinging doors. The wood, soft to my touch, yearned for attention.

 

Excerpt from The Last Bordello

 Interior

Hopeful Mama Still Loves Me

Scoot and me are late to school. I don’t like being late because everyone stares and Miss Primrose expects a ‘reasonable excuse for tardiness.’

Scooter pulls out his pocketknife and strolls to the front, his happy eyes aiming at the wood he’s about to shave into invisible.

“Emma June?” Miss Primrose says.

“I’m sorry, Miss Primrose,” I say, glancing at Frank who’s giving me a half smile. “Scooter had himself a bit of an adventure.”

The class giggles and I want to punch them all in the face. What’s wrong with an adventure? At least the ones that don’t make someone carry a grudge. Daddy said Mama still loves me. There’s hope in that.

I try so hard to remember what happened toward the end of the carnival, but everything is jumbled up like bad scrambled eggs. Carla was in better shape than me, but she fell asleep on the ride home when Mama and Beauty had the fight. I remember fading in and out while they argued. I remember upchucking more than once. There’s nobody to tell me what happened except Mama.

So many questions I wanted to ask Daddy that morning when  I woke up to find Mama gone. The only answers were Daddy’s tears. “We’ll work this out. Don’t worry. We’ll work this out,” he had said. And then his words faded as he shuffled away to his bedroom and closed the door.

I don’t know how to help him work things out any more than I know how to make Mama come home. I might as well try picking up shadows.

 

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket (1928)

Hopeful

She Mopes Loud!

 

I tried to ignore the crash from upstairs—the third one now. Reba shook her head, her smile fading. “She still up there caterwauling and hurling things ’cross her room. Poor chil’ don’t never seem to get a leg back up ’fore it drops back down again.”

But Sadie Dubois was damn good at spreading them. Employed at the bordello longer than any of my other girls, Sadie brought in the most money. But last night, she had morphed into a puddle of anguish when her best friend left with Harry Longabaugh. Better known from the wanted posters as “the Sundance Kid,” he had hefted giggling Etta on the back of his mare and trotted away. “Other girls still sleeping?”

“Don’t know ’bout now, but when I went upstairs to check on things, three of them bedrooms was quiet. But that first one on the left? Phew! What a racket.”

“She’ll be fine, Reba.”

“And a hen’s gonna grow teeth. Her waters run deep. ’Sides, you knows well as me that after Sadie’s done with her conniption fit, she gonna keep spewing a pout.”

“She’ll buck up when she needs to.” Even with a sordid past, Sadie could pull a charade better than most.

Three years ago, when Sadie was seventeen, she arrived dressed as a boy during a ferocious storm, her aquamarine eyes pleading for entry. I knew then that Sadie could wear a flour sack and still be a looker—curves in all the right places, blond hair that Reba called “thick as good gravy.”

Excerpt from The Last Bordello

Mope

Renewal or Regret?

Cono, age eighteen, travels back home to confront his father.

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Getting on the train, I’m thankful it’s not crowded. Too many people too close to me is something I’ll never get used to. I find a seat toward the back like I always do. A back up against the wall is a back protected. I need to see what’s going on around me at all times. And like always, when I hop on a train, I hope that my head is still attached when I get to where I’m going; not like our friend, Wort Reynolds who hopped on that train to Clyde Texas, the train that grabbed his head and kept right on going.

         “Ticket please.”

            I turn my eyes from the curved tracks outside my window to the ticket taker. Handing it over, I watch him punch the hole without even looking into my eyes. How many years has he done this, I wonder, and does he like the shoes he’s wearing?

         Home, a place that’s sometimes as hard as cement that you can’t pull your shoes out of. Nevertheless, that’s where I’m heading.

            My ears focus on the sound of the train’s idling, but eager-to-go engines. Where the hell would I be today if I didn’t have those railroad memories chugging along with me, some good and some anything but?

