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GOIN DOWN TO GRANDADDY'S FOR THE FALL (standard:humor, 622 words)
Author: Danny ZilAdded: Oct 17 2008Views/Reads: 1515/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
"Lawdy Lawd! Tings dis famly gets up to!"
 



GOIN DOWN TO GRANDADDY'S FOR THE FALL 

I realised I was deranged when I found myself staring constantly at my
sister's legs - I had sawn them off the previous night and they fitted 
me just fine. I planned a stagger round the garden on them later. 

Mother swished out onto the veranda. “If those are your sister's legs
you'll need this,” she drawled and tossed me a jar of depilation cream. 
I caught it and watched as she then removed a cigarette from her silver 
case, elegantly fitted it into her slim ebony holder and he smoked it 
for her. “Damn this heat !” she muttered and daintily dabbed some 
perspiration from the air. 

It was high summer in North Carolina and low summer in South Carolina.
The heavy scent of begonias hung in the air and in the lush grass under 
the veranda, green lizards mated, argued, then became friends again. 

An open-top sports car pulled into our drive and parked. The chauffeur
immediately jumped out the front, then jumped into the back, then 
jumped into the front of a Southern gal who claimed her name 
was...perfect. 

Mother eyed the chauffeur. “He reminds me of a servant I once had,” she
drawled huskily. “I had him on the lawn, I had him in the pool, I had 
him on the veranda.” Mother was still a fine looking woman and her 
clothes clung to her like they were afraid she'd leave them. 

In the back of the sports car, the couple coupled. 

“Lawdy Lawd !” intoned a bass voice from the rocking chair. “Tings dem
wite folks gets up to !” 

I glanced at the fat sweating body on the rocker - the frizzy black
hair, the thick blubber lips, the cheap floral dress. It was Father. 

“Sho is hot,” he muttered, fanning herself. “Minds me o' when I's a
picaninny on Mamma's back, when she pickin cotton down Alybamy way.” 

When our fortunes declined, Mother had sacked the old housekeeper and
the garbage men had taken her away. Father had adopted her role. With 
relish. Now he shuffled round the house in floral dress and cheap wig, 
unconvincingly blacked-up and making endless blueberry pies nobody 
wanted. 

In the driveway, quick coupling completed, coupé couple departed. 

“Lawdy Lawd !” intoned Father. “Tings dem wite folks gets up to !” 

Mother shot him a look of contempt. She tossed her hair disdainfully,
caught it and put it back on. 

Effortlessly, the heat turned itself up a degree. Oh how I longed for
the seasons to change and to be down at Grandaddy's for the Fall - 
those cool autumnal breezes wafting in from the coast and the leaves 
turning brown and drifting down from the trees. 

“Mother, can I go down to Grandaddy's for the Fall ?” I asked. 

Mother glanced at me sharply...and suddenly I remembered the plan. 

Rich ole Grandaddy in his rich ole house. Just me an him. Lurking around
the landing outside his bedroom till the moment presented. Then a quick 
push, a crashing fall and him at the bottom of the stairs, arms 
outstretched - dead...me at the top of the stairs, arms outstretched - 
guilty. 

After the funeral. The Will. The lawyer in thick glasses and polka-dot
bowtie. Mother convincingly grief-stricken in black face-veiled hat. 
Father “Lawdy Lawdin!” in the background. 

The relief. Our fortunes restored. Mother inheriting Grandaddy's money.
Father inheriting his psoriasis. 

Back on the veranda. The satisfied look on Mother's face indicating
she'd seen it all too and approved the plan. She turned and rewarded me 
with a haughty glare. “Of course you're going down to Grandaddy's for 
the fall, you idiot !” she hissed, preparing to swish off. “You're 
pushing him !” 


   


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