Jawbreakers, Bubble Gum and Stick Candy

by BobA. Troutt

  *****

  Jawbreakers, Bubble Gum and Stick Candy

  Giblet Gravy and Fried Goosle

  It was a cold and rainy November night on a little farm on Spooky Ridge Road in the quiet community of Water Edge. Boom, boom, boom sounded the thunder as lightning flashed across the sky. Boom, boom and flash went the lightning again as it ripped the blanket of black sky and created a ray of light. As the rain beat heavy upon the ground, the thunder roared in the distance and the wind drove it hard across the ground.

  It was a few days before Thanksgiving when Andrzej the turkey ran off from Mr. Brown’s farm. Every year around Thanksgiving Joe Jo, as his friends called him, disappeared until Thanksgiving was over. He would show up after Thanksgiving and try to pull the wool over Farmer Brown’s eyes.

  “I’ll show Mr. Brown,” said Joe Jo. “He’ll have to get up pretty early to cook this old bird’s goosle. Besides, I need a little vacation anyway.”

  “You’re crazy, Joe Jo,” replied his friends. “You’re going to get caught one of these days.”

  “Who, me!” laughed Joe Jo. “No way; I’ve got this thing down pat.”

  “Sure you do,” they replied. “We’ll see.”

  Well that night, of all nights for him to leave, the storm raged on. It was a little after midnight when the barn door slowly opened and two little beady eyes peered through the darkness. As Joe Jo looked out, the rain fell hard and fast against his head. The wind howled as it blew through the trees. The thunder roared, boom, boom, boom and the lightning streaked across the sky. Joe Jo swallowed long and hard.

  “It’s now or never,” he mumbled to himself.

  Suddenly, he dashed out of the barn, across the barnyard and down the road. Boom, boom, boom sounded the thunder in the black night sky.

  “Aiyee,” he screamed as a chill ran up his back.

  Hurriedly, he ran down the road. He fought the rain and wind as it pushed him back. For every two steps he took, he got pushed back one. A little ways down the road, just off the beaten path, was the home of Gwendolyn the witch.

  “Now, let me see,” she said as she opened her cupboard. “Ugh, just like I thought! There’s not a thing in here that I want to fix for Thanksgiving.”

  She reached for her mama’s old cookbook and thumbed through the pages as the thunder and lightning raged outside.

  “It sure is a bad night,” she said as she looked through the book. “Well, well, well, what is this I see?” she cried. “Giblet gravy and fried goosle, yummy!” she said as she smacked her lips. “I haven’t had this dish since I was a little girl.”

  She started reminiscing about her mother fixing the dish for Thanksgiving and her mouth started watering; she could almost taste it.

  She laughed and then screamed, “Aiyee! Got that, got that and that too,” she nodded her head and said as she read the ingredients. “Yep, this and that also,” she continued. “Hmm, a young turkey,” she said. “Where in the world will I get a young turkey?”

  Not far up the road, the wind and rain had all but beaten Joe Jo down. Out of the dark, black sky, a streak of lightning stabbed its way through the darkness and struck a nearby tree. Quickly, Joe Jo took off down the beaten path. He ran for his life and cried under his breath. I’ll never leave home again, he mumbled to himself. Tired and worn out, he collapsed in Gwendolyn’s front yard.

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh,” he moaned. “Someone please help me.”

  Gwendolyn paced the floor back and forth and wrung her hands as she tried to figure out a way to get a young turkey. Where am I going to get a young turkey? she thought to herself as she walked over to look out the window. When she looked out, she saw old Joe Jo on the ground moaning and groaning.

  “Help me,” Joe Jo cried. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, help me,” he cried.

  Immediately, she ran to the rescue. Boom went the thunder and flash went the lightning.

  “What on earth happened to you?” she asked. “Why, young turkey, I mean Mr. Turkey, you are soaking wet. Come on inside the house with me where it’s dry and warm; I’ll get you fixed up.”

  As she helped him in out of the storm she thought, I’ll get you fixed up like giblet gravy and fried goosle. All she could think about was that hot giblet gravy and fried goosle like her mama used to make. Her mouth watered and she smacked her lips as she sat him up in her favorite recliner.

  “Now, there you go,” she said as her eyes grew big. This will make you feel so much better,” she said as she smacked her lips.

  “Why, thank you,” replied Joe Jo. “I feel better already.”

  She turned slightly, gently tilted her head and with a warm soft voice asked, “May I get you something to eat or drink?”

  Joe Jo thought for a moment and replied, “Some warm broth would be good.”

  “Warm broth it is,” she said as she walked away. She suddenly stopped, looked back, giggled and said, “I almost forget, my name is Gwendolyn and yours!”

  “Joe Jo,” he replied. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, I’m so sick,” he moaned and groaned.

  She dashed to the kitchen to get the broth as quickly as she could. This is going to be alright, said Joe Jo to himself. I’m going to have it made here. I’ll just hang out here until Thanksgiving is over and then I’ll head back to the farm.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” he groaned from the next room.

