pt. 2

Now that you know the shit that was there, you'd be needing to know a few things about the people who lived in it, filled it up most of the time. We always like to know about the people. They are the most important. And it was just myself and pretty much those few people I really knew back then; all pretty much just a bunch of kids. But I wouldn't call us average. Noone around there was ever an average kind of a person. I guess it was heavy metal poisoning from the mine. It was only when I got to the city that I figured I was a freak, but anyway.

It's about Goose. That was her name; real name Lucy, but anyone who didn't want a gob of spit in their eye was better to call her Goose. My best friend Goose, who I'd known ever since I was old enough to ride into town on the back of the dad's truck. I used to ride in all the time, sitting up in the tray with the dog. You know how it is when you're a kid; you try to make friends with anyone else just mucking around there. Soon enough, just about every time that my daddy used to ride that truck into town, I'd be riding on the back there with all of the dogs, just tearing off into nowhere as soon as I'd see her. We'd either have heaps of fun, or have heaps of fun just sitting there and talking.

She was tall like me, with long stringy blond hair that later grew just as brown as anyone else's. She always wore the same overalls. Her mama was always trying to get her to wear all kinds of pretty things like her sister Shelley would wear, but not Goose. She was the kind that could yell and scream just about anyone right into a corner. That's one of the reasons I always liked her, I guess. She always made her own decisions, whether it was her mama, her teacher, or the county sheriff. And she stuck to me like fire to the driest thorn.

When you're a little little kid what you remember is the frogs, the snakes, your brothers and your best friend in the tire swing. And that was enough, right back then. You didn't need a whole posse to lead around the elementary school like some of the others did when they got older.


====

I know it isn't that great... but eh, I can edit it later on. I've got the germ of an idea that's growing inside of me... eee...eee : ).

Laura- when I write a story, I imagine a voice in my head telling it to me- out loud. That way I kind of hear it... laut gesprochen oder laut gelesen? anyway... but I do know what you mean! Some things you really have to read out loud to understand the full beauty/meaning of- like Dylan Thomas. I'm reading Under Milk Wood again- freaking out, generally, about the beauty and genius of the man's thought and inner word.