| Hard Time Killin' Floor Blues; My Latest Short Story | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 19 2015, 06:55 PM (14 Views) | |
| CharlieOdyssey | Apr 19 2015, 06:55 PM Post #1 |
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Hard Time Killin’ Floor Blues Damond loved his small Catholic church. It was not a particularly large place, there were only three rooms total. But the plywood it was built upon and the clergy that carried it gave the church a feeling of authenticity that Damond deeply desired. A lot of the people that went to the sermon with him were white folk, but they seemed to love him unconditionally. Damond had been going with his grandmamma and mother ever since he was four years old. He had been converted a few weeks into attendance. His faith helped him feel connected to the world around him. It improved his relationship with his mother as well. Damond thought back to one day in particular, where he and his mother were approached by Pastor Al, the leader of the congregation. “Very good service, pastor, very good.” “Thank you very much. How are things at home?” “They ain’t good, his condition has worsened, and she’s been out way later than usual, I worry fo’ them both pastor.” “Well, I’ll pray for y’all. Hey, Damond!" “Mama, could I go with Pastor Al?” “Yeah, sure.” “I’ll have him back by this evening.” The two left together, and began to walk through the woods. The sky was resplendent, and it made Damond feel at ease. “So Damond, how are things going?” “They goin’ good. Daddy been showin’ me how ta play Basketball.” “And how is that going?” “Its gon good, daddy yell at me sometime, but he mean well.” Pastor Al’s face sunk. “You know I’m here if you need me, Damond. And I’m praying for you always.” Damond was far too young to figure out what bought this on. His father’s yelling yanked him back to the present. He was six now. "Damond!" "Yeah, daddy?" "Boy, I need you to walk wit’ me some. We gon’ go to the farmer’s market." "Awright." Damond had not fully woken up yet. The one room cabin that he and his father were squatting in did not have any beds, as such he, his father, and his older sister had been sleeping on the floor. At such a young age this was leading Damond to feel sad without any provocation. He did not understand this. "Damond if you aint out here in the next minute I’m gonna give you a whoopin’ you won’t believe!" his father yelled from the outside. Damond slowly but steadily began to assemble his clothes; his shirt with a small hole near the left armpit, his raggedy blue jeans, and his favorite pair of tennis shoes. They were a little big for him now, his grandmama had given them to him for his 5th birthday. He hadn’t heard from her since the big storm. He went out to meet his dad. His dad was dressed in the New Orleans Saints shirt he always liked wearing. Damond used to sit on his lap and they’d watch the game together. Couldn’t do that now, they didn’t have a TV. They walked a few blocks down to go into the farmer’s market downtown when Damond asked: "Daddy, when are we gon’ get a TV?" "We aint got the money, Damond." "Why not?" "Because we broke!" "Why we broke?" "Boy, you sure askin’ a lot of questions. You best shut yo’ mouth." Damond was hurt. This was often how conversations with his father went now. He was so nice otherwise, never made Damond work or go to school. He never bossed him around either! Damond kept to himself as they walked through the desolate streets of New Orleans, with similar people in ragged clothing passing them by. One such person tried to stop Damond. "Bless you, boy, you got any money for a poor soul like myself?" His father intervened “Terry, get the fuck out of here. Fuckin’ crackhead, get!” Damond was motioned to walk faster, behind them Terry yelled “you just a junkie yoself! Piece of shit! Fuck you!” They got a safe distance away from the man when Damond decided to ask his dad about Terry. “Daddy, who was that?” "He a liar, Damond, and he a junkie. You don’t believe anythin’ of what he sayin, aight?" "Why’d you curse, daddy? You know Pastor Al says people with those words go to hell." "Boy, you tryin to make me mad? I put the clothes on yo’ back Damond. I was there for you when nobody else was." Even at 6, Damond knew when he should probably divert the subject; "Daddy, where Kim at?" "Kim out there providin’ for us. She busy." "What she do?" "She do a lot of things." "When will we see her?" "I don’t know, she up at Baton Rouge. She busy, we’ll see her soon.." "Where’s grandmama?" "She gone, Damond. How many times we gon’ have this damn conversation?" "I miss her." They turned down the street that led to the farmer’s market. His father drew him closer. “Aight, son, now’s yo time to shine. You see that man over there?” There was a man not far from where they were walking. He was white, which was unusual in this part of town, he wore a nice black tuxedo. He looked young, he looked rich. "Aight, imma distract him, and while I’m talkin’ to him, I want you to move in and take his wallet." his father whispered to him. "Daddy, aint that stealin’?" Damond whispered back. "Damond. I aint asking you. I’m tellin’ you." Damond knew that tone of voice and knew that he had to do this. It’s not that he didn’t want to make his daddy proud, he was concerned about the state of his soul. Damond and his dad moved in closer on their unsuspecting target. "Go on, make me proud." His dad moved towards the white man and began talking about things that Damond couldn’t understand. He knew that he had to move now, and he moved behind the white man, as he was tryin’ to