Christie's Confession

"Breathe in, ladies," said Rhonda McQuaig, the Yoga instructor.  "And hold."  The class stayed in their blossom position, struggling to obey their instructor's directions.

Rhonda was the owner of Rhonda's Dancing Machine, a small storefront just off Crowley Circle.  She conducted a wide variety of dance and yoga classes there.  The morning yoga class she was now conducting included a variety of housewives and retirees.  There were no men, so she had no qualms about solely using the term 'ladies' in her instructions.  There were probably many places where men took yoga classes, but Crowley was not one of them.

The women gathered today were the usual mix of the very well off and the middle class.  There were no truly poor.  There were no minorities, although there were a few in the evening class, including the Indian obstetrician, Dr. Marla Jhadu, and Ramona Adams, the black legal secretary for Cooper & Strickland.

And what a tragedy that firm was going through, what with the horrible murder of Rondy Strickland, a murder that poor Ramona had discovered.  What a scar on this town, and the Sheriff allowing that Gariton Hollander to be bailed out?  Is he letting a killer walk the streets of Crowley?

And the person who bailed him out?  None other than Christie Delco Hollander herself.  Yes, Gariton was her husband, but it was her affair with Rondy that triggered everything. And here the little vixen was, in this very yoga class.  Her attendance was very irregular, but she was here today.

Christie did not look like her regular polished self.  Her make up was splotchy, and she had dark circles under her eyes.  Her yoga clothes looked wrinkled and unwashed.  It made Rhonda wonder whether it was Gariton who had done the laundry, and with them apart, she just let it go.

If only Rondy had stayed with Rhonda, maybe he would be better off.  Yes, she might have had to divorce Edgar, but she had to admit, Rondy was so much more exciting.  He put their affair aside two years ago; ostensibly to focus on Betty Cooper, but anyone with half a brain knew that there was no way that would last.  She was way too reserved and mousy to hold Rondy in thrall.  On the other hand, Christie was way too intense.  Rondy was bound to get burned, and he certainly did.

She looked at Christie with a fiery anger, her cheeks red, her eyes shooting daggers.  Christie noticed and tried to return an indifferent stare, as if Rhonda's hatred did not matter to her.  "Okay, class, let's start our final stretches," Rhonda said.

Rather than stretch, Christie got up and walked out with all the dignity she could muster. Rhonda smirked, satisfied at her ability to intimidate the all mighty Christie Delco.

The class wrapped up, and she chatted with a few of the women.  The last to see her was Teresa Smithson.  She was an odd duck.  Unfailingly enthusiastic, but always dressed in black from her neck to her ankles, only broken by some white and pink striped tennis shoes, she came up to her just to thank Rhonda and wish her the best until next class.

"Aren't you hot in that, Teresa?  You've been wearing that all winter.  It's almost March now, and we've already had some days in the 80s.  Hell, I think it's hitting 80 out there right now," said Rhonda.  She could see the sweat coming off Teresa, and worse, she never saw Teresa hydrate.  Man, Rhonda thought, I hope she never heat strokes in my class.  That's the last thing I need.

Teresa was feeling quite woozy.  She decided to get a drink at the drinking fountain in the hallway, and then freshen up in the restroom.

As she entered the ladies' room, she thought about the coming spring, and what behavior changes she would have to make.  She would have to heal some, and then change where she did things in the future so they would not risk being visible.  There was one scar on her arm just above the back of her elbow, but she could perhaps pass that off as an accident with a knife while cooking.  She had made those kinds of excuses before, and it was surprising how easily people bought them.  Her biggest fear was doctors, but they were easy to avoid if you didn't get so sick that you were forced to go.  And who would force her?  Her husband, Jimmy?  He wouldn't know if her arm was broken and dangling by a thread of muscle.

As she washed her face, she heard sobbing coming from one of the stalls.  "Hello?" she said.  "Are you all right in there?"

"Yes."  Teresa recognized the voice.  It was Christie Hollander.  It was weaker and less certain than she ever remembered hearing before, but it was still unmistakably Christie. "Is there any tissue or toilet paper out there?  This stall seems to be out now."

"Of course, Christie." There was a box of Kleenex on the vanity, and Teresa just grabbed the whole box.  Without thinking, she opened the stall door, and saw Christie in her collapsed state.  She was sitting on the toilet, her makeup gone, except for some mascara that was streaked down her left cheek.  She didn't look like the supremely self-confident woman Teresa knew, but a scared, frightened little girl.

Christie did not fuss at Teresa for opening the stall door.  She just took the box of tissues.  "Thank you.  I'm sorry; I don't know your name.  I know you're a nice person, and I know it makes me not such a nice person that I can't even remember your name."

Teresa smiled a reassuring smile to let Christie know that none of that mattered, that she was a friend and here to help.  "That's all right.  Sometimes I even have trouble remembering who I am."  She laughed, and Christie broke into a slight grin.  "I'm Teresa, Teresa Smithson.  Well, originally Dixon.  But you know...that marriage thing!  Changes us all."

Christie dabbed her eyes, trying to clear enough to see better.  "Ain't that the truth!"

"I've heard the news.  I know you've been though a lot.  I know that there is so much there I can't possibly understand.  But still, I feel for you.  I'm sorry for all the pain you're going through."

"Thank you," Christie said.  And she was sincere.  Normally, Christie wouldn't listen to someone like Teresa for more than a millisecond.  She had spent her time in a world of men and power.  Women were something she had given very little time to.  She had little in common with them, not sharing their domestic hobbies and interests.  And she felt that often, women were jealous of the sexuality and confidence she exuded.

But there was something different about Teresa.  Maybe it was just her broken state, but she felt like Teresa was a true soul, someone she could confide in.  It had been years since she had felt that way about another woman.  Maybe her mother, who passed when Christie was just eleven, and even then, her mother felt cold and distant more often than not.  "I feel so tired, Teresa.  So tired.  I'm not used to this.  I'm usually in control of everything.  And now, I don't know what's going on anymore.  I'm not even sure how I feel."  She paused, then added, "I'm not even sure I can feel."

Teresa bent down and wiped away the mascara on Christie's cheek.  "I don't know.  I think you can feel just fine.  If you didn't, why would you be crying now?"

Christie looked up at her.  "Maybe.  Or maybe I'm just starting to feel for the first time."

Teresa sat down, Indian style, in front of the stall.  "I'll stay here as long as you need me to.  I don't have anywhere to go, and I'm here to help, with whatever you need."

Who was this person?  She wasn't a person of strong faith, but here was this kind person, appearing out of nowhere, just when she really needed somebody the most.

"I love men," Christie started, opening up, letting the floodgates lift.  "I just never thought I could love 'a man'.  How could you settle for just one, when there were so many that did so many different things, and so many that could do so many things for you?  Why limit yourself?"