         Just as I’m feeling comfortable that I won’t be crowded, I feel something settling into that worn seat next to me, making itself comfortable but making me anything but. It nudges me. I ignore it and then tell it to go away. It doesn’t listen. The memories want me to pay them a little attention. I know this train is about to pull out. I know this train is taking me to Temple. But my mind and my uninvited seat companion start to take me somewhere else, somewhere I’ve already been before, somewhere I don’t care to go back to. It starts speeding me down the track a lot faster than this train is accustomed and a whole lot faster than I can put a stop to.

         The first memory is safe. It makes me wish, “If only it could have all been this easy.”    

         But past wishes were reserved for the other folks with good seats.    

         Not for me.

 

Renewal – Excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper

First and Last Impressions

 

Rummaging through my hoarding stacks of old journals and writings, I found another poem so you can Pillage through my words.

Side View Mirror

In a side view mirror with a dark side view

I’m driving down the highway and I’m thinking of you

I see a reflection

of a past I once knew

in a side view mirror with a dark side view.

And the clean rain falls

as it washes this place

while the moisture softens this hard luck face

But the scenery flies by

leaving nothing but a trace

As the clean rain falls on a tear-stained face.

Yellow stripes and concrete,

tumble weeds and dust

Gulf stream winds

blow back the bangs of lust

Passing cars of those

you think you’ll never meet

Leave a lasting first impression on the cracked leather seat.

 

Her Loaded Broom

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Madam Volvino down the road would have scammed the Wild Bunch. I pictured that dolly-mop charging a lower fee for her bawdy house services and then afterward, jiggling her fat rump straight to the law to collect the one grand in Bounty—one grand for Butch alone.

Only hours ago, Butch, Sundance, Kid Curry, Deaf Charlie, and William “News” Carver trotted off in three different directions. Carver said he’d soon return for Lillie and ride her off into a sunset dream. Like Sundance did with Etta last night. More girls to replace.

I counted again. Expenses, already deducted, included the vast amount of food Reba had cooked up for the entire house, the twenty bottles of French Gosset champagne—one of which I kept for myself—and the Cuban cigars—one of which Reba kept for herself. And, of course, the girls’ wages.

The familiar wide-hipped, narrow-waisted woman sidled through the swinging doors and into the kitchen, balancing a silver platter piled with dirty dishes. “Lawd have mercy,” Reba muttered.

“Too much on your plate?” I asked, laughing at my pun.

“Them wily bunch might be good at train robbing, but they ain’t worth nothing when it comes to sprucing up behind themselves.” Reba set the tray on the counter and then plunked into the chair closest to my desk in the kitchen’s corner. She stared at my grin. “What? It ain’t funny, Fannie Porter.”

“Isn’t funny,” I corrected. “Besides, this is the last for the Wild Bunch. The whole country’s chomping at the bit to catch them, especially the Pinkerton Agency. Gang’s splitting up.”

“So they says.” Reba grinned and shook her head. “I tells you what is funny. You chasin’ a known killer round the house with a loaded broom.”

“Wasn’t funny at the time.” Last night, Kid Curry, too liquor-seasoned to keep his chin above his neck, broke two of my rules. First, he entered my bedroom without permission, and then he tore my silk sheets with his spurs before I managed to shoo him out. “He promised to send new ones.”

“Mmm. And I’s growing catfish in my garden.”

Excerpt from The Last Bordello.

 

When Scooter’s enthusiasm waned

Emma June has known Scooter her whole eleven years. She remembers when he was scared of the dark. Now, the day is closing and Scooter is missing.
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Scoot had been excited about the campout all day, so I didn’t tell him I was spooked. I looked up through the gaps in the trees and watched the clouds as they moved across the half moon like blankets trying to cover a small bed. Then it got darker. The owl hooted and we both saw its eyes, yellow and mean. Scooter said it first. “Campout over.” Then he got up and walked inside with the sleeping bag over his head.

I’m not afraid of the dark anymore. I’m not afraid of untold secrets, either.

“I’m afraid for Scooter,” I tell Frank.

“Me too.

Excerpt from The Moonshine Thicket

 Enthusiasm