push Damond’s father away from him. This made Damond angry, like this guy was so much better than the rest of us. He moved toward his pocket, and swiped his light blue wallet. "Let’s go." His daddy pulled at him, with the white man chasing after him. Damond’s father led him through the crowd, intending to lose the man they just stole from in the sea of heads lookin’ for a quick and easy score. Eventually they fled from their score successfully, Damond’s father led him into an abandoned building, and told him to wait there while he went out and looked to confirm that their victim had indeed gone. Damond saw a pebble, and began to examine it. Damond did not yet understand why he liked the pebble, but holding onto its smooth surface was soothing for him. Damond thought about his mama. How she and his grandmama took the car out in the storm, and left him, his father, and his sister. They never came back. Daddy had told him that they went on a trip. But they hadn’t come back for four months. Damond wondered why they’d abandon him to homelessness. Did they not like him? Was he not a good enough kid? A rat scurried through past Damond deep into the rotting, dusty building. Damond liked the way the rat looked. He decided the two would be friends, and while he went down in pursuit of it he thought of a name. Lenny? Nah, Lenny was too grown-up a name. This rat was special. Damond ran down the stairs at a breakneck pace, the rat seemed to be getting farther instead of closer. Alfalfa? Nah; that was a dorky name. Damond was just about to the entry level floor when the rat ran into a hole in the ground, completely out of sight. Damond moved to that hole, and tried to reach in with his hand, but his hand wouldn’t fit. After a few minutes he gave up and began to head back to where his daddy had told him to wait. A man from the outside saw Damond, and came in, to move towards him. Damond froze in fright. "Hey, boy, where yo sister?" "I dunno sir, she aint been home in days." "Hey, I need a place to stay. Can I stay with you until yo sister come home?" "I’d have to ask my daddy." Damond had no idea how this guy recognized him, or how this guy knew his sister. He ran upstairs as quickly as possible, moving all the way up to where his father had told him to wait. Downstairs he heard noises, and he heard the scream of what appeared to be the man. Then silence. "DAMOND!" Damond saw the look on his daddy’s face and couldn’t control himself. He knew it was wimpy to cry, but he began to uncontrollably burst into tears as his father stomped towards him. His daddy grabbed him and slapped him in the face and shook him violently. “Boy, the FUCK is the matter with you?! I tell you to wait for me, but you never listen, shit, you almost got us arrested!” "Daddy, I’m sorry, I saw a rat, and wanted to catch it…" His father slapped him again "Boy, I’m trying to fuckin talk! You really are dumb." "…I thought you be proud daddy, I’m sorry, I aint gon’ do it again. Swear on the lord." Damond and his father looked at each other for just a brief moment. It was a moment that spoke monuments. Damond, for the first time, could see his father’s rapidly aging features, the teeth that had begun to fall out, the bags under his eyes. He saw his father as an ugly man. "Damond, I am proud of you, because of you we gon’ have dinner tonight." His daddy said, rapidly changing tone. "Now, you got that wallet? How much money we make today?" Damond handed the wallet to his father and he began to count. His face changed, and he became angry again. He slapped Damond once more. "Boy, did you lose money? Don’t fuckin lie to me now!" "No, daddy, I swear! No money dropped." "This white boy had forty dollars…aight Damond, Imma take 30 of this and go meet up with some friends. You take 10 and go find yoself some food fo’ the day." Before Damond could ask how he was going to get home tonight, his dad was gone again. Damond was alone. This happened all too often. Damond was alone most of the week, and whenever his daddy came home he never wanted talk. Damond walked around town awhile, and found a nice bench to sit on. Half of it had been torn apart in the storm, but there was still enough for Damond to sit by himself. He didn’t know the way to the cabin. He was scared he’d never find it. He was scared about many things, he was scared about tomorrow, scared by his father, scared for the state of his soul. He wondered what Pastor Al would say and begun to sulk. He knew now that he would surely be going to hell, and he wondered what he could do about it. There was another pebble on the ground that he picked up. He felt the surface, it took him away from his situation now. There was nothing he could do. Damond saw the world for the first time, and it horrified him. Author’s Note: This was based off of the short stories Hemingway wrote called Indian Camp. In Indian Camp the main character, Nick Adams, experiences his first loss of innocence when his father delivers a live birth. I thought of New Orleans after hearing from another professor about a story one of his students had told him where she saw a parent prostituting their daughter in Baton Rouge. I was fascinated by New Orleans in general, and have been wanting to write about it for some time. The aftermath of Hurricane Katrina is one of the worst national tragedies none of us ever think about, and I was compelled to portray that in the best way that I could. I aim to explore the Iceberg theory that Hemingway so frequently used, hiding vital plot elements in plain sight. |
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12:30 AM Jul 11