Cloud Nine- When Pigs Fly

by Margaret Lashley

  “Smells delicious,” I lied, then whispered to Winky, “At least the fumes are keeping the mosquitoes away.”

  “Yeah,” Winky said loud enough for Tom’s benefit. “Cain’t beat the aroma of honest-to-goodness bona fide bean curd.”

  “Speaking of curds, I’m going to visit my mother,” I said.

  Tom turned around. His forehead was lined with concern. “Is she sick?”

  “No,” I sighed.

  Tom’s face morphed into a grin. “Are you?”

  “Ha ha,” I replied sourly.

  Tom turned back to roasting wieners and asked, “What brought this on all of a sudden?”

  I crinkled my nose and pondered my options.

  Should I tell Tom and Winky that I suspected Goober might be in Greenville working as my mother’s transvestite beautician? What if I got up there and Elmira turned out to just be some random weirdo with a rainbow Mohawk? I’d never live that one down! But if I said nothing about it and we just happened to go up there and stumble on Goober together...well, I could claim the credit for finding him and not face total and complete humiliation.

  The solution was clear. I’d tell Tom a lie I knew he’d believe.

  “She kind of guilted me into it,” I said.

  Tom laughed. “There’s a new one.”

  As he removed the seared tofu wieners from the grille, I got up and touched Tom on the arm.

  “Tom, I was hoping you could go with me tomorrow.”

  He looked surprised. “Tomorrow? I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know that’s too short a notice. I have to work in the morning.”

  “But –”

  Tom grinned and laid on his lousy impersonation of a Southern accent. “But you be sure and give yore momma an’ Dale a big ol’ hug and kiss from me.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Tom handed me a hotdog. “Consolation prize.”

  I sniffed the fake tube steak and crinkled my nose.

  “Tom, I don’t think Maggie can make the trip. If you can’t go, can I at least take your 4Runner?”

  “Well – ” Tom began.

  “I know!” Winky bellowed. “I’ll go with you, Val! Yore momma likes me. And we can take my truck.”

  “There you go,” Tom said with a devious wink. “Problem solved.”

  I opened my mouth to object, but a pig squeal beat me to it.

  I turned in the direction of Laverne’s place just in time to see a portly little pig come flying over the picket fence. Randolph grunted at the three of us, squealed again, and made a beeline for the front yard.

  Oh, crap!

  “Catch him!” I hollered, and tossed my tofu dog on the ground. I took off after Randolph, Tom and Winky hot on my heels.

  As I rounded the corner of the house, the scene playing out in front of me stopped me dead in my tracks. Tom and Winky bumbled into the back of me, and we all tumbled onto the grass like three drunken stooges.

  It was just as well. If I’d have remained standing, I’d have fallen on the ground from laughter.

  Across the street, Krassco was claiming its last victim.

  Apparently, the pineapple upside-down time-bomb cake Laverne had baked using the last remnants of WWII grease had made its way through Randolph’s digestive system. There, it had detonated and released a chain-reaction diarrhea explosion of epic proportions.

  Tom, Winky and I watched in awe as Randolph bucked and twirled around in the middle of Nancy Meyer’s front yard, squirting pig poop from his posterior like a sprinkler head possessed by demons.

  “What in blue blazes has got into that pig?” Winky asked.

  I bit my lip. I knew the answer, but I couldn’t say. Laverne had sworn me to secrecy over her secret ingredient. Her supply of Krassco was finished and could do no more harm. So I didn’t see any reason to spill the beans now. Besides, I hated the idea of Laverne ending up in some kind of lawsuit over it. Over the years, at least half the people I knew had fallen victim to her Krassco-laced culinary disasters.

  “There’s no telling,” I said. Which, in a way, wasn’t a lie, since I couldn’t tell them.

  Winky rolled over, sat up and admired the show. “You know, if’n he had him a little saddle and a monkey on his back, we’d have us a min’ature rodeo.”

  Tom shook his head and whistled. “Gives new meaning to the term rear-jet propulsion.”

  “Shore do,” Winky said. “Never thought I’d ever see me a pig fly.”