The whole concept was foreign to Teresa, but she just nodded as if  she agreed.  Her whole world had been Jimmy.  That was a disastrous mistake, but she hadn't been raised to do anything different.  She had no faith or confidence in herself to do anything else.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I really like Gariton.  He was there for me at a real crucial time in my life.  He really cared for me, way beyond the whole sex thing.  He would lasso the moon for me," she said, thinking of the line from one of Gariton's favorite movies, It's A Wonderful Life. "So why I couldn't love him back the way he loved me?"

Teresa shrugged her shoulders a little bit.  Yes, Christie, it was a mystery.  What Teresa wouldn't give for a husband that devoted.  But every one was unique, weren't they?  In what they needed, in what they craved.  Watching a Jimmy Stewart movie with someone who cared for you sounded so much better than watching her husband Jimmy suck down beers while watching NASCAR, and not caring about her at all until it was time for her to bring him another beer.

"Rondy took me by surprise.  He was just supposed to be another itch to scratch in a long line of scratched itches.  I didn't expect to fall in love with him. But I did. Did I know that he wasn't very faithful, that he aggressively played the field, that I might be just another notch in his belt?  Of course I did!  Hell, I was using the same damn playbook!"

Christie paused, and Teresa though she might be getting up, but then Christie started in again.  "Who knows?  Had he lived, maybe that feeling would have faded.  But you know what?  I'll never know.  I'll never know for sure.  But I do know this, ummm, oh crap!  You're gonna hate me, but I already forgot your name."

"It's Teresa.  But really, that doesn't matter.  I'm here.  I'm listening," Teresa reassured her.

"You are so kind.  Kinder than anyone I deserve.  Anyways, this much I know.  Gariton didn't kill him.  He's not capable of that.  And hell, I don't think Gariton's ever held a gun in his life."

"I'm sure you're right," Teresa agreed.  Not that she would really know.  Except sometimes people did surprise you with what they were capable of.  She had thought sometimes, 'what if, just once, I use that razor on Jimmy instead of myself?' But, of course, she never did.

Christie continued, but in a conspiratorial whisper.  "Besides, I know things.  Things that make it more likely somebody else did this.  Rondy was trying to slow them down, you know?  He was putting a monkey wrench in their little plan, and I think it may have pissed some of them off."

Teresa had no idea what she was talking about, but she didn't feel like she should interrupt.  She was unsure she wanted to find out anything that would drag her into this horrible murder case.

"I should tell the Sheriff more.  I know I should.  It might help with Gariton.  He shouldn't pay for what somebody else did.  But I also don't want to get them in trouble, because them includes my Daddy."

Teresa looked at Christie, a little shocked.  "Oh, I don't mean my Daddy did it," responded Christie, seeing the look on Teresa's face.  "He's just a part of that Compton Park Project."

Christie paused again, her mind whirring as to where to go next.  "There's a plant.  You mustn't tell anyone.  It was going to be the gold mine for Rondy and me.  Money!"  She punched out at the stall wall, suddenly angry.  "What good is that now?  What good is it if you wind up like Rondy, or even that teacher we found?"

Before she could stop herself, Teresa asked, "What teacher?"

Christie shook her head.  Maybe she realized she had gone too far, even with this wonderful friend she had found.  "I need to tell the Sheriff about that, don't I?  He needs to know.  What's the point of keeping it a secret anymore?  Who knows?  It might lead to Rondy's killer as well."

Christie fell silent.  After a few minutes, with Teresa holding Christie's hand, she stood up.  "Would you like to see the Sheriff??  Christie looked hesitant.  Teresa though she wanted to but was afraid.  "You don't have to go alone.  I'll go with you.  I'll stay with you until you don't need me anymore."

Christie slowly got up, looking at Teresa almost in awe.  "You would do that for me?"

"Absolutely," assured Teresa.

They hugged.  A mutual, simultaneous reaching out that went on for several minutes.

And then they left.  They were going to go see Sheriff Alan Steel.  Together.

How High the Pedestal?

America is obsessed with celebrity culture.  But it is also obsessed with the downfall of those same celebrities.  The grocery store counter is festooned with magazines that celebrates their triumphs and their failures.  The internet and cable news channels are littered with celebrity stories.  The cable news will literally dump a major news stories, about an international crisis or a natural disaster, to go to the trial or arrest of a fallen pop star.

Despite these warnings, we are still constantly putting up celebrities on pedestals that cannot possibly support them.  TV reality stars, like Paula Deen and Phil Robertson,say or do outlandish things.  Countless TV evangelists fall prey to greed and/or sexual misconduct.  Politicians of all stripes reveal their human weaknesses.

The most egregious of them reveal themselves not just to be subject to sinful impulses, as are we all, to one degree or another, but also as first-class hypocrites.  The very thing that they may be known for in public as standing in opposition to, or known for railing against, is the sin they themselves commit.

And so we come to the Duggars.  Part of that small group of humanity who have been elevated to reality star status, famous for a television show, this one constructed around the fact that they have a large family.  I believe it must be that they have nineteen children, or maybe it's more.  The name of their show is 19 and Counting, so I'm guessing there's at least nineteen.

Their claim to fame rests not just on the fact that they have this large family.  They also are well known for their socially conservative politics, including their wanting to limit the rights of the LGBT community.  They conflate the gay community with pedophilia, something that really has no association whatsoever.

The sad fact was that the abuse that they so loudly condemned was present in their own family.  Josh Duggar, one of their nineteen sons and daughters, confessed to molesting young girls, including some of his own sisters.  The parent's efforts at reporting these crimes were delayed, mixed and somewhat feeble.  They sent him to a friend's ranch to work on a building project for a few months, presumably as a kind of therapy.  The friend they sent him to later had to resign his position due to molestation accusations.  They sent him to a policeman they knew to talk to him about the consequences of his actions, and to help straighten Josh out.  That policeman can't help him anymore.  He is now in prison for child pornography charges.

Josh was only fourteen when these incidents occurred.  In my opinion, these actions still warranted sanctions.  But they also required proper therapy, love and support.  I don't know how valuable it is for this not to be dealt with legally and medically, instead of in the court of public opinion.  This shouldn't be a headline dominating story.  As awful as it may be, Josh and the family do not deserve to be piled on.

But, then again, we're not the ones with the reality TV show, making the family a fortune.  We're not the ones being hypocrites, accusing the LGBT community, without evidence or reason, of the very crimes that have been committed in your own family.

I think the family should be allowed to heal and deal with this.  I send them my thoughts and prayers to restore their family, and grow and learn.  They just don't need to have a national platform, a reality show, to do so.  They don't need to be listened to anymore when they hypocritically condemn others for crimes that they have committed and covered up within their own family.

Don't get me wrong.  It's not just conservatives who fall short.  My upset at 2008 Democratic Presidential candidate John Edwards could fill a whole other column.  He set himself up as the ultimate devoted family man, and his cruel betrayal of his beautiful wife, Elizabeth, went beyond the bounds of simple adultery.

As a Christian, I believe there is only one who didn't fall short.  One who was human and beyond human at the same time.  Only one whose life shines as an example to us all.

