Pages Torn From a Travel Journal by Lee Edward

Author:Lee, Edward [Lee, Edward]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Deadite Press
Published: 2013-09-11T14:00:00+00:00

2 May, 19—

daybreak

The horizon’s creeping acclivity in the east flamed with the molten colours of dawn when my feet made the last steps toward my destination. A smile in my eye, I spied the dilapidated wooden sign mounted on the ramshackle building: NATE’S GAS & REPAIRS. Finally . . . Fatigue & a more than understandable shock had hindered my ordinarily brisk pace of walking. The chirping frolic of birds seemed to greet me as I approached the dingy garage–at once I felt energized in spite of my tiredness; & it was with a sudden spring in my step that I ambulated on. In a distant lot, the bus (with a hatch opened in the back, & one who could only be Nate leaning into it) was next to snag my gaze; i.e., the repairs were underway. Also, I noticed with some heartenment that those passengers who’d last evening opted for the nearby motel were returning as well.

I’d had enough of this place, & now was the time for me to be gone from it.

Inside the front “office” I was immediately alarmed to find the British slatternette was just coming awake upon the tattered couch, dark hair disarranged. She rubbed sleep from her eyes, squinting. “Oh, it’s you,” her accent appraised.

“Good morn–” I began, then felt a start like a hard shove in the chest.

Where last time I’d seen this sordid-mouthed, busty tart, she’d been fit to erupt from late-term pregnancy, she now displayed no such evidence at all. As she groggily swivelled around on the couch, in fact, her abdomen appeared lithely slim beneath the burgeoning, un-brassiered breasts.

“Miss! No doubt, you’ve—”

She smiled just as a high-pitched squalling resounded from a back room; then a door clicked open.

Into the cramped office walked the 3 Floridian brothers, all grinning proud as fathers themselves while in the arms of the central man churned a chubby newborn swaddled in linens. It bawled loud as an entire maternity ward (squalling babies have always irritated me) yet when one of the whiskery brothers tickled the infant’s chin, it ceased its cacophony & giggled in oblivious glee.

“I dropped the li’l mate last night,” came the mother’s cockney explanation. “He’s half-Yank, so I’m touchin’ wood that’s a smart mix.”

A much more coarse accent–ugh, another southern accent—suffixed the new mother’s words: the brother to the left. “See, me’n my brothers was thinkin’, shit, we’se got ourselfs a big ole shack down Penser-kola, plennie’a room, and she ain’t got nowhere’s ta go, so . . . fuck! We’se invited her to come live with us, help her raise this li’l booger. It’ll be like alls three’a us is the crumb-snatcher’s father!”

I looked back in utter perplexion, while at the same time feeling quite guilty about having misjudged these men, dismissing them as simple yokels via their scruff appearance & ruffian deportment. “Why, what a noble and high-character gesture. You men surely are due serious praise to take on such a responsibility out of the charity of your hearts.”

“Yeah!” said the middle brother.

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