Week 32: The Youth Pastor

As Summer wound down, Adeline wanted to make the most of the days she had left before she went back to high school for her senior year. It had been a difficult few months for the teen, but she was devoted to “living right for the Lord,” as her Granny would say. After a few weeks in Georgetown with her aunt Wanda, Adeline was happy to be back home in the mountains. There were some definite advantages being in “civilization” as her cousin Kirby called it. But she wouldn’t trade living in Peril County for anything. 

Now that she was home, several of Adeline’s friends were setting up get-togethers and excursions for them to do. Taylor wanted to go muddin’ over in Harlan County on the ATV trails that had just opened up. And Lauren’s older brother was going to be taking a bunch of folks out on his pontoon this weekend. All of this sounded great, she thought, but she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol or anything else since her terrible New Year’s Eve. And she knew her friends would party pretty hard, trying to squeeze as much as they could out of the last few weeks before school. They had even planned on heading up to a strip mine site this evening for a bonfire party. 

“Nobody ever got in trouble sittin’ at the house with their family,” Granny Maude had told her once. And while it probably wasn’t exactly true in every case, it was an absolute surety with staying with Granny Maude. 

On Sunday morning, Granny woke Adeline early to get ready for Church. “Can I just stay home? Some of us are gonna go out tonight and I’m tired,” she said in a whine that only teenagers can get away with.

“If you want to spend some time with your friends, I understand. But you got to spend some time with the Lord this mornin’,” Granny Maude responded. So, Adeline got up and prepared for church. 

At the service, something different happened that Adeline was not expecting. Brother Watkins, the elder deacon of the church was doing the announcements. “We got a bake sale going on this weekend as a fundraiser for our trip to do mission work in New Orleans next year during lent. And a clothing drive is gonna start next Sunday. We’re looking for clothes for needy kids that they can wear for the fall. Now, I need all of the teens to head to the fellowship hall for a very special surprise.”

Adeline looked over at her Granny, who gave a sheepish smile and shrugged her shoulders. About ten or eleven kids ranging from twelve to eighteen stood up and exited down the back of the church. Adeline recognized a few from school but didn’t know anyone very well. In the front of the room, a man in his twenties stood, holding a tray of sandwiches. He was dressed in black slacks and a purple collared shirt. His hair was heavily gelled and spiked up, with frosted tips. A black goatee surrounded pearly white teeth that seemed to glisten as he smiled at the teens who entered. 

“What’s up, my dogs?” he said as everyone took a seat. “My name is Tristian Collingsworth and I’m going to be the new youth pastor here at BGB. And, I am, like, super stoked to be here sharing the word of the Lord with you cool cats here today!” 

A boy not much younger than Adeline raised his hand. “Uh, Mr. Collingsworth?”

“Call me Brother T, big man! What’s on your mind, home skillet!” 

The boy cocked his head a little and swallowed. “Um, ok. Brother T, what is BGB?”

“That's us, my man. Black Grass Baptist. You can be basic or you can get down with the BGB, baby!” 

Adeline had to fight from laughing. She couldn’t tell if ‘Brother T’ was putting on an act, or acted this way, but his attempts to connect with the youth of the church were not working with her. 

“Now, I got some cheugy sando’s for us to munch on while we rap about JC. Y’all down with that?” Brother T sat the tray of sandwiches down on a table to his side and sat down backwards in a chair, legs agape and leaning against the backrest. 

Some kids got up to get a snack while Adeline and the rest remained in their seats. Brother T reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out some note cards. “Guys, today I wanna talk to you about quicksand. Now, when I was about y’alls age, movies and TV made it out that quicksand was everywhere. That stuff was just hidin’ out in the corner of every street, waitin’ to gobble you up. Y’all ever heard a quicksand?”

A few confused mummers of confirmation could be heard. Adeline had no idea where this was going, and checked her phone, discreetly, to see how much longer church was scheduled to last. 

“But I ain’t talkin’ about the quicksand that sucked up that horse in the Never-ending Story! And I ain’t talkin’ about the quicksand that Princess Buttercup and Wesley found in the fire swamp. No! I’m talkin’ about the quicksand you and me face every day as we walk on our path with Jesus.” He was more at ease, Adeline thought, as he sat across from them. That position in the chair couldn’t be comfortable, but he seemed genuine in his delivery. 

Brother T took a swig of water from a reusable plastic bottle. “I know what it’s like, guys. Pressure to fit in. Pressure to succeed in school. Pressure to be your best, act your best and do your best, 24/7. All this pressure pushing down on you and it feels like you got nothing holding you up or holding you together. So, you start sinkin’ in the quicksand.” He stood up. “Jesus can be the rock you stand on, guys. He can be the solid ground that you build upon. And all of the pressures in the world can’t break him. You got kids wantin’ you to lie to your parents. Wantin’ you go drink and take drugs. Wantin’ you to go all the way in the back seat of a Toyota. And let me tell you somethin’, guys. You ain’t perfect. You’re gonna screw up. Some of ya might screw up a lot!”

There was a bit of a chuckle from the teens. 

“There’s only been one perfect person on the Earth. The rest of us have sinned and come short of the Glory of God. And get this, guys. You can’t do it alone. If you try to take on the world by yourself, you’re gonna get your rump kicked quicker than a hiccup, let me tell ya. Good thing for us, JC has our back. He’s always gonna be there when we need him. And we need him all of the time.”

Adeline could feel the energy of the room changing. The rest of the kids seemed really energized and motivated by Brother T’s message. She had to admit that she was feeling something stirring in her as well, but she wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. 

Brother T motioned for everyone to stand. “Form up and hold hands, guys. I wanna take us to the Lord in prayer.” They created a rough circle and bowed their heads. “Now,” Brother T continued, “with every head bowed and every eye closed, I’m gonna ask you all some questions. You just nod your heads if this touches your hearts, ok guys?” 

The boy to Adeline’s right was around her age, cute and tall. His hands were a little sweaty, but she was not disappointed in holding his hand. The girl on her other side was around twelve. She had beaded hair ties in her pigtails. 

“With every head bowed, and every eye closed, nod along if you can relate. ‘I’ve done things and acted in ways that do not align with the will of my Heavenly Father.’” Adeline felt a wash of shame flow through her body. She hadn’t given much thought to why she had acted out so much six months ago. But, in her heart, she didn’t think that was the person she wanted to be.

“I have lied, cheated or stolen from someone that I love,” Brother T continued. Again, Adeline felt a pang of regret. She had never been really honest about what she had done on New Year’s with her Granny. Would telling the whole story make her feel better?

“I feel shame for some of the things I have done in my life.” 

“Ugh!” Adeline screamed in her mind. 

Brother T stood in silence for just a moment. “Now, take in a deep breath and blow out all of the guilt and shame that you feel. Release all of the negativity you are carrying around. As you take in a deep, cleansing breath, I want you to imagine the love of Jesus filling up your lungs and extending out through your body and then blow out again, forcing out all of the negative thoughts you hold. Your past is gone. These things have happened. But they do not define who you are and who you will be.”

As Adeline did the breathing exercise, she felt a weight lift from her body. She didn’t know if it was Jesus or simply allowing herself to feel forgiveness, but something was different. Something had changed. A tear fell down her cheek.

There was a rustling and soft, calming music began to play from somewhere close by. “You’ve all taken a huge step on your daily walk with Christ,’ Brother T told them. “Eyes on me. Now, you all need to know fully that the world is gonna come at you full tilt. Call it Satan, call it temptation, call it whatever you want, this is not an easy row to hoe. Dark is the path and perilous is the way, but with Jesus at your side, you have nothing to fear.”

A feeling of dread washed over Adeline. Her friends had been talking about gathering for some “partying” and she had no delusions as to what that meant. Is that the person she wanted to be?

“Now, we got some gnarly board games and chuegy snacks and drinks over in the corner. Let’s gather in some fellowship and just hang until the old folks upstairs get finished.” Brother T’s facade of ‘cool youth’ slipped on uncomfortably. 

She had a glass of lemonade, that was surprisingly made from fresh lemons, and a couple of those sugar wafer cookies that every Southern Baptist church keeps in their cabinets. She learned the boy whose hand she was holding was named Joshua. He went to high school a couple towns over and was staying with his grandparents this weekend. Adeline blushed when he asked if he could text her later. 

Brother T wavered between genuine human and Ultra-Hip Youth Pastor. There were moments he was starting to make honest connections with some of the kids and the next second would come out with something like, “That’s toats razor, my man.” Adeline chalked it up to wanting to talk to the kids on their level and just getting his feet wet. 

After church, Granny Maude and Adeline met up in the parking lot. “How was that?” she asked with a knowing smile. 

“Not bad, actually. He’s got a lot to work on in his delivery, I guess. But his heart is in the right place.” 

Granny smiled and patted her granddaughter on the shoulder. “Well, let’s get you some lunch so you can get ready for your little get together tonight.”

Adeline put her arm around Granny’s shoulder. “What do you think about stayin’ in tonight? I’ll cook us some dinner and we could do somethin’ fun. I’ve heard it from a good source that there’s some gnarly board games out there.”

Sliding her arm around her granddaughter’s waist, the two walked side by side to the car. “Can’t think of a better evening, dear.” 

Week 31: The Music Festival

The music of the mountains has a rich and storied history. Scottish and Irish settlers brought their musical traditions to the mountains when they moved into the region. Decedents of African heritage did the same, bringing what is perhaps the most iconic Appalachian instrument, the banjo, to these mountains. Sad ballads and that high, lonesome sound could be heard in the hills and hollers of the region for generations. And it was this traditional sound that the Peril County Music Festival sought to honor and preserve each and every summer. 

Campers and trailers filled the parking lot of the fairgrounds this time every year as folks travel from as far aways as Oklahoma on their pilgrimage to one of the birthplaces of Bluegrass Music. Dozens of performers young and old would cross the stage over the course of three days at the end of July to celebrate the traditional sounds of the mountains. And for Donna Wooton, it had become one of her favorite weeks of the year. Her grandfather was a mandolin player, and some of her favorite memories were sitting at his feet, listening to him sing the old timey songs and watching him pick at his instrument so fast, she could hardly believe it. Donna knew her girlfriend, Lou, wasn’t as big a fan of this style of music, but she was grateful that they went together, anyway.

The first day of the festival was dedicated to neo-traditional Appalachian music, which is just a fancy way of saying that some young folks were gonna play in the old time way. Students from the nearby music school started off the day, playing familiar tunes like Wayfaring Stranger and Tom Dooley, songs that had been heard in these parts for over a century. Donna had made her base camp just to the left of the stage, with two large camping chairs and a big red cooler between them. Lou was sipping on an Ale-8 and eating a bologna sandwich when a group of teens wearing matching lavender suits with “Bass Boys” written in sequins on the back took the stage. The lead singer couldn’t have been much older than twelve.

“Good afternoon, Black Grass! We are the Bass Boys and it is our pleasure to be up here a pickin’ and a sangin’ for you’uns today. We’ll kick this ‘un off with my brother Bennie on the fiddle doin’ the old ‘Fisherman’s Hornpipe.’ A one and a two and a…” 

The tallest member of the Bass Boys stepped into the single microphone and began sawing on an old fiddle. His brow was furrowed as he tore into the song. Donna recognized the tune and smiled. This was one of her favorite instrumentals. It was a fiddle tune, usually, but her Grandpa had played it on the mandolin several times for her, growing up. She looked over to see Lou playing Kandy Killer on her phone. “This is a good one,” she said, playfully hitting her partner on the shoulder.

Lou never looked up from her game. “So is this one. I’m about to find the clown!” 

Donna rolled her eyes and sent her attention back to the stage. Bennie Bass had now stepped back and was chopping on his fiddle while one of the other brothers did a break on his guitar. After a few moments, the tall Bass brother stepped back to the microphone and began to play lead once again. The song was full of hope and wonder, Donna thought as she sat there, transfixed by the melody. 

“You wanna corn dog? I want a corn dog.” Lou stood and patted her pockets, looking for cash.

Donna shrugged. “Would’t turn down some fried Oreo’s!” she said with a wide grin. Lou headed back toward the concession area as the song ended. For the next half an hour, the Bass Brothers played and sang songs of heartache, songs of coal miners, songs of nature and songs of Heaven. Donna made a point to take note of the folks sitting in the surrounding crowd. Even with a younger lineup for this part of the concert, the festival goers were mostly older folks who might remember the first or second generation of Bluegrass Music. She shook her head, disappointed.

Next on the stage were some very non-traditional Traditional Musicians. A pair of beautiful white women, one with dreaded hair down to her waist, the other’s head shaved to a bur, took center stage. Both sported elaborate tattoos on their bare arms, along with several facial piercings and gauged ears. The long-haired lady carried a beat-up guitar that was covered in stickers and scratches. Her compatriot carried a nondescript banjo. Behind them, a tan man wearing a dashiki and sunglasses sat behind a pair of bongo drums. Their final band member was a striking, muscular black man, dressed in leather chaps, a vest and a cowboy hat. In his hands, he held a standup bass. 

The lady in dreads approached the mic. “Peace and blessings to you, beloveds. We are Borne on Broken Wings and it is our great pleasure to be on this journey with you today. This is not the land of our birth, but it is the land of our soul. Let us celebrate it together.” Her voice was melodic and peaceful, with an accent that was hard to place, but clearly wasn’t local.

Looking around the crowd, the older folks in attendance did not know what to think of the band about to perform, as they looked nothing like the bands that typically crossed the stage of a Bluegrass Festival. But their fears were assuaged when the young lady ripped into a fantastic claw-hammer riff on her banjo. As she played, the bass player began to join in, creating a haunting sound. And just as suddenly, the women started singing in a breathtaking harmony the opening lines of a very familiar tune. “Shady Grove, my true love. Shady Grove my Darlin’! Shady Grove, my true love. I’m going back to Harlan.” It was slower and richer than most renditions of this classic Appalachian tune, but Donna could feel that there wasn’t a soul in attendance that wasn’t captured by this amazing performance.

When the song finished, the crowd erupted into uproarious applause. These old folks might not have known what to make of Borne on Broken Wings at first appearance, but they were all converted fans after just one song. 

Donna’s heart soared as the band jumped into their next song, a deconstruction of “The Cuckoo Bird” that somehow reached into her soul and tugged at her sense of nostalgia. 

“You ok?” Lou asked as she sat back down in her chair. She carried a brown bag with dark grease stains seeping out the sides. 

It took a moment for Donna to realize that tears were welling up in her eyes. She wiped them away, embarrassed. “Yeah. Fine. Just makes me think of Papaw, is all.”

“I get it, babe. No worries.” She leaned over and kissed the top of Donna’s forehead. “Got you a treat!” Lou reached into the grease-soaked bag and pulled out a paper tray of battered and deep fried cookies, dusted with powdered sugar. 

Donna took the tray and shoved a fried Oreo into her mouth. “Oh my Gawd!” she moaned as it dissolved in her mouth. “These things are dangerous! I could eat a bucket full.”

Lou smiled and ripped open a packet of mustard for her corn dog. “These guys are pretty good,” she said, motioning to the band on stage. 

Donna nodded. “I’ve not heard of them before today, but they are great.” She paused for a moment and leaned into her partner. “I really appreciate you coming to this with me. It means a lot.” 

Shifting her corn dog from one hand to the other, Lou wiped the grease off of her fingers and took Donna’s hand into her own. “Babe, I’d go to a fartin’ contest if I got to go with you.” They both laughed. “Seriously. I know you didn’t like the horse show as much as I did and you never said one word about it.”

“I just know that this isn’t your type of music, so you coming and spending the day with me is just really special.” She squeezed Lou’s hand.

A sly grin spread across Lou’s face. “I mean, what’s not to love? I got a room-temperature corn dog with watery mustard on it. The sun is out and there’s a Bohemian Bluegrass band playin’ on stage in Black Grass, Kentucky. And I got my best girl with me. What more could I want?” 

“I don’t know about your corn dog, but these cookies are freakin’ awesome!” 

About ten feet in front of them, an elderly woman sitting in a motorized seat leaned onto her left butt cheek and ripped a raucous fart that lasted far longer that it had any right to. Donna’s eyes grew huge on her face as she starred at the back of this old lady on her Rascal. She then looked over to her partner, and they both began stifling their laughter. “Well, you said you wanted to go to a farting contest.” 

Week 30: Football Season Kicks off

High school athletics in Kentucky has a “dead period” in the middle of the summer where no organized practices or events are to take place. This is done to give student-athletes a break from the rigors of constant training and to have a moment to just be kids. It is a great idea, in theory. But for Graham Carter, taking any amount of time off was not something he was interested in. For the past two weeks, Graham has been doing all he could to prepare for today, the official start of his senior season as Panther Quarterback. 

Graham’s center, Jake Watts, was sitting in his wooden locker, stringing a new pair of cleats when Graham walked in. “Take a gander, boys. Ain’t often the Chief is one a’ the last to show up for practice.” 

“My dad had to give me a ‘pep talk’ before he’d let me walk in and he just wouldn’t shut the hell up.” Graham rolled his eyes and threw his bag into the back of his locker before slumping down onto the wooden seat.

Coach Simpson, a large man in his late 40s, walked into the locker room, carrying a clipboard. “Alright, men. I wanna see you on the field in 15. Let’s get this season off on the right foot and we can’t do that if we’re lallygagging up here before we even start.” Graham could feel the coach's eyes on him as he started putting his pads together. “You alright, son?” Simpson asked.

Graham didn’t feel like reliving the talk he had just shared with his father, so he nodded and went back to his practice pants. “Let’s get to it, coach!” he said much more enthusiastically than he’d actually felt. 

There were less than a handful of thin, wispy clouds hanging in the sky as the sun basted down onto Peril County’s practice field. The heat index was at 102, just a few degrees from being over the limits for allowing outdoor activities to even occur. But players and coaches alike were excited to take the field for their first practice of the season. Little Crawdad Jenkins, an undersized freshman, was the first out of the locker room. Crawdad, so named because his rosy complexion and tiny frame reminded some of the boys of the mudbugs found in the creeks and streams of the region, darted through the doors of the locker room and toward the field. Graham, Jake and several of the other boys followed just behind. “How many you think’ll puke today?” Jake asked.

“Hell, I prolly will,” said Gareth Bennington, a girthy junior with greasy black hair and terrible skin. He was almost as wide as he was tall, giving him an almost spherical look. “I ain’t done shit in a month but eat cookies and sit on my ass.”

The other boys laughed. “What about it, Chief? How many gonna puke here first day?” Jake asked Graham. 

He was twirling a beat up pigskin in his hands as he walked down the hill toward the field. “They’ll be a few, for sure. But we killed it this spring. I think most of us are gonna do fine.”

Practice started, as it always did, with a jog around the field and stretching. The forty-odd players stood in four columns, with a team captain at the head of each. Graham and Jake were joined by a rail thin receiver named Braxton Collins and a short, squat running back named Geoff Whitehead. The four of them lead the team through a series of stretches that were all too familiar to the entire team. After fifteen minutes, the squad was warmed up, stretched out and ready to get going. Most of them anyway. 

“I just don’ wanna be the first ‘un to puke,” Gareth said as they broke up into smaller groups. The running backs and receivers jogged down to the far end of the field while the linemen and Graham stayed on the near side. “It’s embarrassing to be first.”

Graham slapped him on his hip. “You been tearin’ up those hand pies down at the Dairy Cheer, ain’t cha?” 

Gareth nodded, guiltily. 

“Well, now’s the time to work ‘em off!” The QB smacked him on both sides of his helmet, encouraging him to keep trying, and ran off toward Coach Simpson. 

The sled was a daunting looking piece of equipment that had become a tradition for Panther Football. Three coaches would stand on the back of the large steel structure while five big and burly lineman would slam their shoulders into the pads at the front of the device and then drive it as far as they could. “Jake, line up your boys!” Simpson said, pointing at the husky center. 

Graham watched as the starting line crouched and, in unison, drove their shoulders into the red pads. Five sets of cleats churned the grass and dust as they shoved the sled down the field. 

“Go! Go! Go!” Simpson called as he rode atop the sled, flanked by two other coaches on either side. After traveling about fifteen yards, the coach blew his whistle, signaling for the boys to rest. “Every time, gentlemen. Just like that, every time,” he said, climbing off the sled. Another coach took his place.

The sounds of shoulders hitting the sled filled the air as Coach Simpson walked with Graham to an open section of the field. “They look strong,” the young QB said, picking up a weathered ball. 

“They’re motivated. Always helps. It’s easy to work hard when you know you’re protecting the best player in the state.” Coach Simpson smacked the back of Graham’s helmet. “I want you to work with Crawdad some today. He’s nowhere near where you were at that age. But I gotta have a quarterback after you graduate. And I think he’s got some potential. Show him some footwork and talk to him about game management. Just don’t overwhelm him.” 

Graham nodded his head. “Yes sir! Whatever you need.”

Simpson blew his whistle. “Crawdad! Get down here.” 

The small boy sprinted from his position at the back of the drill with the receivers and backs to stand before Graham and Coach Simpson. “Yes, Coach?” 

“Crawdad, did you play any QB coming up in grade school or middle school?” Coach Simpson asked. 

A look of fear and confusion spread across his young red face. “Um, no sir. I’ve always played wide out.”

The head coach tossed a ball to Crawdad. “How’d you like to work with Graham on being the next Panther QB?” 

Crawdad stood there, awestruck. “Isn’t Braxton backup QB?” he finally got out.

“Braxton is a senior just like Graham. We need to be thinking about the future. You won’t find a better teacher than Graham here to show you how it’s done,” Coach Simpson said, 

Graham hit Crawdad on his shoulder pad. “C’mon pal. Let’s toss a few.” The star QB spent the next few minutes working with his new protégé on the basics of playing the position. Simpson hovered near, but paid more attention to the linemen’s workout to his left and the skill players on his right. Graham noticed him checking in on them every few minutes, but, by and large, Coach left the QB to show Crawdad the ins and outs on his own. 

After a water break, the team came together to run some plays. “Crawdad, hop in there and take a few snaps while I talk to Graham,” Simpson said. He pulled his starting QB to the side. “I’m pretty sure you know these basic running plays we’re going over, so let’s let the kid get a few reps.” 

Graham smiled. “Sounds great to me coach.”

“Awe, what is this horseshit?” a voice shouted from the top of the hill above the field. Graham looked up to see his father, sitting in a camping chair, sucking down something in a brown paper bag. “You done gone and lost ya spot?” 

The star QB let out a defeated breath and took a step toward his father before Coach Simpson placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. “Hang tight, pal.”

Coach jogged up the hill and stood about five feet below Graham’s dad. “Eddie, we talked about this. Practice’s are closed to parents. You can’t be here. Plus, you sure don’t need to be pullin’ on that bottle on school property.”

“You benchin’ my boy?” he rasped. 

Simpson shook his head. “No Eddie. He’s the best damn QB in the state. I’d be a fool to bench him. But he knows this offense inside and out and I’m trying to get some reps for the younger kids. Now, collect your stuff so we can get back to practice.”

Eddie sat there a moment, defiantly. He stared down the coach before twisting the lid back onto whatever was inside his brown bag. “He ain’t gonna get no better just standin’ there, watchin!” He motioned toward Graham.

“Thanks for the insight, Eddie. But you gotta go.”

