We see a lot of touching tales about family here in the Gutter.
But nothing seals the paternal bond like take your son to work day.
SAY UNCLE by Mark Westmoreland
But nothing seals the paternal bond like take your son to work day.
SAY UNCLE by Mark Westmoreland
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Peanut
rode next to his daddy in the cab of his pickup truck. They drove backwoods
country roads and through the mountains of north Georgia until they reached the
outskirts of Confederate County. The truck slowed and turned off road onto a dirt
drive that led to an abandoned house and dilapidated barn. Buford parked his
pickup next to a ‘77 Chevelle and killed the engine. Peanut didn’t recognize
the property so he looked over to his daddy expecting an answer. He didn’t get
one.
Buford
Bohannon let down the driver’s window, took out his pack of Marlboro’s, and
shook loose a couple of cigarettes. He handed one to Peanut and lit the other.
Smoke filled the truck’s cab and the taste of nicotine was on the air. Unsure
of what to do Peanut asked, “What’s this for, deddy?”
“Smoke
it.”
“Mama
says these ain’t good for you.”
“Your
mama ain’t here.”
Buford
handed over his lighter and Peanut clicked it until a flame caught and his
cigarette lit. He didn’t expect to cough so much but once the nicotine kicked
in he felt good, relaxed. He crushed out the cigarette in the ash tray after he
finished and Buford got out of the truck. “C’mon, boy.” He said. Peanut
followed.
They
walked inside the barn. It was dark inside and smelled like chicken shit. It
took a minute for Peanut’s eyes to adjust but once he could see he saw a man
tied to a chair with a hood pulled over his head. Behind the man stood his
cousin Rusty. Peanut was confused. “What’s goin on?”
Buford
spoke, “Peanut, ain’t you ever wondered what it is I do for a livin?”
“I
guess not.”
“Your
ain’t never wondered about your family?”
“No.”
“Son,
it’s time you learned.”
“What?
Deddy, I don’t know what you talkin bout.”
Buford
hunched down on a knee next to his son. He put an arm around him. “Peanut, it’s
time you started learnin to take over the family business.”
“Deddy,
I ain’t even in high school.”
“You
don’t need no school for what I’m gone teach you.”
“What
you gone teach me?”
Buford
reached behind his back and handed his son a black Smith & Wesson. “You
gone shoot that man, Peanut.”
“What?
Deddy, no.”
“Son,
you learn this and you won’t have no problems with nothin else I teach.”
“Deddy,
I can’t. You scarin me.”
“Peanut,
that man hurt this family. Took food from our table. You gone shoot him.”
Rusty
stepped up next to his cousin, put a hand on his shoulder. “You ain’t got to be
scared, Peanut. It’s easy.”
“You
done it, Rusty?”
“Yeah,
I done it.”
Peanut
thought about what his daddy claimed, and that Rusty said it’d be easy. He
looked over the gun and decided he could do it. “All right.”
“Good
boy.” Buford said. “Here’s what you gone do: Step in front a that man, point
the gun at his head, and squeeze the trigger. Understand?”
“Yessir.”
Peanut left his daddy’s side and stood a few feet from the man. He didn’t make
a sound but fought against the ropes that tied him down. Peanut lifted the gun
and aimed it at an invisible bullseye. The sides of his head pounded and before
tears filled his eyes he squeezed the trigger.
The
sound was so loud Peanut dropped the gun. The man’s head was slumped back and
blood puddled on the floor. His daddy stepped up next to him and squeezed his
shoulder. “Peanut,” He said, “The people you gone have to hurt ain’t always
gone be wearin a hood.” Buford nodded at Rusty.
Rusty
removed the hood from the man and ripped duct tape from his mouth. Peanut looked
from his dad to his cousin and tried not to cry. “Uncle Waylon?”
