|Bony (standard:humor, 2243 words)|
|Author: Anonymous||Added: Oct 16 2015||Views/Reads: 665/428||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|short Drama ,|
Bony "Whoever would ever think of calling a dear little skinny gal the name of 'Bony Wilma?" asked Mammy, as she set a big bowl of gravy down on the eating table. Pappy looked up from his plate. "Well, Sarah," he replied with a grin, "when you're so skinny that your rear end cuts the bottom of the chair you're sitting in because your bones are so sharp, I guess you'd get that name." "Just think, our Jake is claiming her as his gal friend," Mammy retorted, looking straight at me, strange-like. "Mammy, I don't like you and Pa making fun of my gal. Anyone who calls her 'Bony Wilma' is going to get a busted nose, just like I always give them when that happens. She can't help being skinny and she's as pretty as any young woman here in Muddy Fork." I glared at them and they looked away, sheepish. When a man gets love struck, he pays no attention to bones anyhow, although I will admit that hugging her is like hugging a sack of rocks. Still, my love is a deep, spiritual thing and Wilma happens to be the nicest gal I've ever met. She is kind and soft spoken, humble as a kitten. I get so mad when folks whisper to each other, calling her bony. I could bite a number twenty nail, I get so riled. Wilma and I are going to a square dance this coming Saturday night and I have made up my mind that if one person whispers her name with 'bony' attached to it, they are going to answer to me. Mammy and Pappy want me to court Molly Westfield because her parents own a trade store. They keep telling me to marry a gal that has some prospects so I won't have to work like a dog all my life. I'd rather work like a dog than end up with a woman I don't really love, that's the way I see things. I don't believe it's right to marry for money. If a person did that, they would end up sad and the money would not make them happy at all. I'll never forget the first time I met Wilma. It was at old man Moore's cane stripping event that always takes place in the fall. All the young folks from around Muddy Fork came to help him strip cane and make molasses. It was more fun than work really, as everyone came with their girlfriends and worked together, seeing who could strip the most cane, laughing and telling tales all night long. That first night I met her she was down just a little way from where I was stripping cane. She was quiet, and didn't talk like some of the gals who were there. I did notice that she was skinny, but also that she was mighty pretty. Her hair is what caught my eye at first. It was as black as a crow's feather. I made a point of talking to her that night, but she was shy when I tried to get acquainted with her. After a while she finally broke loose and we made conversation. I liked her right from the start and we started to get pretty well acquainted. She told me her Ma and Pa were worried about her coming to the dance because they knew that folks always made fun of her and she often come home sad and disheartened. I was glad she had come that night – to me she was God-sent. I moved to where her bundle of cane was sitting, and we stripped cane from the same pile. The night passed in a flash and when the stripping ended, it was in the wee hours of the morning. I offered to walk her home, and we held hands as we walked to her place, a mile past the old Mallard Bridge. I felt all warm inside, being with this dark-haired, green-eyed gal, and our first tender kiss at parting started a fire in my heart for Wilma. Of course at this time, I never knew the terrible nickname folks called her, which she confided had started in her younger days when she was first going to school. It was evident to me that this name-calling had affected her badly for a long time. It has now been a full year since our first meeting, and we have been sparking ever since. For me, love is like a tater vine – it grows bigger every day. I am not one to fight and brawl, but since Wilma and I have been courting, I cannot count the number of fights I have been in because of men calling her 'Bony Wilma'. She cries a lot when that happens because it causes her to think bad about herself. I try very hard to make her understand that it doesn't matter what people say Click here to read the rest of this story (142 more lines)
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