He stumbled to his feet and folded his chair, clumsily, under his arm. “Tell Graham I’ll see him later, I guess.” He turned and walked up the hill and off school property. 

Below, on the field, Graham and his teammates had stood and watched the entire exchange. Graham knew that his father's antics were nothing new to the guys he’d been playing with all of his life, but it didn’t make it any less embarrassing. “Back to it, boys! Let’s focus on what we’re doin’!” Simpson yelled as he ran back onto the practice field. 

Graham dropped his head and stared at his cleats. “Every time,” he thought. He felt a hand on his back and looked up to see Coach Simpson standing beside him. 

“Braxton, run a drive route. Geoff, you’re on D. If the pass is complete, no conditioning today. If not, we’re doing grass drills for twenty minutes. Geoff, if he catches it, you owe me 50 pushups!” Simpson tossed a ball to Graham. “Pressure’s on, pal.” 

The QB smiled. “Set…Hut!” Braxton and Geoff took off in full sprints down the field while Graham bounced on the balls of his feet, watching them run.

“We need at least forty!” Simpson yelled as his players darted further down the field.

Once Braxton had gotten thirty yards down field, Graham cocked back his arm and loosed the pig skin, sending it spiraling toward his receiver. The ball fell perfectly into Braxton’s hands, just over the outstretched arms of Geoff, who stumbled and fell, allowing the receiver to coast easily into the end zone. 

The entire team exploded in cheers and surrounded Graham, smacking his helmet and screaming his praises. A moment later, Braxton and Geoff joined the dog pile. 

A loud whistle broke through the cheering. The team stopped to look at Coach Simpson. “Alright Geoff. Hit the dirt and give me fifty!” 

“Hey Coach! What if we all do ten, instead?” Graham called over the din of players.

Simpson smiled. “Make it 25 and you got a deal!” 

The entire team flopped onto their bellies and began knocking off pushups as Graham called out each rep. Once they finished, they all jumped to their feet, cheering. “Alright, let’s break it down!” Graham shouted. He raised his hand and the team surrounded him. “Panthers on three. One-Two-Three-Panthers!” they all shouted. 

Graham led his team up the hill toward the locker room, feeling more confident than ever about their chances. “Gonna be a good year,” he said to himself as he pushed open the door the Panther’s Den.

Week 29: Hot Day at the Barber Shop

Frannie Jones had a roundness in her cheeks and a glow about her person that her uncle Fred hadn’t seen in years. She had come in to his barber shop on her way to a halfway house living facility for women over in Harlan. “You’re doin’ good, girl. I swear. Don’t know if I ever seen you lookin’ this healthy,” he said as they sat across from each other, she in a brown folding chair and he in his barber’s chair. 

She smiled sheepishly. “I’m tryin’, Uncle Freddie, I am.” Her soul had walked many a mile between passing out in her uncle’s barber shop just after the new year to now, being clean and sober for 157 days. She had seen the blackness of the abyss and come out the other side. “Every day is a struggle. But the good Lord ain’t finished with me just yet.”

“No, he ain’t, kiddo. No, he ain’t.” Fred fell back into his barber’s chair and crossed his leg. His knee had never healed right from when he tore something playing ball all of those years ago, and even on a hot day like today, it was stiff and sore. 

“I got to see Harley and Xavier for a while yesterday. Mom and dad brought them to my graduation ceremony. They got so big, Uncle Fred.” 

Fred smiled proudly and nodded his head. “They’ll do that. Be drivin’ and everything before you know it. That’s why you gotta bust ya ass in this halfway house. You get your life lined out and then you can focus on them babies a yours. And I know you will.”

She was fighting back some tears, he thought, as she placed her hands on his knee. “I’m gonna do it this time, Uncle Fred. I really am.”

“Just keep workin’, kiddo. Take it a day at a time. And remember who you’re fighting for. You are worth it all on your own, but them two babies makes it all even more special.”

Frannie stood and hugged her uncle before starting for the door. “I’ll call you in a couple days. Just to check in.”

He strained to uncross his legs. “You call me all you want, baby. Always love hearin’ your voice.” 

The heat from outside burst through the door as she walked out. Fred prayed silently that this time, it would take. And this time, she’d be able to make it though her terrible sickness. 

No customers visited Jone’s Barber Shop for the most of the day. Fred fiddled with the old radio on his counter until he tuned in the local station. It was “Tuesday Bluesday”
and Randy Jenkins was spinning old rock and blues songs until the end of his shift. Fred liked to listen to this show when he could, as it reminded him of his dad. 

A gritty, pounding song was finishing up as Fred got the tuner set just right. “That was Howlin’ Wolf with ‘Evil,’ a criminally undervalued song from the 1950’s that some say was the real birth of Heavy Metal music. You’re listening to Tuesday Bluesday on your home for Rock in the Mountains, WXBG. I’m Ralph Danner and it’s another scorcher out there. It’s 3:45 here on Main Street in Black Grass and temps will climb up to 94˚ this afternoon under clear and sunny skies. Highs for tomorrow expected to be even hotter with 96˚ forecasted. Time and temp provided by Black Grass Community Bank. Locally owned and operated for over 100 years. Now, let’s get you back to the music. This is a cover of a song that many believe originated right here in this region over 150 years ago. Everyone from Bill Monroe to Nirvana has had a crack at it, but my favorite is from Led Belly. This is a haunting version of the classic “In the Pines.”

Fred turned up the radio and walked to the door, where he lit up his cigar and starred out onto the town. He puffed away for a few minutes, watching folks walk from the bank to the post office and then back to their cars or trucks. “Not a lot keepin’ ‘em down here,” he thought. The city government had worked on downtown revitalization projects, he knew, but those trees had born little fruit as of yet. And if things didn’t pick up, Fred wasn’t sure he was gonna keep the shop open much longer.

The song on the radio ended, so he put out his cigar on the side of the brick building. There was a black stain on one brick that showed where he always tapped the ash down to preserve his smoke for later. A commercial for a mining supply store across the state line in Virginia came on, so he flicked off the radio. Walking toward the back of the shop, he reached down behind a bank of seats and pulled out an old guitar case. It was once black, but wear and tear had left it mostly cracked and grayed now. Fred pulled out the old Martin and sat down on one of the black folding chairs he had lining his shop and began to play. His fingers were worn and callused, but they still bent enough to make some pretty impressive cords and notes. 

He banged his way through an old Stick McGhee song Fred Sr. had played decades ago on a little record player in their small home just as the Jones Family was getting started. Young Fred loved to lie on his stomach and listen to his dad’s records for hours. And today, alone in his shop, he played and sang a few that he still remembered. It was easy for Fred to find himself back on the wooden floor of that old house every time he pulled out his guitar. 

The whoosh of hot air brought him back to the present. He looked up to see Jordyn Nelson and her son, Gryphon, entering the shop. “Don’t quit on our account, Mr. Jones. We could hear you from the street and you’s sounding good!” 

He sat his guitar back in his case and gave the two a big smile. Fred had known Jordyn since she was a little girl as she was a schoolmate of his youngest daughter. “Well, look at you two, sneakin’ up on a ol’ man like that. Here I was, just a pickin’ away. You folks doin’ alright this afternoon?” 

“We’re just fine, Mr. Jones. Gryphon is lookin’ a little shaggy and could use a trim. You got time for him today?” Gryphon had sandy blonde hair down past his nose and a defeated look on his face.

Fred looked him up and down, noticing the boy wasn’t terribly enthused about getting a haircut. “We can squeeze you in for a trim. But the young folks are wearin’ it a little longer, these days, Jordyn. So we don’t want to cut too much off or he’ll look like an’ ol’ man like me.” He wiped off the barber’s chair and motioned for the boy to have a seat.

“Well, papaw always says that when he was a boy, he knew it was time for a haircut when his teacher, Mrs. Barger, could grab a hold of it and pull. His daddy must have been pretty strict, bein’ a military man and all. So Papaw kept a burr flattop for forever.”

The old barber smiled and shook his head. “I remember ol’ Mrs. Barger. Meanest white woman that ever lived in Black Grass. And that’s sayin’ something. She probably in the runnin’ for meanest white woman in the state.”

Jordyn chuckled. “What qualifies someone as meanest white woman in Black Grass, Mr. Fred? I might wanna put my momma in the runnin!” 

He shook his head as he began scissor-cutting Gryphon’s hair. “Naw, I’ve met your mama. She’s a sweet lady. Ol’ Mrs. Barger was about evil. She’d pull on the boys’ hair if they talked out of turn. That’s why ya papaw knew it was too long; she could get a hold of him! She spanked the girls for talkin’ about the boys and pinched the devil out a’ the boys if they looked cross-eyed at the girls. But I remember my multiplication tables to this day because she’d smack my hand with a wood ruler if I mess ‘em up.”

Jordyn’s eyes grew wide in her head. “I’ve heard of old school, but that’s a little extreme, right?”

Fred ran his scissors across Gryphon’s brow, creating a neat line of hair about an inch above his eyes. “Different time, I guess. What would you do if a teacher pulled your hair or slapped your hands with a ruler, kiddo?” he asked Gryphon as he continued to trim the young man’s hair. 

Gryphon shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Run, I guess?” 

A slight chuckle escaped Fred’s chest. “That’s smart thinkin’, kid. I had a Sergeant in the service that us’ta say that anyone who felt ‘discretion is the better part of valor’ was a sack-less turd. But I’m willin’ ta bet he never had Mrs. Barger as a teacher, neither.” 

Gryphon sat in an awkward silence. 

“Where’d you learn to play like that, Mr. Fred? I had no idea you played and sang,” Jordyn said, finally. 

He collected some long strands of hair from Gryphon’s crown and began snipping. “First big purchase I remember my ol’ man ever making was a Flat Top. He’d had a beat up ol’ thing as I remember. But that Martin was special. He let me play it every night after I finished up homework and chores. We’d listen to records, and I’d try to figure out how to play ‘em. But, I got a little older, and the girls seemed to think more a ball players than guitar pickers at the time. So, I followed the girls to the gym and gave up the guitar for decades.”

“What got you back into it?” she asked.

Fred sniffed. “Guess it was when my Mama died. Daddy died when I was off ta war. But Mama lived up into her 90’s. We’s goin’ through her things and I came across Daddy’s ol’ guitar. Been playing it as much as I can ever since.”

Jordyn gave a mournful smile. “That’s a sweet story, Mr. Fred.” 

“Mom’s going to the music school over in Hyden, Mr. Fred,” Gryphon said out of nowhere. 

He shot a somewhat surprised look over to Jordyn. “Well, I sure like to hear that. I always enjoy hearing you sing at church. You excited?”

She nodded, sheepishly. “I guess. Nothing set in stone, but I figure if I don’t give it a shot now, might never get around to it.” 

“Very excitin’ news, Jordyn. I can’t wait to come and see you perform,” he said, pulling the cape from around Gryphon’s neck. The young man looked at himself in the mirror and gave a nod of approval.

She pulled out $15 and gave it to the old barber. “Well, I can see his face. That’s a big improvement. Thank you, Mr. Fred.”

He took the cash and gave Gryphon a friendly slap on the back. “You got a good boy here, Jordyn.” The young man smiled, a little unsure of what to do.

“Don’t I know it.”

After Jordyn and her son left, Fred turned the sign off in front of the store and started sweeping up. There wasn’t much to sweep. After finishing, he opened the top drawer on the right side of his counter and pulled out an old leather bank bag. Inside, he placed the $15 from his last customer. Thumbing through the cash inside, he found around $45. It was all he had taken in that day. 

He zipped up the bag and placed it back in the drawer before walking to the door to finish his stogie. A long stream of blue smoke left his mouth as he watched the sun start to sink in the horizon. 

Week 28: Vandals at the boat dock

There were so many wonderful things happening in the Peril County community on and around the 4th of July. The county’s fiscal court was sponsoring a day of music and food and then caped it off with a brilliant fireworks show. The Wildlife Society was hosting a nature hike, featuring birdwatching, wild crafting and an afternoon of fishing at Plucks’ Waterfall. Peril County’s Women’s Club planned a bake sale and craft show in City Park to raise funds for their Thanksgiving Food Drive. And the Chamber of Commerce sponsored a logging event where folks get to show off their skills throwing axes, sawing logs and climbing poles. There was always something to see and do around the 4th. But WEKT producer/reporter Jaclyn Perez wouldn’t be covering any of those wonderful events. She wouldn’t even be putting together the newscasts and prepping the shows for air. No, Jaclyn, fresh off of amazing reviews and national attention for her story on the long-term effects of opioids on children, was being sent to the boat dock to cover another round of vandalism.

Lake Beaumont wasn’t the biggest body of water in the region, but it still attracted a ton of visitors from other states this time of year. Cars and trucks with Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois tags with boat trailers or jet skis usually lined the parking lot at Beaumont Boat Dock. And the 4th of July weekend was always the busiest. Over the past few years, instances of vandalism had increased at the dock, with a strong anti-Appalachia slant. “Pill-Billy” and “In-Bread” were currently spray painted across the main wall of the marina facing the water. Last year, security cameras were installed and signs posted, but the graffiti artists were undeterred. 

Jaclyn drove her station vehicle out of town and out towards the lake. It was a good half hour to get from the center of Black Grass out to Beaumont Lake Marina, so the young reporter made the most of her time by listening to books on tape. Since coming to the region, Jaclyn had made it a point to explore Appalachian Literature, seeking out local artists where she could. She was currently listening to a Silas House book on her phone and reading a Robert Gipe novel at home. Growing up in Boston, Jaclyn’s background differed completely from that of the people she covered here in Peril County, so she wanted to hear stories told in local voices so that she could better understand her new home.

She blinked and tilted her head. “Home?” she thought. It had never crossed her mind that Black Grass and Eastern Kentucky could ever be her home, but the more time she spent here, the more she felt like this was where she belonged. Being the granddaughter of first-generation immigrants, Jaclyn appreciated the importance of culture and heritage more than most of of her fellow journalism students, she had noticed. And the people she had encountered here in Peril County and the surrounding communities had really touched her in ways she couldn’t quite explain. Of course home was with her parents and her abuela. But she thought, this place she now lived could become a home in time.

The noonday sun was blasting down as she pulled into the grey parking lot. Most of the spaces were filled, but she noticed Deputy Trevor Collins motioning for her pull the EKT vehicle along the curb next to the parked cruiser. “You doin’ alright today?” the Deputy asked as Jaclyn climbed out of her car. 

“I think I could find a better reason to make it out to the lake. How are you?” 

Deputy Collins placed his hat on his head and started walking toward the marina, motioning for Jaclyn to follow. “Been worse. I hate this heat. And these damn northerner’s comin’ in here makin’ a mess ain’t helpin’ nothin’.” 

Jaclyn, being a woman of a darker complexion, couldn’t help but frown at the use of the word “northerner” by the young deputy. It had no racial undertones, at least she didn’t feel any. But any time a southern accent spews a word like “northerner” with that much venom, it was hard to take. “I’m a northerner, you know. Born and raised in Boston.”

Deputy Watts’ eyes grew large in their sockets. “Oh, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s these a-holes from Ohio and Indiana who come down here and act all better than us. Use our lakes and our ATV trails and leave all kinds a garbage and shit behind. Besides,” he said, grinning playfully. “Don’t that make you more of a Yankee?” 

“As a lifelong Red Sox fan, I find that statement horribly offensive!” They two shared a laugh as they walked on into the marina. 

Inside the facility, they found slanderous markings covering the entire 30 foot wall. “F-U Hillbillies!” “Sister F’er” “Meth Mouth MF’er” and more tasteless taunts were spray painted across the side of the building. “Anything on the feed?” Jaclyn asked, pointing up to the security camera mounted to a light pole. 

Deputy Collins shook his head. “S’not workin’, apparently. Hannah at Judge’s office said that the grant they got to put them in didn’t have anything for repairs and they’ve not been able to afford to get them back up and running.”

Jaclyn spent the next twenty minutes gathering footage of the marina, showing the vandalism damage to the bathrooms, the broken light fixtures used to illuminate the pathways from boats to land and, of course, the graffiti. “Any solid leads?” she asked.

“Me and McElroy canvased all the boats and campers set up here first thing this mornin’, but nobody’s saying anything. There’s a group of boys stayin’ with one a their mom’s over in the cabin. Hate to profile and all, but if I had to lay money on it, I’d go with them.” Collins looked toward the cabin on the far side of the marina and frowned. 

Jaclyn could feel the young deputy’s unease about the whole situation. “Why don’t I go and talk to them. Maybe get the mom to agree to be on camera?”  

Collins nodded, and the two walked on to the cabin. The deputy rapped on the door and a woman in her mid to late forties opened it. She was dressed in a two-piece bathing suite and a bath robe. Giant sunglasses covered the majority of her tan and weathered face. A lit cigarette hung from her lips loosely. “Can I help you?” she asked, scornfully, looking down toward Jaclyn and Deputy Collins. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Jackie Perez and I am a reporter for the local TV station. I was wondering if I could bother you for an interview about the vandalism that occurred at the marina last night.” Jaclyn was pouring on the reporter charm, trying to convince this woman to talk. 

The woman in the cabin glared over to the Deputy. “What’s he doin’ here? You think we had something ta do with all a this?” She was defensive and perturbed. 

Jaclyn shook her head, smiling. “Oh, no ma’am. Deputy Collins is just here showing me the damage and walking me around. Right, Deputy?” She looked over at Collins, her eyes pleading for commitment. 

“That’s right, ma’am. Just showing her around the site. That’s all.” 

The woman in the cabin took a long drag from her cigarette. “Well, we didn’t see shit. The boys was playing on their video games there all night and I was in bed by like ten. So, I don’ knows what’s to tell ya.” 

Jaclyn shifted her feet a bit. “Well, maybe you could give us your perspective on why you visit Lake Beaumont and what you think about the area?” she offered. 

“Listen,” the woman in the cabin said, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow, “We just come to dis here podunk town because a my boyfriend gettin’ a good deal on this cabin. He wanted to get out a the city and fish and I tol’ him I wasn’t coming unless we had room for all a the boys. I told him there’s a dozen spots between Cleveland and here we coulda stopped. But he had ta save a buck!”

Jaclyn could feel Deputy Collins tensing up beside her. “Well, I appreciate that ma’am. If you see or hear anything, please let the Sheriff’s office know. And if you want to say anything on camera, here’s my card.” She handed the woman in the cabin her business card. “Didn’t catch your name, ma’am.”

“It’s Penelope Palsgrave. Probably one a these local a-holes did it, you know. They don’t know their head from a hole in the ground. Most of ‘em so doped up or too stupid to come in from the rain. Ain’t got enough sense to get out a this Hell-hole, that’s for damn sure.”

Deputy Collins took a step forward, about to speak. But Jaclyn held him back gently with one hand and looked back to Ms. Palsgrave. “It was very nice to meet you. Let me know if you change your mind about being on camera.” Jaclyn smiled as the woman closed to door to the cabin. She and Deputy Watts walked back toward the marina. “What do you think?” she asked.

Collins scratched behind his ear. “I think she’s a real piece of work!”  

The reporter scanned the area. “Any other leads?”

“McElroy said there’s some guy camping out on the other side of the lake. He’d have a clear view of the dock. Might be worth checking out.” 

Across the lake, Jaclyn and Deputy Collins found a small campsite with a fire pit, two-person tent and a dog tied up to a nearby tree. The smell of oatmeal and marijuana was strong in the air. “Hello?” Jaclyn asked as they approached. A young man in his late twenties exited the tent. He had dark, curly hair that hung past his ears that was held back by an orange, green and black headband. He wore a lemon yellow tank top and pink bike shorts with open-toed sandals. “Well, hello there,” he said nervously after seeing a deputy and a person carrying a camera enter his campsite. 

“You doing alright today, sir?” Deputy Collins asked as they approached the camp. 

He nervously tossed his backpack into the tent and stood up, fidgeting. “Um, yeah. Sure. What can I do for you guys? Officer? What can I do for you both?”

Jaclyn stepped forward a little. “I’m Jackie Perez with WEKT, the local TV station. I’m here doing a story on the vandalism that occurred overnight. Just wanted to see if you saw anything.” 

The man ran his fingers trough his hair. “On no. Yeah I saw that this morning when I went down there. Super sad, right? But, no, I didn’t see anything.”

The reporter took a step forward. “It would be really helpful if you could tell us what happened. Or even just how damaging it is to have someone do something like this to these facilities.”

“Listen, man. I’m just camping out, ok? I just came here to do my thing and not be bothered and not bother anybody. Ok? I don’t wanna mess with no one and I sure don’t want no one messing with me.”

Deputy Collins cleared his throat. “Sir, I can detect the use of marijuana in the vicinity and that presents probable cause to examine your camp site. Is there anything you would like to tell us before I commence to searching your tent?” Jaclyn dropped her head and tried to hide a smile.

The whites of the man’s eyes glared out on his face. “Oh, now, there’s no reason for that, deputy. I think I remember seeing some kids running around over there around eleven or so. It was dark and I’m, like, across the lake, but I could make out some boys, like whooping and yelling and stuff. Couldn’t tell what they were doing, but they were out there.” 

“Would you be willing to come down and make a statement?” the deputy asked.

He swallowed, hard. “Like, um, to the police station? Right now?” 

“That would be ideal, yes.”

“Give me like, ten minutes and I’ll meet you down there. That ok?” He was nervously running is hand along the side of his shorts. 

“We will meet you at the marina and I’ll follow you into town, Mr…?”

“Harker. Bernie Harker. Give me, like ten, and I’ll be down there.”

Jaclyn and Deputy walked back to the marina. “You got enough for your story?” Watts asked.

“I can make do. Thanks for the police escort around the docks today. I really appreciate it.”

A smile grew across Watts’ face. “My pleasure. You comin’ to the fireworks in the park tonight? I’m working the gate until it’s over. Be nice to have someone to talk to if you’re not busy.”

Jaclyn matched his smile. “First funnel cake is one me.” 

Week 27: Happy Father’s Day

The truck stops in Reno, Nevada are not the nicest in the world, but they’re a lot better than most. Some are well lit, some have decent food and there’s one out on I-580 with a $10 shower that will strip the paint off your chassis. Luke was about to finish a four week haul that saw him criss-crossing the western half of the lower 48 a few times before he headed back across the Mississippi and made his way home toward Peril County. 

It was about 4am local when he started out of the cab for a nice session of the 3S’s (Shit, Shower & Shave) and a big plate of eggs before getting back on the road. His feet were sweaty, so Luke decided to slip his boots off and throw on his flip flops. His gym shorts and Panther’s teeshirt were wet with sweat, and he was already looking forward to that powerful shower. What he was not paying attention to was the 5’ diamond-back rattler that had curled up under the steps of his truck, just a few feet from where Luke would soon be stepping down. The creaking of shocks startled the snake and it tightened into a tight bundle of scales, ready to strike. 

Luke pushed open the door to his truck and took in a deep breath of desert air. It was colder than he had expected this morning and the refreshing breeze felt good against his damp shirt after being cooped up in his truck for the past few hours. The snake below him sent out a rattle of a warning, but Luke was too lost in the thought of his shower to notice. He took two steps down toward the ground. The diamond-back intensified it’s rattle, but Luke didn’t hear anything. Feeling threatened, the snake struck, lunging quickly at Luke’s exposed heel. 

