Southern Seduction

by Alcorn, N. A.

  I knew how expectations felt and had just recently gotten rid of the load myself. I had a father who needed me and a town that had a whole lot of dreams locked up in my life. My tale of woe always got to people, and the way I carried myself always garnered a lot of respect. I always appreciated that, but like anything good, with it comes bad.

  When a whole town places you on a pedestal, that comes with responsibility, and sometimes, the choices you want to make up don’t line up with the ones they see you making.

  I wasn’t like Zoey, though. I didn’t feel a need to rebel; I just wanted a little time outside of the fishbowl. A little time to mess up, live life, and take it as it came.

  Who knew that our two worlds would come together so perfectly. Zoey’s rebellion might just be the shove that I needed to knock over my plinth.

  I made my way to the still-open window, expensive curtains blowing gently in the breeze of the balmy summer night. Placing my hands gently on the sill, I leaned in close and strained my ears to hear her, hopeful that she would make it out of the house without getting caught and that we would have time to deal with the consequences without the urgency and danger of the homeowners bearing down on us.

  Distracted by the sound of my own heavy breathing, I took a deep gulp of air and turned my ear to the wealthy decadence of the open living room one more time.

  Still nothing.

  I tried to be patient though. Going all commando, jumping in the window, and scaring the shit out of Zoey wasn’t going to help anything. In fact, it would probably do the exact opposite and end up being the reason we got caught.

  A shadow caught my eye, and I narrowed my eyes on it, trying desperately to enhance my vision beyond that of a human.

  She was creeping into the office a few doors down a visible hallway, pushing the door open slowly and moving with caution from what I could tell.

  All I could see was her back, and no details at that, but I still watched with rapt focus. Floorboards squeaked and I tried to pinpoint an exact location, praying that it was at that very door, down that very hallway, under her little feet.

  Blinding light flooded my vision, extinguishing my hopes and kickstarting me into action.

  My weight shifted into my hands on the sill, and I launched myself inside, not even considering tucking tail and running the other way.

  “What’s going on here?” Mayor Klein shouted violently, the whole house seeming to shake with the force of it as he came into view in a calf-length robe, his greying hair slightly rumpled from sleep.

  My eyes skidded right passed him, to the door I knew stood between him and Zoey.

  Of course, that was the absolute stupidest thing I could have done because now his attention was on the very same door.

  Fuck.

  What an absolutely terrible showing on my part.

  Seriously, I was really going to have to work on that if I planned to have a career in law enforcement. Granted, I probably wouldn’t be involved in anything this personal, and I might stand a better chance at keeping myself focused just because of that.

  But I was also going to have to be better about taking care of Zoey if I wanted to be in her life long term.

  The Mayor looked back at me, moving his eyes away from the offending door, studied me briefly and, after several seconds of introspection, recognized me for the first time.

  “Miller?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered unflinchingly, my eyes meeting his with an air of honesty, apology, and confidence. No matter the circumstances, I certainly wasn’t the kind of man who ran from his mistakes.

  “I’m surprised, son,” he muttered solemnly before turning back toward the office and commanding, “You. In the office. I suggest you get out here right now,” with his usual bravado.

  It was fairly intimidating (read: ball shriveling), and I had no doubt I would get a glimpse of some sweet, expressive, amber eyes in the very near future.

  I braced myself, ready to do everything I could to help my girl, even though I wasn’t sure in that moment that I could help myself.

  The creak of the office door cut through the silence, and the shadow of the hall gave way to a feminine figure cloaked in black. Her hair fell like a curtain around her downturned face, and I waited, eager for the moment when her eyes would meet mine and I could offer some sliver of reassurance.

  Dark gave way to light, a sensation of lifting gripping my heart and taking it for a ride, and she finally emerged from the end of the hall.

  My swift intake of air almost choked me with its force.

  Fuck. Me.

  Zoey

  Three and a half hours earlier...

  Time flows, people change, and lives move in different directions. Kids grow up, graduate, go off to college, and ultimately, move away from home and build a completely new network of friends.

  It’s like that everywhere. Even in our little town of Winslow, Tennessee, situated close enough to Knoxville to get in trouble, but far enough away to disperse different, more mom and pop style consequences.

  Every year, as tradition dictates, college graduates come rolling back into town from all over for one last night of debauchery. One last night of being young and irresponsible, sewing every last oat in sight. The town elders seem to think it keeps kids on track, gives them one last outlet before moving on and living up to their town, or usually family, responsibilities. Most businesses in town are family-owned, and most kids are destined to grow up, get a pointless education, and then come back to run said family legacy.

  Since I spent my high school years living like a nun, guarding my virginity like a state secret and taking care of all the drunk kids at parties like some kind of mother hen instead of partaking, I was kind of excited to break free from my box and step outside of the rules for once. Be wild and carefree instead of cautious and responsible. Especially since I myself was one of the people destined for mediocrity, living out the rest of my days running my dad’s hardware store and farm.

  Personally, I thought the farm was enough responsibility, and the more interesting of the two businesses, but my dad was something of a social butterfly. He said that farming was a lonely man’s business, nothing but his crops and thoughts to keep him company. And I guess he was right. I just preferred solitude.