We can learn from others, admire others, respect others.  But we have to remember - they are human.  Be careful how high the pedestal is you put them on.  Because the higher you put them up, the harder it is going to be to watch the inevitable fall.

Make this a Special Weekend with I Never Saw Another Butterfly

A great community deserves great, varied theater.  It should involve many in the community and expose them to the arts, and the joy of working together to put on something amazing.  It should involve families, and it should help children gain confidence in themselves and their abilities.  It should make you feel something, help you share something.  Sometimes it is laughter.  Sometimes it is thrills and excitement.  Sometimes it is passion, empathy and caring.  Sometimes it should challenge you and make you think more deeply about things, about how you can be a better person, and how you can make society better.

I Never Saw Another Butterfly does all these things, and more.  A story about Jewish children during the Holocaust, it is a play that will leave you transformed.  I have seen a production of this that Flying Dragon did a year or so ago, and it is very affecting and very worthwhile to see.

Please note the times above, starting tonight at 7 PM, at the Flying Dragon Arts Center, on Tebeau Street next to the Downtown Sandwich Shoppe, in the old bus depot building.

Donations accepted (I encourage a hefty one).  This theater is doing good work.  They have spent blood, sweat and tears revitalizing their theater.  They are helping many children gain confidence and become better performers, and more importantly, better people.

And they are bringing, as part of their repertoire, magnificent socially conscious plays. 

Don't miss this production!

The End of the Middle School Era

Benjamin Sloan Strait with his end of the year certificates.

The adventure of middle school is now complete!

Benjamin finished three years at Pierce County Middle School last Friday.

He had some academic shakiness here and there, but overall, his average for all classes was well above 90, getting A's many, many more times than not.  In the picture above, he is holding up certificates for having all A's for the year in Science and Social Studies.  The other certificate is for being in Beta Club, which required an overall average of 90 or above.  To me, that is the most prestigious award, and I hope they have more like them in high school.  I feel like overall GPA is more important than an individual grade in any one class.  So maybe in high school there will be more of those kinds of awards.

Middle school is where Benjamin joined band, an increasingly important part of his life.  He plays the baritone, an instrument he chose in part because it was easier to play while he had braces (braces that have since come off!).  Band kicked it up a notch this last year when he got to join the pep band, playing at middle school sporting events.  He really enjoyed being a part of that.

Benjamin was a member of student council.  He kind of thought they spent a little too much time on fundraisers, and administrative support, but I think he liked it nonetheless.  I remember from my own school experience in school - student government can be interesting but also frustrating.  I hope that, despite his mixed feelings about it, that he continues with it in some fashion in high school.

Benjamin was involved in SNACK, a group that helped sample and rate new food recipes that were being considered for inclusion in the school lunch menu.  That's where watching the Food Network with his Mama became useful, as he could express his reaction to food in the most effusive terms. 

He joined the Movie Club, and became a part of an extraordinary achievement, the making of the film The Life of a Middle Schooler.  He played the second lead, the comic relief, and was very impressive.  He became that secondary character that everybody loved to see and watch.  They are in the process of trying to make the film accessible to more people, and I will keep Strait Line followers up to date as to how that process is going, and how and when you could see the film.

This summer, Benjamin will take our summer vacation with us, as we go to the Smokey Mountains, Mammoth Caves and Nashville.  Then later in the summer he will have his two week Robotics Camp at Georgia Tech.  Then he will have to catch up and learn the marching routines so he can be a part of marching band.

And that will bring him to the next big adventure - high school!

Will he be ready?  I believe he will!

Will Mama and Dad be ready?  Well, I guess we better, because......

Pierce County High School.....HERE COMES BENJERMAN!

Movie Trifecta!

Three movies.  Three days.

Kind of a new record for me!  At least a modern day record.

First up was Tomorrowland, which I saw with my son Benjamin.

I went to a writing seminar last summer that featured the award winning and New York times Bestselling author, Jack McDevitt.  One of the points of discussion with him was about the future direction of science fiction.  He felt like maybe the dystopian, post-apocalyptic thrust of much of our modern fiction. that was so dominating the market place, was finally playing itself out, and that there would be room for a re-emergence of a more optimistic. positive science fiction.

Tonorrowland represents that return to a more optimistic type of science fiction. Yes, there are adversities and warnings, but there is also a spirit that problems can be solved if people are inspired.  It certainly inspired my son, Benjamin.

Well acted and original, with imaginative set design and an exciting plot, I highly recommend this movie for the entire family.  Come and be inspired today!

Hard to believe that the best comedies made now are about college acapella glee clubs.  But they are.  I saw Pitch Perfect 2 with Alison, Benjamin and Doug.  

I am not a big fan of the TV show Glee, especially after the first season, but these are movies are everything that I hoped the TV show might be.

Yes, sometimes the humor is a little crass, but the whole spirit of the film is over-all infelicitous in ringing a smile to your face.   The musical numbers are great fun, especially a sing off in the middle of the film that includes as one of the competitors, the Green Bay Packers.

I had been in a glee club at the University of Michigan, one that had won an international competition the year before I joined.  So I suppose the film hits a little closer to me than it might with some.

I recommend this film to anybody who likes music and laughter.

Let me say right up front.  I'm not fond of car chase movies.  I've seen none of the Fast and Furious films.  But this movie, Mad Max Fury Road?  This movie is the grand exception that proves the rule.

I have rarely seen a movie as fast-paced as this one.  Yet you never lost the thread and purpose of what was going on in it.  The action was intense and close to the edge of going over the top, but never quite doing that.  Within the confines of the world that was created, it made the implausible seem plausible, allowing you to enjoy the film more.

And it was surprising for a movie with so much action, how much heart and soul was at the center of it.  In the midst of so much evil, chaos, and civilization's decline, you still saw the hope and promise of a more decent humanity.

Tom Hardy is very good as Mad Max, but what helps this film really rise to the top is the fabulous performance put in by Charlize Theron as Imperator Furiosa.  If there ever was a part where a woman wins the Best Actress Oscar for an action film, this one is it.

------------------------------------

The box office for the weekend went in the order that I have presented these three fine films.  Overall, it was the lowest amount made at the box office at Memorial Day weekend since 2001.  Tomorrowland, which finished first at 42 million, is being rated as a major disappointment, with the thinking that it should have made much, much more than that (it cost 180 million to make).  Sigh.  Maybe we aren't quite ready for a more optimistic science fiction after all.  But I hope not.  I encourage everyone within the sound of this post to give the movie a try.

Well, at least I know one thing that can't be blamed for the lack of box office this weekend - 

Me.

Betty's Confession

They were seated in the Cooper's parlor.  Sheriff Steel sat on a wing-back sofa, while Thomas Cooper sat in a straight back chair.  There was a large fireplace with an ornate mantle, filled with framed photographs, some of Thomas and his deceased wife, Elizabeth, but most were of Betty, their daughter.  Betty at various stages of her young life, from her being held as a baby, to a year ago, sitting atop a horse, the same horse she rode to an equestrian championship five years ago.  That trophy was at the center of the mantle.

