The Grain Silo

Written By: Brandon Schlong

Copyright 2013

Reubenickenobickle

You’ll never guess who I bumped into this morning.

Nope, nope.  He actually moved back to upstate Warshington I guess, sheeit…

Musta been two years ago.  Was it two years ago…?

Hadta been cos’,

I remember he helped me feed the heifers the morning of Patrick’s birthday.

First frost of the year that very same mornin’ come to think of it.

Oh, sure!

Their daughter Bridgette, runnin’ round a-peein-and-a-poopin ever’ where.

I can tell you for Goddamn sure, that he and Kathy had never been happier.

Anyway, it was shorely just a brush-stroke of luck who I…

No, it wasn’t her either.

Her son died, ya know?

Ugh, and it was just so Goddamn messy!

She still wanted an open casket and boy, oh boy…old Hard-nosed Hilda

Bickered and fought with Reverend Donaldson till the very last minute.

No, they didn’t.

Hell, they couldn’t have all them school kids seein’ him the way he looked.

Didn’t look nothin’ like the freckly-faced rascal

Who always seemed to be messin’ round the potato patch by the machine shed.

Hell, I don’t know?

He was always a-diggin’ fer somethin’ when he shouldn’t-a-been.

I’m sorry…Well, Goddamn it! Can ya blame me fer yellin’?

Jesus Harold Christ Benson!

Just tore me up…him bein’ all purple an’ caved in.

And his forehead looked like…I just…okay, okay…no, thank you…

Got my handkerchief right here.

Funny, how a kick in the chest from a ragin’ bull don’t even make me blink

But this…thank you…ahhhh! 

Mother of God I needed that.  Hanh?

He just kept-on-a-messin’ around inside that Goddamn skid loader.

Maynard musta told him Goddamn-near a hunderd times that he ain’t even allowed

To think about drivin’ that Goddamn skid loader.

Goddamn kid knew the only time they Goddamn even used it was when

The Goddamn manure spreader needed fillin’!

The Goddamn thing was practically brand new!

Well, uh…can I finish my Goddamn sentence?

If you can quit yer yammerin’ for just half a Goddamn minute, I could tell ya.

Sometimes I think you was named "Babblin’ Brooke," yer whole life.

Then, as my ever-flickerin’ magic lantern of Good Fortune

Seems to finally, finally burn up the last of its enchanted pixie pollen

It returns me to the inadequately lit reality that was

Sparky Gordonson’s #4 grain silo.

Oh, I know what-cher-a-thinkin’:

Yes, Sparky Gordonson’s Peanut Farm.

The site of the 12^th Annual Coleman County Hayride and Patty-Cake Contest.

No, ma’am.  I ain’t disputin’ nothin’ that don’t need disputin’

I’m just sayin’ that when you run up to me an’ Dewey Dunbar that night

Just a-bawlin’ and a-blubberin' about how a drunken Sparky Gordonson

Cornered you in the hay mow with wild eyes 

And a whiskey-sweat-soaked-flannel-shirt

Proceeded to try and get himself a couple-a handfuls

Of whatever you was a-keepin from him

Underneath those purty, polk-a-dot panties

Until you finally broke free of his 

"Pokin’ and proddin’ beast-fingers of Unholiness”

And ran to find the help of someone back at the party.

I’m of mind to believe that yer name really was “Babblin’ Brooke”

But, after you done soaked my new

Brown and yellow, all-cotton, work shirt through and through

You decided to introduce yerself as Evelyn McAllister!

That luminescent, pixie-lamp sure did hinder my visual abilities

And, it musta made me as deaf as the Reynold’s daughter too

Cause, thinkin’ back to the muggy, mosquito-fest in August

That night in 1971, I only recall how I spent the night

Listenin’ to yer pissin’ and moanin’.

First, you made me take ya to Laurie Gardner’s Dad’s auto-body shop

Cause, ya thought Laurie would be around, and even though Laurie's Dad

Henry Gardner, with Danny Kiplingmaier and Jake Shifter also present

Made it abundantly clear that if we kept our Goddamn mouths

From asking too many stupid, fucking questions

Then, maybe they wouldn’t mind the two of us just hanging about

Seein’ that we musta run afoul some sort-a trouble.

That's when Henry started talkin'

“Don’t much give a shit whatcha done

Who ya done it to, or how many more times

Ya need ta slap her mouth before she listens.

And I doesn’t think that any one of us much cares

If ya get what’s a-comin’ to ya.

I sure as fuck know ol’ Shifter’d rather just kick the shit outta Mr. Fancy Shirt 

Here and sit this purty little lady down for a meet and greet

With the Interrogator and the Correcter.

That’s what ol’ Shifter here calls his fingerin’ fingers.

The “Old Shifter-Finger” is what I always say.

But no matter how many twelve packs this Goddamn drunk puts into his belly

He ain’t never failed to remind me that they need to be addressed

By their proper names.

No need to get antsy now, boy.

We’re just jerkin’ yer dickie.  Ain’t we boys?

Shifter! Ya better just park your muffet right back there on that tuffet.

Ain’t nary a reason fer a goddamn Interrogatin’ session.

I mean it. Shifter!  Plant it!

Fucking Now!

The Double-Barreler knows no gender.

Just drink yer Old Style and shut yer mouth.

Do whatever it is ya need ta do ta keep yerself from assaultin these here teenagers.

Shifter! Hey!  It don’t matter!

Whatta-ya think I don’t realize that?

She’s standin’ right in Goddamn front of me!

It’s all right kids. When Shifter here says he’s sorry

I’ll put the Double-Barreler back in its holster

And we can get back to enjoyin’ the farm report real tranquil-like.

Shitty Shifter!  One more Goddamn peep…!” he says.

Remember the sodomization that almost was?

Evelyn? Do ya?

But clearly stated, fair warnings be damned.

“Babblin’ Brooke” Evelyn McAllister decides it’s time

To be investigative reporter.

Shelly Deeds from the Nightly News alluva-sudden.

“Hey Mr. Gardner. Where’s Laura?

Is Laura still going steady with that new boy from school, Wendell Jenkins?

Mr. Gardner, why would Laura want to go steady with that kind of boy?

Mr. Gardner, don’t you think it’s bad enough as it is

With her smoking cigarettes during lunch period every day

And sassing back to the guidance counselor

When she accuses Laura of sniffing glue by the old maintenance shop?

Mr. Gardner, I think that’s bad enough on its own. Don’t you?

Does Laura really think that kissing and holding hands with that new boy

In broad daylight, in full view of all the students and faculty

Is going to make her popular?

I just never expected Laura to sink that low.

Mr. Gardner, I just want the old Laura back.

I really miss the old Laura.

She was so funny and so silly.

All us girls would just die from laughing

When she gave us “shower hugs”

In the locker room after gym class.

Or the way she would get the chubby girls be the bread

When they made a Laura Sandwich.

Because Laura loved to be the meat

And Laura was the Official Bread Butterer.

She made sure that even their legs and bottoms got buttered.

Can’t you say anything?  Mr. Gardner?

What about this………”