BANG! The sound of a gunshot rang out in the quiet desert night. Luke jumped and then fell to the ground, trying to find some sort of cover. When he opened his eyes, he saw two halves of a dead snake lying in front of him and a large shadowy figure wearing a white cowboy hat and carrying a pistol walking in his direction.

“Tha’s a close’un, Hoss,” the large man said when he got a little closer. In the light, Luke could now see  he was a man in his 50’s with salt and pepper hair that came down to his shoulders, a bushy white beard and a bulbous pot belly. “Rattler’s ‘er mean little shits, let me tell ya.” He reached down and helped Luke to his feet. “Name’s Nick Sherman. Folks call me Saint Nick. What’s yer handle, Hoss?”

Luke’s mind was racing. He looked down at the bifurcated diamond-back and back up to Saint Nick. “That thing was gonna bite me,” he said on the verge of shock.

Saint Nick patted Luke on the back, knocking some of the sand and dust off. “Well, he ain’t gonna bite no-one now.”

“Geez, man. Thanks. Let me buy you breakfast. It’s the least I can do,” Luke said, picking up his bag. 

After a quick shower, Luke met up with his new friend at the lunch counter. A few other early risers were already there, eating plates of eggs and toast. He plopped down next to Saint Nick and patted the older man on the shoulder. “I sure do owe you one. That thing woulda got me for sure.” 

The two men shared a nice breakfast together. Luke learned that Saint Luke grew up in East Texas and now lived in Oklahoma. His husband Frank ran an antique store in Broken Arrow, which is just a stone’s throw from Tulsa. They like to go hunt for rare finds at swap shops and thrift stores on the weeks Saint Nick is off of the road. He has two grown children from a previous marriage that was doomed to fail. But his grandkids lovingly call his partner “Aunt Frankie” and they both just ate that up. 

Luke told about his family in Baker’s Fork in Peril County. He’d been married to Rita going on fifteen years now and his children Zander and Hailey were the light of his life. He liked to go deer hunting in the fall and was learning to build rocking chairs in his dad’s old tool shed. They swapped road stories and throughly enjoyed each other’s company. 

“Well, I could sit here an jaw all day, but I got a load headin’ ta Abilene that ain’t gonna drive i’self,” Saint Nick said wiping the last bit of egg out of his beard. He stuck his hand out to Luke. “I’m much obliged for the breakfast. Hope we run into one another out there on the road again somewheres.” 

Luke took his hand and shook it vigorously. “I can’t thank you enough. Really.”

Saint Nick chuckled and, sure enough, his belly shook like a bowl full of jelly. “It ain’t often I get to shoot off ol’ Pearl when we ain’t at the range or way off in the boonies. ‘Sides, you’d a done the same for me.”  He patted the holstered revolver at this hip. 

“Well, you definitely earnt that nickname today. You sure was a saint fer me,” Luke said with a big grin. 

The two men walked out to the truck lot. “This is where I leave ya, Hoss.” Saint Nick stopped in front of a huge rig, painted red with green trim and twin branches of brown LED lights that looked like antlers sticking out of the engine block. There was even a red light on the front that gave the unmistakable look of a red nosed reindeer. He gave the Kentuckian a big wave and climbed into the cab. As he pulled out, he smashed his horn and it blared out the first eight notes of “Deck The Halls With Bails of Holly.” 

Luke stood in the parking lot and watched to truck drive off, shaking his head. “I’ve heard of Christmas in July, but that was something else,” he said to no-one as he turned to head into his own truck. 

New Orleans was the next stop on his haul, but there wouldn’t be any sight seeing or partying on Bourbon Street. He had to pick up a load from the Port and that usually took a couple hours. Over two thousand trucks will load up every day at the Port of New Orleans, not to mention the trans and freight boats that pass through. It’s one of the busiest ports in the world. As he was waiting, Luke watched the line of cruise ships off in the distance. He could see a line of passengers waiting to come aboard.

“Bet Rita would like that. She loves Myrtle Beach and I’d say that ain’t nothin’ compared to what you’d see on one a them trips,” he thought as he inched along the track to get his load. He made a mental note to look up prices for cruise lines when he laid down that evening. 

It was finally Luke’s turn to pull into the loading area. The dock foreman let him know that he had a full load for this trip and it would be about two hours to get him ready to leave. It was late, but he decided to try and call Rita anyway.

The FaceTime ring rumbled a few times before an error message came up saying she was unavailable. “Probably already in bed,” he thought. Luke took this time to check out the large selection of shops just a few blocks away. Zander’s birthday was coming up and he still hadn’t found anything for his coming home present for either of them. One shop featured Voodoo inspired trinkets and Luke quickly purchased a “100% unauthentic Shrunken Head” that many would probably find culturally insensitive. But Zander would get a kick out of it. Next door, there was a store selling candy from around the world where he found Arabian Honey Candy and English Toffee’s. He knew the kids would fight over them, so he bought two boxes of each. 

After his excursion to the stores, it was time to head back to the port and turn his truck north. Huntsville was his next stop, then on to Atlanta, Charlotte, Huntington, and finally back to Black Grass.

He’d had trouble reaching Rita and the kids most of this leg of the trip. She’d texted him a few times, but they never seemed to be able to connect on a video call. It bothered Luke, but he didn’t give it too much thought. Rita was odd like that sometimes and she had said that the kids were being punished by not getting any screen time right now. 

The road into Black Grass had been under construction for years, but a lot of work was done in the weeks Luke had been gone. Orange Barrels were only in half of the lanes now. It was foggy and dark when he pulled into his driveway on Preacher’s Creek. 

Immediately, he knew something was wrong. There were no lights on in the house and he didn’t hear Banner barking. He sat his bin of dirty clothes down by the door and tried the handle. It was locked. “It’s late, everyone’s asleep. Or the power is out,” he thought. But the pole light shining in his yard proved that was not the case. 

He pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. The house smelled stale and the a/c wasn’t on. “Rita?” he called into the darkness. 

No answer came. 

Luke walked into the kitchen and flicked on the overhead light. On the table, he saw an envelope with his name on it. His heart sank as he picked it up and pulled out the letter inside. He recognized Rita’s handwriting. It was smooth and deliberate. 

Luke,

I can’t deal with this anymore. If I’m gonna live by myself, I’m gonna do it at my momma’s where at least I have some help. I’ve been talking to a lawyer. Call Mama’s house when you get home and we can set up something where you can see the kids. 

It felt like he’d been hit in the guts by a shotgun blast. The room was spinning and he couldn’t think. A single tear streamed down the left side of his face.

He felt his phone vibrate and a twinkle of hope surged through him. “Rita?” he thought. 

He looked down to see an automated text from his route booking firm, wanting to confirm his next trip that started in four days. 

On the kitchen table, Luke looked down to find  a hand drawn picture of his family. On the top, scribbled with green crayon, Zander had written “Happy Fathers Day!”

Week 26: Padlocks and Blueberry Pie

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” she thought. Jordyn felt like a cold blade had stabbed her in the stomach; shivers of fear and uncertainty crept up her spine as she stood there in the L&T parking lot. The windows looking inside were dark and the chain around the front door left no mistaking that the convenience store was closed. 

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone. “Teresa? This is Jordyn. I’m at the store and it’s boarded up. There’s a chain on the door and I can’t get in. What’s going on?” 

Teresa, the voice on the other end of the line and the “T” in L&T, had owned this service station for over twenty years. She and her husband put a son through trade school and a daughter through community college with the money they brought in from this store. But times had gotten lean and margins had gotten slim. 

“Jordyn, honey, I tried callin’ you this mornin’. We’re gonna have to shut down, baby. We ain’t got enough to cover the last gas delivery, much less restock the shelves. Plus, with Larry gettin’ sick and the kids movin’ off, we decided it was just time to close. Maybe somebody’ll wanna buy it. And we’ll tell ‘em you’re the best night manager we ever had, I swear. Sorry to do this, baby.” 

A subtle click and the phone call ended. Jordyn felt sick. She’d spent the better part of two years working at this store. The better part of her sobriety had been behind that counter, ringing folks up. And now, she had nowhere else to go. No source of income, no sense of stability. It was all crashing down in an instant. 

A red pickup pulled up to one of the pumps, and Ustice Jenkins climbed out of the cab and went to fill up his gas tank. He was a mountain of a man, with wild gray hair shooting out in every direction from his face. He wore faded overalls with a white tee underneath. “Evenin’, Jordyn. What’re you doin’ out here?”

She shook her head. “Ain’t no use. Pump’s turned off. Larry and Teresa’s closed the store.” 

“What the hell for?” His voice was surprisingly high and soft for a man his size.  

Jordyn shrugged her shoulders and puled out a pack of smokes. “Don’t know. Just said they’s closing. I didn’t know ’til jus’ now.”

Ustice shook his head. “‘At’s a damn shame. They ain’t another gas station ’til you get to town or head to Hyden on the other side of the mountain.”

“I know. Ain’t like there’s a ton a folks hirin’ right now, neither. I might be diggin’ ditches by the end a the week.” Jordyn was trying to be funny, but the reality of the situation was digging into her. 

The large man hung the handle back onto the pump and closed the lid to his gas tank. “Well, guess I’ll be drivin’ on into town for some gas. Good seein’ ya, Jordyn. Take care a ya’self.” 

She took a drag off of her cigarette and gave him a friendly wave. Looking around the building, she noticed several spots of neglect that she had not paid attention to before. A leak in the awning that had resulted in a rusty stain, a broken handle on the left half of the door, more. The strain of the situation caused a familiar itch to form in the back of her mind. The Suboxone worked at keeping the physical need for the drugs at bay, Jordyn knew it did. But it didn’t mean that emotional triggers didn’t cause cravings all over again. 

She looked back down at her phone and immediately punched in a few numbers. “Jerry? Hey, it’s Jordyn. No, I’m not actually. I just lost my job, and it’s hittin’ me pretty hard. Got time for a talk?” 

The next day, Jordyn sat in a booth at Martha’s Diner, sipping on a cup of coffee. A piece of blueberry pie sat untouched in front of her. The little antique bell about the door jingled as Jerry Hacker, Jordyn’s sponsor for the last two years, came into the building. He was a slender man in his fifties with deep creases in his face. His thinning hair was mostly gray and the scruff on his face showed he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. A look of recognition flashed across his face when he spotted Jordyn in the back corner and he took a seat across from her. “Doin’ any better this mornin’, kid?” he asked. 

She nodded and took another swig of coffee. “I think so. If this woulda happened couple years ago, I’d be in a ditch, probably.” Her voice was shaky.

Jerry grimaced a little. “Get that negative shit out a yer head. You ain’t there no more and you ain’t her no more. Now, what are you gonna do to climb out?” 

“I don’ know, Jer. Jus’ don’t know,” she said, shaking her head.

“You still livin’ with yer folks?” 

She nodded. “Me and Gryphon. I feel like a leech still livin’ with my parents.”

Jerry ordered a coffee. “I’d ask how the pie is, but I see you couldn’t tell me. I’ll have a piece a the same,” he told Martha when she came over to check on them. “Now, this negative shit’s gotta go. Yer mom an’ dad love you and want you to be happy and healthy. Yer still a young woman with a shit-ton a good years ahead of ya.”

“I can’t even keep a job baggin’ groceries, Jer. What the hell am I supposed to do now?” She was almost in tears. “I ain’t good for shit!” 

Jerry furrowed his brow. “That’s the last a that kinda talk I’m gonna listen to. You’ve heard me tell my story enough to know that they're ain’t no hole deep enough that we can’t crawl out of it. The good Lord let me walk through Hell and see the other side so I could help others find their way through. I lied, cheated, robbed and stole off a anyone who would so much as look at me. I’d beat somebody’s ass er suck their pecker if I thought it’d get me a fix. Now, you been to Hell an’ back too, kid. I know it. But that don’t mean you gotta live there now. So, you got dealt a bad hand. How can we turn this problem into an opportunity?”

Jordyn couldn’t help but smile as he finished. She always got tickled when he transitioned from his grizzled old talk into sponsor speak. The best thing, Jordyn thought, was that both were as authentic Jerry as anyone could find. “I like to sing,” she blurted out before she knew what she was doing.

“Well, now there’s something new I didn’t know. Are you any good?” he said with a smile on his face.

“How the hell should I know,” she said, embarrassed. “There ain’t no audience in the shower.” 

Martha dropped off the pie and coffee. Jerry gave her a wink and a smile. “’S blueberry season. You gotta try ‘at pie,” he said after taking huge bite. 

Jordyn slid her fork into the pie and and took a small bite. It was like the essence of summer exploded in her mouth. She had always liked blueberries, but this was spectacular. “Oh my God!” she said.

“Told ya.”

They sat there and enjoyed their pie for the next few minutes in silence. Jordyn gave serious thought to ordering a second slice after she finished hers. “Did you know there was a music school close to here?” she said.

Jerry shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe. You thinkin’ about goin’?” 

She ran her hand through her long blonde hair. “No. I don’t know. Maybe. I been thinkin’ about it off an on for a while. But I don’t got the money and I don’t play an instrument and I don’t know if I’m any good. It’s just a lot, you know.”

He sipped his coffee, thinking. “I was a foreman in the mines, makin’ good money off a high school diploma. I didn’t hate my job. Hell, I loved bein’ underground with my buddies. But a cart crashin’ into my knee sent me to the doc where I got hooked on pills. And let me down a road where I lost my wife, my daughter and myself. But now, I’m working for a rehab center, gettin’ a degree in counseling and I’m having dinner with my daughter tonight. I never thought I’d be here fifteen years ago. But I’m here. Thank God I’m here. He’s gonna put you where he needs you to be. You just gotta listen to what he’s tellin’ ye.” 

Tears were welling up in Jordyn’s eyes. “I really wanna do somethin’ with my life,” she said, not much louder than a whisper.

“Stop wantin’. Start doin’.” He reached into his pocket and plopped down a $10 bill. “Breakfast is on me. I gotta run. You’re gonna be fine. But call if you need me.” He grabbed her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze as he walked out. She placed her hand on top of his, just for a second. 

The little bell above the door rang, and he stepped outside. She could see him climb into his old pickup and light up a smoke as he drove off down the road. Draining the last of her coffee, she pulled out her phone and typed something in. The signal was weak, but after a few moments, the screen flickered to life and some search results came up on the screen.

STUDENT LOANS - KENTUCKY

Week 25: Downtown Revitalization and the CHC

So many buildings in Black Grass that once housed thriving business now sat empty. What was once a downtown area teaming with activity now had streets virtually abandoned. Across from Jones’ Barber Shop sat the former location of Gleeson Drug & Fine Goods. This stalwart of Black Grass closed around fifteen years ago, but in its heyday was a booming business, serving food and providing a high end mail order service. Mr. Walker at the bank has told the story several times of being a young boy, and spending Christmas Eve nights in the bank with his father, the town’s banker at the time. Stores like Gleeson’s would do most of their business on the day before Christmas and then bring their cash into the bank late that night for safekeeping. 

Daniel and Blair walked hand in hand along Main St., looking at these empty storefronts and daydreaming about the potential for downtown. The couple had talked non-stop about the opportunities for growth and innovation in the region after their trip during Spring Break. This resulted in Blair applying for a position with a local non-profit that focused on improving the living conditions for children in Black Grass. She decided to soak up more of the local energy with her boyfriend before her interview later that day. 

“Babe, take a look over there,” she said, pointing to Gleeson’s. 

Daniel filled her in on the history of the space, as best he knew. Even he had memories of going in as a young boy, eating egg salad sandwiches and playing arcade games that were a late addition to the space. “I bought my first comic books here, I think,” he added. 

“That’s what we need in terms of purposeful, creative placemaking. Imagine using that space now as a coffee shop with a performance area, and have local artists and crafters on consignment selling their wares. You could do poetry nights, wine tastings, interpretive dance.” She was speaking rapidly, excited with her own ideas. 

He put his hand on Blair’s back and pulled her in for a hug. “Slow down there, sweetie. Very cool ideas, sure. But you’re about ten steps ahead of yourself. How are we gonna pay for all this?”

She beamed up at him, smiling ear to ear. “Oh! We can find the money. There’s grants, and loans. Plus the three F’s are always an option.”

“Three F’s?”

“Family, Friends and Fools!”

Daniel turned to face his girlfriend. “You’re being serious, aren’t you.”

“Babe, I know you didn’t believe me when I said I wanted to move with you to Peril County. I know you laughed a little at me when I said I thought that the two of us could make a difference here. But I believe in you. I believe in us and I think this is the perfect place to do the work I’ve been dreaming about since I started working in creative placemaking.” She took his hands into her own and leaned into his chest. “I want this. And I want to do it with you.”

A little later, the two sat across from each other in a booth at Martha’s Diner, sharing a basket of fries and a couple of chocolate milkshakes. Martha’s was another staple of downtown Black Grass, with the best smash burger’s this side of the Cumberland Gap. Martha still worked the cash register from 7am to 4pm Monday through Saturday. 

“You ready for your interview?” Daniel asked as he picked up the cherry from the top of his shake and popped it into his mouth. A dab of whipped cream stuck to the side of his lips. 

Blair shrugged her shoulders. “I believe so. I’ve done the research and I have a pretty solid resume for a recent collage grad. I’m not saying it’s a done deal, but c’mon!” She would never admit it, not even to Daniel, but she had already planned out the next twenty years. She would get this job at the Appalachian non-profit and be Executive Director there by thirty. Daniel would start a business out of one of these abandoned storefronts and expand across the region, diversifying as they went. They would get married in eighteen months and have their first child in three years. She would expand the reach of the non-profit from children in this community to the entire region. Their second and third children would come three and six years after the first, respectively. There’s would be a great life and they would make a real difference. 

“You still with me?” Daniel asked after Blair had spent several minutes daydreaming about her future. 

She smiled and ate a fry. “Just thinking about all the good we can do here.” 

“Get you kids anything else? We got coconut cream pie and hot fudge cake today?” Martha had snuck up on them.

Daniel looked over at Blair, and she shook her head. “Both a those sound fantastic, but I think we’re good. Thank ya, Ms. Martha.” 

Out on the street, Blair gave her boyfriend a giant kiss. “For luck!” she said.

“I’m gonna go get a haircut from Mr. Jones, then I’ll wait for you in the car. You’re gonna kill it!” he said as she walked down the street toward the Black Grass Community Help Center’s office. 

Inside, Blair found a dingy waiting room with yellow walls and furniture that was too old to be considered nice, but too tacky and damaged to be considered antiques. The upholstered chairs were a burgundy color at some point in the past, but now looked ashy and worn. There were magazines on an old coffee table, but they seemed to be as old as the furniture. There was a dankness to the air that Blair couldn’t quite explain, but it immediately set her allergies off. 

A gray-haired woman sat behind a partition between the waiting room and the office, her head sticking above the window. She looked up as Blair made her way into the room. “Can I help you, dear?” she asked with a croak.

“Blair Montgomery. I have a 1 o’clock with Mr. Peterson.” She was fighting to not let the aesthetics of the space ruin her expectations of what this place was and the good works that they claimed to do. 

There was a long and loud series of clicking on a keyboard, then a long pause. “What did you say your name was, young miss?” The receptionist had a voice like gravels rubbing against sand paper. 

“Montgomery. Blair Montgomery. I have a job interview with Mr. Peterson.” More keys clicking on the other side of the wall. 

The receptionist coughed loudly. “I’m sorry, hon. I’m not seein’ you in our calendar.”

“Is Mr. Peterson in? Maybe you could check with him?” she said, probably a little more frustrated than she had intended. 

She picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers. “Mr. Peterson, there is a Blair Mullins here to see you, but she’s not on the calendar.” Blair thought about correcting the old woman on her last name, but decided it wasn’t worth it. After a moment, she hung up the phone and looked back to Blair. “He’ll be with you in a few moments. Just have a seat.”

On the coffee table in front of her, Blair noticed a Black Grass Community Help Center Annual Report and picked it up. She knew these types of documents are great to get a feel for the kinds of work non-profits do and wanted to see if there was more information than she could find online. After a moment, she noticed it was dated for the year she finished seventh grade. There were some great photos of kids receiving Christmas presents, new shoes and even a dental cleaning, though. 

“Ms. Mullins? He’s ready to see you now,” the receptionist said through the little window. 

Mr. Peterson’s office was a shrine to Peril County sports. He had pictures, posters, jerseys and other memorabilia hanging on every wall. His desk chair was black and green striped with a panther head stitched into the back of the seat. The man at the desk was in his 50s, short, fat and balding. He wore thick glasses and had a salt and pepper goatee. He was eating a meatball sub when Blair entered the office.

“Blair Mullins? Mike Peterson. Nice to meet you.” He stood and wiped his hands on the back of his pants before extending it in her direction. She noticed she was almost a foot taller than he was. 

“It’s Montgomery. But I am very pleased to meet you as well. I was just thumbing through an old annual report on in the lobby. Looks like you guys do some amazing work.” She shook his hand and took the seat he offered her across from his own. 

He looked puzzled for a moment. “Annual report? Lord, we’ve not put one of those out in forever. But yeah, we try to help the kids. I’ve been runin’ the CHC for the past fifteen years since the founder, Mrs. Gulch, passed on. She was a good woman, and it’s her endowment that lets us do the good work that we do.”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Peterson. I saw the job posting online and started doing some research. What kinds of programming does your organization focus on currently?” In truth, Blair had spent hours looking into the Black Grass Community Help Center and couldn’t find much. A bare bones website, an inactive Facebook page and a Twitter with only retweets of Peril County sports posts was it. 

Mr. Peterson rubbed his bald head. “Well, I’ll just tell you. When Mrs. Gulch was alive, CHC was really active in health initiatives like dental and overall wellness. Nutrition was a big one I remember. My oldest, Charlie, got a backpack of food every weekend as part of a program done through this office. And every year, Mrs. Gulch would do a big toy drive for needy kids. Few hundred kids would get presents. And I tried to keep up with some of that when I took over, I did. But we kept getting grant applications from the school system for things they needed and that took away from some of our other programs, I guess.”

Blair scanned the room, looking at all of the school-branded items on the wall. “You must be a big supporter of the sports teams, I suppose?” Blair didn’t mean it to be accusatory, but Mr. Peterson became a little defensive.

“The school needs that money. Our students work hard and if we can help them with travel or equipment, I do what I can. I was the manager for the football team many years ago, so I know firsthand how hard it is to keep that equipment in top shape.”

She smiled, trying to defuse the tension a bit. “I’m not saying that at all. I apologize if it came off any differently. So, tell me more about what you would need me to do around here if I join the team.” 

Peterson matched her smile. “I’m glad you picked up on the fact that we’re a team! I like to think of myself as a coach. I call the plays and the rest of the team executes what needs to be done.”

“How many employees work for CHC?” she asked. 

“Oh, it’s just me and Wanda out there.”

Blair bit her lip and forced down a little laugh. “So, what would I be doing?”

“Well, the Gulch estate requested an audit earlier in the year and the results showed that we are not focusing on the established parameters of the fund agreement as it was originally written. So, I need a new program officer to come in and work in the community to develop relationships that will create funding opportunities.” He sounded a little defeated as he said this. 

Blair furrowed her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. It sounds like you need me to come in and find ways to give away money.”

Patterson took in a deep breath and let it out hard. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. The estate has established a new board, and they have clarified in no uncertain terms that if I want to keep my job, we cannot keep just funding athletic programs and need to find more, in their words, ‘meaningful opportunities for philanthropic giving.’ So, that is what you’d be doing.”