It was clear that Thomas was proud of his daughter.  His wife died a decade ago, and Thomas had been raising Betty alone.  Betty was 13 at the time her mother died of ovarian cancer, just a teenage girl.  But she never was rebellious or defiant as many adolescent girls were.  She never went through a stage where she hated her father.

Alan Steel did not have any great expectations that he would discover much in talking with Betty.  He did not really think she had it in her to kill Rondy, no matter how much the cuckold had hurt her.  Thomas insisted he be there for the interview, and who was he to argue with that?  He had a great deal of respect for Thomas.  For all of Thomas's family standing and heritage, he did not behave as if he was part of an elite that was above everybody else, and could often be counted on to do the right thing, as he had done in getting Dabs Denison his military disability.  And he could not discount the help that Thomas's legal assistant, Ramona Adams, had provided.  If Thomas had common sense, he would do whatever he could to promote Ramona, and help her achieve her ambitions.

Betty came in with a plate of homemade cookies and a pot of coffee.  She offered some to her guest, and he politely took one and nibbled at the corner. "This is delicious, Betty!  Tastes like pecan pie!"  She smiled and found out how he wanted his coffee black with a little sugar.

I'll say this for him.  He certainly does look like a sheriff, right out of central casting, like a cross between Andy Griffith and Tommy Lee Jones.  And he is a nice man, always helpful to my Daddy.

Betty sat down at the end of the sofa that Sheriff Steel was sitting on.  She was petite and pretty, with platinum blonde hair, and wore a brightly colored dress, one that came to just below her knees.  "Now, what can I do for you, Sheriff?"

"I'm sorry to do it.  I know that it just happened, and the grief may be fresh, but I needed to talk to you some about Rondy," the Sheriff said, a look of compassionate understanding in his eyes.

Yes, let's do talk about Rondy.  Let's talk about what a special man he was and how tragic his loss is.  Let's talk about what it's like to give your heart and soul to someone, only to have him prefer to be with another man's wife.

"Of course, Sheriff," answered Betty, giving a reassuring pat to Alan's knee.  "It's a hard loss to recover from.  Rondy, for all his faults, meant a lot to me.  I'll be glad to help in anyway I can."

Rondy had meant a lot to me.  That was very true.  Who else loved him, even when I was a little girl, seeing the chubby little high school freshman, the ugly duckling that would not emerge from his cocoon until years later?  We were six years apart, me just eight to his fourteen, but even then I knew.  This was the boy I was going to love.  Could Christie say that?  Could she have fallen in love with him when he looked like nothing?  When he was insecure and nerdy?

"When did you find out about Rondy and Christie?"  Thomas objected to the question, but Betty swept it aside, with a hand gesture to her father, indicating it was okay, and that she would answer.

"Rondy had grown increasingly distant the last few months, but I thought it had to do with the Compton project.  I didn't know anything for sure until the fight with Gariton became public."

I knew.  I knew form the moment I saw him smile at her, over a year ago at the Dixon Community Awards Banquet.  I knew the way he looked at women when he was interested, and I knew the way she looked at him.  These were two forces of nature that would be compelled to create their own storm.

In a way, it wasn't really Rondy's fault.  When he was in high school, he couldn't get a girl to give him the time of day.  I would have, but I was still too young.  He didn't get his full looks and charm until law school.  And how do you behave when all of a sudden the attention you craved from women is yours just by snapping your finger?

"And how did that make you feel?" Sheriff Steel tried to take a sip of the coffee, but it was still too hot.  Maybe he should have added some cream.

"You're not implying that my daughter was angry enough to kill Rondy, are you, Alan?" asked Thomas Cooper.  Even in his own home, Thomas was dressed as if he was going to court, in a dapper navy blue suit, even a light blue handkerchief sticking out of his pocket in a perfect triangle.  "I really resent that kind of questioning."

"Please, Daddy.  I don't mind answering whatever the Sheriff has to ask.  We all need to do what we can to help him get to the bottom of this terrible incident," said Betty.  "And how did I feel?  The same way I do now.  I was very hurt and disappointed.  We were engaged, after all.  But there was side of Rondy that I tried to ignore, a side that showed that his love for me was not as great as mine.  And as much as that hurt, I had to understand.  We weren't married yet, and you can't hold people prisoner.  You can't turn people into what they're not, no matter how hard you wish it otherwise."

He cut out my heart.  He cut it out and he stomped on it.  He made me feel like my life's devotion to him was worthless.

Maybe it was partly my fault.  I wasn't the 'bad girl'. I did not have a naughty, nasty side.  I was too sweet and giving.  I should have been played harder to get.  But I just didn't have a mean, cruel bone in my body.

At least, I didn't.

They talked more, the sheriff gently trying to find out about the nature of her relationship with Rondy.  Then he had to ask where she was the night of the murder.

"Here, with my father,'' Betty replied.

"I can verify that, Alan," chimed in Thomas.

Yes, as far as Daddy knew, I was home.  But Daddy falls asleep.  Daddy doesn't always know where I am every minute.

"What about Rondy's house?  When was the last time you were over there?" the Sheriff asked.  He was finally able to take a stronger gulp of coffee.

"I hadn't been there since Gariton confronted him," Betty said.  "Well, I did move some stuff out the next day.  But that was it. I gave him his key back the day after that.  I gave it to him when he was in the Honey Dew, at one of his Lunch Bunch gatherings."

I gave him the key back in front of plenty of witnesses.  Well, I kind of more threw it at him than gave it to him.  It was funny watching that waitress, Franny, duck at the other side of the table, as if my flung key was going to hit her.

But Thomas Cooper did not raise a fool.  I kept a copy of the key for myself.  And I had been there several times.  Times when I knew neither one of them were there.  I went there, not knowing what to do.  One time I went into the bedroom and just sat at the edge of the bed, trying to tell if my smell was gone.  And it was gone.  All I could smell was her.  The odor of their sex, the distinct aroma of her sickening raspberry vanilla perfume, hung about the bed. I ran out in tears.

Sheriff Steel didn't pursue establishing that up until that time, she had been pretty much living with Rondy.  That was fairly clear, and there was no need to embarrass Thomas like that.  He could get the specifics on that later if he needed to.

"Are you sure you haven't been there in the last few weeks?" the Sheriff asked.

"No, Sheriff Steel.  I have not," replied Betty, a little uncertain.  Was she hiding something, or not clear in her memory.  Alan wasn't sure.  He was good at reading people, and the non-verbals here were definitely mixed.

"I'm a little confused.  A neighbor said you approached the house the day before the murder.  They're not mistaken, are they?  Did you go there that day?"

Betty touched her forehead, as if a revelation was coming to her.  "Oh, yes.  I thought you meant inside the house.  Yes, I did come there that day.  I intended to return some books and CDs of his I had found, but there was no one there.  I should have known better, that there would be no one there, but I guess I was in a bit of a haze.  I was in a cleaning mood and just forgot about the time."

