© 2005 by Gary L. Benton

Bubba moved out to the rocking chair he had on the patio next to his mobile home.   As he placed his quart Mason jar of ice-cold water on the fifty-fire gallon drum (cut in half at his garage, so he had two on the patio) used as an end table, he looked around the barnyard.  His seat was next to Wally’s lawn chair.  Nothing was moving, but that did not surprise Bubba, because it was already hot and yet only eight in the morning.  Neither he nor Wally spoke.

It was so hot and dry that Bubba suspect even the fish were carrying canteens.  As Bubba surveyed the small dirt patch farm he owned, a big red pick-em-up truck suddenly pulled into this driveway and honked its horn.  Getting up, he slowly made his way to the truck.  He wasn’t in any hurry, because he figured the truck would still be there when he arrived.

Wally’s chair creaked loudly as he got up to follow Bubba out to the truck.  Both men, of course, brought their ice water with them.  Wally was suddenly extremely interested, because he had been there a week and this was the first visitor’s he’d seen.

Uhmmm, Bubba thought, they got outta state plates on that thing and no gun rack, Outsiders.  Not from around here for sure.  Plus, this thing looks brand new. Ain’t anybody I know that can afford one of these trucks.

As he neared the truck the driver’s window went down with a slight whirling sound and a head poked out.  No sooner had the head appeared than Bubba’s pack of dogs started barking loudly.  They ran out from the barn and circled the truck as a crazed group of individuals, not as a pack. 

 It was then he heard a loud Yankee voice yell, “Can you call those dogs off sir.  I need to ask you a question and I’m in a terrible hurry too.”

“Afternoon, to y’all too.  Sure, I can call em off for ya, but they won’t listen to nobody.  Nope, they are just like a big city lawyer.  Once they get your scent, they’ll stay on ya forever.   Remind me later to tell ya about the time I divorced my first wife and her egg sucking big city cutthroat lawyer.  Now, what can I do for y’all?”  Bubba spoke as he moved up beside the open truck window and took a big gulp of his water.  He could feel the cold air from the air conditioner of the truck on his face.  Bubba noticed the man was dressed in an expensive tan suit, his hair was long and styled, and his gold plated eyeglasses probably cost more than Bubba’s truck.

“Do you know how to get to highway 63 from here?”  The man asked as he looked down at a couple of the barking dogs.

“That is right down the road about four miles, eh, Bubba?”  Wally asked with his thick Canadian accent.  Bubba noticed streaks of sweat running down the thin man’s face.

“Why sure I can tell ya.  See, I done lived here all my life, but Wally is furr-in visitor.  So, don’t ask him about it.  I know every road around for miles.   Wally, now, he is a nice enough feller, he jess doesn’t know this place like I do though.”  Bubba said as he reached in his right rear pocket and pulled out his chewing tobacco. 

Being civilized, he opened the pouch of tobacco and extended it toward the man in the truck as he continued speaking, “Want a chaw?”  As soon as he had spoken he placed his jar of water on the hood of the new truck.

“Uh, why, no, no thank you. I asked if you knew where the highway is?  And, don’t you think it’s a bit early to be drinking moonshine?”  As the man asked his question once more, Bubba thought the guy must be hard of hearing.   So, as soon as he had filled his left cheek with tobacco he decided he needed to speak louder.

“YES, I SAID YES.  I KNOW WHERE THE ROAD IS!  AND AS FOR THE MOONSHINE, IT AIN’T NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!”  Bubba yelled as he leaned forward and got right into the man’s face.  The juice from his chewing tobacco ran down his chin, but he made no effort to wipe it off.

 The fool thanks I am drinking moonshine this early in the day, Bubba thought and gave a chuckle to himself.  He decided, right then and there, to play it up a bit.

“Well, where is it then.  I guess you didn’t hear me when I said I was in a hurry.”  The man stated with thick northern accent.

“Aren’t you going to tell him Bubba?  You know where it is.”  Wally stated as he took a swig of his cold ice water.  

“Wally, you obviously didn’t heah this man.  He didn’t ask me to tell em how to get there.  He asked me if I knew where it was.”  Turning back to the truck window Bubba spoke once again, “Now, which is it, suh, that y’all want?”  I do not like rude people, especially rude Yankee’s, Bubba thought as he answered the man’s question, with a question, of course.

“Mister, are you drunk or something?”

“Not yet, but I suspect me and Wally will be in a couple hours.  It’s too hot here to do much of anythin’ else.  I figured we would take the dawgs and meander down to the pond. We might do us some cat fishin’ later on today.  Of course, fishin’ means me and Wally will need to take us some beer along.”

“Man, are you for real?”

