Friday, May 29, 2015

His Favorite Gal -with a twist and jab-

Chapter 8
Part One
Clay, smirking indignantly, shook his head at the request, not to say no but surprised at my gall. 

“Good that I’m dying cause if Gal finds out I told ya she’ll kill me. She’ll do you in so you best zip it and use the info for investigatin’ only.”

His words reminded me of his waning mortality. I assessed Clay’s countenance and general appearance. Recent time in the sun enhanced his dark skin tone and it masked his yellowing skin.

“Hey Clay, before you tell me…how you feeling, really?” 

“Truly, my liver feels the size of a cat that’s lounging next to my stomach and I’m tire of body but not mind. So let’s get to it.”

He chugged half his cola, grimaced as if sippin’ whiskey, and horned in on the frogs with his belch.

“Okay, so Gal was the only kid of her homely folks. As a baby she was gorgeous just as she is still, opposite of her parents. Yup, and born with thick hair. She came out of the womb with it snake braided already, so long, it was tied to her ankle till she could grow into it.”

Admittedly, I didn’t recall ever seeing His Favorite Gal without her hair braided that way minus the ankle reference.

Like me, and thinking Clay’s account was pure exaggeration, the fire sputtered and popped a glowing coal right unto my buddy’s lap. It rolled off and down to his crotch and burned through the nylon fabric of the seat. Plasticky smoke stunk up the air worse than Clay’s story.

“Hokee Pete! Almost branded my boys Ain’t It.”

“Clay, surely Gal didn’t tell you this story.”

“Right, it was her granny on her ma’s side. Elders don’t tell lies Migizi.”

“Oh no, never,” I said with a shit-eatin’ grin.

“Ain’t It! Stop or I’ll shut up.”

“Yah, okay, sorry. Now get going Clay.”

I lit the lanterns but kept them on low because the full moon poked his bald head above the horizon.

“So anyways, her Pa doted on her fierce like. Made his wife spoil that little Ojibweh princess. And she did it without complaint, good woman as she was. Yah, so in traditional fashion, they waited till Little Miss Gal was age five to name her. The day came and Gal wanted a name. Her dad was in the crapper shaving while ma braided the little one’s hair.”

A moth battered itself senseless against the globe of a lantern. Dizzy, it flop-flew right into the fire. The reverse of a rooster at daybreak, a Whippoorwill timed in on natures clock and formally announced night.

“Little Gal says to her mom while her Pa listened from the can, ‘I want a name, all the other kids got names. And mommy, who does daddy love more, you or me?’”

“Well bro, her ma was taken by surprise but gives answer by saying (Clay mimics a woman’s voice) ‘Your daddy loves us both very much but you’re his favorite gal and that’s just fine with me.’ Yup, that’s what she said Ain’t It.”

My ass-talking buddy got up and grabbed a dirty dish towel as a prop and continued.

“Dad comes out of the bathroom, wipes shave cream from his chin and chuckles, then proceeds to name Little Miss Gal.”

Clay deepens his voice while saying, “Ha ha ha, that’s it mother, that’s her name, His Favorite Gal, yup-yup.”

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