“We’ve not discussed salary,” Blair said.

He reached for a pen and wrote a number on a yellow note card and passed it to her. She took it and read the number before looking up at him. She then looked back down at the number. Then, again, back at him.

“I can start Monday.” 

Week 24 : Breakfast, INTERRUPTED

Sunday mornings were usually pretty quiet in Black Grass until around 10am, when Sunday School started at the Baptist and Presbyterian Churches. The Speedy Quick out on the bypass would see some business, and The Super Center always felt busy. But downtown was pretty peaceful this time of the week, with little activity to speak of. 

Sheriff Higgins sat in the corner booth at the Dairy Cheer, sipping coffee and eating a breakfast sandwich, noting the few cars that passed by on the main stretch of road. A newspaper sat in front of him, still folded. He was coming off of an overnight, but the thought of going home to an empty house didn’t sound too appealing. He was too tired to sleep, anyway. 

“Warm that up for ya?”

He looked up to see Brittani, a round-faced server at the Dairy Cheer holding a pot of coffee. “Sure,” he replied. 

“You need anything, jus’ give me a holler,” she said with a smile that caused the sheriff to blush a little. The job didn’t leave him a ton of time for a social life and, truth be told, since the divorce, he’s not been putting himself out on the market.

He finished his biscuit and took another swig of coffee. He looked up to see a petite woman in her fifties coming through the door with purpose. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. She scanned the room and locked eyes with the sheriff before bounding in his direction. 

“I thought that was your truck in the lot,” she said aggressively. Her voice was gruff and hoarse. Sheriff Higgins noticed her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. “You know who I am?” 

The sheriff was a little embarrassed that he didn’t. As an elected official, he was proud of the fact that he had been to every house listing in the county during his campaign. But he couldn’t quite remember where he knew this woman from. “‘Fraid I don’t ma’am. What can I do for you?” 

“They’s a lot you can do for me. For a lot of us.” She sat down on the stool across from Higgins without being invited. “That this week’s paper?” Her hand slapped the top of the folded paper as she pulled it closer to where she sat. 

Higgins was confused. The woman didn’t seem to be impaired, but she was clearly upset about something. “Ma’am, is something wrong? Can I help you?”

Her icy stare shifted from the paper to his face and back again. “You seen this week’s obituary, sheriff?”

He shook his head. “Naw, I haven’t. Did you loose someone?” 

“I didn’t loose no one. Stolt more like it.” She slammed the paper down in front of the sheriff. “See this here? This is Reggie Wayne Turner. My only son. Died Tuesday from an overdose of Fentanyl and meth.”

The sheriff shifted, uncomfortable in his seat.

“I fount him, covered in his own vomit. Eyes rolled back into his head, barely breathin’. Ambulance took twenty five minutes to get to my house in Wallins. He was dead in ten.” Her hand stayed on the picture of her son, looking healthy and happy. But her eyes were locked onto the sheriff. 

“He’s gonna turn twenty in August. Wanted to go get his CDL and do lineman training like his cousin Teddy. Now, he’s gonna be planted in the Turner family cemetery over in Oak Knob next to his paw. He’s got a youngin’ on the way that ain’t never gonna know her daddy. So, what I want to know from you, Mr. High Sheriff, is why in the hell do you get to sit here and drink your coffee while my son is down at Fredrickson’s Funeral Home?” She had worked herself into a frenzy, her eyes were blazing as she glared at the sheriff.

Higgins shifted again in his seat. “Ma’am, first, let me say that I am truly sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child and want you to know that my heart goes out to you. Now, I didn’t get your name.”

“Jessie. Jessie Watkins-Turner.” She stared, unblinking, at the sheriff.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee, Ms. Jesse?” Sheriff Higgins broke from her gaze and looked to the front of the shop, trying to get Brittani’s attention. She was helping a customer at the counter and wasn’t paying attention. 

“I don’t want no damn coffee, sheriff. I want some answers. I want to know why lowlife drug dealers like Sam Anderson or Ash Jenkins are walkin’ the streets. Pill pushin’ sons-a-bitches like Wally Helton and Gus Morgan get to go on peddlin’ their shit while my boy is at the funeral home.” She was hyperventilating, trying to force her breathing to keep up with her words. 

The sheriff felt terrible for her. She was grieving and in pain. But he wasn’t about to jeopardize months of work just to let this mother know that her son’s dealer is on their radar. “Ma’am, I’m not at liberty to discuss active investigations, but I assure you, my deputy’s and I are committed to fighting the drug problem in this community. We have a narcotics officer specially trained to work with the task-force that deals with those issues. We have a K9 unit. We get special training on field awareness and observation for determining if a person is under the influence and what suspicious substances may or may not be. We are not perfect, ma’am. Not by a long shot. But I promise you, we’re trying.”

Jesse wadded up the newspaper into a ball. “You can take your ‘tryin’ and wrap it up in this newspaper and shove ‘em both up your ass!” She threw the paper into the sheriff's face before storming out of the Dairy Cheer. 

Sheriff Higgins sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, puffing out his cheeks like a trumpet player. The commotion had caught Brandi’s attention, and she made her way over to his table. “Everything ok, Sheriff? She sure seemed mad.” 

He took a sip of his now half cold coffee. “She’s upset. Can’t say as I blame her. Just lookin’ for somewhere to direct her pain that ain’t herself, I guess.” He plopped a $5 bill down on the table and stood. “Always a pleasure, Ms. Brandi.” He put on his hat and tipped it slightly at her. 

Brandi swayed a bit and smiled. “Good seein’ you too, Sheriff.” 

Sheriff Higgins drove down the main stretch of road in Black Grass toward his home, but instead of turning up Old Highway 40, he kept barreling toward town and pulled into the courthouse parking lot. Something about what Jesse Watkins-Turner had said resonated with the lawman, and it was sticking in his craw. He pulled out old case files and began scanning them, looking for a connection to Reggie Wayne and the dealers his office had been working so hard to build cases against. 

After a couple hours of scanning, he came up empty. Nothing in the case files, or the database came back on Reggie Wayne Turner. Higgins went into the back office and unlocked the carbon fiber vault mounted against the wall. Inside, evidence from several cases sat safely tucked away, along with a single cell phone. He picked up the phone and typed a message into it. 

Raoul, call your mama!

A few moments later, the cell phone rang. “Jerry’s Bait Shop,” the sheriff answered. 

“I need a pound of crickets,” a scratchy voice said on the other end of the line. 

“You secure?” 

“10-4. What’s goin’ on?” 

The Sheriff sat back in his office chair and sat his hat on the desk. “You ever run across a Reggie Wayne Turner? ‘Round twenty. From ‘round Wallins?” 

There was a moment of silence. “Sounds familiar. Wasn’t no dealer we ever targeted. Think he might have been around Sam Anderson’s place a few times when we set up buys. We never caught him on camera with anything. Why you askin’?”

“His mama joined me for breakfast this mornin’ to inform me he OD’d on Tuesday. Wanted to know why we were lettin’ dope dealers walk the streets while her baby was in the morgue.” He felt defeated as he said this. With all the good he had done: the many drug busts, the reduction of drunk driving and increase in drug awareness in schools, he knew there was so much more to be done. 

“Hate you had to deal with that. Kid falls in with the wrong bunch. Get’s hooked. Only a few ways that’s gonna go.” Raoul sounded pretty defeated himself. 

Higgins ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Don’t forget your report is due tomorrow.”

“I ain’t missed one yet, sir,” he said with a chuckle. 

“Stay safe out there.”

“Will do.” 

The soft click of the phone let Sheriff Higgins know that Raoul had hung up. He sat there, listening to the hum of the AC unit blowing cold air into his office. Reggie Wayne Turner wasn’t a dealer, he was a user. It didn’t matter how many dealers they locked up, if folks were willing to pay for drugs, someone out there is gonna take the chance to sell them. Maybe the entire system is doomed to fail. Maybe he had devoted his life to a failed experiment. The realization hit him like a shotgun blast. 

The squawking of his radio jarred him to attention. “Dispatch to Unit One. Dispatch to Unit One, come in Sheriff. Over.”

He sat up and reached for the switch on the radio attached to the front of his shirt. “This is Higgins. Over.”

“Sheriff, I know you’re off duty, but we have a situation in Wallins that needs your attention. Over.”

Hearing Wallins, Higgins was unsure of what the issue was, but his instincts told him it wasn’t going to be good. He hopped into his truck and drove to the address Dispatch had given him. One of his deputies had set up a perimeter and a few neighborhood folks were standing around watching. As he approached the scene, Deputy Collins met him.

“Sheriff, I hated to call you out. But I figured you’d wanna see this. And I didn’t want it goin’ out over the radio.” He was clearly a bit shaken.

The two started walking toward a parked vehicle on the side of the road. “Sir, I don’t know the situation. But I just wanted you to make a decision on what to do next.”

Higgins approached the vehicle. Fly’s were buzzing around the open window on the driver’s side. A siren from the county’s coroner’s official vehicle startled both men as it pulled along side. Rob Osborne stepped out of the white Town Car. “Give us just a minute, Mr. Osborne,” Deputy Collins called out. 

The Sheriff and his deputy approached the parked vehicle and Higgins noticed that there was a body in the drivers seat, along with something on the windshield. As he got closer, he realized the driver was Jessie Watkins-Turner, the mother he had met just hours before. She was clearly dead, gray and lifeless sitting in the car. A quick look inside showed that she had slit her wrists vertically. Her hands were also smeared with blood. 

“Look at this, sir,” Deputy Collins said, pointing to the front of the vehicle. 

Higgins had noticed something on the windshield, but had been paying more attention to the driver. He walked to the front of the car where he saw it. Jessie Watkins-Turner’s last words. Written in her own blood across the windshield of the car she died in.

-Higgins is a Murderer-

Week 23: Holiday Weekend at the Hospital

Amber Lynn was furious when she got the schedule for May. “There ain’t no way in hell I’m workin’ Memorial Day Weekend!” she shouted in the break room earlier in the month. But here she was, sitting in the nurse's station the Friday before the unofficial start of Summer, with four days on in front of her. 

“This is some Bull sha-hit! I could be on the lake or in a club or under a man. Anywhere but here!” She looked over to Skye, her roommate and best friend, who was logging some files into the computer. “Ain’chu even gonna say anything?” Amber Lynn was beautiful, with flowing red hair, long legs and movie-star looks. But the face she made when pouting was not what most would consider attractive. 

The computer beeped and buzzed as Skye punched in some data. “What do ya want me to say, that I’m pumped to be here this weekend instead of going to see Trenton?” She felt as sullen as Amber Lynn sounded, but was doing a little better at not showing it. 

Amber Lynn blew a giant bubble with her gum. “I done told you, you need to forget about that boy. He’s three hours away and ain’t no way he’s coming to Black Grass. He’s a city boy.” 

Skye spun around in her chair. “He might. You don’t know that for sure.” She sounded almost childlike.

“Uh-oh! Fox in the hen house!” The nurses turned to see Jarrod, the overnight janitor standing in the doorway to their station. He was thin and lanky, with patchy blonde facial hair and a permed mullet that draped down past his shoulders. His janitor’s uniform of pine green did little for the sallow tint to his skin. “What kinda trouble you girls gettin’ into tonight?” he asked as he leaned onto his mop. 

The sight of Jarrod turned Amber Lynn’s stomach. She’d let him feel her boobs in high school years ago and he’d followed her around like a lost puppy ever since. She was convinced he started working at the hospital just to be around her. She’d tried being nice, she’d tried being mean, but nothing worked. He kept coming around no matter what. “We’re workin’, Jarrod. What’s it look like?” she said tersely. 

Skye spun around in her chair, facing the two. It always surprised amber Lynn at how friendly her roommate was to a creep like Jarrod. But, she was pretty nice to everyone. “You get stuck working this weekend too, Jarrod?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Naw, just tonight and tomar. I’m going to Laurel Lake Sunday with my cousin. He’s got him a pontoon. Newer model. Gonna be pretty sweet. See if we can’t mess with the BFO’s down on the lake.” 

Amber Lynn knew not to engage, but couldn’t signal to her friend to just let it go. “BFO’s? What’s that?” Skye asked. Amber Lynn let out a defeated sigh. 

“Bastards from Ohio!” he guffawed at his played out joke. 

Amber Lynn could see Skye’s annoyance at the comment. “You know, Skye here’s got her a man in Ohio. Lives in Cincinnati.” 

Skye blushed a little. “We’re not really dating. We just chat and FaceTime. I’ve only seen him twice in person.” 

Amber Lynn knew her friend was way more into this guy that she might be willing to admit. They talked almost every day for at least an hour. They met in Lexington on a Saturday for lunch last month, a date which Skye had described as “Magical.” Trenton seemed nice enough, but three hours is a long way for any relationship. And Black Grass might as well be a different plant from Cincinnati. “Anyway, she’s spoken for, Jarrod. And you ain’t got a snowballs chance in Satan’s jock strap a’ gettin’ with me! So, you can go pretend to mop somewheres else!” 

Jarrod’s sheepish grin grew a little wider. “You use’ta not feel that way, Amber Lynn!” 

“Yeah, I used ta smoke cowboy killers and drink Rebel Yell like it was Mamma’s Milk too. I done a lot a stupid shit. Now, get out a here before I file a HR report on your creepy ass!” 

Jarrod held up his hands, showing his palms to both ladies. “A’ight. I get it. I’ll just go see what Wanda’s up to down in the ER.” He dragged his mop bucket toward the elevator and waited patiently for the doors to open. 

“That guy’d give goosebumps to a garden snake!” Amber Lynn shivered. “I got half a mind to report his ass anyway.”

Skye shook her head. “He’s harmless.”

“Tell that to my titties! He twisted ‘em like they was tunin’ nobs on an old radio.” They both laughed. “I’m serious, he’s a freak show!” 

The next couple of hours passed without much incident. Skye had to give a patient some pain meds when he woke up after surgery and Amber Lynn helped another to the restroom. It was a typical, quiet night on the Med/Surge Unit at Black Grass Community Health. 

Around 1am, Skye’s phone buzzed. She clicked on it to see picture texted from Trenton. It was a closeup of a pina colada with a purple umbrella and a slice of pineapple sticking out of the top. The message under the pic read “Wish you were here to kick off the summer with me. I’ll save you one for next time!” 

Amber Lynn could see her friend make that sad puppy face while looking at her phone and knew exactly what was wrong. “Was it sweet or funny?” 

“Sweet. Literally.” She showed the phone to Amber Lynn. 

“I ain’t never been one fer them fu-fu drinks. If I want desert, I’ll eat some damn cake!” 

Skye raised an eyebrow. “What about amoretto sours?” 

“Yeah, I kinda like them.”

“And Sloe Gin Fizzes?  

“Ok, those are pretty damn good.”

“Frozen Mudslides?” 

“S’at that chocolate thang with ice cream and vodka? Those are the shit!” 

“Your honor, the prosecution rests!” Skye leaned back in her office chair and propped her feet up on the filling cabinet to her side, smiling widely. 

Amber Lynn stood in the doorway of the nurse's station, hands on her hips and head cocked to the side. “Ok, so there are some good fu-fu drinks I guess. Hell, I’d take a warm PBR if a hot piece of ass was handin’ it to me right about now.” 

Skye started scrolling through her phone. “We could plan another trip to Cincinnati. We got a few days off in a couple weeks. I could set something up.” There was a level of excitement in her voice that Amber Lynn loved hearing. 

“I promised Aunt Norma I’d come stay with her a few days at some point. But besides that, I’m all for it.” Amber Lynn had been raised by her aunt and saw her as much of a mother as anything. They had a strong relationship, and Aunt Norma was one of the few people Amber Lynn enjoyed spending a lot of time with. 

An alert siren blared through the PA System, startling both women. “Attention Black Grass Staff. Attention. Code Yellow 500. Repeat. Code Yellow 500. Any available staff report to ER immediately.”

Amber Lynn knew instantly that something terrible was happening. A code yellow meant that some sort of disaster had occurred. The modifier of 500 required all available staff to report to assist in the ER. She took a deep breath and looked down the hall, seeing a few folks running toward the elevator. 

Skye looked at her roommate, a hint of panic in her eyes. “You stay here,” Amber Lynn said. “One of us has to monitor our patients on the floor. I’ll go see what I can do.”

“You sure?” she replied, sounding a little more relieved than she probably wanted to.

Amber Lynn nodded and made her way to the ER. There, she found an area in mass chaos. How had they not heard anything on the third floor? She thought it looked like a scene out of a movie; the bank of windows in front of her were filled with flashing red and blue lights blaring from the emergency vehicles parked out front. At least four or five gurneys carried mangled bodies screaming in pain or frozen in shock and terror. It was too much for her to take in at once, and she found herself frozen in place, unable to move, speak or even hear. 

“Nurse Johnson. Nurse Johnson!” Dr. Carter was standing in front of her, trying to snap her out of this fog. “Nurse Johnson! We need you in ER 3, stat.” 

Amber Lynn blinked her eyes a few times and forced herself back to reality. The sound of the hysteria in the room flooded in, yells and screams filling her mind. She hurried to the third curtain of the ER and found a young man on the brink of death. His left leg was completely gone below the hip, a mass of blood and bone sticking out of the massive wound. His hands were mangled as well. But his face was pristine, showing every ounce of anguish he felt. 

“Amber Lynn, I need him prepped for the OR. We gotta stop the bleeding.” She somehow turned off her fear and let her training take over. It had been a few years since her time in the ER, and at no point was she ever looking down at someone in this shape, but she somehow knew what needed to be done.

“What happened?” she asked as they attempted to cauterize his wounds. 

An EMT strapped down the patient's uninjured leg. “Explosion at the gravel pit. Not sure what happened, but it took every bus we had to bring ‘em in. Six in total. Two already gone.”

“He’s coding!” Dr. Carter yelled as the solid buzzing of the heart monitor cut through the air. Amber Lynn grabbed the defibrillator paddles and handed them to the doctor. “Clear!” 

A bolt of electricity shot through the young man's chest. But it was not enough. “Again. Clear!” Another bolt, with the same result. “He’s lost too much blood. I’m gonna call it. TOD 2:38am. Let’s check on the other three.” Dr. Carter ripped off the latex gloves from his hands and tossed them into the biohazard bin before running over to ER 4. 

Amber Lynn grabbed a sheet and placed it over the young man’s body. When she finally got a good look at his face, she realized he was an old schoolmate of hers. “Harold something,” she thought. 

The rest of the night was no easier. The other three patients were all touch and go, but the staff at Black Grass Community Healthcare Center came together and saved three of the six lives impacted by the terrible explosion at Peril Gravel. Amber Lynn felt as if she had fought in a war when the last of the patients finally went up to ICU. Her scrubs were bloodstained and her hair sat matted to her head. 

She made her way out to the smoking area, several yards from the hospital, to find Dr. Logan already there. “Good work tonight, Nurse Johnson,” he said as he took a long drag from his cigarette. 

Amber Lynn hadn’t worked with Dr. Logan much before, but had noticed that he was quite handsome. “You can just call me Amber Lynn. And thank you. That was a rough evenin’. Think I can borrow one a those?” 

He handed her a smoke and then flicked his bic to life. “Ever think about moving down to the ER? We could use you?” 

She shook her head. “I’m happy at Med/Surge. Quiet. Peaceful. My best friend and I do shifts together.” 

“I’m telling you, you’ll make a hell of an ER nurse. Better pay. Less hours. Got a lot going for it.”

“Why Dr. Logan, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to spend more time with me?” She tilted her head to the side and grinned. 

He grinned back. “Would that be so bad?”

As the sun was rising, Skye and Amber Lynn climbed into the car and headed for home. “Thanks again for letting me stay on the floor. I don’t deal with stress as well as you do,” Skye told her.

“It was rough, I’m not gonna lie. But I got good news! I think Dr. Logan want’s to get him a piece a this!” She pointed at herself and giggled. 

Skye’s mouth fell open. “What? He’s not at all your type, though. Why are you so excited.”

“Girl, he’s handsome, a doctor and right here in Black Grass. I’m sure I can talk him into growing a beard and gettin’ tatted up once he gets him a little taste a Amber Lynn Johnson!” 

Week 22: Wild Horse Picnic

The last few weeks of Spring are a beautiful time in the mountains of Peril County. The days get longer; the breeze gets warmer and everything just feels a little more alive. Folks love to get out their 4-wheel ATV’s and side-by-side’s and tour the mountains, experiencing all the natural beauty this place offers. Miles of trails to hidden gems like Pluck’s Waterfall & Grassy Point would see their fair share of travelers as they seek out the best places to fish, camp or just picnic. 

It was early on Saturday morning that Grayson Hughes decided to take his family out into the country for the day. He’d worked late the night before, and his wife Jeanie had been asleep when he got home. She was a hairdresser at the Quick Clips out at the strip mall, and Friday’s are one of her busiest days, Grayson knew. So, he didn’t feel like waking her when he got in. 

Grayson was a Radiology Assistant down at Black Grass Medical and had second shift duties for the past week. The bump in pay was nice, and the caseload was typically light, so he didn’t mind doing it one week a month. But, it kept him from seeing Jeanie and the kids, which meant he wasn’t about to make it a full-time change. 

He was careful to not wake anyone as he headed down to the kitchen to start breakfast and pack up some provisions for their trip into the mountains. Soon, the smell of bacon and toast rousted Terry, their oldest son. “Wha’s fer breakfast?” he said through sleep-filled eyes. Terry was a small boy for 10 years old. He wore pirate PJ’s and mismatched socks. His yellow-blonde hair sat matted to his head at crazy angles from sleeping so hard against his pillow. 

“Bacon and eggs with toast and juice. Might even fry up some bologna if you want some. Sound good? You sleep ok?” Grayson asked while he continued to cook. He beamed as he looked down at his oldest, remarking at how much Terry resembled Jeanie. 

About that time, Laura, their middle child, slinked into the kitchen. She was seven, with shoulder-length brown hair that matched her father’s, and bright green eyes. She yawned largely, holding her tiny fist in front of her mouth. “I’m hungry.” 

Grayson poured eggs into a skillet and gave them a quick stir. “Breakfast is almost ready. Go check on your brother and see if he’s up.” She shuffled back down the hallway and came back a few minutes later holding the hand of little Jacob, her four-year-old brother. He was still more than half asleep, wiping the previous night from his eyes.

A plate of All-American breakfast soon sat in front of each child, along with a glass of juice. Orange for Laura and Terry. Apple for Jacob. “Where Mommy?” the smallest Hughes sibling asked, taking a bite out of his buttered and jellied toast. 

“Prolly still in the bed,” Grayson said. “You guys wanna go ridin’ in the side-by-side today? Thought we might go have a picnic out by the waterfall and then go up and see if we can find the wild herd of horses. That sound fun?” 

Laura’s eyes lit up at the thought of seeing wild horses. She’d asked for a pony every birthday and Christmas since she was big enough to talk. The boys seemed pretty excited too, Grayson thought. 

“Is mommy coming?” Terry asked.

Their dad shrugged his shoulders. “I sure hope so, pal. Let’s eat breakfast and pack up and then we’ll wake ‘er up and see if she’s in the mood for some four-wheelin’!” 

