|GOIN DOWN TO GRANDADDY'S FOR THE FALL (standard:humor, 622 words)|
|Author: Danny Zil||Added: Oct 17 2008||Views/Reads: 1966/0||Story 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 !” Tweet
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