A Ten Pound Bag
Chapter 150: Hiccups
Copyright© 2020 by Emmeran
The bright sunshine of a June morning, some coffee, and a cigarette. For entertainment, I was watching the chickens out in the yard and trying to rock a rocking chair that resented its designated profession. That chair resented its profession with a skill I couldn’t quite figure out, you almost had to admire the damned thing.
The big old rooster in charge of the flock had apparently gotten himself a case of the hiccups. Now, I’d never seen a rooster with hiccups before, but it was pretty damned amusing. It went well with a halfway decent cup of coffee and a rebellious chair.
Perhaps it all was a sign from the heavens? “The rooster needs a rest. Take a breather, everyone.” They do say that God speaks in mysterious ways.
To be honest, I don’t believe for a second that God ever spoke to me. Heck, if that dude ever got a moment to himself, I’d bet he’d go golfing or bowling or some such. Anything but Lording it up over excessively needy mortals. Well, hell, if God was saying take a day off, then I would take a complete and full day off.
I cast the question to the wind, “How the hell do I manage a day off with everything that’s going on?” Oddly enough Sincere Claire arrived with more coffee and the oddly perfect offhand answer, “Just have Auntie take care of it for you.”
Suddenly Resentful Rocker was my ally. The limping roll I had managed stopped easily on its own and I looked up to see Auntie’s time-worn finger pointing at me.
“You, Sir, will take this day as a day of rest!”
“Yes’m,” was the best I could croak in response.
“Your good men will care for things. It might two days or even a week if you don’t behave, young man!!” That wasn’t said in a low or gentle voice; in my head, ‘Granny,’ all eight feet tall of her, had just scolded a very young Zachariah.
Auntie had raised her voice at me and I felt like I was trying to hide in my shoes. I simply looked at the ground in shame and tried to wish myself invisible.
“Come eat, child!” cut through my little wall of self-pity.
I rose to my feet, stood properly, and followed Auntie to the kitchen table.
It was a breakfast to write home about. Hell, write to the papers and post it on whatever social media you can find.
Auntie was gone when I pulled my face up from the plate, but holy shit-f•©k, my day had just changed. Yes, I needed almost forty-five minutes in the reluctant rocking chair to digest my food and, yup, I did spend a bit of time in a smelly early summer outhouse to balance the inner inventory. But holy f•©k, that was good food! I can’t remember the last time I had good liver, but that meat was still like a wonder drug. Auntie cooked it just right, so tender and tasty that I would assuredly dream about it for weeks.
Just as suddenly, I was alone again with a mostly attractive woman and a day off. I could only watch the chickens forage for so long without going mad.
I didn’t have my gear so I couldn’t work on that and I didn’t have a newspaper or a novel to read. I did have S-Claire or whatever her name was, but she was suddenly busy elsewhere. So I went and made coffee.