After cleaning up the kitchen, Grayson pulled out a rolling cooler and filled it halfway with ice from the freezer before stocking it with sports drinks, juice pouches, pop and water. He then tossed in sandwich meat, cheese and a loaf of bread, checking to make sure it was tightly bound at the end. He then reached up into the pantry and pulled out a couple large bags of chips. Satisfied that he had prepared enough snacks, he grabbed a backpack and tossed in bug spray, sunblock and a small first-aid kit. Grayson had been on too many rides where items like these would have been handy and now had a kit with him for every trip now. 

About this time, Jeanie came downstairs and made her way to the kitchen. She was wearing an oversized tee-shirt with Guns n’ Roses on the front and a faded pair of sweatpants. She immediately walked to the coffee machine and poured herself a mug, barely looking at her husband. “What’er you doin?” she asked, pouring some creamer into her mug.

“Thought we’d go ridin’ today. Got us a cooler packed and the kids are gettin’ their stuff together. That sound good to you?” 

Jeanie closed her eyes and took a deep breath in before taking a gulp of coffee. “Well, we need to clean the house. I need to go to the grocery store. I was hopin’ to run to London today and pick up a bathin’ suit for me and Laura for Memorial Day.” She sounded tired and put out, Grayson thought. 

“Well, you don’t hafta go, sweetie. I don’t care to take the kids and you can have a Mommy Day. You can do whatever you need to do and I’ll keep ‘em busy. How’s that sound?” He was trying to be helpful and offer solutions.

She took another swig of coffee. “I’d like to spend some time with my family too,” she said, exasperated. 

Grayson sat the backpack down on the counter and wrapped his arm around his wife. “So, would you like us to go run errands with you? Or, we could do something as a family tomorrow?” 

“Supposed to rain tomorrow,” she said. 

He nodded. “I know. That’s why I wanted to go ridin’ today.”

“Y’all just go ridin’ and I’ll get some stuff done. I hate grocery shoppin’ in the rain. Maybe we can all clean tomorrow.” She leaned into him and put her head on his shoulder. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, I just washed my hair last night, too. I don’t want to go and get all dusty from the back roads.”

Half an hour later, Grayson had three kids, a cooler, a travel kit, and himself packed into their side-by-side, ready to go out into the countryside. He knew Terry loved off-roading, especially when the terrain was rough. But his younger son hadn’t been on too many rides yet, so he kept this trip to well-maintained trails when possible. They took the trail out of their holler toward Goose Rock and then headed down toward the county line. The smell of dank foliage filled the air as the creek ran through several downed trees. The canopy of leaves kept the sun's rays from beating down on their vehicle, but Grayson had taken care to apply a thick layer of sunscreen to every child and himself. Terry and Laura squealed at every bump they hit, but little Jacob was less sure of the actual amount of fun he was having. 

The trail curved high into the mountain, running along a cliff face Grayson had heard from several people was once the sight of a Native American campground. Folks had found several arrowheads, along with pieces of pottery, as it was told. But in the several times he had searched the site, all Grayson ever found was broken beer bottles and cigarette butts. The big kids were having so much fun on the bouncy road, he decided not to stop and take a look today. 

Twenty minutes travel time took them to a fork in the road with a primitive sign that directed them to Pluck’s Waterfall up the mountain and Black Grass to the left. Grayson took them onward and upward. Another fifteen minutes found them sitting at the base of a beautiful waterfall. The roaring of the water scared Jacob at first, but it wasn’t so loud that it startled him for long. The kids slipped off their shoes and dipped their toes into the pool at the base of the falls, squealing at the coldness of it. Grayson pulled out his phone and grabbed some pics and video of his kids enjoying nature. “Flying water!” he called over to his kids, pointing to the waterfall.

“Huh?” Laura said, confused. 

“What’s flying water, dad?” Terry asked. 

Grayson motioned for his kids to come closer. Jacob had found a perfect stick to poke into the mud, so he busied himself with that. “I heard tell that the Native’s that was ‘round these parts years ago called this place Flying Water. I thought that was pretty cool.” They looked over to see Jacob peeing into the pool of water, smiling broadly.

Back in the side-by-side, the four of them traveled to the top of a strip mining site known locally as Jeb Baker’s. Mr. Baker owned a large parcel of land that utilized mountaintop removal mining in the 70s and 80s. The damage to the land was extensive, but it left behind huge vistas. Over the years, people had abandoned dozens of horses on the property to roam freely. These animals were still fairly domesticated, and are fond of the humans who frequent their pastures to feed them treats. Laura had been talking about seeing the horses all day.

“How many do you think there are, Daddy?” she asked as they, approached the hilltop. 

“Thirty or so, I’d guess.” They crested the ridge to see at least three dozen horses grazing in the distance. Grayson wasn’t a horseman by any stretch of the imagination, but he was pretty sure he spotted a few Appaloosa’s, several quarter horses, some Bay’s, and a few he couldn’t be sure about. 

Laura stared in awe of the sight. “Daddy, they’re beautiful.”

Even young Jacob understood how unusual and important this moment was. He leaned forward and put his hand on Grayson’s shoulder. “I see the horsies, Daddy!” 

Grayson drove the UTV closer to the horses, careful not to spook them. They were used to seeing folks on their ridge, so these beautiful animals just watched as Laura and Terry unbuckled their harnesses and started walking closer.

“I wanna touch one,” Laura said.

“Approach it slowly from the front. Talk softly to him. And show him your palm.” Grayson had been around horses enough to know not to stress the animal in close quarters.

Laura walked up to a gray with her arm outstretched. The horse walked up to her and let the young girl scratch it on the forehead. Grayson could see the excitement radiate off of his daughter. She petted the animal for several minutes before it walked off, back toward the herd. 

“Dad, did you see? Did you see me pet the horse?” she said excitedly. 

Grayson grinned ear to ear. “I did, baby. I did.”

They drove onto the next ridge and enjoyed a nice picnic, overlooking the horses. Jacob played cowboy and galloped around the side-by-side, whooping and hollering. After eating their sandwiches, they collected their garbage and started for home. 

“Did everyone have a good time?” Grayson asked his crew.

“It was awesome!” Terry said. His brother and sister agreed. 

Grayson let the cool breeze wash over his face as he sped back home. He took the kids through Grassy Point and back up Preacher’s Creek to get home so they would get an entirely different view of their community. The sun was just setting when they arrived back at the house. Jeanie’s SUV sat in the driveway. 

“Babe? We’re home.” Grayson said as he sat the cooler down in front of the sink. He found his wife, asleep on the couch. “Babe, you wanna go get some dinner? Or just sleep?”

“Order us a pizza. I don’t want to get out again,” she said through a snore.

Grayson called to the back of the house, where his kids’ rooms were. “Who wants pizza?” 

A chorus of “Me!”’s was the reply. 

He punched an order into his phone and confirmed his address. In forty minutes or less, pizza would be there. He went back to the living room and sat across from wife. “We missed you today, babe. I got some great pics of the kids at the waterfall and with the horses. You have a good day?”

“Not bad. Didn’t get as much done as I wanted. Got my bathing suit in London. That was about it. I’m gonna sleep ’til the pizza gets here. Can you give Jacob a bath?”

“Sure, babe.” He walked over and gave his wife a kiss on the head. As he leaned down, he saw a message on her phone.

Today was fun. We should do it again. -Ted

And in that instant, Grayson knew.

Week 21: Career Day

The end of the school year is always a hectic time in Peril County. State mandated testing takes up the lion’s share of these final days, but Black Grass Elementary faculty and staff work hard to find ways to enrich and engage their students in ways that will improve their understanding of the community and offer insights on their potential as adults. This usually results in the mind-numbingly boring event knows as Career Day. 

Everyone hates Career Day. Well, almost everyone. The students hate it because it always comes at the end of the school year and the only thing between them and Summer break is these final two weeks of drudgery. The community volunteers hate Career Day because they take time out of their busy schedules to talk to students that don’t care about anything more than lunch and the possibility of a kickball game later that afternoon. Even teachers hate Career Day because, while they get a break from the laborious task of instructing these thankless brats for just a few moments, they still have to sit in the classroom and hear about how wonderful these other jobs are that they could have done instead of wasting away in the classroom. The only folks who seem to think Career Day is a good idea are the folks who organize it; the principals and councilors who feel that the students need this kind of exposure to various career options. The types of careers these administrators choose to highlight, however, leaves quite a bit to the imagination. 

Janie Smith had made a point of putting down CHEF on her requested career sheet. She had been giving a lot of thought to what she wanted to do after high school and working in the food service industry sounded right up her alley. She’d also included ARTIST as an option, since she loved to be creative. The last option she selected was MARINE BIOLOGIST. There was a dolphin screensaver on her laptop at the time.

Her brother Kyle hadn’t even bothered to fill out his sheet. “Forgot, I guess,” was all he said when their mom dropped them off that morning. The two made their way to first period at Black Grass Middle. Janie noticed the usual smell of industrial cleaner, teenager funk and body spray was a little stronger than normal this morning. 

They found their seats as the bell rang. Mrs. Gibson, an experienced teacher in her 50’s, took roll and stood with a stack of papers in her hand. “As you well know, it is Career Day. I want you to be gracious to the guests that join us today. They are taking an interest in you, so you should be interested in what they have to say. I have your schedules for today’s event. We have three hour-long sessions this morning, followed by a picnic lunch on the football field and then a motivational speaker assembly. Are there any questions?” Her voice was high and looped up even higher to emphasize her points. There was a touch of accent there, Janie had noticed this year, that wasn’t exactly local. 

Mrs. Gibson began handing out the sheets of paper in her hand. She got to Janie and placed it face down on her desk and then turned to do the same for Kyle before continuing down the aisle. Janie flipped over her sheet and scanned the writing. She gasped. “Mrs. Gibson, something’s wrong. I don’t think this is my schedule.”

She looked down at the sheet again to see her name at the top, followed by her student ID number.  Then, a listing of Career Day guests to attend.

1. Nurse - Skye Green

2. Teacher - Amanda Nox

3. Cosmetologist - Jeanie Hughes

Janie read the list over and over, refusing to believe what it said. These were nowhere near the topics she had requested. What happened?

Mrs. Gibson finished handing out the papers as the class began to stir, sharing their schedules with their neighbors. “What’s the problem, Janie?” Mrs. Gibson asked.

“It’s these careers. I didn’t choose any of them,” she said. 

Mrs. Gibson pursed her lips and nodded, knowingly. “I heard that they were some options that had to be cut due to a limited amount of space. Also, there were some that didn’t have much in terms of interest. Might have been that as well.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? I don’t want to be a hairdresser. The thought of blood makes me want to puke and the last thing I want to do is stay in a school my whole life. I don’t like any of these!” Janie’s mind was racing as she thought of about a dozen other careers she might like more than teaching or nursing: sewer repair, roadkill remover, sauerkraut taste tester, others. 

The teacher walked up to her desk and retrieved a note from the office. “I’m sorry, dear. But they’ve implicitly stated that there are to be no substitutions. The classes are only so big, I suppose.” 

Janie stewed in her frustration for a moment. She looked over to her brother, who was doodling in his notebook. “What’d you get?” she asked. “Can’t be as bad as mine!” 

Kyle’s face lit up. “Oh, I got a couple cool ones. Police detective, Diesel Mechanic and Bakery Owner.”

“Bakery! There is a food option, and I didn’t get it,” Janie said incredulously. “We gotta trade!” 

He scrunched his forehead and gave her a look that screamed IN YOUR DREAMS! “No way! I like most of these.”

“You gotta let me have the bakery one. What period is it?

He looked down at his sheet. “Third. What do you have then”

“Cosmetologist.”

Kyle looked at her, confused. “Is that some kind of scientist?” 

Janie stifled back a laugh. “Um, yeah. I think it’s something like that. You’ll love it. Cmon. Please?”

“Ugh, fine. It’s in room 124.”

She shook with delight. “Oh, thank you! Your’s is in 152.”

“Why not one of the science labs?” he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Must have run out of space,” she lied. 

After a few more moments, the bell rang, causing the students to scatter across the school. Grades four through eight were participating in Career Day and the younger kids scurried about, excited to be around the “big kids.” Janie trudged down to her first session, which happened to be in the Health & PE teacher, Coach Nelson’s, classroom. She was one of the last to arrive and noticed that every student in the room was female. A short, pretty woman wearing mauve scrubs and white shoes stood chatting with Coach Nelson. 

When the bell rang, Coach Nelson addressed the class. “Hey gang. We got a special guest with us here today. This is Skye Green from Black Grass Community Health. She was a student of mine not too long ago and now she’s an RN at our local hospital. Makes me feel old. But, just like you all, she was a student here at this school and now she’s doing very well for herself as a nurse. Please welcome Ms. Skye Green.”

The students applauded weakly. “Thanks guys. I appreciate that. Like Coach said, I went here just like you all and now I work as a nurse here in town. When I was your all’s age, all I could think about was growin’ up and movin’ away. But I want to tell you that you can stay right here in Peril County and make a good livin’.”

Janie sat patiently and listened for the next hour. She even asked a question when none of her classmates offered any during the Q&A session at the end of the talk. Skye made nursing sound better than Janie had expected. But the whole “blood and needles” thing was a deal breaker. 

The second session wasn’t quite as predictable. Janie walked down to the library for her talk on teaching with Ms. Nox, the counselor at the local high school. Ms. Nox was tall and slender, with shimmering maroon hair and alabaster skin. She wore dark makeup with bright red lips. The smart pants suit she wore matched the school colors of black and green. 

As Janie entered the library, three things instantly struck her: One, the smell in the library was unmistakably old books and wood polish, and the teen girl had to admit that it was pleasant. Two, there were a lot of students in this session; twice as many as her last class. And three, 90% of the students were female. The only boys in the class were a few ball players Janie didn’t know that well. The librarian, Mrs. Christian, motioned for the stragglers to come forward and find a seat before addressing the class.

“Looks like we’ve got another great group for our second session here.” She was a woman in her 30’s, stout and dark skinned. She wore pink horn-rimmed glasses that looked like they came from the 60’s. “Ms. Nox has been in the Peril County School system for a few years now. She is the current Guidance Counselor at the high school, but was the Graphic Arts teacher before that. She’s going to talk to you about the wonders of enriching young minds such as yourselves.”

Ms. Nox came forward and scanned the room. “Current data indicates that 5% of you will not manage to graduate high school. Of that 5%, half of you will go on to get a GED. For the ones that graduate or get a GED, just over 60% will attend at least some form of college or trade school, but only half of that number will finish with a certificate or degree. In total, roughly 17% of you will have at least a bachelors degree by the time you reach 30. At least 25% of you will receive some sort of Government Assistance in the form of SNAP, also known as food stamps, or Unemployment. Many of you will leave and make lives for yourselves outside of the region while the others remain here, where almost 40% of the population lives at or below the poverty line.” 

Janie listened intently to these words. She’d heard most of this data in drips and drabs over the past couple of years, but to have it condensed like this was a little shocking. Ms. Nox’s voice never rose and gave no indication of any emotion at all. She delivered the information directly, surgically. This was not the talk that Janie had expected. 

“I am sure you are wondering why I begin this way. I do so because I want to wake you to the realities of your home. I hear often in my role as a counselor that students can’t wait to leave and start over in Lexington, Knoxville or even Richmond and London. My constant response to these comments is running away from a problem doesn’t make it go away. It is a proven fact that great; not good, not adequate, but great schools do more for local economies than almost anything. Will corporations bring their factories to communities with middling schools and an untrained workforce? Of course not. Do community businesses whither when they don’t have smart, capable workers who can perform tasks and follow instructions. Absolutely. Does the world class heart surgeon come to work for our local hospital if his son and daughter is going to get a sub par education? Highly doubtful. So, where does it start? It starts with you.” 

The energy in the room was electric. Students were listening to Ms. Nox’s every word, eager for what was to come. 

“We need young, passionate people who want to change the face of this community to go and get their degrees and then come back here and make a difference. We need men and women who will not give up on this region just because it’s not perfect. We need you to be the next generation of teachers. No one is saying that it will be easy. Teaching is the hardest job on the planet. And no one is saying it will happen overnight. But it will never happen unless we commit to making a change.”

For a moment, Janie got swept up in the moment's fervor. She wanted to see the community do well. It’s what her mom had taught her to do. Mom was on the Chamber of Commerce and donated every Thanksgiving to the food pantry. Janie, for the briefest of moments, thought that maybe this was how she could make a difference, by being a teacher. But, then the thought of always being in a school blasted through her mind. And that ended the whole teacher thing dead in its tracks.  

For the next forty-five minutes, Ms. Nox sang the virtues of teaching and how it was the best possible career. She even plugged the fact that teachers got summers off, just like their students. But Janie would not be swayed. Looking around the room, several faces glued to the speaker, hanging on her every word. It seemed she had done her job of recruiting some new teaching talent well. 

The bell rang and Janie glided down to the Home Ec. room, where her next session was to be. When she got to the door, she found the lights were off and a note was tapped to the window. “Baker Class Canceled. Go to room 152.” She was crushed. She’d sat through two sessions patiently, knowing that she was going to get to talk to a professional baker. 

“That’s some bullshit,” she said under her breath. 

She made her way down to where the note had instructed. She was one of the last to enter and saw her brother sitting in the back of the room. He was the only boy in the room. There was an empty seat next to him. 

“You’re so full of it!” he said as she sat down.

“What are you talking about?” She was sullen and standoffish. 

Kyle motioned to the front of the room. “That ain’t not scientist. She works at Quick Cuts. You should have just said this was a hairdresser.” Strangely, he didn’t seem upset. 

“Yeah, sorry. I just really wanted to go to the baking session.”

“How’d that go?” 

“Didn’t! I’m here, aren’t I?”

He reached up and fluffed out his hair. “Well, I’m gonna get some stylin’ tips and see what she thinks about me gettin’ a perm!” 

Week 20:Potluck at Granny’s

There is something special, almost magical, about a granny. No matter what you call her: Mimi, Nana, Mamaw, G-Ma or something else, there is usually a special bond between these women and their grand babies. For Graham Carter, it was no exception. He had lived with his Nanny since he was three and his mom died in a drunk driving accident. Living with his dad Eddie wasn’t even an option, so little Graham had gone to stay with Eddie’s mom, Darlene. She doted on that boy, but made sure he knew right from wrong. Every Sunday morning, she made sure to take him to Black Grass Baptist for Sunday School. She never missed one of his games and always made sure to check over his homework before he turned it in. 

She was a petite woman in her early seventies now, with grey-blonde hair and deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She’d been a looker in her day, but her face was now careworn. A beautician by trade, she retired only a few years ago, once the arthritis in her hands made it almost impossible to hold a pair of scissors any longer. Even in the heat of the Summer, Nanny Darlene always wore long sleeved shirts, with a few tissues hidden inside, just in case someone had the sniffles or needed something wiped off. In her purse, she kept hard candy wrapped that looked like strawberries. They were Graham’s favorite. 

Darlene was the widow of a coal miner, Ed Sr., who everyone said was one of the best football players in the mountains back in the 60’s. Big Ed was a mountain of a man who filled up any doorframe he walked through. But, when Darlene became pregnant during his senior year of high school. Big Ed dropped out and headed to the mines to provide for his new family, giving up a scholarship to play football in collage along the way. He worked underground for fifteen years, making good wages, and was eventually named foreman of his crew. A tragic accident trying to repair the continuous miner, a large piece of equipment used to rip earth and rock into pieces, left Ed Sr. dead. The miner grabbed hold of the large man’s arm and tore it clean from his shoulder. By the time he was brought to the surface, he’d already lost too much blood. He past away in transit to the Black Grass Community Healthcare Center. Big Ed never got to know his grandson, Graham. But the boy sure took after his grand-paw. And Darlene woke up every morning, expecting to roll over and see Ed.

Graham’s dad, Eddie, was half the man his father was, in almost every respect. To say Eddie was average is being kind to most of the population. He wasn’t tall. He wasn’t muscular. He wasn’t fast and he wasn’t smart. But to hear him tell it, he was All-Universe on the gridiron when he was a player, and truth be told, he wasn’t a bad player and even had his name in the paper a few times. He got tired of hearing about how great a player his father was and how Big Ed’s shoes were so hard to fill. When Senior was a superstar and Junior isn’t, it can be a bitter pill to swallow. So, Eddie took as many pills as he could find and washed them down with brown liquor. Graham’s mother was a random hookup at the honkey tonk over in Hazard that Eddie didn’t even remember when she showed up four months pregnant. 

Darlene had done her best with her son. In her heart, she knew what he was, and that is why she tried so hard with Graham to ensure that he had a bright future. Eddie never held a job more than a year, never kept a girl more than a few months and never committed to anything that wasn’t drinking.  She’d be lying if she said that her son wasn’t a disappointment. 

But, he was still her only son and she loved him, none the less. That is why she invited him every Sunday to come to her house for a big dinner after church. Eddie could always find an excuse to miss church, but he rarely missed the meal. Today was a special occasion. It was Graham’s birthday dinner and some of the family and his girlfriend, Brittany, would be joining them. Nanny Darlene had gotten up early to get the chicken pieces soaking in buttermilk. Fried chicken with sawmill gravy was Graham’s favorite and even though it was messy and time consuming, she was bound and determined to make it. 

The church service was nice, as usual. Brittany had met them there, She was a year older than her Graham and was driving already. The couple had been dating since he was a freshman, and Nanny Darlene liked the girl. She was kind and intelligent with a good head on her shoulders. The exact opposite kind of girl her Eddie used to bring home. They sat in the pew in front of Darlene and held hands during the sermon. It reminded her of the way she and Ed Sr. had looked fifty odd years ago. 

After church, Nanny Darlene sent the kids to the store to pick up some whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, orange sherbet, pineapple juice, fruit punch and lemon-lime soda. Teenagers need some time off to themselves, she thought, as she watched them pull out of the parking lot. On her way home, she saw the road leading up to the site where Ed Sr. had his accident and a shiver ran down her spine. Lord, how she missed that man. 

“What are we eatin’, Mama?” 

Eddie was sitting in the driveway when she pulled in. He looked like death warmed over; a dirty fishing hat covering his greasy hair and a a face that hadn’t been shaved in a week. His clothes were clean, at least, she thought. “I’m fixing to fry some chicken. we got schucky beans and mash taters. Winder pane salad, cornbread and deviled eggs. Think that’ll be enough?” 

He shrugged his shoulders? “Guess we’ll find out. Where’s the boy?” He rarely called his son Graham. His mother had picked that name and Granny Darlene knew that Eddie never took to it. 

“Him and Brittany ran up ta the store, gettin’ me a few things. Won’t be long.”  Granny’s voice had that rich and thick accent that has been disappearing from the region in recent times. 

It wasn’t long before Darlene’s niece, Jordyn Nelson and her son, Gryphon, pulled in in a small pickup. She knocked on the screen door and let herself into the kitchen, carrying a large dish of corn casserole. Young Gryphon carried a seven layered salad. 

“Jordyn! Baby, I didn’t know you was a comin’! And you brought your youngin’ with you!” Nanny Darlene dropped a wooden spoon next to the cast iron skillet and ran to hug her niece. She squeezed Gryphon’s head into her shoulder as well. “Where’s your maw and daddy?

Jordyn’s mother, Sharlene, was a sister to Darlene. “They ain’t gonna make it. Daddy’s down in his back again. He didn’t make it to church even, this mornin’. And mommy don’t want to leave him alone. I told ‘em I’d bring ‘em both a plate. She said she’d call you this evening and that she was sorry.” 