  I was the only person that didn’t annoy me. I always agreed with myself, and my thoughts always fell in line with my values. Everyone else didn’t quite go with my flow.

  As I pulled into the pharmacy parking lot, the chosen meeting place thanks to its rear access, and thus hidden, parking, I felt the flap of an oversized butterfly wing in my stomach. Contradictory to my largely take it as it comes personality, I had always bore what I would call an anxious stomach, the first day of school, a big test, or any kind of event in my life making it churn with nervous excitement.

  I think it’s an affliction from which several people suffer, but the difference is that I don’t ever let it stop me. I jump right off the cliff despite the anxiety. In fact, I might even thrive on it, take its power, harness it, and turn it into something good.

  And that was my intention tonight.

  I was going to be the best damn prankster this town had ever seen.

  I hoped.

  Confidence doesn’t always translate into ability.

  The gravel crunched under my cowboy boots on impact as I slid off of the torn leather seat of my beat up, powder blue 1976 Ford Ranger, Bessie. Luckily, I would be perpetrating most of my pranks on foot tonight because Bessie didn’t make all that great of a getaway car.

  Slamming the door with little to no finesse, I turned to face the crowd and zipped up my completely unnecessary black hoodie. It was still a balmy 82 degrees outside, but when I was planning my outfit for tonight’s covert operations, I couldn’t stop myself from covering every inch of skin in head-to-toe black.

  Several blank stares were focused on me, and conversation had dulled to a whisper. Apparently, no one recognized me.

  Talk about an
ego deflator.

  Hmm. Maybe they would recognize my voice.

  “Hey, everybody!” I said, trying to sound chipper, like someone with which people would want to be friends. It was a real departure from my normal. I added a jaunty wave of my hand, too, just for fun.

  Eyes shifted, feet shuffled, and someone coughed in the back of the crowd, but that was it. No eye contact, no arms wide open, and no boisterous greeting.

  Nothing.

  Not even a flicker of recognition.

  Shit.

  I debated fleetingly whether I should just get back in my truck, go home, and gorge myself on a batch of frozen tater tots but, ultimately, decided against it.

  Tonight was supposed to be different. Social. An experience.

  I wanted to burn calories, not pack them on by eating my feelings.

  Giving it one last shot, I said my name, my voice going up slightly with the inflection of a question and my finger pointing dumbly at my own chest. “Zoey Kapernack? My dad owns Knicks and Knacks, the hardware store?”

  “Holy shit,” I heard a guy in the back murmur. “That’s Zoey Kapernack?”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  Quickly, I glanced down at my chest to make sure I hadn’t grown a third boob.

  Nope, just the two watermelons. Though, I guess I didn’t have those in high school. Maybe that was what he meant.

  I shrugged inwardly.

  Diving into the awkward breach, a couple of girls stepped forward, Hannah and Lindsey if I remembered correctly, and took the reins of the conversation. Apparently, I wasn’t the only girl who thought tonight required an all black uniform because they were both sporting outfits unbelievably similar to mine, albeit a tad more designer and slightly better put together.

  I was no fashionista.

  “Hey, Zoey! You look so great! That’s why nobody recognized you,” Hannah defended.

  “Not to mention, we didn’t expect you to come tonight,” Lindsey added in tandem, Hannah’s sentence barely making it all the way out of her mouth beforehand.

  I couldn’t help myself. I was a messer, and these were some really great messees.

  “Why not?” I questioned just for fun. I knew why not.

  “Well...um,” Lindsey started, her eyes darting between me and Hannah with an unbelievably large flutter of fear, obviously trying not to offend me.

  They were polite. I had to give them that.

  “It’s just that this wouldn’t have been your thing in high school,” Hannah finished for her, and allowing her to take her first full breath since they approached me.

  Poor little lambs. They hadn’t been prepared for the slaughter.

  All of my social energy spent, I just shrugged. A few minutes of forced interaction was about all I could handle.

  With one last tentative smile, they left me to my own devices and headed back to the rest of the group. I bet I was seeming like someone they recognized now.

  As I turned my back on the group and scuffed the rocky ground with the toe of my boot, I contemplated the way I was.

  Sarcastic. Off-putting. A loner.

  Hannah and Lindsey were obviously still best friends, social and engaged, real people people. They probably spoke on the phone every night, told each other when they lost their virginity, that kind of thing.

  Me though, I had never told anyone the tale of my deflowering. Not that it was much of a story to tell. Big guy, little penis, some pain. The end.

  It taught me a good lessen about picking my partner based on a guy being proportional, though. Big guy does not equal big junk. Thankfully, if ever there was a time for a small penis, it was at the hymen breaking ceremony.

  What?

  That’s what it is. A ceremonial event. A right of passage. A transition to womanhood. What it rarely is, is a good time for the woman. And mine was no different.

  But my point is, I didn’t gab with girlfriends. I didn’t gab with anyone. For the most part, I was happy to keep to myself, make my own decisions (when allowed), and live my own life.

