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Dolls
& Rabbits It
was Friday night and all the neighbors were
over—drinking his beer—Hal wanted no part of it. He
had made a permanent spot in the backyard long
ago, away from all the clucking hens and the jibber-jabber of folk. A simple
aluminum chair leaned up against a
rusted out metal shed; that was his spot.
Everyone knew not to go near. “Hey
boy,” Hal calls to his son. Derek
jumps.
Being summoned by the old man was either punishment or an
honor. But his
grades sucked. Junior
year was kicking
his ass. He
moves towards his father
with caution. “You like
babies?” Hal asks
him. Frannie,
his girlfriend, had only told him about her
pregnancy this morning. There
was no way
his dad could know. “Saw
that girl of yours in town,” Hal says.
“Looking thick…” The
light of the cigarette casts an eerie glow
across Hal’s face. A
shaggy salt and
pepper beard and moustache practically cover every drop of flesh. Light eyes—Jesus
eyes—penetrate Derek. Drunken
laughter explodes from back porch.
Hal glares at the house.
“You still got those M-80’s?” He asks
Derek. “The ones I
got you for
Christmas?” Derek
nods. “Go get ‘em
.” Derek
belly-crawls under his bed and grabs a couple
M-80s. “What
are you doin’?” His
mother is a mere shadow in the door.
She eyes the fireworks as she sways from one
too many. “Dad
asked for these.” His
mother pulls two pills from her jean pocket and
hands them to Derek. “Drop
‘em in his
beer…can’t take it no more.” When
Derek returns to the yard he finds his father
digging around in the shed. “Good, you
got ‘em,” Hal says, “I want to show you something.” Hal
pulls out a pink box covered in thick dust and
weathered from years of changing seasons.
His father lifts the lid.
A
porcelain doll stares out with pink blush dusted
upon her cheeks and silky, blonde hair.
Its clothes are a bit tattered, but still lacy and frilly. Hal takes it out and hands
it to his son. “Your mother
wanted a girl.” “This
was mine?” Derek says. “Well,
‘til your mother tossed it. Guess
she was afraid you’d end up a gay or
something,” Hal says, then looks away from him.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with a boy learning how to love.” Undetected,
Derek flings the pills behind him.
“Did
ya ever see a bunch of white folk run like
rabbits?” Hal asks. He
takes the M-80’s
then shoves them into the Earth. “You
do
the right thing for that Frannie, ok?” Derek
nods. Hal
shouts towards the back porch. “You
freeloading fuckers have all of ten seconds
to get outta my house!” He
lights the
fuses. “TEN, NINE,
EIGHT, seven,
fourthreetwoone!” Those
M-80s seem to fly in slow motion as they
cruise towards the house. The
old man was right, too. Shit,
did they run like rabbits…a bunch of
white, scared rabbits. Pamela
D. Hardy resides in Melbourne Beach, Florida with her husband and
psychotic
Dachshund. She
graduated with a BA from Columbia College, Chicago in 1994.
Her current
screenplay, Asses to Ashes as
well as her women’s contemporary novel, Demons
& Daisies are both currently on
submission. Her most recent
work has appeared in the blog, Moms
Who Drink and Swear. When
not writing, she takes additional writing courses in fiction and
poetry.
She avidly partakes in reflective bicycle riding, ocean
worshipping as well as volunteering at her local dog shelter. |