I was in a mood, that's for sure.  In a mood to break into his house and smear that bed with blood, blood from my own body.

"Did you leave the books and CDs?"  The Sheriff knew that if she did, Christie did not report finding them.

"No.  I took them back with me.  I had thought I would give it to him later," Betty said, choking up a bit.  It was striking her hard, the Sheriff thought. She would never be able to give them to Rondy now.

"Did you notice a box on the porch?"

"A box?  I don't recall."

"Yes.  Gariton had left a box full of things for Christie earlier that morning."

Betty appeared to be trying to recollect. "Maybe.  You may be right.  But honestly, I didn't take particular note of it."

The hell I didn't.  How could I resist Pandora's Box?

"There were some things that Gariton claims he packed in that box that Christie insists she never found.  The missing items included, and I apologize to you both for saying this, but I'm just trying to be exact, some porn tapes, and more importantly, a gun."

A gun?" asked Betty.  "You mean the gun Gariton used to kill Rondy with?  That's horrible!  But, no, I'm sorry.  I don't know anything about what might have been in that box.  Perhaps Gariton lied to you about what he put in there."

My plans changed when I opened that box.  I saw those awful DVDs, including one titled Betty Does Archie. Disgusting. I also found that gun, careful to only handle it with a handkerchief.

I tossed the DVDs into a nearby dumpster.  I kept the gun.

The Sheriff sighed.  "Perhaps he did."  He finished a last swallow of coffee.  It got better as it cooled. 

I saw his car there that night.  I had hoped maybe Christie was with him.  But no such luck.  He was alone.

He didn't seem at first to realize the seriousness of what he was doing.  When it finally sunk in, he groveled.  He said he was sorry, that he should not have let Christie's aggression in moving in on him get the better of him.  He was over Christie and her shallowness, and he wanted desperately to return to me.

Oh, my.  The things men will say at the point of a gun.  Sincere or not, it was too late.  The damage had been done.

I shot him in the heart and watched him bleed.

It wasn't my blood that I covered him with, drenching his traitorous bed.  It was his blood, in his own office.  The office where he had pretended to be loyal to my Daddy.  The office where he had told me he loved me.  It was his blood.

The sheriff got up to leave.  "Thank you both.  I'm sorry to dredge up stuff like this, but we have to check all our p's and q's, you know.  If I have anything else, I'll let you know."

Wait.  He wasn't shot in the heart.  He was shot in the head.

That's right.  I shot him in the head, not the heart.  I wanted to take out the brain that came up with all his cheating nastiness.

And he didn't beg for mercy.  He laughed at me.  He said he was going to marry Christies as soon as she was free from that milquetoast Gariton.  So I shot him in the head, ending his ability to think of such crap.  Never again.

It was his blood.  Leaking from the hole in his forehead. 

And it was his brains, splattered against the back of his chair.

The Sheriff shook Thomas's hand, and then went over to shake Betty's.  But she hugged him instead.  "I understand, Sheriff," she said to him, gently clutching him.  "It's a very hard thing to absorb, but Daddy has taught me, life goes on."

Just not Rondy's; thank you, sweet Jesus.

"You let me know if you think of or hear of anything else, y'hear?"  Thomas and Betty nodded to Sheriff Alan, and he left.

Let you know of anything else?  I think not!  Let you know I killed that cheating bastard?  Hell, no!

But I didn't.  I'm just dreaming.  I wish that I had.  Sometimes, I think I really did.

I took that gun, yes.  But I threw it in the same dumpster as the DVDs.  Who got it from there, I don't know.  It probably wasn't Gariton.  Why would he go to the trouble of leaving it on Rondy's porch, only to later retrieve it from a dumpster?

I don't know, and I don't think I will help the Sheriff figure it out.  Would Gariton pay for a crime he didn't commit?  I don't know.  Part of me doesn't care.  He should have kept Christie on a shorter leash.

But I would like to know who did it.  Not to see them prosecuted, though.

I would just love to shake their hand.

Senseless Deprivation

Do not speak

Keep your silent heart
To the grindstone of revelation

Do not see

Close your shadowed eyes
To the prayerless intentions

Do not hear

Cover your pointed ears
To no longer innocent reinventions

Do not taste

Insulate your granulated tongue
To a spicemint sensation

Do not feel

Glove your tender fingers
To  be lacking infused appreciation

You do not know
You do not care
Your muted senses
You speak see hear taste feel no more

Making it to Carnegie Hall

I made it to Carnegie Hall!

Yes, I performed at Carnegie Hall!

Perhaps that doesn't have the impact it once did, but it used to be pretty special to say you made it to Carnegie Hall in New York City.

For two years, I was in the University of Michigan Men's Glee Club.  It was a very prestigious organization, having won the International Men's Glee Cub Competition a year or two before I joined.

It was a bit of a fluke that I got accepted.  The student director of the band was a Bridgeport High School alum who had been a year ahead of me in school.  His first name was Mark, but I have forgotten his last name.  He was big in the school band, and had remembered my musical performance in Superman, and my freakishly high audition song of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, which I sang a couple octaves too high.

They needed first tenors, and he encouraged me to try out.  You were required to know how to sight read, which I could not, but they were so desperate for high tenors, that they kind of waved that requirement.  And for better or worse, I could definitely sing up there in the clouds.

The group would tour the country each year, and we would perform at different venues.  We did one tour to the Mid-Atlantic, New York City and New England, and another tour to the South.  It was my first trip to Atlanta, and we performed at Ebenezer Baptist Church, the church where Martin Luther King, Jr. had preached.

There are many stories of my time on these trips, some of them quite wild.  But this one is about my quasi-triumphant debut at Carnegie Hall.

We did a huge variety of songs, from many genres and types, including Broadway.  That year we did Gee, Officer Krupke from West Side Story.  In the song, several 'juveniles' take the role of  different people trying to explain the bad behavior of the gang members to policeman Officer Krupke.  I sang the last one.  I sang it as if I were a 63 year old female social worker.

I am lousy at remembering lyrics, but these stand out to me.  What I sang:

Gee, Officer Krupke, you've done it again!
This boy don't need a job - he needs a year in the pen!
It ain't just a question of misunderstood
Deep down inside him - he's no good!

It was done in a very high voice, with the crag and rhythm of an elderly female New Yorker, ending in a loud shriek.  The audience ate it up.  They interrupted the song to applaud me, the only time in the concert that they applauded before the song was over.

I knew something important had happened, but I was too young to fully absorb it.  Yes, it was a bit of a fluke.  It was my comedy and daring that they were applauding, not my tremendous singing talent. But it was special enough.

That night, we returned to our hotel rooms.  The others in my room must have went out, and I was left alone.  And I was hit with an overwhelming sadness and depression. I had this great moment, and there was no one from home to share it with.  I think I may have tried to call home, but this was in the day before cells, and hotels in New York City charged a small fortune to call out.  So my parents did not see it.  No one from home did.  I had a girlfriend that was slipping away, and I couldn't impress her with what I did.

