Deke 'n da Debble's Yarn, Part 2

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    Deke 'n da Debble's Yarn, Part 2

    Chapter 2

    I took dat moment to savor a long slow gulp of Deke’s ice tea. 

    Then I set back a bit in Dahlia’s cane back rocker, real careful. 

    Her chair let out a soulful wooden creak, anaway.

    Der be times I miss her most as much as Deke an’ Derek, 

    seein’ how I practically lived over at dere house fo so long. 

    I learnt I had ta listen close when Deke had a green light agoin on-

    or I jess might miss sumpin’ rightly impo’tent 

    frum wut he be sayin’. An’ right now, wut he be sayin wuz-

     

    “ Now, both Laz and Pastor Bing an’ der two wives Lucy n’ Grace were 

    da best of frien’s. Laz and Bing were roomates from college days.

    An’ dey wuz lucky ‘nuff to marry sweethearts dat also liked one anotha’,

    wid out no cattiness ha’ tall between ‘um. Sum folks jess meant to be tagetha.

    You’fine dat out sumtime yaself. ‘Least wise dat wuz so for da four a’ dem.

     

    So’s after da Sabbat, an’ after the evenin’ meetin’ wuz over, I ‘member

    lockin’ da dough on da church house, whilst dey all went to Bing an’ Gracie’s. 

    Da Gilleys had dat stucco house at da very end 

    of Fallen Oak Road; dere’s a turn ‘round dere, just afor 

    da orange an’ black barrior under da street lamp. From dere, 

    you have ta take da grabble drive up outta da swale about a block 

    back behind all dem trees to see dayr fron’ porch. I jess smiled,

    Deke musta forgot-  I knew all about Bing an’ Gracie’s place. 

     

    In doze woods in front of dere two-story transitional home I foun’ da only 

    tiga salamanda’ I’d ever seen. Common many places, in Northern Louisiana, 

    dere be scarce as a virgin wearin’ beads in da French Quarter in New Orleans 

    durin’ Mardi Gras. All da more a shame, that at six, I was quick enough 

    to catch one, but not smart enough ta jess let it go. 

     

    Washday, Dahlia found it all dried up an’ glued inside my jeans pocket. 

    I hadn’t forgotton it, it’s jess dat wunst I got home, I realized I’d killed it, 

    an’ couldn’t deal wid da touchin’ o’ death. So, I left it dere. Didn’t help.

    Dere wuz lots Dahlia did seein’ Momma wuzn’t ‘roun’,

    but she also knew when ta draw de’ line. 

    She made me peel it outta da pocket an’ pitch it inta da burn barrel. 

    I gagged as the tail fell off, an’ stinky ooze touched ma fingers. 

    Yeah, I knew dem woods alright. I looked Deke in da eye; 

    he didn’t seem to reckon he’d lost me for a bit.

     

    It bein’ October, Laz an’ Bing both da fans a’ football, Bing turned on 

    da LSU - Razorbacks game.  It wuz ‘bout half over, 

    but they took up wid da game jess da same. Da wives, now, 

    dey look at dere men wi’ eyes glued to da TV, an’ knew dat wuz 

    da last conversation they’d get outta dere men, dat night.

    Lucy’d been through dis all before. “Come on, Gracie, let’s go upstairs an’ talk.”  

    But dey didn’t count on da game goin’ into overtime. Two hours later, 

    dey both be sleepy, so’s dey jess went ta bed an’ turned off da light. 

     

    But downstairs, Laz an’ Bing were startin’ to feel frisky. Somethin ‘bout 

    watchin’ all that hittin’ an’ tacklin’ triggered a mem’ry. “Hey Bing,” Laz said, 

    “‘Member when we used to wrassle back in the day?”  Meanin’ college days, 

    of course. “Bet I can still pin you.” Bing didn’t wan’ ta back out of a challenge, 

    but he tried to anaway. “We’d wake da wimmen, all that thumpin. 

    An’ we’re still in our suits. We can’t wreck ‘em doin’ stuff like dat.”

