Hey ho. Liam here, still sticky’n still wedged low ‘neath the gray porch.
Did nobody never ponder themselves paintin’ the underneath side o’ these ol’ weathered boards? Truth is, I been under here plunty, thousands or hund’erds o’ times, chasin’ cats, pullin’ out rapscallion twin brothers, buryin’ treasure. But hidin’ down here for nigh on least a hour or a half, why, what’s a feller to do but contemplate him the conundrums what lay before, or above him.
An’ paintin’ these here boards would o’been a sight more pleasin’ to the eye o’all us who shimmy down this way.
I may mention this to Grandpap, once I find myself ready to confess to what end I was lyin’ down here in the dirt.
Leston and Daddy, they be up above, nursin’ they iced sweet tea an’ rockin’ to who laid a chunk in a couple o’Mama’s rockin’ chairs. They shore ain’t sayin’ much, least not ’bout much but the weather an’ the price o’beef over to St. Joe. But Leston, he been a reg’lar on the porch the last few days and I’m aimin’ to find out jest why.
I’m almost, I say almost, find my eyes a closin’ ‘gainst the heat an’ the bugs. No, I ain’t a’nappin’. No time fer nappin’, and anyhow, I don’t b’lieve it it, not whatsoever. Think o’all I’d be a’missin’ was I to ‘llow myself unconsciousness to overtake me durin’ daylight hours. Too much goin’ on in this ol’ world fer me to give any up.
I will ‘llow I might jest rest my eyes once r’ twice ever’ now an’ ag’in.
An’ I know I ain’t foolin’ nobody, least of all my ownself, but there it is. A feller’s got to draw him a line, even if it’s with his own person.
No nappin’. Not fer ol’ Liam.
But I digress.
Once I snuck and stuck myself down here in my hidey hole I was committed. I was silent as a church mouse an’ so dry I was spittin’ cotton but I’d made me my bed and I’d see this mystery through.
Gol’ DANG, though, I wooshed them fellers’d hurry themselves up. Time’s a’tickin’.
Time’s a tickin ‘.
“You aimin’ to sell, then, Duke?”
Great Horned Spoon, whaaat?!
Tickin’ done stopped when the talkin’ done started. Not sure I’m a’breathin’! I pressed my top ear to the bottom o’the slat crack.
“Well, sir,” begun my Daddy, rockin’ straight atop me dead stopped. My guess he’s balanced up front on them rocker rails, a posture reg’lar fer him when he’s contemplatin’ somethin’ of portent.
My head, though, it’s plum banging through my eardrums, Sell what?! Sell what?! I’m ’bout to pop!
“Well, sir,” Daddy drawled slow-like,”The Judge, he made hisself quite an offer, looks like he done similar to next to ever’ owner in Denton County, least this side o’ the river.”
Say it ain’t so.
He went on, never once sending them rails back to center,”We Goodwells, we been livin’ on this land fer generations on end.”
This is where Leston slid in. “Now, Duke, you ain’t been on this here property longer’n forty years. Yer Daddy lost the hilltop land back before the last war.”
I could feel the contempt in Daddy’s black brown eyes, knew they was narrowin’ an’ borin’ holes in ol’ Leston’s own faded-y ones.
Heavy foggy silence held sway fer longer’n I cared for. My insides was turnin’ cartwheels, my straw hair was clumped wet with sweat and under-the-porch filth, I durned near come to a’hollerin’ or kickin’ or even cussin’, if it wudn’t a sin.
Daddy spoke. Quiet. Hard as a Bois d’Arc heartwood. Lethal. Deadly as a nine-foot copperhead snake. Dangerous. Menacin’ as a Missouruh cougar crouched up a tree.
“Well, Leston, I reckon you an’ me, we et’ up the afternoon. Let’s you an’ me give it a rest fer this day.”
And thusly, Leston, he was dismissed. Daddy, resumed his rockin’ jest once or twice.
“Liam. You’n me, let’s us take a walk, Son.”
Ain’t but two choices, scramble out or face the consequences o’ Daddy draggin’ me out.
‘Spose I’ll chose the first, though both’r bound for unpleasantness.