by J. C. Sasser
Sonny Joe looked in the rearview mirror. “Fuck,” he said. He looked like shit. His eyes were bloated and bloodshot, and the stubble on his face made him look dirtier than usual. He spat on his palm, and the whole way to town he tried to iron the cowlick down. He stopped at the Rite Aid, lifted a bottle of gel, and used it to finally get his hair to go flat.
He parked the truck in front of the Old Spivey house and got that feeling he always got when he came anywhere near that girl. His stomach hollowed and filled up with a thousand beating wings. He wasn’t scared of much, but there was something about Gradle that spooked his nerves.
“You gonna get out?” Ceif asked. He pulled the handle with the hook of his cane and pushed Sonny Joe’s door open.
They walked to the porch. The swing, decorated like a grave with wilted swamp lilies, creaked and swung in a wind that wasn’t there. But it wasn’t the home’s creepiness that scared him, it was rather the thought that when Gradle came to the door, she would look at Ceif first.
His palms began to water. He grabbed the bundle of swamp lilies from the swing, shook the rain from their petals, and held them against his heart as he positioned himself in front of the beveled glass door.
“Don’t you think that’s a little desperate?” Ceif asked.
“I should’ve left you at home.” He knocked on the door. A hawk moth fluttered past his ear, and he flinched as it tickled his lobe and left wing-dust on his shoulder.
“You nervous?” Ceif asked.
“Shut up midget,” he said. He nudged Ceif’s cane, forcing him off balance.
He cupped his hand and stared through the glass. Darkness flooded the long hallway except at its end where a square of light shown through the back door’s window. He knocked again, but nobody came.
“She must be hungover,” he said, and as he walked down the porch steps, the front door creaked open.
“Where is she?” Grandpa came out on the porch with a shotgun in his hand. He looked beat up. His wifebeater was dirty and stretched, and his suspenders hung down to the knees of the same funky plaid pants he wore at Jimmy’s the night before. A bruise yellowed one of two swollen eyes. His hair was like a rat’s nest.
“We thought she’d be here,” Sonny Joe said.
“She’s not here,” he said, walking down the porch steps. The man grabbed him by the front of the shirt and shook. “Where is she?”
“If I knew she wasn’t here, I sure in the hell wouldn’t be here.” Sonny Joe ripped his shirt out of the man’s hands. “No wonder she’s all fucked up,” Sonny Joe said, and got into his truck.
Ceif climbed into the cab and lit a cigarette. “You’re fucked up.”
“We’re all fucked up.” He threw the swamp lilies on the dash and revved the engine. “I bet I know where she is,” he said, punched Delvis’s cassette tape in the jam box, and skidded out of the yard, flinging blades of grass at the old man who probably would have kicked his ass or killed him if he’d stayed a minute longer.
Sonny Joe rolled the truck to a slow stop and took a rip from his cigarette. Its tip glowed russet like the sun setting behind a stand of pine. Smoke snaked from his mouth as he watched Delvis’s door, hoping Gradle might pick up his scent and walk out any minute to greet him.
“How you reckon we get her to come out?” he asked, inhaling his smoke.
“Firecrackers,” Ceif said, and tucked a cigarette behind his ear for later.
“We ain’t got to worry ‘bout his dog no more,” Sonny Joe said. Smoke filled his lungs as he stared at the empty doghouse and the white cross that marked a grave.
A gun fired in the distance. They jumped, and the cherry of Sonny Joe’s cigarette broke off and singed a hole in the knee of his jeans. He saw Gradle in that green dress appear from behind the house, and it gave him the tickles. She walked to a wooden sawhorse topped with Coke cans and mason jars, one of which a bullet had just busted through. She picked up the busted jar and smiled back at Delvis who was walking her way with three jars in his hand.
Sonny Joe revved the engine, and it drew her attention as designed. She signaled Delvis to wait and moved through the weeds in his direction. Tufts of dandelion floated above her bare feet like some kind of magical fume. She wore a holster and had a gun in her hand. She was natural with it.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked.
His groin swelled. “Hunting you,” he said, trying to figure out what was different about her. She had always been beautiful, but he had never seen her beauty so flagrant.