I had reached the pinnacle of my young life, and I was lost.  What did it all mean?  I did not know.  Right or wrong, I cried alone in my room.

It was a big, emotional moment, but I felt alone and unable to figure out how to share it, or follow up on it.  What do I do next?  Or was that it?  Was that as big as I got?

As I've aged, I have enjoyed many times that connection with an audience.  No, I've never done anything truly "big" with it. Oftentimes, when a play is done, I still go through that same let down.  I don't entirely know why.

You won't find me on TV or the movies.  I will almost certainly never get back to Carnegie Hall.

But I was there once.

For one brief shining moment, I was there.

Farewell to Dub For Now

It is time.  Time to set aside my redneck ways.  Well, at least until next season of WACT (Waycross Area Community Theater).

Dub Dubberly was a joy to play, and a very interesting kind of redneck he was.  If you didn't see the play, maybe you can catch the sequel this coming Christmas season, when WACT will put on Christmas Belles.

WACT in fact is doing two more southern comedies next season, just as it did the season just ended (The Dixie Swim Club, which I directed and the just concluded Dearly Beloved).  In addition to Christmas Belles, the first play of the season will be The Beverly Hillbillies.

Yes, I do wish WACT would do a wider variety of plays than just Southern comedies and family musicals.  But we are, after all, in the South, and box office is important.

It would be nice to see a few more socially conscious plays done at WACT.  The last one was two seasons ago, Driving Miss Daisy, which, of course, was set in the South.  My dream play has always been Inherit the Wind (ALSO set in the South), but that is probably not to be.  Not only does it have social/religious problems, it has a very large cast of male actors.

But not every theater can do everything that a community needs.  Flying Dragon Arts Center offers more support and training for children.  It offers a place where kids can learn and grow in a positive environment.  Every child can get their chance to shine.  Trembling Earth productions offer a greater little theater experience, where a small troupe of actors present a high level of professionalism.

And a new group is emerging, the Purlie Victorious Players, that will perform more socially conscious plays in The Studio at the Okefenokee Heritage Center.

There are groups that specialize more in dance, and others provide lessons for acting or modeling or music.

The school systems in the area have vibrant drama programs that offer first rate entertainment.  Pierce County is almost always highly competitive in One Act Competition.  Ware County puts on rollicking full-scale musical each year.

My son joined a film club at his middle school, and put together a marvelous film, The Life of A Middle Schooler.

So when you look at the entire theater scene of our little area, it is much richer and varied than at first glance, and one that I and my family are proud to be a part of.

Post Play Partums

That's me in the background, ol' Dub, with our marvelous Director, Stanley Sinkfield.  He did a wonderful job of bringing out the best of us, and in helping craft an amazingly rich and funny show that was enjoyed by everyone who saw it.

One of the area's finest young actors, Jody Rollins, played a combination UPS/Preacher man.  Here he is doing one of the things he did best in the play, consuming more food.  Also are the Futrelle sisters, played with pizazz by Nikki Spivey (Twink), Nadine Borrelli (Honey Raye) and Mamie Jackson (Frances Ann).

Nadine Borrelli (Honey Raye) is seated, and standing is Brittany Peacock (Gina Jo/Tina Jo), who played both of my twin daughters in the play.  Her performance was amazing, highlighted by one of the best non-verbal performances I've seen in theater, which was her putting in place and then unfurling a very special sign.

Here I am, Dub Dubberly, down on my knees, proposing to my wife in the play, played with aplomb, style and talent by Mamie Jackson.

Nikki Spivey (Twink)  with out armed superstar, Darren Council as policeman John Curtis (Dub's best friend).  Darren literally stole the show with his breathtaking talents.  The scenes I had with him were a true joy, acting and reacting to the things he would do.  Darren is leaving soon to seek acting jobs in LA, and I fully expect many of you will be seeing a lot more of him very soon.


It's not always easy when a play ends.

It takes up a large portion of your life, and you become bonded with many of the people involved.

You spend every night with these people for two weeks.  You get energy and empathy from the audiences, and for awhile, you are somebody else, somebody in another time and place.

And then it all comes crashing to a halt.  The play is over.  The set is dismantled.  The people you spent so much time with disperse, some you never hear from again, and others you only see until the next play.

For me, the May plays and their busy times spin directly out of tax season, so I go from being very busy with work, to being very busy with the play, and then....it's all over and you are left with the reality that you are not really an actor.  You're a mid-level accountant in a small firm.

So it does take some adjustment, coming back down to Earth.  But there is family.  There is writing,  And a DVR that is overflowing with programs to catch up on.

But, as busy as it was, will I miss the stage lights?  Will I miss the connection with cast, crew and audience?

You betcha!

Cutting the Three Legged Stool: Saturday Political Soap Box 106

It ain't easy any more.

For a few brief shining decades, it all kinda worked.

The stool had been built, and it was fairly sturdy.

The first leg was a defined benefit plan through an employer.  Not everyone had one, but there were quite a few, and they were growing.  Many large companies offered very good plans that provided significant support to the employees that gave so much to make their companies successful.

The second leg was your own savings and investments.  Many people made decent, middle class salaries that allowed them to develop their own portfolios.  It was relatively easy for many to take 10% or so of what they made and set it aside into some kind of investment.  There was some risk involved, but wise investments would pay off with supportive if not always spectacular results.

The third leg was SSI.  Social Security Insurance.  Every worker in our society put in a portion of their wages, and it insured that they would be taken care of with a guaranteed retirement income the rest of their lives.  Because it was an INSURANCE program, some people received more in benefits than they put in.  Some received less.  But all were guaranteed support.

The result was that elderly poverty, once a serious problem in this country, was virtually a thing of the past.  Grandma and Grandpa could lead independent, comfortable lives  rather than abandoned or put in a back room of one of their younger family's homes.

But only a few decades after it was assembled, it is now all coming apart.

The defined benefit plan is becoming a thing of the past.  Fewer and fewer employers offer it.  As CEOs raid their company's pension trust fund for other things, they complain that they can no longer afford to provide them, that they are not actuarially  sound.  Is that true?  In some cases, as companies down size and reduce/freeze wages, it may be true.  But there is always ways to fix things and take care of people.  They simply, more and more often, choose not to go that route.  Eliminating and reducing pensions is a way to make their stock more appealing on Wall Street.

Public plans, for state and federal workers, are not faring much better.  People employed privately see the gravy that public employees get and become jealous and angry.  And rather than demand that private employers do better, they want to drag the public employees down to their level.

Investments are becoming harder to maintain.  As wages stagnant and costs rise, it becomes harder and harder to save.  A few decades ago GM was the largest employer, and they paid $20 or more an hour.  Now Walmart is the major employer and the average wage is just a buck or two above minimum wage (if that).