     

    “OK,” Laz aagreed, “Den lets go out side, n’ we’ll jess strip to our skivvies, 

    it’s still warm enough.” Bing hesitated. He’d just had a visitashun, 

    a pastor’s epiphany, of wut it wuld look like, should dey ever be caught like dat

    by one o’ his members. He gave a shudder, dat ha’ nuttin ta do wid 

    da cool night air. But Laz, da life o’ da party Laz jess pressed on until 

    Brudder Bing’s resolve got clean mown over, “Look it,” Bing, he say, 

    “you live out at da edge o’town. Your nearest neighbor is a block 

    or more ‘cross dem woods, an’ we could see anyone comin’ a quarter mile away.” 

    So, quick as dat, dem two preachers wuz in dere BVDs an’ fixin’ ta wrassle.

     

    “Boxers or briefs” I interupted Deke for da fust time. 

     

    “Do dat matta? Ya got two preechurs who wuz in da pull-pit jess hours afor, 

    an now dey goin’ at it, wrasslin’ in da grass all but nekked. Why do ya need 

    anythin’ ta add to da visual, boy?” Deke looked like he wuz tryin’ not to 

    snicker as he talked, (an a manful effort it was, too, cuz der wuz more 

    tom-foolery a-comin’,) but den he jess stopped, an’ suddenly started laughin 

    an’ laughin like he couldn’ get his breath. Tears spilled outta his eyes 

    an’ ran down his dark cheeks, all shiny like now, in da afternoon sun. 

     

    He wuz wheezin’ so bad I feared for him, but he managed to stop 

    long enough ta repeat hisself, “What more do you need for da visual, boy?  

    Sweet ‘n savory succatash!” Deke allowed hisself a sanitary oath, 

    an’ den he laughed agin for quite da spell more. But dis time, I was louder.

     

    He tried to compose hisself, cuz da yarn needed him ta keep unravellin’, 

    but for some reason, he jess couldn’ do it. Finally, he tired of his private joke, 

    da one he could’n get out inta words, an’ so once mo’, he tried manfully, 

    ta share it. A great crooked vein lifted off da plane of his broad forehead, 

    an’ began ta pulse a bit. “Hooo, dat boy o’mine what he dun tole me next!” 

    Deke’s dabbed at his eyes, but dey still fairly sparkled 

    with da anticipatin’ of tellin’ mo’ from ‘dat phone call. “Well,” - - 

    Deke took a couple of breaths to make sure he got da rhythm back, 

    allowed his broad shoulders to rest back a couple of inches, ta’ meet 

    da chair back where he sat, an’ I swear- dat dangerous raised vein

    ‘pon his forehead began to flatten back ta where it come from! 

     

    “Whilst dem preechurs wuz wrasslin’ - long ‘bout midnight, 

    (fust Laz wus atop, den Bing-) dey never minded dat a car 

    drove to da very end of Fallen Oak Road, an’ it wasn’t till da tires screeched 

    tryin’ to slow it, dat dey looked up. They wuz full twenty yards from 

    da porch steps, an’ more steps up to da fron’ door. But it wuz closed tight

    to keep their noise from filtering up da stairs. 

    Dey didn’t wan’ ta wake da wimmen, ya know. 

    Der dey were, quite stuck actually, still tangled up upon each other, 

    as dey watched a pink Cadillac convertible tear up da drive, gravels flyin’, 

    an in jess dem few seconds,  come a-sliden to a stop in dere fron’ yard. 

    What could dey do, but stand up den an’ fill dem headlights!”  

     

    “Funny, how da car motor jess kept runnin’, but after a second or two, 

    da driver’s door opened an’ out stepped a willowy good lookin’ blonde 

    in a turquoise an’ white polka dot sun dress! Amazin’sight, she wuz!

    But, both Bing and Laz knew who she wuz in dat moment. 

    She wuz da wife of a casino owner in da city. Rumor had it, he wuz 

    a mob boss outta Jersey. An, she’d dun responded 

    to an altar call dat very night at da meetin’, 

    to join Salvation Temple an’ be babtized. Apparently, 

    when she tole her man, it didn’t go over so well.

    “You have to hide me!” she shrilled in a broad Eastern accent, “My husban’

    is after me, an’ he’s really mad. I don’t know what he’s goin’ ta do next.”

     

    “Den da three of um heard a powerful engine rev just afor tires started howlin’ n protest.”

    ”That’s him now!” she cried, new terror made her shake like a leaf. 

