Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Dew Book Reviews for December

Here it is - the end of the year again!  When did this happen?!?!  The Dew has had a fantastic year and I'm so very grateful for the support that I have received from the book community to make the Dew have another very successful year.  Thank you all.

Here are December's book reviews.  Not the usual number but even the Dew is going to take a short vacation to ring in the new year fresh and eager for the 2012 short stories and books that will come our way. 

Enjoy.


Monday, November 28, 2011

Red Shoes

Red Shoes

What I remember about that Halloween was that my grandpa changed forever. Before, he was overriding and hardly ever did anything nice for grandma, at least not to speak of. After, he was the sweetest most kindest person you’d ever want to be around.
It was a lazy Saturday morning with dead leaves flying everywhere and a cool breeze that made me want to go out and run around in circles. Cartoons were over for the day and so after I ran around outside for a little bit, I got myself interested in what my grandma was doing in the kitchen.

“You bakin’ pies grandma?”

“Yes darlin’. I’m makin’ pecan pies with the nuts you and your brother picked up yesterday.”

“Really? Yum! Can I help?”

“You sure can, sweetheart. You can take your cute curly-haired self right over to that sink and help me keep up with the dishes while we work.”

I was suddenly disinterested. Grandma chuckled. “That’s alright,” she said with a big smile, letting me know she really didn’t want me in the kitchen—probably because of the cookie dough incident that happened the week before. “Go on and play then,” she said. “Dinner’ll be ready here directly.”

Dinner in our family was always around noon. Most of my friends called it ‘lunch,’ and they called their supper ‘dinner.’ They thought I was crazy, but I was Southern in a place that had a lot of Northerners living there.

I passed my grandpa on the way out. He tussled my hair but didn’t say anything. He hardly ever said anything. When he was young I think he was the strong, silent type. He was a retired plumber, so that made sense to me. You’d have to be strong and silent to go around with your butt crack showing and not care what anybody thought.

* * * *

After a dinner of fried chicken, collard greens, field peas, cornbread and butter, sweet tea and pecan pie, grandma pulled a chair in the middle of the kitchen floor and told grandpa to sit down, that it was time for him a haircut. He didn’t say anything, but cut himself another piece of pecan pie and did like he was told. Then grandma shooed us all out of the kitchen, which was me, my mama, my daddy and my little brother Elisha. But I was curious about grandpa’s haircut. I had never seen this before, so I wanted to watch.

“If you’re goin’ to stay around, you can wash all the dirty dishes, Elsa Marie,” grandma said as she pointed to the pecan pies on the table.

“I’m gonna be a Rabbit-Eared Devil tonight for Halloween!” I said as I took her hint and got me another piece of pie and pretended to leave. But I wanted more than anything to watch grandpa get his hair cut, so I hid just outside the kitchen door and ate my pie. I figured I might be able to catch a few quick glances every now and again, but what interested me more was that maybe grandpa would talk now that nobody was around, and I didn’t need my eyes for that.

My grandparents stayed silent at first. Grandma got out her haircutting shears. She used to be a hairdresser when she was young. She threw a kitchen apron around grandpa. “Don’t forget to take a bath after,” she said.

“I can’t forget with them little stingin’ hairs all over me,” he said as he shut his eyes.

“Silas?”

“Yes Anna?”

“Who is the woman wearing the red high heels?”

“Who is who?” Grandpa answered. His eyes popped wide open.

Grandma’s shears flashed in the bright kitchen light. “Who is she, Silas? Tell me.”

“Tell you what? Tell you what, dammit?”

“Just tell me who the girl is that’s wearin’ the red shoes. I’ve seen her, Silas. I know all about it.”

Grandpa fidgeted in his chair and stomped his heels on the floor a few times. He loosened the apron from around his throat. “What are you after, woman?” he finally said.

“I want to hear you tell me is all. I want to hear you say you’ve been with her. I want… to forgive you. We all do things… we shouldn’t sometimes. Sometimes we’re weak and we don’t ask the Lord for His strength…”

“Now you know I ain’t religious and never have been, woman. Why are you preachin’ at me like that? I let you have your church. Why can’t you leave me be, Anna?”

“You’re tryin’ to change the subject, Silas, but I’m not goin’ to let you. This ain’t about my beliefs, it’s about our marriage. And I know you’ve always been faithful, even when you was a young good-lookin’ man workin’ in them houses alone with all them housewives there by themselves. You might have thought a few things sometimes, but you never did anything… with any of them. And now… now that you done got old and grey-headed and fat, you go out and get yourself a college girl! One of them young ones that like old men! I see you, Silas! I see you and her, plain as day! For shame, Silas! For shame!”

