Excerpt for Bodine Acres: Episode 1 by , available in its entirety at Smashwords



Bodine Acres

Episode 1

© 2018 Buck Horton

SMASHWORDS EDITION



Dreama took a seat at Trixiebelle’s kitchen table. She said, “How you gettin’ along in your new place?”

“Well, it ain’t new, but its new to me.” She studied her coffee as she poured in the sugar. “All right, I reckon. Least there ain’t no meth labs over here.” She stirred cream and sugar into her coffee.

“I know you’re only on the other side of the park from your old place, but how’s the neighborhood?”

Trixiebelle took a sip of her morning coffee, then a drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke out of the side of her mouth so it wouldn’t fly into Dreama’s face. She said, “Okay, I reckon. But I ain’t gonna lie. That wacko bird over in the trailer to the east, he don’t never speak none.”

Dreama said, “Ain’t real friendly, is he?” She took a bite out of the jelly roll that, Trixiebelle gave her.

Trixiebelle flicked the cigarette ash on the saucer holding the coffee mug. “I ain’t so sure but what he cain’t talk if’n he wanted to anyhow, like he is one of them there mimes or something.”

“That don’t sound right to me,” Dreama said making sticky pastry noises with her full mouth, “Mimes are entertainers.”

Trixiebelle pushed her hair back and said, “He ain’t really terrible looking. He don’t really need to talk, I don’t guess.”

Dreama smiled, wiping jelly from the side of her mouth. “Maybe he’s just one of them cold northerners.”

“I seen him out there cuttin’ the grass a couple a times without no shirt. He ain’t the worst lookin’ guy here in Bodean Acres.” Trixiebelle looked away as if to downplay any possible interest in him.

“He sounds like he’s a gay bird. I ain’t sure why, but most any man ‘round here won’t never stop drinkin’ long enough to cut the grass without bein’ made to. You ever see a fine looking man around here who wasn’t gay?”

Trixiebelle shrugged her shoulders. “I wouldn’t know about that I reckon. All I know is that I couldn’t never get Luther to do nothin’.” She shook her head at the bitter memory of her recently divorced husband.

“Well, you’re better off without him,” Dreama said.

“I know it.” Trixiebelle’s head sank. “But I still got the pain.” She wiped her nose with her hand.

“You ain’t gonna cry now, are ya?”

“No . . . I ain’t.” Trixiebelle wiped her eyes with the swipe of her hand. She stood and took their dishes over to the already full sink. “I been meanin’ to get this done. I just been so busy working and all to get the rent money around before the end a the month.”

Dreama looked around at the dull tile flooring and greasy film on the window. “I got money, Trix. Y’unt some?”

“I really couldn’t.”

“Why? I earn my money at a respectable establishment. I work real hard for everything I got. People are just jealous. I’m an artist.”

“Don’t git yerself all worked up none. I don’t want to get into all that,” Trixiebelle said. “You know I support you and your dancing career. That money is your money.”

“Well, if’n you change your mind . . .”

“Thanks, dear. It’s good to know I got the best friend a girl could have.”

Dreama looked away as she smiled.

“Besides,” Trixiebelle said, “on account that I got to prove that I don’t need no useless man to get along in my life.”

“All right, then. I gotta run,” Dreama said.

Dreama left the trailer and gawked over to the east at the tidy trailer that sat on the well manicured lot. She got into her old Dodge truck and slowly backed up until her truck ever so slightly nudged the mysterious neighbor’s late model Subaru parked behind her. She tied her shirt into a knot in the front, exposing her trim midsection. She also put a couple of tissues in each side of her bra. Then she hiked up her stretchy shorts to make them provocatively short. After her modifications, she swung her bare legs around and got out of the truck. She confidently strutted up the walkway to the front door of the neighbor man’s trailer. She went up the single wood step on the tiny porch, striking her best pose, and rapped on the door. There was no answer. She did it again. She could hear some locks being undone and the door was pulled open. A tall, trim man wearing a tee shirt and jeans opened the door. He had dark hair and tired blue eyes.

Dreama said, “Excuse me, I am so sorry to bother yew, but I accidently backed into your car. But I will pay for any damage I caused.”

The man briefly looked out at the scene without leaving the trailer and said, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, are you sure? I just want to do the right thing. You sound like you aren’t from these parts. What kind of accent is that?”

“I really appreciate it, but its fine.”

“Oh, well I must insist that you confirm that there ain’t no damage. You know I really wouldn’t want to have my standing in the community impugned later on just on account of you being so nice about it.”

“Really, it’s okay. I’m just real busy here.” He was looking up and down the street from the doorway.

Dreama said, “Well, then can I come in, so I can leave my name and contact information with you? I seem to have misplaced my pen and note tablet.”

The man said, “I guess I can come out real quick.” He walked out and did a quick inspection of the situation.

Dreama leaned over the hood of her car and bent over the bumper. Her shorts were riding up ever higher. She said, “I really didn’t mean to do it, Mr. . . .”

“It’s fine. Thank you for telling me about it. I gotta go right now.” He turned and walked toward the trailer.

Dreama straightened up and was at a loss for words as she watched the man return to the trailer. She said to herself, “That boy is so gay.”



End of Episode



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