  Nancy’s front door flew open and banged against the wall. Framed in the porchlight, I could see the Knick-Knack Nazi in an olive-grey nightgown. A helmet of curlers framed her head. In one hand, she wielded a rolling pin.

  “Hush!” I warned the guys.

  We hunkered down on our hands and knees and held our breath as Nancy took a cautious step into her front yard. A second later, she was mowed down by an enthusiastically ejected stream of excrement from Randolph’s AK47-like sphincter.

  “Uh-oh,” Winky said. “Looks like the pig poop’s done hit the fan.”

  “I suggest a hasty retreat,” Tom said.

  “Roger that,” I said.

  We spun around on our hands and knees like a trio of synchronized lawn crabs, then scrambled along the side of the house as fast as we could. As we dashed through the grass, Winky snorted like a pig with laughter. It was all I could do to keep from wetting my pants as we crawled toward the hidden sanctuary of the backyard.

  As we rounded the corner out of Nancy’s sight, I took a tiny bit of comfort in the fact that now, at least, I had a real reason to visit my mother.

  It had suddenly become a most excellent time to leave town.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Good luck and god speed,” Tom joked as he headed out the door for work Wednesday morning. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me on the nose. “You know you’re allowed to stay longer than one day at your mom’s, Val. I can take care of Snogs.”

  “I know,” I sighed. “But one day ought to be plenty of time for mom’s backhanded compliments to destroy my entire self-worth.”

  Tom laughed. “Don’t be so hard on her. Or yourself. Try to have fun, okay?”

  “Just remember me how I look now,” I said.

  Tom’s head cocked to one side. “How’s that?”

  “With my dignity still somewhat intact.”

  Tom shook his head. “See you tomorrow.”

  Tom climbed into his 4Runner and I watched him drive away. I was about to shut the front door when I saw Winky pull up. I was certain Tom had driven past him. And I was even more certain Tom was laughing his butt off.

  Winky was driving the ridiculous, souped-up hearse he’d bought Winnie for her birthday.

  Let the destruction of my dignity begin.

  Winky pulled the long, black vehicle onto the grass by the side of the road, giving me and all my neighbors a good look at the custom flames painted along the front side-panels. He revved the V8 engine and honked the horn, just in case someone had missed the sideshow. Anyone watching could be forgiven for thinking Winky was a limousine driver here to escort me to hell.

  I grabbed my suitcase, locked the door, and marched down the driveway to my doom, one lone thought whispering in my ear.

  Unbelievably, this is one occasion where I probably actually would be better off dead.

  WE WERE ZOOMING ALONG on I-275 and had just passed the exit sign for Dade City when I fished my cellphone out of my purse.

  “Who you callin’?” Winky asked.

  “Laverne. I want to find out what had happened with Randolph and Nancy last night. I figure we’re far enough away to be out of earshot of the screaming.”

  Winky grinned. “And the smell.”

  “Laverne? I’m on my way to my mom’s. Just wanted to check on you and Randolph.”

  “You haven’t heard?” Laverne asked.

  My gut sunk. “Heard what?”

  “Nancy came over last night. She caught Randol
ph in her yard and –”

  “Hello? Hello? Crap! I lost phone reception,” I said to Winky. “Nancy caught Randolph last night.”

  Winky winced. “Did she skin him alive?”

  “I don’t know. Poor Laverne!”

  Winky winced. “We should get reception again once we get towards Ocala.”

  “Geeze. I hope Randolph’s okay.”

  “Speakin’ a pigs, you hungry?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I could go for me a pulled-pork sammich.”

  “Oh.” Visions of diarrhea blasting out of Randolph’s sphincter did nothing to fuel my appetite. “No. I’m not hungry.

  “You don’t look too happy to be goin’ to see your mamma. What you got against her anyways?”

  “Nothing. She’s just not what you’d call a very ‘motherly’ mother.”

  “Well, she give birth to ya, didn’t she?”

  “Uh...no.”

  “Oh. That’s right. She only took you in and raised you as her own.”

