From
The Great Mandrake (not published) Drake Mandrake is working his way
through college as a comedic magician. A youthful mistake made him a
father early on and now, at 21, he's coping with being a single dad
as well as taking care of his 7 year old nephew, Davy. Davy is a
special needs child who's been diagnosed with Asperger's. Drake is
studying special ed so that he can work with children like Davy. As a
treat, Davy has been fishing with Drake's cousins and Shelby, his
daughter, has spent the day with Aunt Connie. They are now at Uncle
Billy's for dinner.
Davy
ran at Drake, greeting him so enthusiastically, he nearly knocked him
over. Connie took Shelby so that Drake could swing Davy onto his
shoulder.
"I
caught all kinds of fish, Uncle Drake! And I caught a stingray! It
almost stung Uncle Billy when he unhooked it!"
"Really?
Wow!"
"It
was nearly six feet long! It was pissed to get caught."
"Okay,
who taught my boy a new word?" Drake asked the room at large.
His
cousin, Burwell held up his hand, grinning sheepishly. "He
wasn't supposed to tell you."
"Did
you tell him not to use it in a sentence?"
"No."
He looked puzzled. "I didn't think of that."
"Now
ya know. Davy, you don't say pissed. It's not a very nice
word."
"Okay,
Uncle Drake." He squirmed to get down.
Burwell
caught him as he lunged off his uncle's shoulder. He set Davy on the
floor, ruffling his hair.
"He's
something else. He kept all of us hopping."
Billy's
sons were all built on the same line as their father. In other words,
upwards of seven feet tall and roughly the size of Montana. There
were six of them altogether. Drake couldn't imagine Davy running them
all ragged. He supervised him fine all on his own.
"It
took all y'all to keep tabs on one kid? That's pretty damn funny. I
keep track of him and Shelby, no problem."
"Braggart."
"Pussy."
"Pzy,
pzy," Shelby yelled loudly and with gusto. "Sit, sit! Pzy!"
Drake
shook his head, trying hard not to laugh. "Oh, God. My
daughter's gonna have the vocabulary of a redneck trucker by the time
she starts school."
Burwell
laughed at him. "For once it ain't my fault."
"I'll
remember this when you have kids. I'm gonna teach them naughty words
and laugh at your pain."
"You
got a mean streak, Drake."
"I've
got to, considering how much bigger you guys are. Teague's the only
one shorter and he can still whoop me easy."
"He
could whoop all of us. Even if we jumped him all at once. You should
have seen him! It scared the ever loving sh. . . . poop outta me."
"Sh,
sh!" Shelby said.
"That's
right, honey," Drake coached. "Sh, sh—Shelby."
"Bi!
Bi!"
"I
guess we should have named her something easier," Drake said
with a shrug. "She can't seem to get Shelby, no matter what I
do."
"Grow
up with a name like Burwell. Took me forever to get it right. And
spell it? Shoot. I was still getting help when I was in second
grade."
"You
were dropped as a child, Burwell. That confirms it."
"If
you weren't holding that baby, I'd show you just who's gettin'
dropped on the head." He punched Drake's arm.
"Boys,
behave!" Burwell's mother, Betty Jean, fussed.
"Yes,
ma'am!" They chorused.
Dinner
with Drake's family was always crazy. He'd forgotten just how much
fun they were to be around. Once they finished dinner, Billy's
children, who had a bluegrass band, got up on the stage and played
for awhile.
Afterwards
Drake was persuaded to perform a few simple magic tricks. Without his
cases, he was limited, but they liked the card tricks and slights of
hand that he performed.
"Now
I know why I can't win at poker when you play," Junior grumbled.
"Damn. You're probably dealing doubles and stacking the deck."
"No,
Junior, you just suck," Drake replied.
"SUCK!"
Shelby yelled amidst much laughter.
"It's
official," Burwell said, hopping up on stage with Drake. He
raised his cousin's arm in the air. "Daddy's mouth has
officially been rated 'G'."
"Can't
say her own name, but can curse." Drake stepped off the stage.
"What am I gonna do with you, Miss Shelby?"
"She-be!"
She yelled, kissing him resoundingly.
"You
hear that? That's the first time she's ever said her name! Yeah,
Shelby!"
"She-be!
Sit! Pzy!"
"I
think I'd better get my baby home before she picks up anymore bad
language from y'all. You're a bad influence," Drake told
Burwell.
©
2015 Dellani Oakes
No comments:
Post a Comment