  “I’m coming!” yelled Gwendolyn from the kitchen.

  As he waited for his warm broth, he saw her cookbook on the table. There, right in front of him, was the recipe for giblet gravy and fried goosle and the main ingredient was a young turkey. He knew immediately knew what Gwendolyn had in mind. Gwendolyn finally came back with the warm cup of broth; she startled him when she walked in.

  “Here you go,” she said as she handed him the broth. “Drink it all,” she insisted.

  Slowly, Joe Jo sipped on the broth.

  “Mmm, that’s good. It sure did hit the spot,” he said as he set it down and started coughing and sneezing. “A-choo…oh, oh, oh, I’m so sick,” he cried.

  “May I get you anything else?” she asked as she checked his fever.

  “Well, there is one thing,” he replied. “A nice warm blanket would be nice. A-choo,” he sneezed and then coughed.

  “That won’t be a problem,” she said. “I have one right here on the back of the recliner. Now, how’s that?”

  “Oh, that is so much better,” he replied as she placed the warm blanket over him. “Would there be anything else, Joe Jo?” she asked as she discreetly picked up the cookbook and hid it behind her back.

  “I guess there is nothing else for now,” he replied. “I am awfully tired. I think I’ll take a little nap. I’m sure I’ll feel a lot better after a good nap.”

  “That will be fine,” she replied. “You get all the rest you need. If you need anything, just let me know.”

  Slowly, the hours ticked away and Joe Jo awoke from his nap. He picked up right where he left off. Joe Jo moaned and groaned as Gwendolyn waited on him hand and foot. She wanted him to get better so she could fix the giblet gravy and fried goosle she hoped for. But, the more Joe Jo complained, the more she wondered if it was really worth it. What a life, thought Joe Jo, “fine food, nice warm house and someone to wait on me hand and foot.

  Joe Jo continued to play his game with Gwendolyn. Little did he know, she was about fed up with him and was ready to throw him out. If he had called her name once, he had called it a million times. Can you get me this and can you get me that was all she heard, over and over again. She was ready to scream; she was at her rope’s end. She didn’t care if she ever had giblet gravy and fried goosle again. The mouth-watering feast had all but dried up to a pucker.

  “Gwendolyn,” called the annoying voice from the next room.

  She balled up her fists and bit her lip to keep from screaming.

  “Oh, Gwendolyn,” he called. “Will you come here and fluff my pillow?”
>
  She discreetly peeped in the room. There he sat all cozy in the recliner as he laughed and snickered to himself. Well, two can play this game, she thought.

  “Gwendolyn, oh, Gwendolyn,” he called again.

  She fluffed his pillow and asked him if he needed anything else.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” he cried. “I’m so sick.”

  “Now, don’t you worry about a thing,” she replied. “I’m going to take care of everything.”

  “May I have a glass of cranberry juice?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she replied. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to fix that deadbeat Thanksgiving bird,” she mumbled under her breath. “He wants me to wait on him hand and foot but he’s got another thing coming.”

  She filled the glass with half cranberry juice and half red hot sauce. She stirred the juice, blew the smoke off the top of it and headed for the next room.

  “Oh, Gwendolyn, could you hurry?” he called out.

  As he watched for her to come back, he glanced over at the calendar. It was the day after Thanksgiving and it was time for him to go home. Time has really flown, he thought to himself as Gwendolyn came into the room.

  “Here you go, Joe Jo. A nice hot…I mean a nice cold drink of cranberry juice. Drink it all,” she insisted.

  Joe Jo turned it up and drank it all in one gulp. Suddenly, he reached for his throat. His eyes turned a fiery red. His face turned colors and smoke circled about his head.

  “Aiyee!” he screamed as he jumped up out of the recliner, shot across the room and ricocheted off the walls.

  He bounced from wall to wall, rolled and spun around before he collapsed to the floor.

  “Do you smell smoke?” he looked up at her and asked.

  “Now, now, now, Joe Jo, that is so much better. I believe that will break that cold right up. Don’t you think? Excuse me, Joe Jo, don’t you think?” she asked again.

  Joe Jo couldn’t answer because he was out like a light. It took him a few minutes to wake up.

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh,” he moaned.

  “Do you need some more?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” he said as he jumped up. “I feel fine; I’m so much better.”

  He ran out the door and headed for home. Gwendolyn watched him as he ran down the beaten path and giggled to herself.

  “That jive turkey,” she said, “has to be the craziest bird I have ever seen. Just wait until he gets home. He’s really going to be in for a big surprise.”

  Joe Jo had no idea that Gwendolyn had run the calendar up a couple of days. Instead of it being the day after Thanksgiving, it was the day before.

  “That crazy bird wouldn’t have been good for Thanksgiving anyway,” she complained. “His feet didn’t match. One was a size ten and the other was a size thirteen. Phooey on that old giblet gravy and fried goosle, maybe next year I’ll have better luck finding a young turkey.”