I was horrified. I would remember this Halloween forever. I bit my lip until it bled. Then I had to cough. I ran down the hallway to the stairway leading upstairs. I tripped and banged my funny bone on the banister. By the time I got to the second floor I was crying. What had I just heard? What had I just heard! Now I couldn’t be a Devil Rabbit for Halloween because all I could imagine was Playboy models wearing rabbit ears and dancing around in the licking flames of Hell! I didn’t know how to move my body or what to do, so I just swayed there outside the guest room that used to be my mama’s room when she was little, twisting this way and that and wringing my hands and crying until my little brother Elisha came running up with his new yellow clackers to show me. “Don’t break your wrist with them things,” I said through my tears. When he saw I was crying he hugged me really tight and then took my hand and pulled me to the upstairs parlor and sat me down on the old-timey couch and started talking to me about my favorite cartoon Scooby-Doo. I finally stopped shaking and sobbing.

“Whatcha gonna be for Halloween, sister?” Elisha asked me.
“An angel,” I said as I wiped my eyes on a kleenex he handed me.
“Where you gettin’ the wings from? How you gonna make your wings?”

“A ghost angel then,” I said. I closed my eyes and replayed in my mind the whole conversation between my grandma and grandpa, which made me start to cry again.

“You gonna wear just a sheet with eyeholes?” Elisha asked me.
“Yeah, just a stupid old sheet…” I said.

“Like Charlie Brown with eyeholes all over it?” he asked me. Then he started to laugh. “You gonna wear your red Wizard of Oz shoes, sister?”

“No!” I screamed. “I hate red shoes! I hate them!”

_________________________________

Skadi meic Beorh is also the author of the horror/redemption novella The Highwayman's Tale (27th Dimension) and the poetic study Golgotha (Punkin House). His writing, often found in anthologies and magazines worldwide, will be showcased shortly in Scarlet Literary Magazine and Wherever It Pleases. Some of his favorite writers are W. B. Yeats, Joyce Carol Oates, Ray Bradbury, George Mackay Brown, T. S. Eliot, and Nathaniel Hawthorne. He lives on the Atlantic Coast with his loving wife Ember.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Inches

Inches

Orion stood his silent watch over the back roads of Sandlapper County. The frigid air gave the stars of his belt and upraised hand a brilliance rarely seen in the Deep South. Their light made the empty fields shimmer with a silvery glow and gave the woods the texture and depth of a black satin dress.

Two round headlights appeared down the two lane blacktop, their light dully reflecting off the frost on either side of the road. The ’56 Studebaker blasted past empty fields and passed into a patch of woods. Tires screamed and the car stopped, half on the road and half on the shoulder. A figure leaped out and stood at the edge of the trees facing away from the car.

"Aw, poor Runt can't hold his wee wee," a voice called.

"Come on, y'all, I had to go. You shouldn't have waited so long to stop!"

The car lurched forward a few feet and another voice called out, "Hurry up, squirt! TJ's not going to wait all night."

"Cut it out, Mole. Y'all ain't going to leave me.”

"Oh yeah?” TJ called. “Watch!" The engine revved.

"Yeah, well, I'm the only one who can steal more beer," Runt yelled, pulling up his zipper while he ran for the car. It was already moving when he grabbed the door and jumped into the back seat.

"Hurry up and get in, twit," Billy said. "It's cold in here now. Turn up the heat y’all. The twit's got it cold in here now."
"Go to hell, man. Move over. I'm tired of sitting in the middle." Runt tried to force Billy's two hundred pound frame over, but Billy pushed him into the space between himself and Mole.

Mole was long and graceful in a pullover sweater and starched khakis with penny loafers. His relaxed posture lent him a look of studied indifference. Billy, his older brother, was a fireplug with a crew cut and a short sleeved shirt open at the neck. Runt, breathing hard from his running leap, came by his nickname
honestly.

Gene turned around in the front passenger’s seat and cocked an eyebrow at Runt, who was shaking loose a Lucky Strike. Gene wore his collar turned up and his hair slicked back with exactly the right amount of Brylcreem.

"Give me the lighter, Gene. I lost my matches in the woods." Runt held the unlit cigarette between his lips and patted his pockets. Mole didn’t turn from the window while he struck a match with his thumbnail.

"Thanks, man."

"So where y'all want to go?" TJ asked. The glow of the dash lights through the thick haze of tobacco smoke gave his skin a turquoise tint. A cigarette burned in the corner of his mouth, and another sat tucked behind his ear. He held an open can of PBR in one hand and steered with the other arm draped across the top of the wheel.

"We could go to the river and raise some hell with those river rats down there," Gene suggested.

