WBY - Cherry (a tale of woe) part 2
“Dude!” Riv bellowed from the shotgun.
I almost crashed into a telephone pole. Now that would’ve put a dent in my truck that would make the deer crash look like a mosquito kissed the windshield. As it was -the seat belt (yes, ever safe, we were both wearing seat belts) caught my forward momentum and stopped my head from smashing through the windshield like one of our hen’s eggs. Looking back, that might have been better than what we got into.
“Huh?” I answered astutely, rubbing absently at my sternum. That was gonna leave a bruise.
“Do you know what the plural of y’all is?”
I cocked my head in his direction, my brows furrowed, “Are you makin’ fun of Texas?”
River sobered up a moment and folded his fingers in a Boy Scout salute. “Scouts honor, Jamie, I would never besmirch the great state of Texas.” He was slurring his words but I understood them well enough.
I glared at him, sort of. It’s hard to glare when you can’t focus your eyes. But he looked like he meant it. Both of him did. I did wonder though how he knew the Boy Scout salute. River had never seen the inside of anything that looked like a uniform. Maybe he was flipping me the bird? It was hard to tell with my Southern Comfort tinted glasses.
I decided he was being honest, I mean, what was the point of pissing me off? I was the driver, and as such, was automatically in charge. That was a given.
“Nope.” I answered slow. Then I backtracked, “Don’t know the plural of ‘y’all”
My Texas drawl seemed to thicken in my alcohol enhanced condition. I knew I had somehow turned one syllable words into two. That’s just my southern heritage, but oddly enough it was hard to the form words themselves. That was a bit of a revelation. It’s particularly hard for me to keep my on most occasions, but tonight I had to really think it through to spit the words out.
Should’ve taken that for a warning. Jamie Winchester unable to speak? That’s like ducks not quacking or dogs not barking or Banshee’s not portending upcoming death.
“Wait for it…”, River taunted gleefully.
I waited.
“All y’all” River crowed and then slapped his jeans at the proclamation.
“Get it?” he said, blue eyes dancing with his incredible wit.
“All y’all,” He snorted with a laugh as whiskey shot out his nose and splashed on my right arm.
“Gross,” I said, wiping at the offending mess with a dirty rag I kept on the floor for just such situations.
“Damn that burns!” River sputtered and howled and I guess it did. Nasal passages were not designed for whiskey. I figured his olfactory senses were either now totally blown or maybe enhanced. I really have no idea what whiskey does to your nose. Something to think about.
So I did.
For about a three beat.
He coughed once and blew his nose on my rag.
“Feeling better, bro?” I said but I really didn’t care.
“I guess,” he sniffed hard and then grinned back at me, his long blonde bangs puffing out when he exhaled. Apparently my lack of caring went unnoticed. Truthfully though, in River’s state of intoxication he probably wouldn’t have noticed a caravan of monkeys frolicking down Main Street wearing pink tutus.
Palm to my eyes, I rubbed hard and noticed that both Rivers had sort of come back together. That was an improvement, I figured. Three Winchesters had to be worse than two.
“Did ya like it?” River asked hopefully.
I replayed the last few minutes.
“Uh huh. All y’all. We may make a Texas boy of you yet.”
River smiled sloppily, “I’m a Texas boy!”
“Yup, I think maybe the hippie in you has finally lit a shuck to parts unknown.”
“Lit a shuck? What the does that mean?” River asked earnestly as if he was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to understand local colloquialisms.
“Hell if I know…I didn’t make it up.” I pondered for a long drawn out chunk of time but decided a teaching moment was not to be ignored. I stated with the utmost conviction, “It just means leavin’ a place fast.”
River seemed to consider this a minute. Or an hour. Not quite sure about that, but time was as woozy as my head was.
“I’m bored.” I said. I mean if it had been an hour and we had been driving for who knows how long, well being bored made sense. And Lord knows how long we were sitting on the side of the road after the near catastrophic collision with the telephone pole.
“Kay,” River said then added, “Whatcha wanna do?”
We were sitting outside of Leroy’s Tree Trimming Service. I know that because I know Leroy. I also saw the sign.
“That,” I said.
“What?” River questioned.
“I want that.”
River looked at Leroy’s.
“You want to trim a tree?” Riv asked, obviously confused. I saw no reason for his confusion. It was so obvious!
I rolled my eyes. Boy, that boy could be dense.
“No, THAT!” I almost yelled and pointed at the cherry picker parked near Leroy’s place. If all y’all, don’t know what a cherry picker is, it’s a truck with a ladder like thing and a bucket on top for trimming branches or fixing power lines or whatever.
“Always wanted to ride in one of those.” I said as if it was the top of my bucket list. HAHA bucket list. Get it! There’s a bucket on the cherry picker! Almost as good as “All y’all!”
River looked strangely at me.
“Did I say that out loud.”
River nodded with a grin.
I decided to ignore it and him.
“How much fun would that be?” I asked looking up at the majestic cherry picker.
“Dunno, looks like a dumb old truck to me.”
“No, Riv,” I said exasperated, “The bucket! Remember - Christ I even told you when I didn’t know I was telling you! It will be like we have our own little carnival ride right here at Leroy’s!”
I was so damn smart! The Fall Festival wouldn’t be in town for, I dunno, months or something. We could make our own rides!
River looked a little skeptical. I have no idea why. It was one of my best ideas EVER.