The Front Porch Prophet by Raymond L Atkins

Author:Raymond L Atkins [Atkins, Raymond L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Humor & Satire
ISBN: 9781933836386
Publisher: Medallion Press
Published: 2015-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

Whatever you do, don’t marry someone like me again.

—Excerpt of posthumous letter from

Eugene Purdue to Diane, his ex-wife

A.J. WAS SITTING AT THE KITCHEN TABLE EATING fried Spam when his family arrived home from Eudora’s wedding. Spam was a treat reserved for when Maggie was elsewhere, because she could not tolerate the smell of the sautéed delicacy. A.J. had never understood this point of view and finally came to the conclusion it was a gender phenomenon, something to do with the Y chromosome. So he ate faster when he heard the van door slam in the driveway. His one thought was to remove the evidence. The can was already in the garbage, and he had rinsed the pan right after sliding the greasy brown rectangles onto his plate. Long years of illicit Spam eating had taught him to eradicate the trail. He swallowed the last bite just as J.J. burst through the door, followed by his two older sisters. Maggie brought up the rear looking somewhat the worse for wear.

“Daddy, Daddy!” J.J. shouted as he jumped in A.J.’s lap. “I won the license plate game!” This was one of the cherished car games of the Longstreet children. On long drives they would compete to see who could spot license plates from different states. A.J. found it odd that his son had won. The boy was vague on the rules and had once claimed a Get Your Heart in Dixie or Get Your Ass Out plate on the front of a Dodge pickup.

“He did not win,” stated Harper Lee. “He counted Georgia licenses forty-two times. He cheats.” There was disgust in her voice, as if her sibling were something she had discovered on the bottom of her shoe.

“I don’t cheat!” J.J. hollered.

“How many states did you count?” Emily Charlotte asked, her voice reasonable and calm. A.J. wanted to warn J.J. that anything he said would be used against him.

“Seventy-seven,” he replied. A.J. cringed. He was on his own.

“There are only fifty!” Emily slammed her point home. She brushed past on the way to her room.

“Are not!” came J.J.’s rebuttal. He jumped from his father’s lap and followed his nemesis from the room.

“He is such a creep,” said Harper Lee. “We should give him away.” She took car games very seriously and was hard pressed to accept dishonesty in the ranks. They could hear the debate raging upstairs. She shook her head as she left the kitchen. A.J. arose and went to Maggie.

“Good trip?” he asked as he gave her a hug.

“Does it sound like it was a good trip?”

“They were just exploring their limits.”

“I smell fried Spam,” was her reply. She wrinkled her nose.

“Nope. No fried Spam here.”

“There are two things a woman can smell on her husband,” said Maggie. “One is a truck stop waitress. The other is fried Spam.”

“I’m caught,” he said, abashed. “Her name is Rochelle. She told me that if I left you, I could fry all the Spam I wanted.”

“She’ll tell you that now. Just wait until the first time you try it.

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