"Nah, they ain’t doing nothing." TJ squinted through the smoke.
"TJ's daddy would kick his ass if he brought this brand new car home all muddy," Billy jeered. "Let's go on over to Greggville and get a couple of whores. I got five bucks. I know you got a couple of bucks, Mole. What do you say, fellows?"

"You think we could?" Runt looked from one boy to the other, his eyes big.

"Hey," Gene said, "I heard my daddy say they got some new girls over there. How much money we got?" Runt, Billy, and Gene all dug into their pockets, and Billy held up five one dollar bills.
"Come on, TJ, turn around. I'm horny. Mole, cough up that two dollars you got."

Mole turned from the window with a smirk and shook his head slowly. "I don't see why you boys want to pay for something you can get for free.”

"But this is a sure thing, Mole," said Runt. "I mean, they got to if we pay for it, right?"

"Yeah, Mole, these girls are supposed to be really hot. You're not chicken, are you?" Gene asked.

"Hell, no. I just might know where we can get the same thing for free."

"Ah, great." Billy put the window down and flipped his cigarette into the night.

"How you gonna do that? You got coupons or something?" Gene snorted.

"He's just a chicken shit," Billy said loudly.

TJ studied Mole in the rearview mirror. "The old Mole gets around; let him talk."

"Chicken shit." Billy wiped the fog from the window with his forearm.

"Shut up, Billy," Gene said. "I want to hear this."

"Well…" Mole lit a fresh Lucky and leaned back with his long fingers laced behind his head. "It'll cost you that last beer."
Billy jerked his head towards his brother. “Screw you, chicken shit.”

"Ya'll's loss, fellows." Mole turned back to the window.
"Aw, come on, Mole," pleaded Runt. "Are these nice girls you're talking about, or what? Give him that beer, Gene."

“Don’t do it,” Billy said.

Gene looked at TJ and tossed Mole the last beer when he nodded.
Mole punched a hole in the top of the can with a church key and drained it in one long swallow. "There might be some girls having a shindig down at the Hill, and I just might know some of them pretty good." He tossed the can onto the road, and when he put the window back up the only sounds were tires rolling across asphalt and Hank Williams crying on the radio.

"Well...?" Gene raised his eyebrows.

"Well turn the car around," yelled Runt, wiggling between Billy and Mole.

"I want a shot at those whores," Billy said with a sullen glare.
TJ turned to Gene. "What do you think?”

"Those new girls in Greggville are supposed to be stacked, but like you said, the old Mole sure gets around.” He rubbed his chin. “Let's head for the Hill."

"You got it. I can turn around right after these railroad tracks."

"Just a bunch of chicken shits," Billy muttered.

They were still running ninety-five miles per hour when the car crossed the tracks, and Gene's beer jumped from between his legs and turned over in the front seat.

"Ah shit, asshole," TJ yelled. "Daddy's going to kill me!"
"I'm sorry, man. I'll get it up. Hand me that box of Kleenex, Billy."

"Get it yourself, chicken shit.”

"Give him the Kleenex, you bastard." TJ stood on the brakes and the car skidded to the side of the road. “Come on, guys! He’ll beat the shit out of me if I mess this car up."

"Here." Mole tossed the box of tissues across the seat.

"I'll do this," Gene said. “You get us to those girls.”

TJ grabbed a wad of tissue and lifted himself off the seat. “It’s all up under my ass.”

The crossing lights and warning bell came to life behind them while he was drying the seat.

"You better get us back across the tracks before the train gets here,” Mole said. “We'll be here all night if it’s a long one."
Gene wiped up beer while TJ turned the car around. The boys could see the head lamp of the approaching train as they crossed the track.

"You're just a bunch of chicken shits." Billy turned to watch the trees flashing by.

TJ slammed on the brakes and stopped the car sideways across the road.

"What the hell...?"

"Are you crazy, fool?"
 
"Damn, I cracked my head!"

TJ slammed the gear selector into reverse and threw his right arm across the back of the seat. “I’m going to show you boys just what a chicken shit really is.” He gunned the engine, and when he hit the brakes again the car’s tires rested on either side of the railroad tracks. The warning bells drowned out the radio, but not the cries of the other boys.

"Shit, man! What are you doing?" Mole yelled.

"Man, you'd better move this..."

Everybody shut up when Gene hollered, "Get me off of these tracks, asshole!"

The train’s horn was louder, and the headlamp seemed much closer than it had just a few seconds before, but TJ and Billy held each other’s stares in the crazy flash of the warning lights.
"Come on, man, quit screwing around," Runt said, laughing too loudly.

Mole leaned forward and spoke calmly. "TJ, let's get moving. These girls are really tough, man, and they're expecting us. I don't want to be late."