  Crap. When you put it that way....

  “I dunno, Winky. It’s the way she talks to me. Like there’s an unspoken ‘idiot’ at the end of each sentence.”

  Winky grinned. “Well, she is talkin’ to you.”

  “One more comment like that and you’ll be eating a knuckle sandwich. And I don’t mean pig knuckles.”

  Winky smirked. “At least you come by it honest, Val.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a chip off the old block.”

  I was about to feed Winky my fist full of knuckles when my phone rang.

  “Looks like we got reception,” Winky said.

  “It’s Laverne!” I grabbed the phone. “Laverne? We got cut off. What happened? Did Nancy knock Randolph out with her rolling pin?”

  “What? No, honey. She was as pleased as punch.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nancy brought Randolph home and gave me a big old thank-you hug.”

  “Laverne, have you been drinking?”

  “Well, yes. I had a two cups of coffee and a glass of orange juice. Why?”

  “Ugh! Laverne, I thought Nancy would have flipped her lid over having her yard sprayed down with pig crap!”

  “You know, I would have thought so, too, honey. But not Nancy. She thought it was part of our surprise for Spruce-Up September!”

  “Huh?”

  “Nancy told me she used to live in a small village in Germany. Apparently, every fall the farmers sprayed the fields with pig poop. She said it made her feel right at home.”

  “Even the smell?”

  “Especially the smell.”

  “Go figure. Thanks, Laverne.”

  I clicked off the phone and turned to Winky.

  “What’d she say?” he asked.

  “One man’s poop is another man’s treasure.”

  Winky shrugged. “Gee, Val. I could a tole you that.”

  I’D PLANNED ON KEEPING it a secret until we arrived in Greenville, but I was desperate for a change of subject. If Winky didn’t stop naming every NASCAR driver Big Gulp cup he had in his collection, I was going to crawl into the back of the hearse and die.

  “Winky, I think Goober may be living in Greenville and working at my mom’s beauty parlor.”

  Winky stopped mid “Dale Earnhardt” and stared at me.

  “What in tarnation? How you figure that?”

  “I just got a gut feeling when I was talking to my mom yesterday. There’s a woman there with a rainbow Mohawk.”

  Winky shot me a look. “You on drugs?”

  “No. It’s a long story. I’ll show you when we get there. Anyway, I was wondering. Did Goober ever show you his navel?”

  “Now I know you’re on drugs!”

  “I’m serious. I saw it once. It looks like he’s got two, actually. He said he got shot in the stomach and the scar looks like a second navel.”

  “Well, I don’t know nothin’ about that. But it’s kind a cool, if you think about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean like, if Goober was some kind of secret agent man, like in the movies.”

  “With Goober, who knows? I can’t decide if he’s a genius or just bonkers. But if you think about it, I guess we’re all a bit of both.”

  “Huh. I ain’t too sure about that, Val. If Goober’s a genius, he keeps it better hid than a Baptist’s liquor cabinet.”

  I sighed. For once, Winky did have a point. And it wasn’t on top of his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was just before 3:00 p.m. when Winky veered the flaming black hearse off westbound I-10 and headed north toward Greenville.

  “Take a right when we get to US 90,” I said.

  “Don’t you wanna go see your mom first?”

  “No.”

  Dread had already formed a grapefruit-sized knot in my stomach.

  “I wanna put that off as long as possible, Winky. Let’s go right to the beauty parlor first. Mom said Betty Jean’s Feed and Beauty was just outside of town.”

  Winky hung a right and we drove past dense patches of towering, longleaf pines, the forest floor beneath them colored rust with a thick, even blanket of shed needles.

  Every half mile or so, we’d see a thinned out area of pines under-storied with dogwoods and clumps of azalea bushes as big as minivans. Tucked up amongst these casual country “yards” sat modest houses erected beside family junk middens comprised of several generations of abandoned cars, appliances and other disused household paraphernalia.

  “This place looks nice,” Winky commented. “Love me some wide-open spaces.”

  “Yup,” I agreed. “Close to nowhere, and yet right up against the highway. You can’t beat it.”