“I like your hair,” Ceif said, removed his hat, and handed her the wilted bundle of swamp lilies Sonny Joe had tried to steal as his own.
Sonny Joe got a whiff of the flowers and Ceif’s stink. He wanted to smack the shit out of him.
“Thanks,” she said. Her hand caressed the back of her naked neck. “Delvis cut it.”
“He cut off your good luck charm too?” Sonny Joe asked, nodding at her ear.
She thumbed the naked lobe of her ear. “I lost it,” she said.
“Lucky you,” Sonny Joe said. He took a rip off his cigarette. “What’s with the gun?”
She popped the chamber open, spun the revolver, and snapped it closed. “Delvis is giving me lessons. In case I need to fend off dirty outlaws such as yourself.”
“I’m through takin’ this mess from you outlaws!” Delvis yelled from the backyard. He ran toward the truck, stopped halfway, jumped in the air and did a twirling kick. “This is private property! Ain’t no trespassin’ allowed!” He sprinted toward Gradle, scooped her in his arms, and carried her like a bride to the porch. He laid her on the red booth, grabbed the pistol from her hand, and came back through the yard, his legs lunging and his arms frozen straight out in front of him as if pretending to be some kind of movie spy.
Sonny Joe didn’t know whether to laugh or run.
“Let’s get out of here, man.” Ceif slapped Sonny Joe’s ribs.
“That gun ain’t loaded.”
“I’m sure he’s got plenty of bullets in his pockets.”
“If you’re scared, preacher boy, start praying.”
Delvis approached Sonny Joe’s window. His eyes quaked. “Don’t make a move! I can draw shoot this Ruger pistol within two seconds ninety-seven percent accurate on target every time. I don’t wish to shoot nobody, but I will if I’m forced to.” He leaned in the window, and got a look at Ceif who was whispering in silence into the Bible pressed against his lips. “I’m a God-lovin’ person too, but if you reach down and draw a gun, I’ll take you out before you can count to one.” He cleared his throat and spat to the side. “I’m that fast. I ain’t braggin’. It’s just the facts. You know who I am? I’m an undercover FBI agent, and I’ll have you two put under the personal protective act if I have to.”
“Delvis!” Gradle yelled, as she ran through the yard. She grabbed him by the arm. “They’re my friends.”
Delvis looked at Gradle as if she’d punched him in the gut.
“That’s Ceif and this is Sonny Joe,” she said.
Delvis stuck his head through the window. The room between their eyes was crowded, and Sonny Joe could smell pepper and mouthwash on his breath.
“I know you boys. You always comin’ up here puttin’ harassments on me. Throwin’ rocks and firepoppers. I know you,” he said, putting his pointer finger on Sonny Joe’s nose. “And I know you.” He pointed to Ceif. “You ought to be gracious I can shoot on target.”
“We’re big fans of yours,” Sonny said. He pressed play on his jam box, and Delvis’s music blared loud through the speakers.
“How’d you get that music? You know it’s copyrighted in the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.”
“Gradle left it in my truck last night,” Sonny Joe said, smiling. “Been listening to it ever since. ‘Bout to wear it out. I don’t understand why you ain’t all over the radio waves.”
Delvis lowered his gun and shoved it in the band of his pants. “Which song you like best?”
“I like the one about your dog, Rain,” he said.
“Them’s all my originals. I invented that type of music,” Delvis said, cleared his throat and spat on the ground. “I got contracts from music firms all over the world wantin’ my original music, but I ain’t signed with one of them.”
“Why not?” Sonny Joe asked.
“I’m lookin’ for the right break. Timin’s got to be good.”
“Will you play something for us? I bet you sound real good live,” Sonny Joe said.
“Well, I don’t know. I got sore fingers and a damaged throat, so I don’t know how good I’ll be.”
“If you ain’t up for entertainin’, we’ll come back later,” Sonny Joe said. He flicked his cigarette out of the window.
“I always satisfy my fans,” Delvis said. “And I accept any and all challenges. Get out of the truck.”
Sonny Joe and Ceif got out of the truck, and Delvis patted them down.
