Nightmares Ain't Sweet Dreaming!

Nightmare Tree, photo by dorothy charles banks  

this is a short story authored by dorothy charles banks, and written with a Southern sense of humor minus the names my grandparents used when describing White bigots and racists, who romped around in states and counties lynching, burning, castrating and mutilating Black folks, who didn’t have a chance against those who always managed to find unoccupied trees, handy ropes and “kindling” (firewood) to host BBQs, with Black folks being the cheap meat of choice. 

last week and a month before that i dreamed i departed this Earth and went to Heaven. nothing unusual about dreaming of dying and going to Heaven you are probably thinking to yourself. people dream about going to Heaven all time! unfortunately some of these folks go the other way. you know where I’m talking about. that scary hell fire and brimstone place where this ornery, Halloween looking dude with horns and a tail is the boss. nobody knows what the Devil looks like for sure, or where his resident is really located. all we know it’s called Hell, he's Satan and nobody wants to end up being his house guest.

New resident: Mr. Devil, can i get a cool glass of water, a cold soda or a bowl of ice cream?

Devil: do i look like a concession stand, or fast-food drive-in? i don’t do cold stuff and water! 

Longtime resident: you’re new here. he’s not gonna make it easy for you. he lives up to everything you heard. this old asshole is meaner than a toothless bulldog trying to bite meat off a bone.

back to my nightmare , , , when i got to the Heavenly Gates--there were 2: Before and After--i was stopped at the Before Gate, and handed a sealed envelope like on the Academy Awards Show. i was told by a smart aleck angel to stand outside the gate and read the postcard twice: one time to myself and then out loud to her. this no personality nitwit was acting like i couldn’t read! 

you give some people a little authority, or a half-ass decent position, and they let it go to their head. in this case a bleached halo. i guess the halo meant she had some kind of authority. before this dreamish nightmare is over i’m going to tell her to put some decorations on that halo, some lipstick on her chapped lips, and get some braces for them buckteeth!

i read the note three /3/ times to make sure i got it right the first /2/ times. the note said very clearly! Skip Heaven, Hell and Purgatory! Go straight to a designated KKK headquarter in Alabama, or go directly to the nearest pecan tree, hang yourself, or let the Klan boys do it. The choice is yours!  

what the holy bullshit is she talking about!? this don’t even make common sense! i banged on Gate #2 in protest. the homely angel had disappeared. i know she heard me but she pretended like she didn’t. “Miss Angel! Miss Angel! Girl you hear me calling you! don’t make me call Jesus on you! i got a pocket full of quarters on my purse! i want to go to purgatory first like everybody else! i want to go to purgatory like everybody else. that’s my right!”

“carrie mae benjamin where did you get that old wives tale from?” the homely angel asked, calling me by my full name. “there are only one of two places you’re going. you can come up here, or go keep the Devil company. we got a long standing contract with him! i’m sure your mama told you a hard head makes a soft ass! your head is hard.” there it is! i knew this buckteeth cow was from the South the minute she started popping off. 

“you may be a halo wearing Southern Belle up here in Heaven, hanging out with the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, but girlfriend you don’t know who you messing with! you better wake up ask somebody!” 

“shut up and shove off!” the smart aleck told me, pointing a finger in my face. before i could tell her to get her anemic finger out of my face she zapped me to Alabama against my will and under strong protest.

“i’m going to have a talk with Jesus and his Daddy about your nasty attitude! i’m coming back up here and play the Jungle Boogie on your stretch marks!” the threats didn’t stop the zap. i whirled and twirled through the polluted air like a drunk crazy acrobat. “i’m going tattoo my sister’s married name on your flat chest! i’m going melt the fat off your thick ankles! i’m going to slap you so hard you’ll have to blow your nose from the back of your fat head! i’m going to . . . ” 

i landed in the Alabama KKK headquarter with a thud, knocking over a gray folding chair and two spit cans.

“what’s that?” a KKKer wondered out loud. 10 of them were sitting around in the wooden shack. they looked around to see who, or what had invaded their executive suite, uninvited. because i was invisible, courtesy of the smart aleck, buckteeth angel, they couldn’t see me.

besides, even i knew better than go in there like i was applying for a job! my mama called me crazy five times a day, but she never called me a fool! i wasn’t going stand in the middle of this shack pretending i’m James Brown singing I’m Black and I’m Proud!