Granny Darlene shook her head. “I sure hate to hear about your daddy.” Soon, a few more cousins, nieces, nephews, uncles and other various family members bounded through the door, each carrying some sort of dish. They filled every corner of the house: no couch, chair, bench or stool was left open as they found somewhere to gather and chat. 

“Where’s the superstar?” one of the older uncles said from across the house.

Eddie piped up. “Right’chere!” he said, laughing at his own joke. 

Granny Darlene hollered “On his way!” before anything else could be said. She knew that it wouldn’t take much to get Eddie riled up and it was best to just move on. He had a brown paper bag in his back pocket, taking swigs every now and then.

As the last of the chicken was coming out of the fry oil, Brittany and Graham came into the house. “It’s not a pot luck without punch!” Granny said as she poured the ingredients they had brought into a giant bowl and gave it a stir. A quick taste let her know it needed a few grinds of nutmeg and more ice. 

Granny Darlene called for the family to join together in the kitchen. They crowded around the serving table and held hands. With bowed heads and closed eyes, they prayed in unison. “Thank you God, for this food. Thank you God, for this day. Watch us. Love us. Guide us. Protect us. All to you in which we pray.” Followed by a chorus of “Amen’s” 

What followed was an intricate dance of reaching across the table and scooping delicious casseroles and salads onto sturdy paper plates. There were more than a dozen different dishes on the table, each more appetizing that the next. Brittany had been to enough of these family get togethers that she was well aware that getting a full plate of food was a combat sport. After the initial blitz had ended, everyone found a seat. Granny always made it a point to eat last. She wanted to make sure everyone, especially the little ones, got enough to eat before she filled her plate. “Gryphon, you didn’t get any Winder pane salad. You’ll like it, now, I promise.”

Unfortunately for Graham, Eddie had found a seat just across from him and Brittany. “How’s liftin’ goin’? Simpson gettin’ you boys in shape?” 

Graham nodded through a bite of chicken. “Really good. Got my squat up to over 450 now. Doin’ routes with the receivers ever day afterwards. Jus’ doin’ the work.”

Eddie nodded and took a swig from the brown paper bag. “Back in my day, we had two-a-days all spring long and then camp week was three-a-days. That’s what it took to make it then. Not like today. Y’all kids is soft.” He was slurring his words slightly. 

“We still do two and three-a-days, dad. Just not in the spring. That’s summer ball,” Graham said, trying to find some common ground with his father. 

Eddie’s face turned dark. “You back talkin’ me, boy?” 

Graham shook his head, confused. “What? No. What are you talkin’ about?”

“I a’int gonna abide with no sass. Y’hear!” He got to his feet, uneasily. 

The teen held up his hands. “Dad, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did.”

Brittany leaned in front of Graham to get in between them slightly. “Mr. Carter, please. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Who asked you, you prissy little bitch!” The whole house had now fallen silent. Brittany sat there, slack jawed. She looked over at Graham. He was seething. 

“Take that back,” Graham said.

Eddie turned his gaze from Brittany to his son. “Or what, pussy?” 

“Take that back, or I’ll make you!” Graham shot up, spilling fried chicken and deviled eggs onto the floor. His father quickly slapped him, open handed across the face. Blood immediately began to trickle from his left nostril. He fell back down onto the couch, holding his face. 

“First you gonna sass me, and then you gonna buck on me. You might think you a man. But you just a pup yet. More like a little pussy.” He turned toward the rest of the room, all eyes starting at him.

Nanny Darlene had finally made her way from the kitchen into the living room where the commotion was coming from. “Edward George Carter, get out of my house right now. You can’t act no better than this, then you ain’t welcome here!” 

Eddie reached down to his plate and picked up a chicken leg. He took a big bite and then tossed the leg back down. “Good chicken, mama,” he said as he started walking toward the door. 

The family watched as he walked out of house. Everyone could hear the engine of his old Dodge roar as his tires threw gravel into the ditch and spun out of the driveway. Nanny Darlene pulled a tissue from her sleeve and wiped the blood from Graham’s nose. She scanned his face. Maybe a black eye, she thought, but nothing broken. 

“You ok, baby,” she asked, knowing that he wasn’t.

“Why he gotta be that way, Nanny?” 

Granny Darlene shook her head and patted Graham on the side of his face. “Ya daddy’s always been marchin’ to his own drummer. He’s been mad at the world since ya Papaw died and he ain’t afraid to show it.” She reached down and picked up the mess on the floor. 

Brittany grabbed Graham by the hand. “Go for a walk?” she asked. 

He nodded.

Nanny Darlene and Jordyn followed them out to the porch. They watched as the teens made their way to the creek that ran by the house and out the holler. Granny had played in that same creek as a girl. 

“He ok?” Jordyn asked her aunt.

Nanny shrugged her shoulders. “He’s got a fool for a daddy. But besides that, he’s fine.”

Down at the creek, Brittany took her boyfriends hand. He was staring off into the distance. “You gotta get outa here,” he said with a shaky voice. 

She looked up at him, confused. “What are you talking about. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, I mean this town. You gotta get outta here, so I can come too. I don’t wanna be anywhere near where that asshole is.”

Brittany leaned over and placed her head on Graham’s shoulder. “You got it, babe. You got it.”

Week 19: Undercover Deals

Ray Carter was standing on the side of Gunther Holler, wearing a worn out flannel shirt and faded denim shorts. His work boots hung loose at his ankles, untied. A camouflage hat covered his bald head, leaving only a rim of dingy, orange hair showing. He scanned down the holler, expectantly. Nervously. His hands kept moving from his pockets to his face and back to his pockets. Now and then, he would remove his hat and rub the baldness of his head. 

After a few moments, an old red pickup pulled up along Ray and he climbed into the passenger seat. The man driving was younger, in his late twenties, wearing a baseball cap, grey sweatshirt and jeans. Ray had spoken to him several times in the past few weeks. “Mornin’, Ray. You ready to do this?” Deputy McElroy asked. 

Ray nodded his head and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah. Just nervous, I guess. Never done nothin’ like this before.”

The Deputy did a turnaround in the next driveway and started back out the holler. “Now, I want to be clear, you don’t have to do this. The agreement you and Trooper Joseph made to keep you out of jail stands with me. But if you want to call this off, I can take you in and book you right now and get it over with.”

“Naw, naw. I can’t be goin’ to no jail. Just walk me through it again.” Ray was grabbing his knees, breathing deeply 

Deputy McElroy reached into the back seat of the truck and pulled up a small, black container. He opened it to show a button attached to a wire and battery pack. “All you gotta do is go up to some folks we know are dealin’ and purchase some product. I’ve got the cash for you. We’ll wire you up with this.” He motioned with the black container. “And you’ll bring me whatever you can buy.”

Ray kept his gaze at the floorboard, both hands gripping his legs. He rocked back and forth, subtly. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Now, when you and Trooper Joseph talked, I think the arrangement was to do fifteen buys, and we’d cut you loose. Does that sound right?” He turned the wheel and pulled out onto the main road. 

He patted his chest, looking for a pack of smokes. “Yeah, I guess.”

McElroy handed him a cigarette and a lighter. “We’re gonna hit four today, if possible. How this’ll work is, one of our undercover officers will drive you to the dealer's house. I’ll be stationed within a mile of the purchase site. Sometimes, the dealer will want you to come inside the home to make the transaction. Others, you’ll do it right there in the driveway. You do your best to get everything on your button cam. It has a strong microphone on it as well. Once you purchase the drugs, leave the premises and when you are out of visual range, you will give the drugs to the undercover officer. Then, you guys will meet back up with me.”

Ray listened intently, trying to take it all in. He nodded along with each point, his mind racing at the potential dangers that lay in front of him.

“Now Ray, there’s something you need to know. We’re gonna have to strip search you before and after each buy. Just to make sure you’re not taking anything into the buy, or keeping any drugs you get from it. Is that clear?”

“Guess that makes sense. We won’t do it on the side of the road, though?”

Deputy McElroy couldn’t help but smile. “No pal. We’ll head back to he precinct between each purchase.”

A few minutes later, the old red truck pulled into the parking structure adjacent to the judicial center. The sheriff’s office had a loading zone underground for situations such as this, and Deputy McElroy radioed into headquarters that he was inbound for “The Vault.”

Ray was taken into an interrogation room where every nook, cranny, crease, and pocket of his clothes and his person was thoroughly searched. He felt vulnerable and scared as he stood there naked in the blank room. After Deputy McElroy was sure there wasn’t any contraband, they gave Ray a new set of clothes, already fitted with the hidden camera and mic. “These should be your size,” he said, handing Ray a shirt. 

Once dressed, Ray followed the deputy back to The Vault and crawled into the cab of the truck. The pair drove to an abandoned strip mine about twenty minutes from town where a blue Trans Am was waiting. The pair exited the vehicle as a tall man with tan skin, a scraggly beard and Rebel Flag bandana exited the Trans Am. He wore mirrored sunglasses and a denim jacket airbrushed with a skeleton riding a motorcycle on the back. “McElroy,” he said as he approached them.

“Ray, this’ll be your ride for the rest of the day,” the deputy said, motioning to the newcomer. 

“Pleasure,” Ray said, nodding toward the man. 

“Name’s Raul,” he said as he lit a hand-rolled cigarette. 

Deputy McElroy handed Raul an envelope. “Eight hundred total. Two for each. You know the drill. Rendezvous after each buy, then back to HQ for search.”

“I been doin’ this a lot longer than you, pal. I think I know how it’s done,” he growled. Raul motioned for Ray to climb into the Trans Am. Ray looked toward the deputy for reassurance. McElroy nodded and headed back into the red truck. After a moment of indecision, Ray slinked over to the blue sports car and climbed in. 

“You undercover, huh?” Ray asked, trying to make conversation.

Raul looked over at his traveling companion with a disdainful sneer. “Let’s get one thing clear here, maggot. We ain’t friends. We ain’t gonna be friends. You are a lowlife thug and my job is to get shit like you off the street. Now, you just a little guppy swimmin’ in a big sewer. So you get to be the bait we use to catch a bigger fish. That’s all you is. So shut your Gotamn mouth and let’s get this over with.”

Ray sat in silence, staring at the floor of the Trans Am, focusing on a piece of gravel next to his left shoe. At that moment, he would have traded places with that tiny speck of rock. Gladly traded. But here he was, riding shotgun on his way to God knows where, selling a little piece of his soul to keep his ass out of jail. The car pulled off of the strip job and onto the main road for about ten miles. Turning up into the Point Rock section of the county, they drove until turning into Grassy Holler. This was a notorious area that Ray knew well. There had been several killings in this holler over the years and many known drug dealers lived up and down this road. 

“You’re going to see Ash Jenkins. He’s been slingin’ pills for months now. We had him on a buy few weeks ago, but the file corrupted. You go get $200 worth and make sure you’re lookin’ at him. Don’t eff this up, or your ass’ll end up in County.” Raul was cold in his delivery, letting Ray take in every word so that his meaning was clear. “You remember your cover story?"

Ray nodded and took the cash and shoved it into his breast pocket. He opened the door and started for the house. The damp smell of spring filled his nostrils as he walked. He tried not to appear nervous, but scanned the area as he walked. The screech of a metal screen door forced his attention up onto the porch. Ash Jenkins stepped out of his house, wearing camo shots and a dirty white tank top. His curly salt and pepper hair shot out in random directions and the scruffy beard on his face ran all the way down his neck. 

“Ray?” he asked from his doorway. “What the hell you doin’ in Grassy?” His voice was high and shrill. 

Ray chuckled a little, trying to seem cool. “Billy Fenton says you’re holdin’ the good shit and ain’t chargin’ an arm an a leg fer it. Figured I’d head up and see fer myself.” 

“Billy send you up here?” Ash cocked his head to the side a bit. 

Ray was certain there was a hint of suspicion in his voice. “No, not directly. He was just saying he got some good shit off of ya. If you’re sellin’, I’m buyin’!” Raul had said to keep the chit-chat to a minimum and Ray was doing his best to get in and get out.

Ash scratched his beard and nodded. “What’chu lookin’ fer, exactly? Perc’s? Oxy’s? Suboxone?”

“How much fer the Oxy?” 

“I got 40’s for $35 a piece and I got 60’s for $50.”

Ray didn’t know if this was a good deal or not. Internally, he was screaming; mad at himself for being in this situation, mad at the cops for busting into his house three weeks ago and mad at the world for being like it is. Mainly, he was mad at Wendy Jenkins, because if it wasn’t for her, he’d be at the house playing CoD right now. 

Wendy was a beautiful girl in her early thirties who also happened to be neck deep in the drug trade. And for some reason, she took a shine to Ray Carter. She’d been shacked up at his place for a few days when some county boys busted his door down lookin’ for her. Had a federal warrant on her and everything. Well, Ray had just bought a big run of marijuana and shrooms that were just laying out on the kitchen table. And Wendy’s scale and baggies sitting next to them were enough to make it a trafficking charge, which sent Ray to county lockup. 

And now, he’s standing in Ash Jenkins’ front yard with a wad of cash, praying he makes it out of here alive. “I’ll take four 60’s if you got ‘em,” he said with a grin.

Ash grinned. “Hell yeah, bother. Give me a sec.” He disappeared back into the house and the world stopped spinning for a few moments. 

Ray didn’t know what to expect, but was sure that Ash was on to him. He thought about bolting for the Trans Am and saying the deal went bad before remembering that everything was being recorded. Did Ash know? Did he know it was a setup? His eyes darted from the door to the car. Sweat beaded on his forehead 

And just as quick, Ash burst through the screen door. He had a small envelope in his hand. “‘At’s $200, my friend.” 

Ray reached into his shift pocket and pulled out the cash. He made a show of counting it before handing it off to Ash. “Keep the change,” he said, hoping he sounded jovial.

“Take care, man,” Ash said with a wave. 

Ray turned to walk toward the Trans Am, parked just out of view at the bottom of the driveway. Once inside, Raul held out his hand. “Let me have the stuff.” Ray placed the small, white envelop into his hand. He shoved the packed into his coat pocket and peeled out onto the road. They drove around a mile to a bend in the road where Ray saw McElroy sitting in his red pickup. The deputy exited his vehicle and walked over to the Trans Am.

“Clean buy?” he asked.

Ray shrugged and nodded. He felt Raul’s hands fiddling with his shirt at the waist. In a moment, the undercover officer had pulled out a small USB cord Ray had never noticed before. Raul plugged it into a small tablet and the video of Ash appeared on the screen. “Pic’s good. Sound’s good too. We got it.”

Deputy McElroy slapped Ray on the shoulder. “‘At’s great man. Just great. But the day’s just gettin’ started. Gotta do another search, then onto the next target.”

Ray patted his arms and legs, looking for a smoke. Raul handed him one, followed by a lighter. “Alright. Who’s next?”

Raul flipped through his notes. “Looks like some asshole named Sam Anderson.”

Week 18: The Prom Dress

Some of the old timers in Peril County say that if you can’t buy it locally, you didn’t need it, anyway. But that doesn’t stop folks from traveling to a more urban area for this and that when the need arises. A strip mall, a Super-Center and a Speedy Quick had all brought modern convinces to this corner of the mountains over the years, but a few folks had it in their mind that if an occasion called for something fancy or elegant, then there was no way you could find that in these parts. 

Josephine Burns was one such person. She hadn’t grown up poor, exactly. Not by Peril County standards. But life had never been easy in her family home. And she had promised herself that she was going to give her daughter everything that she never had. Josephine’s daughter, Brittany, appreciated everything her mother and father did to enrich her life. But even she could feel that her mother came on a little strong at times.

As a girl, Josephine was not the best of students. An undiagnosed learning disability resulted in her being placed in more remedial classes. Thankfully, the educational system has come a long way since then, but it still scarred young Josephine being classified as “slow.” Then, as a teen, she found herself outside of “the clique,” at least as she perceived it. She was chubby, not terribly athletic and unable to take part in extracurriculars. She had friends, of course, but she never saw herself as one of the best of the best: head cheerleader, top of the class, starting quarterback or track star. She was just a wallflower, sitting in the commons area, watching life pass her by. And when she found herself pregnant with Brittany a few years later, Josephine vowed to make sure that her daughter had the life her mother had dreamed of. 

And having Brittany for a daughter made Josephine beam with pride. She was everything anyone could want from a daughter and more. Smart, kind, active in the school and accepted by her peers; she was everything Josephine had wanted to be. And now, with Senior Prom just days away, Josephine was going to make her baby look like a movie star! 

“Mom, I promise we can go to Tootsie’s over in Hazard. Or even to Ginny’s in town. We don’t need to go all the way to Lexington for a dress.” Brittany sat in the passenger seat of her mother's SUV, her hair done up in a messy bun. She was wearing athletic shorts and a green Peril County Panther sweatshirt. 

Josephine shook her head. “I’ve been savin’ up for a special dress. It’s your last prom and I want to splurge!” It was clear that she tried to hide her Peril County accent, but it still snuck through on certain words. 

The drive to Fayette County took a little over two hours. Mother and daughter talked about prom and boys and college. Representatives from Columbia had reached out to Brittany about attending their school and taking part in their writing program. She was exited, but nervous. In truth, Josephine dreaded losing her daughter to college. She would much rather keep her home and have her attend community college, a secret she wouldn’t share.She wrapped up so much of her identity in being Brittany’s mother that, whether consciously or subconsciously, she didn’t want to see her baby bird fly out of the nest. 

Carrie White is the premiere formal wear shop owner in Central Kentucky. Her boutique has been featured in national magazines and televisions shows, so naturally, Josephine HAD to book and appointment for her daughter. “Look at this hot little number,” Carrie said as Brittany made her way into the shop. “We could throw rags on you and you’ll have the boys in tears.” Brittany blushed. “And look at you, mom. I see where she gets it.” Josephine blushed as well.

“I can’t thank you enough for getting us in. I know this is your busiest season,” Josephine said as Carrie showed them both to a viewing area. 

The shop owner waved her off. “Heck no, honey. We’re happy as hay flowers to have you. Now, I’ve pulled five or six options for us to try. Brittany, you mom gave me your measurements, but we still might have to take in or let out these depending on which one you want. And if none of these suit you, we’ve got tons more options. But I’ll tell you both, every one of these six is a showstopper.”  

She reached out her hand to Brittany and pulled her into a dressing room. Over the next hour, Carrie and Josephine scrutinized every inch of Brittany as she tried on dress after dress. To anyone off the street, they would have said that the young woman was stunning in any of the six, but Josephine was a woman on a mission and she would not be deterred from finding the perfect dress, whatever that meant. After modeling the initial six, plus three others, Brittany was tired, hungry and ready to be finished. “Mom, I really like the black and green one. It’s our school colors, it fits me well and doesn’t show off too much.”

Josephine crossed her arms and tapped the side of her head with one finger. “Yes, but that baby blue one made your eyes sparkle. Don’t you think, Carrie?” 

“The black with green is the bolder choice. You won’t find many doing that look. Makeup and accessories will make or break that. It will either be amazing or Elvira.”

Brittany pursed her lips. She kind of thought Elvira was amazing, but thought better of saying anything. 

“What do you have in terms of accessories and shoes for the green and black?” Josephine asked. She sounded a little defeated, but if Carrie thought that this dress was better, she wasn’t going to disagree with the expert. 

Carrie disappeared into the back. “Slip the black and green one back on, dearie,” she called from the other room. As Brittany was changing, Carrie came out with a few small boxes. “Faux antique’s!” she squealed. 

Josephines eyes widened. She starred down at the sliver and emerald costume jewelry with amazement. “That’s just gorgeous!” She took a few pieces and darted into the dressing room to place them on her daughter. After a moment, the two emerged.

“OH! You look like old Hollywood, dear!” Carrie said. 

Brittany made her way to the fill length mirror on her left and for the first time saw her ensemble in full effect. The emerald and silver necklace with matching earrings paired perfectly with her dress. She found tears welling up in her eyes. “Mom, I love it.” 

“Me too, baby. Me too!” 

A quick change back to her street clothes later and Carrie’s team bagged up her dress and jewelry. “Mom, this is too much. Really. I love it, but it’s too much.”

“Baby. I wore a second hand dress that was sea foam green to my senior prom. It was missing as many sequins as it had and it was probably two sizes too big. But it was the best my momma could do. And I loved her for it. Well, this is the best I can do for you, so I’m gonna do it. You deserve the best and I’m gonna get it for you.” Josephine smiled as a tear fell down her left cheek. Brittany reached her arms around her mothers neck and hugged her. 

Carrie handed them two bags. “Ladies, I sure do appreciate y’alls business. Brittany, you are going to rock prom baby girl!”

Brittany smiled and nodded as she and her mother made their way to the door. “Mom, what was your senior prom like,” she said as they climbed into the vehicle. 

“Well, I told you my dress wasn’t the greatest. No one asked me, so I went with two of my girlfriends, Cathy and Tammi. We went to the diner to eat and had paid for each other's dinners. At the prom, we took pictures together and danced most of the night. There was a boy, Gary, who I had a crush on all year. I’d never had the guts to talk to him. But the three wine coolers we snuck in gave me the push I needed, I guess. He was sitting by himself and I asked if he’d dance the last dance with me. And that was the night I started dating your father.” Josephine took in a short breath and lost herself in the memories for a moment. 

Brittany was smiling over at her mother. “I’d never heard that story before.”

Josephine blinked her eyes a few times and was back in the present. “Now, that does not mean that you need to be sneakin’ any booze into the prom, little miss. You’ve already got a boy to dance with and don’t need any liquid courage to help you!” 

She laughed at her mother. “I had been planning to spike the punch bowl, but I guess you changed my mind.” 

“Now that we know you will be the hottest thing at the prom, what is Graham gonna wear?” 

“Well, at one point, he wanted to get a sherbet orange tux with a ruffled shirt, matching top hat and a cane.” Josephine looked over at her daughter like she was insane. Seeing that Brittany wasn’t joking made her eyes bulge out of her head. “I think I’ve talked him into a white jacket and a cowboy hat.” 

“Is that really an improvement?” Josephine asked.

Brittany laughed. “He’s still getting a cane, though.”

“I swear, sometimes that boy ain’t right.”

Week 17: Busy Day at the Barbershop

The spring air was crisp when Fred Jones stepped outside his shop to take a few puffs off of his old stogie. He’d promised his wife to give them up years ago, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “A man needs a vice or two,” he remembered his father saying every once in a while. Fred Sr. was a coal miner who smoked 2 packs a day. The hacking that resulted from the tar and the coal dust in his lungs caused him to take up mountain cough syrup; cheap whiskey, lemon juice and honey. He was by no means a drunkard, but he sure did love a good swig every now and then. 

It was two o’clock on a Wednesday and that meant Mr. Walker from the bank would be coming over for his weekly haircut. Gerald Walker was a man in his sixties who had been the president of the local bank for almost thirty years. He was tall and slim, with wireframe glasses and a bushy white mustache. Fred watched him exit the front of the bank and cross the street toward the barbershop.

“Can’t beat this weather, huh Fred?” the banker said with a smile as he stopped beside his friend. 

“Not with a stick. You makin’ any money today?” he asked. It was an old joke they shared.