  Despite that, there was one thing I wanted one day. I wanted a guy who managed to annoy me slightly less than intolerable levels. I wanted someone to help me run all of the shitty family businesses because while I acted like it was the worst hand I could have possibly been dealt, I actually liked the tradition of it all, carrying out a family legacy and spending your life building something you could pass down that would sustain generation after generation. And my dad, possibly the nicest guy on the planet, a single man stuck raising an unorthodox daughter all on his own, deserved that much.

  A daughter who got married and gave him grandkids. At the very least, another guy around the house on holidays.

  Call me a closet romantic, but it sounded nice.

  However, glancing around at the crop of men gathered for this event, I had my doubts. Nobody seemed to fit the bill, and if I couldn’t find him in this town, I was probably screwed. I was here for the long haul.

  My patience strained to the limits of its band, I broke the silence. And possibly put a damper on everyone else’s good time.

  “What’s the hold up?” I asked the crowd at large, several sets of eyes darting in my direction at my break in their conversations. “Are we going to get started?”

  Hannah must have been nominated group spokesman because once again, her voice filled the void. “Yeah, we were just discussing it. See, we didn’t know you were coming, and we already broke up into groups.” Looking between the others and me, which was quite a feat since we were segregated like I was a diseased monster, she tried to make the most socially polite move, suggesting, “I guess we could add you to one of our groups-”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I cut her off, not really in the mood to listen to excuses or be made the pity member of someone’s clique. “I’ll be my own group.”

  That got their attention. “But some of the pranks take more than one person to pull off,” a guy who I think was named Seth argued weakly.

  “I’ll figure it out. Just give me my clue.” One Last Night was a little less freestyle than other prank nights, having the pranks mapped out in scavenger hunt form by whoever had been deemed organizer, or the brains of the operation. With this group, there was no telling what they came up with.

  Man, I really was anti-social. Maybe there was something wrong with me.

  Oh well. A leopard can’t change its spots.

  Hannah shrugged and handed me a piece of printer paper, probably deciding if she just gave me the clue she’d be done dealing with me until the end of the night when photographic proof was presented, a winner determined.

  “Okay, everyone,” Lindsey announced. “You officially have four hours to complete as many pranks as possible. You’ll find clues to your next prank at each location. Remember that there must be photographic evidence in order for a prank to count towards your total. May the best group...” Her eyes shifted nervously in my direction before adding, “Or Zoey...win! GO!”

  Unfolding my paper at my own leisure, everyone else’s shrieks of excitement echoing in the background, I started reading in order to find out my first job.

  Roses are red.

  Violets are blue.

  I stand unless I’m dead.

  And I go moo.

  Laugh Lines.

  Jesus Christ. I could not believe I was participating in an event organized by the genius who wrote that literary masterpiece.

  The poem clearly indicated the intended action, so the last line must be a clue for location. Since there were eleventy-billion cows in Winslow, I must have been commissioned to tip Mr. Laughlin’s cow.

  That was as good a place to start as any.

  Luckily, Mr. Laughlin’s farm was close, and I was in shape. Well, relatively. I couldn’t run a marathon, but I didn’t have a smoker’s lungs.

  Paying no attention to the rest of the group, I took off running around the pharmacy and hooked a right, the soles of my boots slapping a rhythm on the
pavement.

  It kind of sounded like Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’”, which ironically did a hell of a job at motivating me to keep jogging.

  I could just imagine all the housewives cranking it up in their earbuds as their feet slapped the conveyor of their treadmills.

  I didn’t think I really needed to run as far as timing went, but I was eager to get started. I figured the hardest part of turning over a new leaf was the very beginning.

  Realistically, I knew that participating in a few stupid pranks wasn’t going to change me or anything, but I just felt like I needed to let loose for a night. Have fun one last time...for the first time.

  Miller

  Ten minutes after coming in the front door from work, I was showered, changed, and on my way up the squeaky, wooden stairs of our farmhouse to check on my dad.

  He had just recently suffered from a minor heart attack, fortunately not serious but still enough to knock him off of his normal routine, and had been laying relatively low these last few days, letting me help out with the cattle and any other really physical responsibilities. I knew he’d be back at it in no time though, an active guy at heart, and he liked it that way.

  As long as he was alive, and not a couple of days out of the hospital, he would be working his farm and doing his duties. That’s what gave me the freedom to do things differently for a little while, working at the Sheriff’s department instead of farming full time. Eventually, I would need to take a more active role, just so that I could learn all the ins and outs of his business plan. But for the most part, he had been teaching me my whole life, one granule of information at a time.

  I pushed open the door slowly, giving a gentle knock just to give him some warning.

  “Hey, Pops,” I called out before he came into view, stretched out on the bed over the covers in a pair of sweats, his sock feet crossed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty good, boy,” he answered gruffly, emotional at being in a situation where I had to ask him about his state of being. He was all man, and he hated any weakness. It wasn’t that he believed people weren’t allowed flaws, or that they shouldn’t show them, he just didn’t like to be the guy who was crippled by them. His parenting was old fashioned, too, so he didn’t like that his son was stepping up for him. Rob Laughlin was an outstanding father, knowledgeable and an expert guide to life. He liked to be there for me, not the other way around.