“Well, I gots me one of them birth certificates that says I’m real.  Of course, don’t pay no attention to who it says is my daddy, because that part is one of them errors ya know.  One of them typo-thing-of-a-bobs.  And, Wally here, he has him one of them Can-a-dee-an passports or something like that anyway.”  Bubba said as he felt himself starting to enjoy the conversation a bit now.

“It is a Canadian passport, Bubba.  You’ve seen it, eh?”  Wally said as he looked at Bubba more than a little confused.   Bubba had spoken passable English not ten minutes ago.  What in the world had happened?  It was then Wally decided to lay back and just watch.

“Look, how do I get to the highway?  I just need to get back on the main road.  Will you help me or not?  I’m in a big hurry.”   The man spoke in a pleading voice, just before his head disappeared back into the cab of the truck a split second before Taterhead, the beagle, jumped up on the door.

“Ok, ok, just cool down a bit, son.  Dang, we don’t do things so fast down here in the South.  One of these days you’re gonna take one of them heart attack things and just fall over dead.  But, since ya ain’t from around heah, I’ll give y’all a break.  I will tell ya the way I would go to the highway. Ya got a pencil and some paper in that truck?”   Bubba asked, and then he turned and spit a stream of thick brown tobacco juice out onto the ground near his feet, barely missing Taterhead, but not missing the side of the man’s truck door.  Well, thought Bubba, least ways the driver didn’t see it hit the door.

“Ya, I got a pen and paper right here.  Ready to copy.”  The man said as he turned to face Bubba.

“Ok.  Now, you go down this here road for a fair piece, but not as far as old lady Cisco’s place, or ya done gone too far, and then ya turn left.  You can’t miss it, because it’s where Bobby Dale killed that monster buck back in ’68.   Ya know, there’s that big open field off to the right side there.  Go straight for another mile or three until you come to where the old Packizer place used to be, only it ain’t there no more.  So, don’t even count on seein’ the remains.  Right there you turn right, immediately when ya see where the lightnin’ struck that old post oak tree back in ‘83.  Then past old man Johnson’s place, past Millers Feed Store and Nightgowns, and at the intersection ya’ll see the post office, Andy’s café and one of them fast eatin’ burger places.   Feller, ya look kind corn-fused, you getting all of this down?”  As soon as he had finished speaking he gulp the remainder of his water and tossed the empty canning jar out into the barnyard, just missing Butch, the old coon hound.

Suddenly there was a whirling sound and the window to the truck closed.  Since it was tinted Bubba couldn’t see in.   He heard the engine race, saw the truck back up, and watched as it disappeared down the dirt driveway and turned onto the blacktopped road in front of his mobile home.  It turned the wrong way of course.

Bubba was still chuckling to himself when Maude walked up beside him with a cold glass of sweet tea in her left hand. 

She smiled at Bubba and asked, “what were y’all doin’out here talkin’ to them folks Bubba.  They ain’t from around here, are they?  They looked like outsiders to me.  Did ya know them folks Wally, since yer from up north and all?”

“Maude, do you know how many people live north of the Mason-Dixon Line?  Do you have any idea of how many folks live in the states and even in Canada north of you?”  Wally replied as he slowly shook his head.

“A couple bushel baskets full, I reckon.  I ain’t never really gave it much thought.  Yer the only real Yankee I ever met, even if ya do say ya ain’t a Yankee.  Ya talk funny, just like they do, so ya must be one.”

“They were lost Maude and I was doing the right thing by helpin’ em.”  Bubba said as he took the cold drink from Maude’s hand and took a long gulp.  He turned his head towards Wally and gave him a big twisted grin.

“That’s my baby doll, Wally.  He’s always helpin’ other folks, Bubba is, even Yankees.  That is one reason I love him so dang much.  What ya both say we take some fried chicken gizzards, tater salad, cornbread , cold beer, and go do us some catfishin’ for a spell.”  Maude said as he put her arm around Bubba’s large waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

As Bubba and Maude headed back into the mobile home to pack up for the fishing trip, Wally wondered why Bubba had been so rude to the man in the truck.  And the man in the truck had been just as rude to leave without saying so much as thank you.  After all, hadn’t Bubba given him exact directions to the highway?  Hadn’t Bubba answered all of the man’s questions?  It suddenly became obvious to Wally that all Bubba had done the whole time was to try and teach the man some Southern manners.

“Life is sure is strange.”  Wally thought with a loud laugh.  He realized he had only been in the south for a few weeks and it was already rubbing off on him.  This could prove to well be one holiday to remember.

I hope y’all enjoyed the sample from my book, “Bubba’s Dawg Might be a Redneck.”  If you are interested in ordering it, visit the store now.