"Yeah, TJ, Billy's just a prick. Let's go."

"See?” Billy sneered. "Y'all are just a bunch of chickenshits. TJ won't sit here. He's more scared of his daddy than he is of that train."

The train's horn blasted a continuous wail, and the roar of its diesel engine grew louder by the second. TJ kept his eyes locked with Billy’s while he found the keys and pulled them from the ignition. He reached across the seat and dangled them in front of Billy's face. Their jingle was lost in the noise.

"You fellows bail if you want," TJ yelled. "Me and Billy are going to find out who's chicken."

Runt jumped on Mole's lap and clawed at the door while Gene punched TJ in the shoulder. "Come on, man, quit screwing around. Enough's enough. Let's get out of here." He stared past TJ at the oncoming train.

Runt got the back door open and fell onto the track bed.
TJ and Billy continued staring each other down.

Gene bolted from the car and followed Runt under a tree. Runt grabbed his shoulder. Mole was halfway out when he turned and yelled at Billy. "Give in, man. Don't be stupid. Just say what he wants to hear and it’s OK. Just let it go, man."

Sparks erupted from under the train and the brakes screeched as they locked down the engine’s wheels. Thunder rolled up the track as boxcars and piggybacks slammed into each other. The shrieking metal and fiery wall of sparks and broke the deadlock in the car.
Mole dove into the ditch.

Billy grappled for the door handle while TJ tried to fit the key back into the ignition. The train's head lamp lit the inside of the car like the sun.

“OK, man, I'm a chicken," Billy screamed. "I'm a chicken shit! Get out of here! Come on, you win!"

Runt, Gene, and Mole all shouted soundlessly for TJ and Billy to get off of the tracks.

TJ turned the key with his right hand and pounded the steering wheel with his left while his eyes stayed fixed the train’s rotating headlamp.

Billy stood frozen, watching across the top of the car as the locomotive ate up the last few yards of track. The train groaned along its entire length as if it were a beast in agonizing pain.
Mole raced out onto the track and threw his arm around his brother's neck just as the car finally lurched forward. The train was grinding through the intersection before Mole and Billy fell to the ground beside Runt and Gene. Runt had his arms wrapped around the tree trunk, and Gene sat on his knees, tears running down his cheeks. The train was a short one, and it began accelerating as soon as the locomotive passed through the intersection.

Gene, Mole, Billy, and Runt were huddled together in the middle of the road, their breath steaming, when the lights quit flashing and the warning bells fell silent and the night turned quiet except for the gentle creaking of the retreating caboose. TJ's car sat at an angle on the other side of the tracks, its back door still open. The other boys crossed over and found TJ in the road on his hands and knees, dry heaving and trying to clean himself off.

He took the cigarette from behind his ear and got it lit after half a dozen tries. Pointing at the large wet stain on the front of Billy’s pants he gave a shaky laugh. "I guess we're all chicken shits, huh? I'm going home."

__________________________

Author: Roy Jeffords

Roy Jeffords lives in the Dallas, Texas area, but can’t wait to return to the Lowcountry of South Carolina where he grew up.  He developed a love for Southern literature while studying English at The Citadel in Charleston, SC, and is (of course) working on a novel.  He is a 2010 Pushcart Prize and Best of American Short Stories nominee.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

The First Ever Thanksgiving Feast

A bonus story from Cappy today folks - this is a hysterical account off the first Thanksgiving. 

Excerpt below, full story on Cappy's website. 





The First Ever Thanksgiving Feast

If getting ready for Thanksgiving has left you wondering why you bothered, blame it on Myles Standish, Captain of the Mayflower, aka the man who created holiday stress.

In August, he invited the Indians to a Labor Day party, got them roaring drunk so he could find out where wild turkeys hung out. Promising even more firewater, he conned them into showing Pilgrim women how to grow, harvest and cook maze, squash, pumpkins, turnips and Boston Baked Beans.
Pretty soon it was the end of November and Myles was once again thinking, PAR-TAY!

Now picture this: Captain Standish is relaxing on his horsehair couch reading Julius Caesar aloud, mooning over Priscilla Alden and watching football. (Pilgrims vs. Indians).

Now, picture his wife, Barbara, in the kitchen seriously thinking about wringing his neck instead of the fifty-pound-turkey he brought home. The woman is overwhelmed with twenty sacks of potatoes to mash and pumpkins the size of wagon wheels to pick and cook. The spaghetti squash she planted as an experiment exploded during a summer growth spurt, and her zukes got as big as Labrador Retrievers. She’s still got wheat to thrash and dough to rise and roll. The colossal turkey has eight-five pellets in its butt, thanks to Myles who introduced the Indians to firewater as well as firepower.