Gerald cocked his head to the side. “Never enough, pal. Never enough.” They both chuckled and headed into the shop. Fred pulled the apron off of the chair and motioned for his friend to have a seat. 

“How’s the misses?” he asked as he put the apron around Gerald’s neck. 

The old banker nodded his head a little. “She’s doing well. Had a nasty headache last weekend and we didn’t make it to church. But she’s fit as a fiddle. And yours?” 

“Mean as ever!” he said with a wide grin. They both laughed, knowing that there wasn’t a sweeter woman on the planet than June Jones. He pulled out a set of trimmers and started shaping up Gerald’s hair. 

The old banker sniffed. “Well Fred, I gotta tell you about my youngest grandson.”

“What’d that little fella get into?” he asked. Fred had heard several stories about Carson Walker, the terror of Black Grass Preschool and tyrant of Hawkins Lane. His tantrums were as legendary as his cuteness. 

“Well, yesterday, my son is picking him up from preschool. The teacher has green gunk in her hair and her glasses are taped up in two spots. She says, ‘Carson wasn’t feeling like he wanted to engage with Slime Time today and threw a bowl at one of the students.’ Luckily, he hit the teacher instead, I guess. So he broke the poor woman’s glasses and slimed her up pretty good.” 

Fred clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Sounds like a rough day for the little guy.”

Gerald gave a hard chortle. “Oh! That’s just the beginning. Carson then gets down in the floor of the car, kicking and screaming because he doesn’t want to get a haircut. Tears and snot flying everywhere. Smacking the ground. Throwing toys. My son said that it was the worst he’d ever seen Carson act!” 

The barber put up his clippers and pulled out a shiny pair of scissors. “Well, sounds like he got his way, because I didn’t see him in here yesterday afternoon.”

“I’ll tell ya, Bobby had to promise him a trip to the playground, pizza for dinner and a candy bar for desert. And he got to stay up past his bedtime to watch a movie. And even with all of this, Carson made his dad take him to Quick Cuts!”

Hearing “Quick Cuts” made Fred shake his head. He’d been losing more and more business to the shop over by the SuperCenter for the past year now. “Did he at least get his hair cut?” 

Gerald nodded his head. “Far as I know. I saw a picture of him in the chair, playing on his dad’s phone and getting trimmed up. They came up to our house yesterday evening with ice cream cones and grass stained shorts. I’m just gonna assume they went home and watched a bunch of cartoons after that.”

“Gotta pick ya battles, Gerry. Gotta pick your battles.” Fred pulled out a hard bristle brush and swept the tiny hairs from his neck.

Mr. Walker reached into his pocked and pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to his barber. “That’s good advice, Fred. I might just steal that.”

A little later in the afternoon, one of his few female customers came in for a trim. Lou Rodriguez had been coming into his shop since she was a young girl. And Fred had recognized some truths about young Lou before even she had known them, he expected. One of Fred’s sisters, Jean, now lived in Louisville as John. When they were growing up, Fred and Jean had been very close and, for a time, his transition had been hard on Fred. But, one day, Fred came to realize that his sister Jean had actually been his bother John all along and his having to pretend to be a girl all of those years was a kind of torture. And the last thing Fred wanted for any of his family was to suffer. So, Fred and John have been thick as thieves, just as they were as kids, for years now. 

Fred saw a little of John in Lou when she would come in and ask for a buzz cut. Lou’s dad didn’t speak a ton of English, but Fred had picked up a few words of Spanish in the service. So, they could communicate enough to figure out that Lou’s mother did not want her little princes to have a flat top. A compromise was reached and Lou got a clipper cut with short sides. She was happy and mom would’t have a complete meltdown. 

Now, almost ten years later, Lou was still coming to see Fred about every three weeks or so to get the same haircut. The purple stripe down the side, she did on her own, however. “How you doin’ today, Mr. Fred?” she said as she plopped down into the chair. 

“Oh, we’ve had worse days in these parts. How’s by you?” he said as he draped the cover over her shoulders. 

She smiled on one side of her mouth. “I got my welding final in a couple weeks. Then, I’ll be certified.”

“Big callin’ for that right now, what I’ve heard,” the old barber said as he pulled out his clippers. 

“I sure hope so,” she chuckled. “Donna’s got another semester of Nursing school, so I’m hoping to find something close.”

Fred nodded his head as he trimmed up her hair. “Good. We need young folks like you two ta stick around here. Peril County’s already loosin’ too many kids’ and us old folks is dyin’ off.”

“Out migration. That’s what they call it. Way I figure it. My parents were immigrants once, and they made their way here somehow. Well, I’m not sure I want to immigrate again.” She laughed a little. Fred did too. 

“Well, I’m tickled to death ya folks started up that restaurant. The missus ain’t much for ‘em, but I have a hard time turnin’ down a frozen margarita ever once in a while.” He put up his clippers and began to scissor cut the top of her head. 

“You ever heard of a welding rodeo?” she asked, looking out the window. 

Fred shook his head. “Can’t say as I have, but I can’t expect you’d be spot welding while riding a bull, now.” 

She grinned. “No, nothing like that. Just a bunch of welders get together and make some metal sculptures based on a single theme. It’s all done in a day and creates some art to be displayed. We’re thinking about doing one this summer.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s pretty interesting. What’s it take to put something like that together?” 

“We’re lookin’ into that. Gotta raise some money for supplies and then figure out where to display them when we’re done I guess.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. Y’all get all the particulars figured out, you come see me and I’ll sponsor for $100. How’s that sound?”

Lou’s eyes grew huge on her face. “Mr. Fred! That’s too kind of you. Thank you so much.”

He grinned. “I’ll tell you; we need more things keepin’ you young folks engaged and involved. And if I can help, I’m gonna.”

He finished her cut and swept the hair from her neck and shoulders. “Pretty spiffy, if I do say so myself.” he said as he spun her around to the mirror. 

“That’s as good as I’m gonna look, Mr. Fred,” she said with a smile. 

“Glad I could play my part,” he smiled back at her.

She handed him a $10 bill and waved as she left the shop. 

It was getting dark a couple of hours later, as Fred started sweeping up the floor. The ringing of the telephone startled him; not many folks calling the barber shop these days. He lifted the handle of the old, red phone. “Jones’ Barber Shop.” 

“Uncle Fred? It’s me, Frannie!” Her voice sounded clear and strong. 

He hadn’t spoken to his niece in over two months, but was thrilled to be taking this call. “Frannie, how you doin’ baby? You sound good!” 

The sound of dishes clinking rang through the receiver. “I’m doing good, Uncle Fred. Real good. This place is really special and I think I’m making some real progress here.”

A wide grin spread across the old man’s face. “That’s good, kiddo. Real good. I dropped in on ya daddy couple days ago and checked in on ya youngun’s. They sure are sproutin’ up. Little Harley looks just lake you did at that age.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line, followed by a sorrowful sniffling. “I’m gonna do right by my babies, Uncle Fred. I ain’t been there for ‘em they whole lives. But I’m gonna make it up to ‘em.”

“I know you are, Frannie. We all do.”

They continued to chat for a few minutes. Frannie asked about cousins and nieces and nephews. Fred could hear how much better she felt, and it warmed up his soul. Eventually, Frannie’s time on the phone had run out. “They’re tellin’ me I gotta go. It sure was good talkin’ to ya, Uncle Fred.”

“You too, Frannie. You too.”

“Uncle Fred?” she said, sheepishly. 

“Yeah, baby.”

“I never got to say I was sorry for what happened to Grandma Jones’ house. I just…”

Fred cut her off. “Frannie, it’s fine. Really. Havin’ you home happy and healthy means more to me than any old house.” He could hear her wipe a tear from her cheek. “But I will kill that Anderson boy if I ever run up on him,” he thought.

“Thank’s Uncle Fred. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you!”

“Love you too, sweetie.” He hung up the phone and gave a look around the shop. Then, with a jerk, he reached back out for the phone and quickly dialed a number. After a few rings, a familiar voice answered.

“Jones residence.”

“June, baby, have you started cookin’ dinner yet?”

“No, I was about to, though. Why?”

“I’m in the mood to go out if you are. Let’s head over to Hazard and get some tacos.”

He could hear her turning this over in her mind. “Well, I’m not really dressed to go out,” she said, meekly. 

“Honey, who you tryin’ to impress. You already got me! So, unless you trying to pick up another man at the Tex-Mex joint, I think you’ll be fine.”

She chuckled softly. “Oh hush! I’ll be ready by the time you get here.”

He hung up the phone and went to turn off the lights. “Gonna get me a damn margarita or two while I’m at it!” he said with a little bounce in his step.

Week 16: Macbeth and Pay cuts

It had been a longstanding tradition that the last literary unit taught to the senior class at Peril County High School was Shakespeare’s Scottish Play. Mrs. Owens had loved Macbeth when she taught back in the 60s and started the tradition. When Ms. Jasper took over her class in the 80s, it was just part of the curriculum to have Macbeth taught before the students started working on research essays. That was the flow of things. So, when Mr. William Turner took over the class several years ago, he kept the tradition alive. Sure, he would have rather covered The Taming of the Shrew or A Midsomer Night’s Dream, but Macbeth had its charms. 

For the most part, his students didn’t mind Macbeth. It had murder and witches and a few curse words to keep them interested. Mr. Turner had done choral readings of the play in class for as long as he could remember, and hearing The Bard’s words spoken in an Appalachian dialect was surprisingly authentic. Mostly, the Macbeth Unit was going well; all but for his first period class. During his almost thirty years in the classroom, Mr. Turner had found that there were three class periods where teaching was the hardest: first thing in the morning, last period of the day and the class where the kids have lunch. This year, he was fortunate enough to have a planning period at the end of the day, so that wasn’t an issue for him. But this first class made up for it and then some. Getting them going was like trying to crank over an old engine; it might get going eventually, but it was gonna take a lot of work to get there. 

“Who says ‘Out Out Damn Spot!’ In Macbeth? Anyone?” The students look blankly at their teacher. “Anyone want to take this one? Anyone? Buller?” The students became even more confused and disengaged with his dated reference. 

Misty Dixon, a small girl wearing a green and black cheerleading shirt, slowly raised her hand in the far corner of the room. “Is it his wife?” she asked meekly. 

“I think you mean Lady Macbeth. But, yes, great job, Misty. Now, number two: ‘What does Macbeth see floating in front of him just before he kills King Duncan?’ Albie, you wanna take this one?”

Albie looked like a squirrel, his cheeks stuffed full of grapes. “Ah’m na suah, Misa T,” was all he could get out.

“Caught you with your mouth full. Sorry about that. Anyone else? I know it’s been a couple days since we read this section, but you should remember it. What did he see?”

A dark complected teen with dreaded hair and black rimmed glasses sitting in the front row raised his hand. “Was it some kind of sword?” he asked. 

Mr. Turner snapped his fingers and pointed and the young man. “Dawson, you are almost there. What do we call a short sword?” 

Dawson looked up in thought. “A cutlass?” 

Mr. Turner shook his head. “Yes, but not what we’re looking for. What else?”

“Sabre?” Dawson guessed.

“Try again.”

“Rapier?”

Mr. Turner laughed. “Son, are you some kind of bladed weapons expert? These are great guesses, but not the weapon we are looking for. Anyone else want to take a stab at it?” 

Albie swallowed the mass of grapes and called out to the class, “Pocket knife!” The rest of the kids chuckled and Albie played along that it was a joke, but Mr. Turner could tell he was actually serious in his attempt. 

“Little bigger than a pocket knife. Smaller than a sword. What could it be?” Mr. Turner was trying his best to coax the answer out of his class. 

“Dagger!” Dawson shouted out a little louder than he probably intended. 

Mr. Turner clapped his hands together in triumph. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. Seeing something click with his students, even a little thing like this, always gave him a warm feeling. 

After a few more review questions, Mr. Turner and his class read the next scene in the play. He tried to parse out which students were not feeling it that day and have those more engaged students read. They discuss the foreshadowing of “the Woods of Dunsinane” and “no man born of woman” in this scene and what the students think will happen next. After a time, the bell rang and the students gathered their belongings and headed for the hallway.

“Great job today, gang. See you all tomorrow,” Mr. Turner called over the din of the classroom. The rest of the day followed along around those same lines. Some kids engaged, some did not. He did his best to reach those on the outskirts of his class, with varying degrees of success. Some students just don’t like Shakespeare. Heck, some kids don’t like school. 

It was at the end of the day that Mr. Turner’s world would take a drastic turn. Coach Simpson, the head of the football squad, had just come in from bus dismissal and saw Mr. Turner making copies in the office. “How’s it going, Mr. T?” the coach asked. 

“Fine as frog hair as one of my student’s likes to say,” he replied with a smile.

“You hear about the new budget reform bill that got passed today?” Coach asked, looking pretty forlorn.  

Mr. Turner shook his head. “No, I didn’t hear anything. What happened?” 

“They slashed our retirement out. Moved it to a new model based on 401k’s from what I can gather. Looks like a bloodbath.” The coach hiked up his polyester shorts and headed out of the office.

Grabbing his stack of copies, Mr. Turner shuffled down to his classroom. He was shaken by what Coach had told him and needed more information. A quick check of the WEKT website confirmed what he had learned. “Kentucky Legislature Votes to Decimate State Worker Retirement” read the headline at the top of the page. He read the article detailing how state lawmakers feared defaulting on pending debts and that emergency actions were needed. It went on to state that the Governor planned to sign the bill into law that afternoon. 

Mr. Turner sat back in his desk chair and let out a long, slow breath. He was unsure exactly what this meant in terms of his finances going forward. There was a buzzing in his pocket. He reached down to see his wife was FaceTimeing him. “Hi sweetie,” he said, sounding a little defeated.

“Have you seen this shit?” Alma said, angrily. Mrs. Turner was also a teacher at one of the local grade schools. She was about five years younger than her husband, but had only been teaching for fifteen years. “They are about to screw us out of thousands! Tens of thousands of dollars.” 

He nodded his head. “I just read an article. Governor’s going to sign it into law, so it looks like this is happening. What have you heard at your school?”

“Ms. Hellier across the way was in tears. Her husband’s a lawyer and according to her, it’s gonna cut our retirement in half. Like, you’ve got thirty years in. She says you’ll have to work fifteen more to get it built back up to where it is right now!” 

“Fifteen years!” Will thought. He wasn’t sure he had that left in him. He’d be sixty-seven in fifteen years. He was tired already; beaten down and frustrated with a system that continued to berate and belittle teachers. Things weren’t like they were when he started. He was going to change lives and turn around this community from his classroom. He was young and naïve then. Thirty years ago, Will Turner had returned to Peril County with an education degree and a big heart. Today, he had his Rank I degree in Library Sciences and a stint in his heart from a clogged artery. And if he were being honest, how many lives were really impacted by all of those years’ work? A dozen, maybe? 

He was seeing the children of some of his former students now float through his classroom. He could remember Albie’s mother sitting in the back of the classroom, eating oatmeal cookie pies two at a time when she was his age. Misty Dixon’s dad was a star quarterback when he was at Peril High during Mr. Turner’s first few years there. Now, he runs a car lot over in London and sees Misty every other weekend. 

Retirement had been weeks away. There was going to be time. Time to write, to read, to exercise. But he could feel all of that slipping away. “Are you listening to me?” he heard his wife say through the phone. He looked down to see her scowling face staring back at him. 

“No, sorry hon. Got lost there for a sec. What was that?”

“I said somebody should do something about this!”

Will leaned forward in his chair. “I think you’re right. I’ll call you back in a little bit. Might be a few minutes late for dinner.” He tapped his phone off and spun around to face his computer. After a few minutes of typing he read back what he had written. Mr. Turner was putting out the call to his fellow teachers in the district. “We will not tolerate this kind of blatant disrespect. I ask that you contact anyone in your district to reach out to their representatives and let them know that this kind of disregard for the wellbeing of educators is unacceptable.” It had taken him only a few minutes to find the contact information for Tom Baker and Stewart Walker, the Representatives from his district, and include their emails, phone numbers and social media links. 

Almost immediately, his computer dinged with incoming emails with fellow teachers answering the call to action. Soon, dozens of emails were coming in, with promises to share this plan across district lines. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Perhaps the government couldn’t steal away his retirement. He had allowed himself to wallow, if only for a moment. But hope shot through Mr. Turner again. Hope that a lifetime of working would allow him to retire in peace and prosperity. Hope that something could be done so that no one would be left out in the cold. Hope for a better tomorrow. 

But for now, he had a lesson to prepare for and Macbeth Act 5, scene 6 was a doozie! 

Week 15 - Sunday Service

Spring was peaking through this Sunday morning as Adeline rolled out of bed. Her alarm had gone off three or four times at least; she couldn’t be sure. But she was sure that getting up early on a weekend was not something that had been her idea. 

“Adeline, honey, I got you some muffins in the kitchen for you.” Granny’s voice rang from downstairs. She sounded especially happy this morning, and Adeline knew why. Her Granny had been on to her for weeks to go to church, and this morning, she was. 

She slid on some house shoes and plodded down the stairs to find a pan of blueberry muffins and a carton of orange juice waiting for her on the counter. Granny was in the other room, fussing with something Adeline couldn’t see. “What ‘er you doin’, Granny?” the teen asked through a mouthful of muffin. 

“I’m steamin’ your dress, dear. Gettin’ all a’ the wrinkles out.” 

Adeline winced at hearing the word dress. She’d had no intention of dressing up for church this morning, thinking a pair of jeans and a sweater would have been fine. But, now that she was paying attention, the telltale scent of lavender Granny used in her steaming wand was filling the air. “You didn’t have to do all of that, Gran. Really!” 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. You might meet a nice boy today and I want you to look your best. Church is where I met your grandfather, you know.” There was a dreamy, sing-song quality to the way Granny talked Adeline found to be both soothing and annoying. 

Granny wheeled in an armless, headless mannequin wearing a gaudy, flower-print dress. It was white, with giant pink hibiscuses all over it. There was fuchsia and viridian trim around the collar and shoulder and a ruffle of pink and green at the bottom. It was truly one of the most hideous things Adeline had ever seen. “I picked this up over in London for you at one of the new boutiques. Don’t you just love it,” Granny said, beaming with pride. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little cool for a sleeveless dress,” the teen replied, searching for some way to get out of wearing this monstrosity. 

Granny ducked back into the other room and came out with a white, knitted shawl. “I got this for you to wear over it.”

Adeline knew she was defeated and took the dress upstairs to finish getting ready. It was a half an hour later that the pair were on their way to Black Grass Baptist, one of the oldest churches in the county. The building itself was actually only a decade or so old, but the roots of the church go back over one hundred years. Granny had been going here since she was a little girl, was married here even. If she ever had a second home, it was Black Grass Baptist.  

The second row on the right, just behind the organ, was where Granny always sat. Like every good Appalachian church, all the regulars had their assigned seats. And if a guest ever got there early and took those spots, it was a scandal! But today, her pew sat empty. So, Granny and Adeline took their places. It was still a few minutes before the service was about to begin.

“Good morning Sister Maude. Adeline. How are we on this beautiful Lord’s Day?” It was Mary Beth Francis, the biggest gossip in the church. Adeline only came a few times a year and still knew all about Mary Beth Francis. So you have a prayer request for a family member with toenail cancer? Well, Mary Beth Francis has a cousin with that too, and it’s in both feet! Oh, your neighbor got the Elephant Man disease? Well, someone in Mary Beth Francis’ holler has it and their ears are the size of hubcaps.

Granny looked over and extended her hand. “It’s good to see you, Mary Beth. How is your grandson doing?” 

Mary Beth Francis clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Praise the Lord, but his scurvy is healin’ right up. Doc Beasley has him suckin’ on lemons like they’re lollypops, but he’s on the mend. Thank you for asking. Adeline, how are you this mornin’?” 

The teen looked across her Granny and up at Mary Beth Francis. “I’m just fine, thanks.”

“Oh, I just love your dress! Did you get that at Tootsie’s in Hazard?” Mary Beth asked, placing a hand to her cheek.

Granny patted Adeline on the knee. “No, I picked this up at BeBe Yanza’s in London. It’s over by the new home decor place, Trace Blu.” 

Mary Beth Francis shook her head in delight. “Well, I just love it. I’ll have to go over and check that one out. My sister loves that Trace Blu place, anyway. She’s redecorating her house again this summer, God love her.” 

A few cords rang out on the piano. “Well, guess I better get to my seat. Good talkin’ to you all.” She scooted out of the aisle and over to her pew. Granny had a sheepish smile on her face when Adeline looked over at her. Even kind, sweet little Granny knew how Mary Beth Francis was.

Adeline sang along with the songs she remembered from her childhood and bobbed her head to the ones she didn’t. A few prayers, an offering and a sermon later and it was time to go home. She didn’t pay too much attention to any of it. The preacher had been talking about tithing and responsibility to the church. Stuff she just wasn’t connecting with. She shook hands with some of her Granny’s friends and saw a cute boy sitting in the back row. But he was gone before she could catch his eye. 

Back in the car, Granny pulled onto the parkway and not toward home, as Adeline was expecting. “Where we goin’?” 

“Didn’t I tell you? We’re having lunch with my sister and some of your cousins, They’re gonna meet us in Corbin. Could have sworn I mentioned it.” Granny pursed her lips and twisted them on one side. 

Adeline scowled. “No, you most certainly did not tell me, because I would have refused to go. You know how those folks can be. I hate those kids.”

“Oh, now, don’t say that. Hate is such an ugly word. Promise me you’ll be nice.”

She crossed her arms and huffed loudly. “I won’t start anything. But if they start with me, I can’t promise it won’t get real.”

“Real what, dear?”

After the better part of an hour, Granny pulled into the parking lot of a little restaurant. Outside, Adeline could see Aunt Wanda and her three children: Summer, Kirby and Dakota. Summer was a sophomore in college at some school around Cincinnati. Kirby was a few years younger than Adeline and the baby, Dakota, was only around ten. Wanda and her family had left Peril County just before Dakota was born. Uncle Jasper had gotten a job at a factory in Georgetown and the family pulled up stakes. 

“Ugh, Maude, it’s so good to see you.” Wanda said as she hugged he big sister. She was tall and thin with wild curls of salt and pepper hair. “It’s been too long.”

Granny Maude patted her sister on the back and then went down the line, hugging each of her nieces and nephew warmly. “Gee, look at you all. Shootin’ up like bean sprouts!”

“It’s good to see you, Aunt Maude,” Summer said. She looked like her mother, with straight, black hair and round black glasses. 

Adeline stepped forward and gave weak hugs to her family. “Been a while,” she said to no-one in particular. 

They made their way into the restaurant, and the hostess seated them by the window. Dakota was full of energy and had trouble keeping still. Finally, his mother handed him a tablet, so he had something to focus on. Wanda turned to look at her great niece and smiled. “So, Adeline, tell me about school. You’re a junior this year, right? Any plans?” 

“Yup. Few more weeks and I’ll be a senior. We have prom coming up in a little bit. Lot going on.”

Wanda rested her chin on her hands. “And what after that? You going to college?”

The teen girl cleared her throat. It felt like she was being interrogated. She looked over to her Granny, who had her nose deep into a menu. “I’m thinking about either nursing school or cosmetology. I figure everyone gets sick or needs a haircut, right?” 

“I’m pre-med at Northern. Maybe you could come be my nurse,” Summer said, smiling. Adeline couldn’t be sure, but it felt like she was being made fun of. 