  About three miles out, I spotted a collection of trucks, tractors, and dusty Ford sedans pulled up beside an odd structure that seemed to be the aftermath of soldering together a trailer, several metal storage sheds, and a small warehouse.

  A one-word sign painted on the apex of the warehouse read, “Feed.” Around these parts, that could mean lots of things. But seeing as there was an ambulance pulled up in front of it, I figured it was most likely a restaurant.

  We were about to drive by it when I spotted an old Minnie Winnie. It was parked off to the side of the trailer end of the cobbled-together buildings.

  “Winky! Stop! Turn in here!”

  Winky jacked the steering wheel on the hearse and we nearly flipped into a ditch. He managed to straighten out the rear end as it fishtailed on the red clay shoulder, then pulled over into a patch of weeds just outside the main lot.

  “Geeze, Val! You ought to give a feller better notice than that!”

  “I would have, if I’d known myself. Look! I think that’s Goober’s RV!”

  I pointed toward the Minnie Winnie.

  “I’ll be. That looks like her, all right.”

  We climbed out of the hearse for a closer look. As we walked by the ambulance, two EMTs came out of the trailer hauling someone in a stretcher. Right before they tucked her into the back, I caught a glimpse of rainbow hair.

  “Winky! Geeze, Louise! I think that’s Goober.”

  “Where?”

  “In the ambulance. I didn’t want to say anything earlier because my mom has a tendency to...uh...exaggerate, but she told me that the woman who does her hair wasn’t long for this world.”

  Winky gave me a sad face. “Bless her heart. But what’s that got to do with Goober?”

  The ambulance’s lights lit up. The engine roared, and it took off toward the highway.

  “Crap! I don’t have time to explain. Just follow that ambulance! I’ll tell you about it on the way!”

  AS IT TURNED OUT, I had plenty of time to explain.

  The nearest hospital, Madison County Memorial, was thirteen miles down US 90. As we flew along behind the ambulance, I hoped whatever poor soul was in it didn’t look out the back window. They’d be shocked into a heart attack to see they wer
e being followed by the devil’s own paddy wagon.

  “So why we chasing this ambulance again?” Winky asked.

  “Because I think Goober’s in there. I didn’t want to tell you in case it wasn’t true. But it looks like he may be really sick. My mother said Elmira’s been in and out of the hospital for months.

  “Who’s Elmira?”

  “Goober. In disguise. I think.”

  “I been on some wild goose chases, Val. But this here one done took the cake.”

  I bit my lip. “Well, if it’s not Goober, we haven’t lost anything.”

  “’Cept half a tank a dieseline.”

  “I just wonder why he wouldn’t call us. Especially if he was so sick.”

  “Some folks is just like that,” Winky said. “You got your dog folks who want the whole family round to see ‘em pass on. Then you got your cat folks who wander off and you never know ‘zackly what happened to ‘em till somebody finds the body.”

  “That’s real comforting, Winky.”

  “I do my best.”

  We followed the ambulance onto Marion Street. The hospital finally came into view.

  “Looks like we’re here,” I said.

  “Whew!” Winky said. “Good thing I filled up in Lake City. We’d be running on fumes.”

  The ambulance pulled up to the emergency room. Its doors flew open and the EMTs rushed the patient into the hospital.

  “What do we do now?” Winky asked.

  I glanced around and caught sight of a small crowd of people staring at our vehicle in horror.

  “First off,” I said, “we need to find someplace to park this thing so we don’t scare the bejeebers out of everybody.”

  “HELLO, I’M HERE TO see a patient who’s just been admitted,” I said to the woman at the hospital reception desk.

  “Name?”

  “Val Fremden.”

  She peered at a computer screen through her bifocals. “I don’t see it on the list.”

  “Oh. Sorry. That’s my name. I meant um...Goober. But he goes by...uh...Elmira.”

  Geeze! Double crap on a cracker!

  The receptionist scanned the list again without missing a beat. “Sorry. I don’t see anyone named ‘Goober’ or ‘Elmira.’”