401ks and SIMPLE retirement plans have replaced the defined benefit plan in many places.  Employers match a certain percentage of what employees set aside, most commonly 3%.  But at the level of income that most people have, even if they successfully manage to shepherd the money into retirement, it does not provide adequate support compared to the other two legs.

And I have seen through my tax accounting experience, that many individuals take out this money long before retirement.  It is hard to resist when other needs and emergencies come up.  Many even take it out when they know they will have to pay a high marginal tax rate on it AND a 10% penalty.

Social Security still exists but it is under siege. Conservatives and others stress constantly over it's presumed shortfall that may occur decades from now.  They want to reduce it, raise the retirement age, and/or privatize it.  Really?  At the same time the other two legs are being cut off, you also want to wreck the one thing that is working?  How sad and dangerous.

As costs rise for Seniors, particularly in drug and housing/nursing home costs, we're seriously thinking about capping or cutting what they get?  As more and more of us have to rely on Social Security as our major support, we're going to whack this leg too?

We're going to raise the retirement age because people live longer?  What horse crap!  Those who do the hardest work for the lowest wages are often broken and/or disabled long before the advantaged class.  And those are the people that will be hit the hardest by an increase in retirement age.

Social Security is vital.  It must not be cut.  It must be expanded.  It must become the strongest leg of our stool, because like it or not, it may have to hold the weight of things virtually by itself.

Defined benefit plans are rapidly becoming a thing of the past.  People will need to invest in their employer's SIMPLE plan, or for the self employed, IRAs for one leg of the stool.  They will have to devise their own investments for leg two.  But until wages improve, these legs will never be as healthy as they should be.

The third leg should be a healthy and generous Social Security Insurance program,, one that grows and expands as needs increase, and as the fragility of the other two legs remains.  Still worried about the fiscal stability of the Social Security system?

First, stop laughing at people like Al Gore for using the term lockbox.  Social Security should be strictly off limits except for the purpose it was designed for.

Second, and most importantly, SCRAP THE CAP.  Do not cap wages and income subject to Social Security at $118,000 or so as it is now.  Let it go to the sky.  Trust me.  The wealthy can handle it, and it provides them and us with a lot more stable society.  Seniors with money are Seniors who spend more.  Spending more increases demand and boosts the economy,  Boosting the economy creates more jobs.  More jobs creates more people contributing to social Security.  It's a win...win...win and win.

Secure the stool.

Scrap the cap!

You'll Need a Flowchart

Home is where the DVR is.  At least for Deputy Davis Gorland.  He liked nothing better than to come home from a hard day at the Sheriff's office, turn on his 52 inch flat screen, and plunge into the world of his DVRed programs.  All of his favorites ready and waiting.  He'd bring in a glorious raft of comfort foods, and be ready for hours of his favorite shows.  Eventually, he would fall asleep; most often when he was watching a recording of yesterday's The Tonight Show (loved that Jimmy Fallon!).  But no problem!  He simply would not delete that episode, and finish watching it the next day.

Sometimes Davis got lonely.  Sometimes he wishes he had someone to share it all with.  But what if they had different taste in television?  What if they didn't like television at all? 

He thought of his sister and her convoluted brood, and he thought, maybe it isn't so bad to walk alone.  Or couch alone, as his case may be. 

When he was just starting out on the force, some fifteen years ago, and he was about fifty pounds lighter (still making him about two hundred and fifty), he thought he might have something going with Mary Sweat, a sweet, petite young thing who didn't mind cuddling in front of the TV.  But she was pushing marriage faster than he wanted, and so she broke things off, and within a few months she married Joe Easter.  And now she had five kids, a whole basketball team.  She was still sweet but no longer petite.  Of course, there was nothing really he could say about that.  He would say this about the Easter family - at least they were all still together.  You couldn't say that about a lot of the families around here, especially his sister's.  Danielle's family was so complicated, you almost felt like you needed a flowchart to keep track of it.

Having spent the day managing the department while his boss, Sheriff Alan Steel, investigated the bizarre Rondy Strickland killing, Davis wanted nothing more to crawl on to his couch with a huge bucket of fried chicken from The Chicken Hut, and start binge watching Breaking Bad.  But he wasn't going to do that.  He was going to be a good son and visit his Daddy, something he tried to do once a week.

He would have loved to have his father come stay with him at his duplex, but with his job, it would have been impossible to give him the time and attention he needed.  Daddy had bad emphysema and was on an oxygen tank most of the time.  The truth was his sister, Danielle, didn't work, and was able to spend more time with him.  And if she didn't, one of her cavalcade of children and step-children could step up and fill in.  And he also thought, as much as it pained him, that Daddy liked it there better.  There was so much more going on at Danielle's trailer, so much more than the long hours of quiet at Davis's duplex, punctuated only by the sounds and glow from the boob tube.

He pulled into the trailer park.  Danielle's mobile home was near the front, and it was the largest one there.  It needed to be, with the number of people she had coming in and out of it.  It was like two double wides combined, or seemed that way.  There certainly was nothing "mobile" left about it.  It was never going anywhere ever again.

Sandy Harley and Digger Crowley were sitting out at a picnic table in front of the trailer, on a makeshift patio near the front door.  They each were downing a Busch, and had several empties on the table.  They were engaged in some involved conversation that quieted when Sandy saw Davis approaching.  "Hey, Deputy Dawg!" teased Sandy.  "How's it hanging?  You guys got enough yet to fry that little Hollander fellow?"

Sandy was Danielle's step son through her marriage to Randy Harley.  Randy was no longer in the picture, killed three years ago in a botched drug raid in Bacon County.  He was one of the criminals, and to be honest, Davis did not mourn his loss.  He was a violent man, and he was afraid for Danielle and her kids the entire time he was around.

"We're still looking into it, Sandy.  These things often take time," answered Davis.  Actually, he was confused by what the Sheriff was doing.  They had arrested Gariton Hollander for the murder, but the Sheriff was completely undisturbed by Christie Delco Hollander making the little guy's bail, and it almost seemed like Sheriff Steel was using him like a consultant.  It was a weird case, but even so, Davis regretted not being more involved.

Danielle opened up the screen door and came out to give Davis a big hug.  She was of sturdy frame, but just big, not overweight like Davis.  She could barely get her arms around Davis's girth.  She'd had a hard life, with many ups and downs, bur she retained a kind of steely beauty.  Her hair was dyed dirty blonde, and was layered and shoulder length.  She was wearing a tank top, and her upper arm tattoo of a unicorn riding a rainbow was easily seen, unlike some of her other tattoos, some of which Davis was grateful he had only heard of and had never seen.

"Well, well, hey there, baby bro!  Come to see me or Daddy?" she slyly queried.

Davis knew the right answer to this.  He had heard it often enough.  "Why, both of you, of course!"

"Well, don't just hang in the doorway!  Stop letting the flies in and come on inside!"  Even though it was only February, it had warmed up enough to turn on the flying insects.  He was grateful he wasn't out dredging the swamp right now for Kayak Kelly.