“Yeah, maybe. But I really don’t want to leave Peril County.”

Wanda and her two girls both made baffled faces. “Why wouldn’t you want to leave?” Kirby asked.

Adeline looked at the three of them and felt their gaze upon her. “Well, I mean, almost all of my classmates are all about getting out of here. Like, can’t wait to go off and do something else and be something else. But Black Grass is my home. It’s where Granny is. It’s where I want to be, I guess.”

Wanda’s look changed from shock to pity. “Oh, honey. Peril County was my home too. But there’s so much more to the world than Black Grass, Kentucky.”

From behind her menu, Granny piped up. “Adeline has a good head on her shoulders. She can do whatever she wants.”

“But that’s my point, Maude. Don’t you want her to have the most opportunities. The best chance at success. Is she gonna find that here?” 

Kirby took a drink of her lemonade. “I would just die if I lived there all the time. I mean, it’s nice to go now and then, I guess. But what about Starbucks and concerts and stuff to do. I’d be bored out of my mind.”

Adeline looked at her younger cousin. A series of beeps and boops came from Dakota and his games. “Your sister used ta live here and did just fine. So did Aunt Wanda.”

“Why don’t you come and stay with us for a while this summer, Adi? See that there is more out there than Black Grass?” Aunt Wanda was serious and passionate. 

Kirby lit up like a Christmas Tree. “That would be awesome!” Summer clouded up a little, but was doing her best to hide it. 

“I don’t know,” Adeline said. She had so many plans with her friends for the Summer. She had a job lined up at the county pool. She was gonna go camping and on ATV rides and so much more. But the idea of going to stay with Wanda and her kids didn’t sound all bad. But what would happen with Granny?

Wanda placed her hand on top of Adeline’s. “You don’t have to decide today. Just think about it ok?”

Adeline nodded her head. 

A pretty blonde waitress walked up to the table and smiled “Are you guys ready to order?”

Granny put down her menu. “Yes. I know exactly what I want.” 

Week 14: Spring Break

Danny Wilson was excited to be going home for Spring Break this year. After four years at Paris College, he was almost finished with his undergraduate degree. But that isn’t what excited Danny; it was the company he was bringing home with him. His traveling partner, a beautiful blonde girl named Blair Montgomery, fiddled with the radio as he turned his car east on the parkway.

“Told you, radio stations are kinda sparse, babe,” Danny said. He was a handsome young man with pale yellow hair and sharp features. His blue collared shirt and jeans hinted at his humble background.

Blair looked over at her boyfriend of eight months. “Oh, well, that’s OK,” she said, smiling. Her long platinum hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders and a ∆Ω shirt clung closely to her body. She scanned the horizon, taking in the sunset. “The mountains are as pretty as you said they would be.”

“Told ya. I ain’t, I mean, I’ve not done much traveling. But I can’t imagine anywhere as pretty as ‘round here.” Danny cursed at himself. He could see the reaction on Blair’s face when he said “ain’t.” She’d told him several times that sounding professional was going to be key to his finding a top internship this summer. “We’re about forty-five minutes from the house. You need a pit stop?”

She shook her head. “I’m good,” she said looking out the window. “What are these purple trees along the road? They’re everywhere.”

Danny smiled. “Those are redbud trees. They sprout around this time of year. Couple a’ counties do Redbud Festivals with music and stuff to celebrate the season.”

Blair scrunched up her face. “But these are purple. Pink maybe. The one thing they are not is red. Why are they call redbuds?”

“Can’t answer that one. Just what they’re called.” He pulled into the passing lane to get around a slow moving truck.

It took the better part of an hour to get to Black Grass, the county seat of Peril County. “This is it,” he said, pulling onto main street. He pointed out local landmarks to his girlfriend: the courthouse, the bank, the post office, Jones’ Barber Shop, watching Blair take it all in. He couldn’t read her face, but thought she seemed unimpressed with everything. “What do you think?”

“Pretty.”

Danny’s family lived in the Baker’s Fork area, another fifteen minutes from town. He tried to make conversation as they drove, but Blair shot up a hand in-between them. “Can you slow down or pull over or something. I’m going to be sick!” He quickly pulled off of the side of the road and Blair hopped out. She put her hands on the sides of her head and then down to her waist, breathing deeply.

He rolled down the window. “Y’OK?”

“It’s these curves, I think. I was about to get sick.” Danny could see she still looked a little green around the gills as she stood on the side of the road.

“Take your time. I’ll take it easy from here on in. Plus, we’re not too far.”

She nodded her head and climbed back into the car. “I’m OK. Just get the A/C going.”

Blair’s eyes were wide as they pulled off of the main road and down into the holler. The single lane road had been in much better shape when Danny left for college four years ago, but a few floods and a slip or two had left the road broken and uneven. She tensed as they met a large pickup coming in the opposite direction. Danny calmly pulled his car over to the right, almost into the ditch, and the truck passed. The driver gave a friendly wave as he did.

“Did you know him?” she asked as they started up the holler again.

Danny shook his head. “Don’t think so. Why?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “But he waved at you.”

“Well, I pulled over and made room for him to go thru. He’s just sayin’ thanks.” Danny said. Blair had grown up in Indianapolis and never spent much time out of the city, so country pleasantries were a bit foreign to her, he had noticed.

They pulled into the Wilson Family driveway to see Danny’s father, Ed, standing on the porch, manning the grill. Ed was a burly man with balding hair and a huge orange mustache that looked like it belonged on a walrus. He gave the car a wave and closed the lid before he headed down the steps in their direction. Danny gave him a big hug, and they slapped each other on the back a few times, lovingly. “Welcome home, pal,” Ed said.

“Dad, I would like to introduce you to someone; this is Blair Montgomery,” Danny said as he motioned for her to stand beside him. Ed hadn’t made it up to Danville to see his son this year. The service station he owned lost a mechanic, and they couldn’t find anyone to fill the position.

Blair stuck her hand out to Ed. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wilson.”

Ed cocked his head and grinned. “Awe, honey. If you gonna stick around these parts, you’d best get used to huggin’!” He wrapped her up in a big bear hug and lifted her off of the paved sidewalk. “Danny’s done told me all about you. And he’s never tolt me nothin ‘bout no girl he was a datin’ before.” He sat her back down.

Danny could see Blair’s eyes bugging out in her head. But she kept a friendly smile. “Well, thank you for letting us spend a few days with you here in Black Grass,” she said.

Ed ushered the young couple inside and carried their two suitcases into the house. The smell of corn bread and frying onions filled the air. Danny heard a squeal from behind the dining room wall and soon saw his mother, Edna, run around the table as she wrapped him up in her arms. She was a short, round woman with light hair and thick glasses.

“Welcome home, baby!” she said as she shoved her cheek into his chest. “It’s been too long!”

Danny hugged his mother and chuckled. “Mom, I was here at Christmas!”

Edna pulled back and looked up at her son, beaming with pride. She looked over to see Blair taking in her surroundings. “Oh sweetie, it’s so nice to see you. Welcome to our home.” She walked over and took the young girls hands into her own. “I’m so glad you came home with Danny,” she said.

Blair looked a little shell shocked, Danny thought, but she hadn’t bolted for the door yet. “I appreciate you letting me stay. I’ve never been to this part of the country before.”

“Well, we sure hope you like it,” Edna said.

A few moments later, the suitcases were stashed away and everyone sat around the dining room table. Danny’s little sister, Janice, had her nose pressed into her phone, not engaging with anyone. She was in those odd early teenage years when everything that happened to her was the most important thing in the universe and it could all crash down if the cute boy in Biology didn’t look at her just right.

“I hope you like burgers and hot dogs, dear,” Edna said, passing around a large platter of meat.

Danny quickly took the plate and moved it past his girlfriend. “Mom, I’m pretty sure I told you that Blair wasn’t eating meat or fish right now.”

Edna got an empathetic look on her face and dropped her shoulders. “Oh, honey. I though you were talking about like a weekend, or something. Well, let’s see. The green beans have bacon in them. The salad has ham and chicken in it. What about deviled eggs? We’ve got some cornbread, too. Nope, that’s got bacon grease in it. Can I go make you a grilled cheese?”

“It’s fine, Mrs. Wilson, really. I’ll have a baked potato. That’s plenty for me.” Danny had seen Blair struggle with food choices since the new year, when she changed her diet.

The clinking of plates and glasses filled the air as they began to eat their dinner. “So Blair, what are you studyin’ up there at Paris?” Ed asked, taking a big bite from his hamburger.

“I’m a double major in Environmental Studies and Art History with a minor in Gender Studies,” she said, stirring some butter and sour cream into her potato.

Edna was listening intently while Janice paid more attention to her phone. “And what do you plan to do after college?” Edna asked.

Blair took a drink of sweet tea. “Well, I’m really interesting in creative placemaking and connecting disenfranchised communities with artistic outlets to let them express ownership of their spaces.”

Ed and Edna stared blankly at there for an awkward moment of silence. From behind her phone, Janice piped up. “She wants to make nice places for people to use and make sad people happy.”

“I’m going to steal that,” Blair said with a broad smile. “That explains it much better than I ever could.”

Edna scooped some green beans onto her plate. “Well, that sounds just lovely, dear.”

“Can you do something like that around here?” Ed asked.

Blair bit her bottom lip and cocked her head to the side. “Well, I’m not sure. Do you have any projects or ideas in mind?”

Ed shook his head. “Not right off. I was just thinking if you guys are gettin’ serious, if this was something you could do in this neck a the woods.”

Danny’s almost spit out the hotdog he was eating. “Dad! There’s about ten things wrong with bringin’ that up right now.”

“I think what your father is trying to say is, you and Blair will be out of college in just a couple of months and it’s always a good idea to have a plan on what yer doin’ and where yer goin’.”

Ed shifted in his chair, making himself taller, somehow. “I know we’ve talked about it off and on, but I always figured you’d come back home to Peril County. I ain’t expectin’ you ta climb under a rollback and work on brakes or nothin’. But there’s plenty of great jobs for you in these parts, I’d figure.”

Danny looked at his girlfriend, offering a silent apology while also trying to express his own uncomfortableness. He could see she was taking everything in stride, maybe even enjoying seeing him squirm a little.

“Nothing to be decided tonight, really. There’s plenty of time, still. Plenty of time,” Edna said. Danny could see his mother didn’t like this line of discussion and wanted to change it.

They chitchatted through the remainder of dinner. Blair shared more about her growing up in Indianapolis and how she came to Paris College. (Softball scholarship that a knee injury forced her to give up after one season) Danny tried prying the phone from his sister’s hands and interact with her actual face, with mixed results. After the stiffness of the conversation of their future ended, the dinner was light and pleasant. Blair helped clear the table while Danny and Ed did the dishes.

After their late dinner, it was time for bed. Danny had explained the sleeping arrangements with Blair on their ride down. Edna Wilson taught Sunday School, so there wasn’t going to be any chance for funny business under her roof. Blair would take Danny’s old room, and he would sleep on the pullout couch in the living room. “I’ll take the couch, honey. It’s fine,” she had told him. But Danny would have none of that. He’d slept on that pull-out before and wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

The next morning, Blair walked into living room, wearing one of Danny’s oversized tee shirts and gym shorts. Her hair was in a messy bun and her makeup was in that raccoon-looking stage. She looked much less put tougher than the night before, but this was when Danny loved her the most. She crawled under his quilt and laid her head on his shoulder. “Mornin’ sleepy head,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“This thing is painful to lay on! How did you sleep?”

“If you contort your body just right, it doesn’t feel like torture,” he said with a smile.

Blair quickly popped up out of bed. “Alright, let’s get to it,” she said, sounding excited.

“Let’s get to what, exactly?”

She stuck out her hand and pulled him up to a standing position before wrapping her hands around his waist. She was shorter than her boyfriend and looked up at him, lovingly. “Well, you’ve always said how amazing your hometown is. I want to see it. I mean, if I’m going to be living here in a few months, I had better get the lay of the land.” She smiled mischievously up at him.

Danny raised one eyebrow and looked off into the distance. “I mean, we can probably go look buying a double wide in London or Corbin if your hell-bent on moving to the hills!”

“What’s a double wide?”

He hugged her tightly and let out a little laugh. “Aw, honey. Let’s just go see what’s goin’ on in town, and we can leave buyin’ a trailer until the next trip.”

Week 13: Born Addicted

Life in small town Appalachia is much more complicated than folks in other regions would ever imagine. Generations of outsiders extracting resources, people, and culture has been an enormous burden carried by all. And there are patterns in the lives of Central Appalachians, repeating stories and themes that arise again and again, through generations, through families and through communities.

It was one such repeating story that WEKT news producer Jaclyn Perez found herself in when she was out in the field, filling in for a sick reporter. The FDA and the CDC put out a joint report on the long term effects of babies born addicted to opioids. A generation of kids born on pills were now old enough to have mountains of data collected on them. And Jaclyn was tasked with putting a local spin on this story.

“I’m not a reporter, Jim. I’m a producer,” she complained, sitting in the News Director’s office. A handful of Emmy’s sat above a credenza and the walls were covered on both sides with plaques, awards and certificates.

Jim picked up a stack of papers and handed them to Jaclyn. “Take a look at these,” he said.

“What’s this?” she asked as she started thumbing through the documents. She could see medical charts with redacted information and ledgers filled with numbers and statistics.

Jim leaned back into his chair and let out a sad breath. “That is just a piece of the supportive data from yesterday’s report. In your hands, you have medical information of five kids born ten years ago, right here in Black Grass, that were addicted to opioids at birth. And, you have charts and data on a few hundred more from the region. Somewhere in America, a kid is born addicted to pills every 20 minutes. That’s 20,000 a year, give or take. How many of them are here? And what are we doing to stop it? Don’t you think that’s a story worth telling?”

Jaclyn cocked her head to the side and winced. “Yes, by a reporter. And that’s not me.”

“Look, I’m not aiming for a damn Pulitzer here. Or even an Emmy. But you’re a hell of a copy writer and you have good instincts. You were on camera in college; I remember seeing it on your resume.” Jaclyn’s walls were breaking just a bit, but she still didn’t feel comfortable taking on the story. “What if I send Henry to be your shooter? He’s the best cameraman we have, and he can make any shot you need happen.”

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. “Having a shooter helps. I was never much with a camera. How long do I have to work on this?”

Jim looked down to his desk calendar. “It’s the lead story tomorrow at 6.” She nodded and headed out of his office.

A little later, in the “Shooter’s Shack,” the equipment office where reporters check out gear for filming, Jaclyn ran into Henry. He was duct taping a handle back onto an old camera. “That’ll hold,” he said, ripping the tape with his teeth. He was a short black man with streaks of white in his hair and goatee. He had been a videographer for WEKT since they started broadcasting in the 80s, and had no plans to retire any time soon.

“I think they stuck you with me,” Jaclyn said as she plopped down on the bench beside Henry.

Henry smiled and shook his head. “I’m just happy to not be shooting car lots and jewelry stores.” His voice was rich, friendly and warm. “What are we covering?”

Jaclyn pulled out a small notebook and started reading. “Dr. Ninutra at Black Grass Community has agreed to meet with us this afternoon. She’s chief medical officer. Ms. Nox at the high school and Mrs. Archer at the social worker's office as well. Still trying to find a parent to talk. But, I guess most folks don’t want to admit that their kid was a drug addicted baby.”

“Might have more luck with a grandparent raising the kid or even foster families,” Henry said, never looking up from the microphone he was preforming surgery on at the moment.

Her eyes became wide and bright and a grin grew across her face. “That’s excellent! Why don’t you do this story, Henry?” she said as she gave him a gentle punch on the shoulder.

He just shook his head and kept looking down at the wires in the mic. “My wife says I got a face for radio and a voice for silent reading. I’ll stick to shootin’ if it’s all the same to you.”

Ms. Nox agreed to let them film in her office. Jaclyn was left a little uncomfortable form the graphic art on the walls of the office. Ghastly images of self harm, monsters and inky blackness were on every available surface. “What’s with the pictures, Ms. Nox? You got a thing for horror?”

“Art therapy. I was an art teacher before a councilor and I find it’s a great way to connect with the kids and let them express trauma.” Ms. Nox was a tall woman in her late 30s with sharp features.

Jaclyn sat across the desk from the school’s counselor while Henry prepped the camera. “As I said on the phone, we’re working on a story about the new report that just came out on the long term effects of babies addicted to opioids. Let’s start there, how are these addicted babies tracked?”

Ms. Nox furrowed her brow a bit. “It is very atypical to have any identifiers in a student’s file that would identify them as having been born addicted to opioids. Special Education students, which make up about 15% of the student body in a typical school system, do have detailed medical information collected if it is pertinent to the child’s learning ability or a specific need. We cannot and will not discriminate in any way students who were born addicts from those who were not. Anecdotally, this being a small community, you hear things. And there are definite, well, patterns, or characteristics that keep popping up. Not every classroom issue or behavioral problem stems from drug abuse related students, but the numbers are disproportionate. Teachers have limited time on task as a result of focusing on children with reduced mental capacity, resulting in less learning for the whole class. And there are no special programs or initiatives for these students, who, unfortunately, make up a significant percentage of student populations nation wide, with larger numbers here in Appalachia.”

Jaclyn was disheartened as she walked out of the school building. “There must be more of these kids than I’d realized.”

Henry slung the heavy camera bag higher onto his shoulder as they walked. “Lord has blessed me in so many ways. One I am probably the most thankful is that my wife, my two girls and three grand babies haven’t been wrapped up with that poison, praise the Lord.”

Mrs. Archer’s office was in a strip mall on the other side of town. She was a middle-aged woman with a chubby face and curly blonde hair that shot out in every direction.

“One area I’m very troubled about in this situation is not that the child is born addicted and all the medical issues that come with that, but the socioeconomic issues and the increase of generational addiction. If a child is raised in an environment of addiction, then addiction becomes the norm. If squalor and poverty are your standards, studies have shown, that escaping this cycle is almost impossible. And that is why the ‘bootstrap’ argument is so infuriating. We have a significant portion of the next generation that is being trained to be lost, hopeless addicts who have no way of climbing out of the hole they were born into. And no one is offering to teach them how to climb out, much less offer them a hand up.”

Tears began to well up in Mrs. Archer’s eyes as she spoke. The years she had spent fighting for these children to see them have some semblance of a better life was pouring out of her soul like water from a fire hose.

The social worker hugged Jaclyn after the interview was completed. “Thank you for telling this story. It needs to be told,” she said.

“Powerful stuff,” Henry said as he loaded the car with equipment. “Let me make a call. I might have a parent for you to talk to.” He walked away as Jaclyn texted Dr. Ninutra to let her know that they were on their way.

At the hospital, Dr. Ninutra meet them in a conference room decorated with historical items from the community. A beautiful coal-themed quilt hung on the far wall and an engraved wooden ax rested on a pedestal. She was a striking woman from South-East Asia, Jaclyn assumed, and looked to be in her 50s. Her accent was present, but easily understood. Chit-chatting with the doctor as Henry set up the camera, Jaclyn learned that Dr. Ninutra was born in Malaysia and came to America over thirty years ago. She spent time in Baltimore and Cleveland before coming to Black Grass. “What brought you all the way down here?” Jaclyn asked.

“This is the first place to feel like home.”

Jaclyn nodded. “Well, since this is your adopted home, let’s talk about one of the most pressing issues locally, drug abuse. Specifically, the recent report that came out detailing the long term effects of being born addicted to opioids.”

“Drug addicted babies are one of the most heartbreaking things. They are in agony as the opioids leave their system, so we typically treat NAS, or neonatal abstinence syndrome, with morphine or methadone. It is not a perfect solution, but it is the best we can do, so they do not suffer. As for long term effects, Extreme ADHD, reduced cognitive ability, lack of spacial recognition, poor memory recall and a generally lower IQ are all traits of children we know were addicts at birth. I do not have the solution to fix this problem, but I pray to God every day that one is found and found quickly.”

Jaclyn felt sick to her stomach after the interview. This problem was so much worse, and larger, than she had ever imagined. “Let me drive,” Henry said as they got to the station vehicle. Jaclyn gladly tossed him the keys.

“Where we headed?” she asked as Henry turned off the bypass and down a winding side road.

“I got someone for you to talk to. But we can’t show her face. Gotta change her voice up too. You know how to do all a that?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m kinda learning as I go here.”

Inside a small, unremarkable house on the side of a hill, Henry adjusted lights behind Natasha Jenkins, a rail-thin woman with stringy brown hair and mangled teeth. She sat at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. “We sure appreciate you sharing your story, Natasha,” Jaclyn said.

“I ain’t wantin’ to show my face. And Henry said you could change up my voice too.” She looked back at him, seeking reassurance. From the other room, the electronic beeping of a video game blasted as Natasha’s son, Garrett, sat much too close to the screen.

Jaclyn placed her hand on Natasha’s knee. “Henry is setting up these lights, so we won’t be able to see your face. And I’ll alter your voice on the computer."

After a few minutes, they were ready to film. Henry gave a thumbs up and Jaclyn turned to Natasha. “Ma’am, we discussed previously about the new report on the effects of drug addicted babies. Do you care to share your experience with us?”

Natasha took a deep breath. “I never wanted to be on drugs. Not like I was there at the end, especially. I don’t think anybody would. I knew it was probably not good for my baby, but I just couldn’t stop. I wanted to. I did. But it was like a bear, sittin’ on my chest, digging sharp claws deep into my body. And I’ve regret it ever day since.”

Jaclyn nodded, trying to make Natasha feel comfortable and seen. “What about your son?"

“When I first looked at him, he was perfect. Still is. But there’s been problems, too. He supposed to be in the 7th grade, but he’s still in 5th. I held him back one year, and the school held him back a couple years after that. He has a hard time in school. Can’t sit still for long. My mama raised him for a couple years when I was gettin’ clean. But I figured he’d just grow out of the hyper stuff.” Her eyes filled with tears and she started sobbing. “He don’t deserve to be punished for my mistakes. I’m the one that messed up. I’m the one that did all a this bad stuff, and he has to pay the price. It’s all my fault.”

“Is there something you’d like to say to potential moms out there who are addicted?” Jaclyn asked.

“There is help. There is hope. You just gotta want it. My kids is my whole world and I have to live with the fact that I did ‘em wrong before they was even born. Don’t be like me. Get help. Right now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Right this second. Don’t do to your babies what I done to mine.”

Jaclyn hugged Natasha as Henry packed up the gear. “You are so brave and so strong,” Jaclyn said, with her arms wrapped around Teresa’s shoulders.

“I am what the Lord has made me. And I thank him every mornin’ for the gift of another day with Garrett and his sisters.”

Back at the station, Jaclyn instantly began editing. Over the next 12 hours, she cut, trimmed and overlaid footage, added music swells and tweaked audio to make the best story she possibly could. After a power nap and a shower, she was back at the station, scrambling to finish. “I owe these reporters an apology; this is more stressful than I remember,” she thought as she exported her video file.

At 5:57, she found herself standing on the set, ready to present her story live. The news graphics blasted onto the screen with dramatic music playing in the back. “Good evening, everyone, I’m Jim Morgan. Tonight’s top story is a troubling look at a national report that has implications right here in East Kentucky. Jaclyn Perez is here with more.”

The red light came on the top of Camera 3 clicked on and Jaclyn was live.