Sirens and Banjos

To me, country is rabble-rousing.”

— Ketch Secor

 

Another creative short story… enjoy

 


 

Some mornings you feel pulled to get up and go. Not sure who’s doing the pulling, or what’s doing the pulling, but the urge to step into a time of exploration sits inside of your stomach. The urge that wakes you up and puts you in the creek. I rock hopped down the creek, feeling like Tom Sawyer as I figured out the most creative ways to make it downstream while keeping my feet in the water. A big step from a high boulder to a small stone. Green moss on the slippery rocks helping my feet stick more than they deserved. Sliding down the smooth slabs. Doing the limbo under a fallen tree and jumping off little two foot drops. A time of classic American country accents and letting the sun’s rays warm my bare skin whenever they found me. Around one of the bends lined with rocks on one side and forest on the other I swam in chest deep waters to the next shallow spot. Then I saw a car. In the middle of the creek. An old rusted white buggy suspended up on some rocks above the water. I stepped closer. The doors were open and everything was cleared out. A beat up mattress with a few bags and jars full of dirt and bugs. I wondered how the car got here. The road high above, but the car somewhat intact. Does anyone stay here sometimes? Or live here?

—————————————————————————————————————————

I pulled into Jimbo’s Hardware Store off 61 to get a few pieces of wood to replace some planks on the patio and a bucket of paint. I shot the shit with Gerry at the register as he rang me up. I mentioned finding that old car to him in Spivey Creek and told him my confusion. His eyes lit up as he said, “Ooo boy, you stumbled yoself upon one of the best legends this little ole mountain town has to offer. I used to get told all about it, boy. My pop lived it ya know? So I probably tell the truest tellin round here.” He proceeded to tell me that about sixty years ago there lived a man they called Bo Deal. On top of having the biggest farm for two hundred miles, he made the best moon shine a man could ask for. The bars were jealous, the ladies were many, and the deer never stood a chance. With that status though he was always getting himself into trouble. Usually when something went wrong in the town his door would be the first to get knocked on. He finally settled down with a lady named Ada and stopped making moon shine for a few years. Nobody heard much from him, until they heard the sirens that chased his car down this highway I just took to get here. Apparently Ada’s body was found by some high schoolers in a field they were messing around in one night. The police showed up in the middle of the night at Bo’s doorstep, and the chase began. The river was higher then, and he sped downstream hugging those turns like a little girl hugs her teddy bear. There was some distance between him and the Sheriff but ole Bo lost control and down he went. Off the side and into the rocky creek. Sheriff said his body washed up about two hundred yards away from the crash shortly after. The buggy has been there ever since. I told Gerry about the mattress and bags I saw in the car and he kinda laughed. “Well, I guess some people can find a home in another man’s tragedy.”

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