    Passta Bing wuz home, an’ he gathered his wits fust. “Laz, you take her 

    into da guest room downstairs jess offen da front livin’ room. I’ll go talk 

    to da husban’.”  He sounded brave, even as he knew he looked da fool.

     

    In da few seconds it took for da husban’ to arrive, Laz escorted da blonde 

    into da bedroom. “Quick, into da closet,” Laz directed. “But dat’s 

    da fust place he’ll look!” she protested. “I’ll get under da bed.” She fell 

    to da floor an’ began ta scooch her body under. “You better get under here, too.” 

     

    Deke stopped jess long enough to give a short cynical laugh, 

    “Now dat make no sense at all, but as Laz jess stood dere, 

    dat husban’ o’hern jumped outta his pickup, an’ grabbed his shotgun 

    offn’ da gunrack. He pointed it up’n da air an’ fired off a roun’. KA-BOOOM! 

    B’fore da echo ever reached where it was goin’ an’ back, Laz wuz unner 

    da bed longside dat woman, havin’ executed a perfect dry land belly flop 

    widdout da benefit o’ da one meter springboard!

     

    Jess think, a bronze adonis of a preechur ‘n his fruit o’ da looms, 

    sniffin’ two hunnert dolla perfume onna dat rich blonde’s bare shoulders 

    not knowing if dat bit o’bliss is gonna be his last! An’ her, in dem scant

    spaghetti straps squoze in under dere tight next ta him fo’ comp’ny! 

    All da while’, his best frien’ wuz holdin her mad husban’ wid a gun, 

    at bay in jess his skivvies!” “Say yur prayers, sonny, time to say yur prayers!”

     

    I began to laugh until tears roll down ma cheeks. Dis wuz too, too funny; 

    temptin’ to be scatologically so!  Addin’ in dat final bit o’ scariness 

    to da already absurdly ridiculous, mysteriously transported my hilarity 

    to a whole new level.  

     

    I imagined what dem college coeds musta been doin’ 

    right about dis place while listnin’ to Laz’s yarn. I sincerely hoped none of them 

    had recently finished off a quart of iced tea, as I’d jess done! Hoooo-ee, 

    dat might a cryin’shame! On da other han’ ,

    dey wuz sittin’ dere on sacred seats, an’ all I had 

    ta protect wuz dearly departed Dahlia’s pet cane-back rocker.

    Less jess hope dey been doin’ dere Kegels! 

    Deke wuz dead right.  At dis point, it didn’t matter one whit, 

    “boxers, or briefs?!” Nope, not one whit at all! Be it dry, - or damp.

     

    “Hold dat thought,” I begged Deke. An’ excused myself for an overdue pit stop.


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    wheelsal commented on Deke 'n da Debble's Yarn, Part 2

    02-05-2010

    Yo, story-teller, havin mor fun with this. Se the twinkly in yor eye tryin to tell me yor tail. On ward to nixt.

    Stryx commented on Deke 'n da Debble's Yarn, Part 2

    01-27-2010

    Vera, vera funny. It reads aloud so good, I got maself a tearin'. MaLord I kin hardly wait fer the next epesode. [BDW - I useta live in Paw Paw Ill i noise]

    HarverTomsson

    01/27/2010

    Da sayfes time fo' a manta crah, is wen dey done be laffin. Sho'nuff, i figgerd, so's ah gave ebry one a chanst, I did.

    SavVySam commented on Deke 'n da Debble's Yarn, Part 2

    01-24-2010

    Whew...Things sure are getting interesting, I am loving it...lead on!

    HarverTomsson

    01/24/2010

    Thank you. Stay tuned for Part 3, the gan' finale.

    dahlusion commented on Deke 'n da Debble's Yarn, Part 2

    01-23-2010

    Aria has spoken for me! Really wonderful!!!!!!!!!!

    ginga commented on Deke 'n da Debble's Yarn, Part 2

    01-21-2010

    Omg I love the dialect! This Part II is much funnier than I expected and the nuances are cleverly crafted. Harver I didn't know that this genre of writing would suit you so well. Mark Twain would be proud! ginga

    HarverTomsson

    01/21/2010

    Can I agree, it is sumthin' funny? Thanks for your supportive critique. Heh, he, heh.

    When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

    John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

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