He came in and saw the Gorland twins sitting on the sofa watching TV in nothing but their underwear.  Sammy was sucking his thumb, and when Roland saw Davis out of the corner of his eye, he quickly removed his hand from his underwear.  Davis didn't even want to think about that.  They were watching Maury Povich with some neanderthalic guests getting paternity tests or something.  The caption on the screen read "Who's Your Daddy?'  Davis freely admitted he was a TVholic, but he at least did not sit around watching crap TV in his underwear.

"Hey, Roland!  Hey, Sammy!" said Davis.  The Gorland twins did not even look up from their program.  The twins were children Danielle had after her first marriage but before her second.  She insisted they have her maiden  name, so Davis could only sigh inwardly when he thought those two would be the ones to carry forward the Gorland last name.

Seated at the kitchen table were Danielle's two daughters from her first husband, Charlie Kapok.  Susi Kapok sat doing her nails, the smell of her fresh polish wafted across the trailer.  The older daughter was also there, Cissy Kapok.  Both girls were lush figures, large breasted and barely contained within their clothes.  Susi had been recently seen off and on with Bobby Ray, the injured high school quarterback, who was struggling in his recent relationship with Racine Steel.  Davis felt like Susi was a pretty girl, with some intelligence, who could achieve so much more if she just presented herself better and focused more on her schoolwork.  Anyways, she was the friendliest of the kids to him, so maybe that just made him partial to her.

Cissy was holding a baby, the most recent addition to Danielle's clan.  Little Denise Gorland, less than a year old, was being fed a bottle by Cissy.  Danielle, having birthed Denise at age 38, was tight lipped about who the father was.  Davis knew she was hanging out some with Billy Heart a year ago, but she wasn't on Maury Povich, so there would be no proving paternity tests.  Davis really didn't care for her involvement with Billy Heart, what with the slight taint of marijuana that always hung about Billy, but even Davis had to admit that Billy was not dangerous, especially when compared to Randy Harley.  Sometimes Davis wished that if Danielle just had to get involved with a Harley, she had chosen Roger instead.  Roger Harley was the Vice Principal at the high school, and had successfully risen above the violent roots of his family.  But alas, Danielle was never attracted to the responsible ones.  She had never really grown out of her bad boy stage.

He heard the toilet flush, and little three old Debbie Reese came out proudly, skipping and dancing at the brilliant job she had done, successfully using the potty.  "Mama! Mama!  I wash-ed my hands too!"  She held up her hands to her Mama.  They were still wet and dripping.

"You such a good girl!" said her mother, still holding the baby.  Debbie was a child that Cissy had when she was just sixteen.  Davis was sure whose it was, even if the world outside of the family didn't know.  It was why Davis had to come late one night and give Randy Harley an ultimatum.  Get out of the house or get arrested.  Randy left, and was killed in that drug raid three months later.

Five months into the pregnancy, Cissy married eighteen year old Eddie Reese (Skipper's older brother), claiming a prior relationship that would cover the time of the conception.  The marriage lasted only six months, and Cissy rejoined Danielle's clan.

Davis walked to the bedroom farthest from the kitchen, at the very end of the mobile home.  Danielle was sweet enough to give Daddy the master bedroom.  Daddy had his own TV back there, but most of the time he just liked listening to the family.  His vision wasn't so good, but his hearing was still sharp.  When he wasn't listening to the family, he liked to play his radio (he was a big fan of the Atlanta Braves), and an old record player he had, listening to old, scratchy LPs.

Daddy was sitting in a big old Lazy Boy lift chair.  He started to get up to greet his son, but Davis got there in time to hug Daddy before he could get up.  Daddy was on oxygen, his nose and lip slightly red from the chafing of the tubes.  "Hello, Davis!  Good to see you, son!" He looked Davis over carefully, from head to toe.  "Why, Davis, you're looking good.  I swear you've lost a few pounds!  You lose any more and you're gonna have every unhitched gal from here to Waycross coming after you!"  Daddy used to be a much heavier man, not quite Davis's weight but still two hundred or more.  Now his flesh just hung loosely, draped across his frail frame.

Davis smiled a little grin.  "Thank you, Daddy.  But I'm afraid I'm as fat as ever.  You're gonna make me worry about your eyesight!"

Daddy got Social Security and a hard earned pension from the railroad.  He gave the management of his money over to Danielle, and as far as Davis could tell, she had not abused it.  Danielle supported everyone with a mix of Social Security, Disability checks and food stamps.  He had mixed feelings about all that, but she was taking care of a lot of people, and wasn't that an important job too?  Even Sandy and Bandy Harley, as nasty as they were, contributed to the finances.  Bandy worked at the paper mill, and brought in what he could, even though he lived apart from them.  Sandy gave money from some of the odd jobs he did for the slumlord Archie Crowley (how odd Davis didn't want to look at too closely).

They talked for almost an hour, mostly about the Braves, and some inquiries about how other people he knew in Crowley were doing, about the weather, and planning a trip to go fishing soon. It was a good visit, and Davis didn't regret missing a chance to binge watch his shows. 

He gave Daddy a cautious hug, trying not to hurt him.  How many more times, Davis wondered.  How many more visits would there be?  He would strive to cherish each one.

As he hugged him, Daddy said, "Them boys is up to something."

Davis pulled back a bit, and looked at Daddy, slightly puzzled.  "What boys?"

"Sandy and Digger.  I hear them talking.  They up to something.  Something about the swamp and a project of some kind.  Something about a man that's missing.  Something about a Kayak."

Davis's blood ran cold.  "Don't worry about it, Daddy.  But if you hear anything else, let me know.  I'll take care of it."

"You a good man, Davis.  You make me proud," Daddy said.  "I know I'm an old man and it's prone to make me too mushy, but I ain't too proud to say it.  I love you, son.  God bless you.  God bless you and Danielle."

Davis said quick goodbyes to everyone else.  As he stepped out of the trailer, he spoke to Sandy and Digger.  "You boys been talking about a Kayak?  You know something you need to tell me?"

Sandy scowled.  "I don't care whether you a cop pig or not.  You got no business eavesdropping on us."

Digger tried to be more polite.  "Oh, Deputy, you know us.  We're just a crazy pair of good ol' boys.  We're just thinking about how much fun it might be to kayak out in the swamps, maybe bring a couple of wild young things with us."

Davis cleared his throat, and said as authoritatively as he could, "Now, if you boys know anything about what happened to Kayak Kelly, you need to do the right thing and come forward."

Sandy laughed, sneering, "To you, ol' Uncle Deputy Dawg?  I wouldn't tell you boo for snot.  I wouldn't give you the time of day."

Digger, the redneck diplomat, said, "Sandy's funning you.  Don't you worry, sir.  Whatever we know, you'll know."

Deputy Davis Gorland left his sister's mixed up family.  In the back of his mind he thought, maybe I have something to contribute to one of Dixon County's most baffling cases.

And if he did, would it further blast apart his fragile family?

He might not need to binge watch Breaking Bad tonight after all.  Things might be doing that already.