The Glass Top Coffin (standard:drama, 1764 words) [1/12] show all parts
Author: Stephen-Carver Byrd	Updated: Jan 07 2003	Views/Reads: 3599/2276	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Fatherless and underprivileged his entire life, a young boy befriends an old country grocer who carefully guides him down a long road of fate.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

tobacco and alcohol were all present and accounted for. 

Wally Perkins was considered to be the largest tobacco farmer in the
state. Being a sixth generation cropper, he had inherited most of his 
late ancestor's assets as well as purchased other large bordering 
acreage over the years. Wally was self-proclaimed “Tobacco King of the 
South.” However, to Jordan, he was the most obnoxious, repulsive person 
that he had ever encountered. By the appearance of the man, you would 
never know he was worth over five-million dollars. Dirt and tobacco 
juice caked his stained overalls and the decaying truck that he drove 
must have been twelve-years old. Wally Perkins, stood roughly six-foot 
seven and weighed at least three hundred fifty pounds and appeared to 
be somewhere in his early sixties. His hair was cut in a crew chop and 
was lightly sprayed in a generic salt and pepper. Judging from his 
mammoth size, it came with little doubt that Wally Perkins held the 
native genes of a gargantuan gladiator. It would be the most miserable 
hour that Jordan would spend in his life. Wally did nothing but fart 
and scratch his privates throughout the entire hour service. On the 
verge of puking, Jordan grasped hard with each breath, trying 
desperately to keep his breakfast from spilling onto his freshly 
polished Sunday shoes. 

Pastor Ellis was a tall and skinny young man in his mid thirties who
presented an uncanny resemblance to Ichabod Crane. His low, bottomless 
pit voice had the efficient means of putting the vast majority of the 
congregation into slumber well  before the first half hour. A few 
moments into the service, Pastor Ellis made a light, humorous remark 
that triggered Wally into roaring fit of laughter. A hand-pounding jab 
struck hard to Jordan's left leg, sending the boy's face into a tight 
grimace. The slumbering boy woke abruptly, and noticed the entire 
congregation scorning hard in their direction. In complete 
embarrassment, Jordan slumped low in the pew in dire fear someone may 
presume the man beside him to possibly be his grandfather or even 
worse, his father. 

A short time later, Pastor Ellis was going through his monotonous ritual
before the passing of the plate. Jordan slowly pulled four quarters 
from his pocket. Traditionally, he and his mother would each contribute 
one dollar. Jordan preferred to use quarters, favoring the illusion 
that coins seemed more valuable than a just a single paper bill. The 
overall two dollars was not much of a generous offering, roughly two 
hours wages for Madelyn, but circumstances being as they were, it was 
all that Madelyn could possibly afford. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Jordan saw Wally pull a single bill from
the breast of his suit pocket. That Cheepo, Jordan thought, a total 
millionaire and he's only going to give a lousy buck. The plate 
steadily rolled down their isle. Wally firmly took hold of it then 
tossed in his single bill then handed the large silver dish to Jordan. 
The boy's hand slightly hesitated as he glanced into the plate. With 
lucid remorse, he humbly stacked his four meager quarters atop Wally's 
one-hundred dollar bill. 

After benediction, Pastor Ellis smiled and thanked his full congregation
for their attendance. His last request, as usual, was suggesting that 
everyone stand and huge their fellow neighbor. Jordan felt a hot lump 
suddenly build in his throat. Wally first hugged his wife, Rose, who 
was a small and slender woman with a long drawn face and ashen white 
hair. Then he turned to Jordan. Wally smiled and flashed his huge 
yellow teeth then jerked the boy up, squeezing so brutally, Jordan 
could almost feel his bones crack. Wally slammed him back to the floor 
and the boy quickly headed for the safety of his mother. Suddenly he 
felt a large, calloused hand grasp firmly around his neck. Jordan began 
pulling hard toward his mother, feeling like a small dog on a leash. 

“Right fine boy ya got there, Mrs. Taylor, right fine, indeed,” Said
Wally, speaking in a burly southern accent. 

“Why thank you, Mr. Perkins,” Madelyn replied. “I believe that's one of
the reasons I keep him around.” 

“Smart as a whip too, is that boy,” Wally continued. “Overheard him down
at Wendil's grocery not long ago readin' one of them stories of his. 
Yeah, that boy can write like a storm, he can. Never ‘spected anything 
that pretty to come from a youngster only that age. Gooda ‘nough to 
have come from a real book or some like.” 

“Yes, but I worry that he's a little too smart for his own good.”
Madelyn corrected with a touch of pride. “Sometimes he writes too much 
and forgets about the rest of his homework.” 

Rose and Madelyn shook hands then spoke a few customary words together.
Soon, the little church began to empty. Wally and Rose went home to a 
large Sunday feast. Their old black maid had been keeping it warm all 
morning. Madelyn and Jordan returned to their small, red and silver 
trailer with white awnings. Two ham sandwiches and potato salad waited 
inside the rusted refrigerator. 

***Part 1*** The Glass Top Coffin 

By Stephen Bryan (HurricaneWarning) 

Jordan sat crossed legged on his small bed, viciously shaking a large,
glass piggy bank. It was the type of piggy that once money had been 
inserted, the only means of removing its contents was to take a hammer 
stiffly to its head. Jordan's father had bought him the bank on the day 
he was born. The piggy was the only possession that the boy owned from 
his late father. That was back in the old days before the heavy 
drinking started. The days before Madelyn found out about the other 
woman. It was back in the days when Madelyn received a knock on her 
door late in the night, the night that two deputies stood in her 
doorway, one with a somber look, the other repeating over and over, 
“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Taylor. I'm truly sorry.” 

Jordan stuck a big green eye close to the slot on piggy's back and
noticed a slither of silver. Carefully, he pinched the edge of the coin 
and slowly extracted one single quarter, more or less an afternoon's 
wage for helping Mr. Parker, the trailer court manager, with some odd 
chores. The boy dashed into his small living room and slipped on his 
aging sneakers, then grabbed a yellow folder containing his newest 
treasure. As Jordan started out of the door, he hesitated and turned 
toward the clock that was hanging on the kitchen wall. Three-thirty, it 
spoke. Four more hours before his mother would return from work. 

Madelyn was employed as a seamstress at a local dry cleaners in the big
city, sixteen miles away. During the last few days, the small cleaners 
had an unusual brisk business, causing Madelyn to run far behind with 
her mending. Mr. Bouders, the owner, had offered her some precious 
overtime, a wonderful surprise that would mean a little extra money for 
desperately needed essentials. The fatherless boy slammed the small 
trailer‘s door so hard that it shook the ground. He walked away in 
total anger, discussed at the hideous way his mother was forced to 
work, and at such repulsive wages. 

Jordan started down a hot and dust ridden road clinching his yellow
folder securely to his side. A boy with holes in his jeans and a dream 
in a pocket, he allowed his mind to meander far away from his present 
life and into a remote future, a future he would someday surly achieve 
with great immensity. 


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