“Got to make sure y’all ain’t got no recording devices, ‘cause everything I got’s copyrighted.”
They followed Delvis, who walked toward his porch with violent momentum. He whipped around twice on the way there to give Sonny Joe and Ceif the once-over. It was the first time Sonny Joe had ever been this close to the man. The intimacy made some of his prior opinions change. This man was wilder and cooler than him, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Y’all sit on the Dairy Queen booth. I’ll get my guitar,” Delvis said. He raked his throat and spat out something that held his attention for a while. His chin rested on his shoulder, and he looked at Gradle and smiled. “I just got the frog out,” he said, and he slithered through his door like a pissed-off snake.
“He’s intense,” Sonny Joe said, grabbing the cigarette behind Ceif’s ear. He motioned to Ceif for the lighter.
Ceif sparked the flame and held it in front of Sonny Joe’s eyes, a little too close, as if to warn him of something. He lifted his cigarette to the flame then blew the fire out.
He sat beside Gradle on the booth and opened up his body for her to see. “What’re you doing here, Gradle Bird?”
“Me and Grandpa got in a fight.”
“And this is where you run to?” Sonny Joe asked, drawing in her scent.
“I don’t have anywhere else.”
“What about me?”
Sonny Joe stared at Gradle, inhaled his smoke, and when he let it out, the door swung open and out came Delvis wearing a blue polyester suit, a white cowboy hat, and his guitar. Draped around his neck was a tail of shiny raven hair that no doubt once belonged to Gradle. He wore it proud, like a prize. “Who give you them flowers?” he asked, staring at the dead lilies in Gradle’s lap.
Sonny Joe pointed to Ceif. “He did.”
“You don’t belong to be givin’ her no flowers,” Delvis said.
“It was a gesture of respect,” Ceif said.
“You belong to be respectful,” Delvis said. He gave Ceif an unpredictable eye. “Them flowers is dead. Gradle, I can get you some real live livin’ ones, some real special ones.” He sat in a chair and tuned his guitar. The gold on his fingers flashed like fire. “These flowers I got are secret ‘cause nobody in the universe can smell ‘em except me. Not the police, the FBI, or the GBI. I was borned with nose holes that were ‘specially designed to pick up that particular smell.”
“What do they smell like?” Sonny Joe asked.
“Flowers,” Delvis said. He reared his head back, strummed his guitar, and made the kind of music built of hillbilly bones. He stopped his riff and announced, “This is one of my originals. It’s a boogie-oogie-type style, my style of boogie-oogie invented by me in 1983. It’s called, ‘Over to Me’.”
“I went to a dance one night,” Delvis sang out the words.
Sonny Joe laughed when Delvis’s voice severely cracked on the word “night.”
Delvis stopped playing and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. My voice got rust in it. And I had that frog caught up in there so my throat’s a little damaged, and I don’t sound right.”
“Take your time, Mr. Miles,” Ceif said. “Do what you need to warm up.”
“Light that lighter near my throat,” Delvis said.
Ceif flipped his lighter and kneeled at Delvis’s feet. He moved the flame back and forth under Delvis’s chin. His hand was steady, but his mouth quivered like he was about to cry.
“Forgive me,” Ceif said, “for ever being mean to you.”
Their eyes made contact, and their union was amplified by the flame’s light; holy, Ceif would say, like something out of his beat-up Bible. “Mind if I pray?”
“No, I don’t mind,” Delvis said, as Ceif took his hands.
“Dear Heavenly Father. Forgive us of our sins. Have mercy on us. And bless Delvis’s throat and tongue so that he may sing the music you want him to sing. In Jesus’s precious name we pray, Amen,” Ceif said. He unbowed his head.
“By all means, thank you. My throat’s pretty warmed up now.” He belted out the first line of the song. “I went to a dance one night!” He leaned back in his chair as if the power of his voice had blown him that direction.
Ceif hobbled over and sat beside Gradle, who stared at him with some sort of adoration.
“Queer,” Sonny Joe said, kicking Ceif’s cane. “I didn’t realize you were gonna turn this into a church event.”
Ceif ignored him and clapped his hands to the beat of Delvis’s song.
I went to a dance one night
What I seen was a beautiful sight
It was a beautiful raven doin’ her thing
She was dancin’ the bibble-bobble-boo
Pretty as could be
Her diamond eyes looked right on me
You could hear them guitars
Sounding out a strange kind of boogie
Just right to dance to
She danced over and gave me a kiss
Winked at me then started to twist
I’s so glad as you could see
That beautiful raven going out with me
Oh, do it baby
Twist it over to me, baby
She was doing the bibble-bobble-boo
As pretty as could be
Her diamond eyes looked right on me
Sonny Joe paid careful attention to Delvis’s lyrics as he sang the song another time through. There was no doubt in his mind Gradle was the beautiful girl with raven hair and diamond eyes, and there was no doubt in Sonny Joe’s mind that he wasn’t the only one in love. All three of them were in love with her.
Gradle and Ceif hooted and clapped together after Delvis finished the song. Their coupling made Sonny Joe feel he was losing his gain. He felt on the outside, trying to intrude his way in.
“This one’s a slow type,” Delvis said. “Wrote in 1991. Copyrighted. This one’s a good song to dance slow with a girl to. It’s got a short title. It’s called ‘Moonlight’.” He strummed the guitar slow, closed his eyes, and sang, “You’re pretty in the moonlight. And the moonlight is pretty in you.”
Ceif rose with the support of his cane, removed his hat, and held out his hand for Gradle to take.
Sonny Joe kicked Ceif’s cane from under him and pulled Gradle to her feet. “My turn,” he said, and pressed her body into his. He hooked his arms around her back and felt the blades of her shoulders and her timid breath letting go by his ear. He moved his hands down the bumps of her spine, and held her tight so she wouldn’t run away from him again.
The music stopped. Suddenly, she was torn out of his arms.
“Don’t touch her like that!” Delvis said. He bumped his chest against Sonny Joe’s. “You ain’t treatin’ her with one hundred percent respect. I can tell.”
“Fuck you, retard.” Sonny Joe slammed his hands into Delvis’s chest, knocking his cowboy hat off his head.
Delvis came back at Sonny Joe fas
t. He knee-lifted him in the gut and tackled him to the ground. Sonny Joe’s fists flailed wildly and pounded against Delvis’s ears. He cracked his hand against his jaw and felt it give, but it did more damage to him than Delvis. He broke free of Delvis’s hold, rose to his feet, but he couldn’t stand straight due to the pain in his gut.
Delvis jumped to his feet, swiped Sonny Joe’s legs from under him, and when Sonny Joe’s back hit the floor, his breath left. Delvis grabbed one of Sonny Joe’s legs, hugged it between his groins, and wrapped his other leg across his knee into the figure four. Delvis threw himself down to the floor and applied pressure that made Sonny Joe scream out like a girl. In the background he heard Gradle laugh.
Sonny Joe faced Delvis. The man was wild-eyed and crazy.
“Tap out!” Delvis yelled.
Sonny Joe looked to Ceif for help, but he was leaned against the porch railing, smoking with a smirk, silently and thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. He looked for Gradle to help, but she too appeared to be enjoying the show. Her hand was over her mouth, but he could see both sides of her smile grinning from ear to ear. She thought all this was funny.
Delvis reared his head back and put on the pressure until Sonny Joe had no other choice but to submit. He slapped his palm against the porch, tapping out as best he could.
Delvis unhooked Sonny Joe’s legs, and they collapsed, stretched out and spent.
He straddled Sonny Joe and spat blood from his mouth. “That’s my signature move. Ric “The Nature Boy” Flair stole it from me even though I got it copyrighted in the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. That’ll show you not to mess with me, boy. And don’t be messin’ with Gradle neither. She’s my friend and deserves one hundred percent respect at all times.”
Sonny Joe brushed himself off, ashamed he had become unmanned in such a way. At least he had made Delvis bleed, but it was not nearly enough damage. He shoved Delvis aside, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his wand. He pissed all over Delvis’s porch, all the while staring at Gradle, letting her know she had done him harm.
“You’re an asshole,” she said, as Sonny Joe shook off his stick.