a black man about 30 years old was standing in the middle of the room telling jokes. very, very bad jokes! he was carrying on like a minstrel show entertainer. brotherman was rolling his eyes, tap dancing, and singing for his life. “Mr Klan y’all! take my wife’s neck, please! she got two necks! i tell her all the time she can spare one!” brotherman didn’t get one laugh. a grunt. a groan. a giggle. “on the way over here to this neck tie party i fell down and broke my neck! ha-ha-ha-ha!” silence with a big fat Shut-the-Fuck-up! “come on y’all . . . that was funny!”

brotherman wasn’t ready to give up his neck that easy! he was determined to make the Kmales laugh, giggle, grunt or groan from boredom. he wasn’t ready for a neck tie party in his honor! laughing at his own joke before he told it, brotherman said, “the other day i saw a horse trying to hang a man! the farmer run up to the horse, telling the animal to back off. “hold it, Horse’s Ass.” that was the horse’s farm name. “you can’t go hang ol’ Jim-Jim! he the best employee I got!” 

the stone faced audience of 10 was unmoved. they were as unforgiving as Clint Eastwood. but brotherman was on a comedic roll. he told another pitiful joke. “a funny thing happen to me on the way to this . . . “ 

 plump, muscle-bound KKKer said to brotherman, “i’m gone break your face if you don’t make us laugh pretty soon, colored boy. i’m gone have your teeth looking for a new set of gums! you get that?” the KKKers bust out laughing. “we gone butter yo’ black ass and call you a biscuit, then we gone feed you to our pet dog Fluffy! he likes buttered biscuits and dark meat!”

brotherman looked at the group of half-hooded Klanners. he wished he was at home eating a hot supper and drinking a tall glass of strawberry Cool Aid. being that he was no slick headed, eye-rolling buffoon in real life, brotherman jump started an upbeat “I wish I was in the land of Dixie . . .”

“you in Dixieland, colored boy!” a Kmale said. “we gone lookaway whilst you take a look see at this rope we fixing to hang round your neck. if you don’t mind we fixin’ to stretch your neck inch or two.” the KKKers burst out laughing.

suddenly i was visible (courtesy of the halo wearing, smart aleck angel.) i didn’t know i was visible until a KKKer looked in my direction. i was getting used to being invisible. it was safer. 

“well, well look-a-here! it must be raining Alabama coons! here’s another one the good Lord done sent us! let’s hang’em both at the same time! get that extra rope, Jr.!’’ a scrawny, snaggletooth Klanner said to Jr, who was clapping his hands with too much joy. “get that fancy one we got from New York City the other day!” Jr. obeyed like a happy puppy fetching a rubber bone. he didn’t seem real bright. in other words, switching on Jr.’s brain wasn’t going to light up a room. 

sounding southern educated and properly raised, i asked the KKK gang: “does your moms and dads know you all are this shack talking about hanging innocent people? that’s not Christian! it’s not Godly!”

“it’s whatever we say it is, coon girl. you can bet your best gallon of moonshine our mama knows what we up to! me and Jr.’s mama is sitting right over there!” he pointed at a woman sitting in the corner, smoking a pipe, drinking moonshine and chewing on a wad of tobacco. “she used to be in a circus, along with our daddy. one day he got run over by a elephant. Kilt him dead.” his mama smiled open mouthed, showing all four of her teeth: three at the top and one at the bottom.

“does you yo’ mama know you fixing to get hung?” she asked. Miss Mama had a sinister smile on her lips. she delighted at the prospect of watching a double lynching. i didn’t find  any humor in her delight or her question.

not being of ignorant heritage, i knew i had to do something fast. i fell to my knees and sang the old southern spiritual “Mammy”. it’s not really a spiritual but southern white folks love it, just like they love “Suwannee River.”

“let’s get to hanging’em right now!” a KKKer yelled from the back of the shack. i got to take my family to church for a revival tomorrow. I want to get a good night’s sleep!”

“wait . . . let me tell y’all this joke i heard the other day,” i said, smiling at everybody. brotherman was deathly quiet. he was sweating like a summer-time cotton picker. “did y’all hear the one about the white dude who . . . “

“naw. and you ain’t gone hear it again neither,” said a Kmale, sitting on a red-white and blue folding chair.  

“well have y’all heard the old saying, “death be not proud?” i couldn’t think of a joke. and being dead damn sure wasn’t something to be proud of!

somebody in the shack said, “naw I ain’t heard it, but we gone be proud when we hang y’all from them trees in the back woods down yonder.”

just as they put the ropes around our necks i woke up, holding onto my neck for dear life, and a breath of fresh air. i jumped straight up, and sat on the side of my bed, my eyes wide open, searching the room for the KKK. i was alone. so i thought. sitting on my brand new Goodwill dresser was none other than the halo wearing, smart aleck angel. she wasn’t looking happy.

“what do you want now?” i asked. “you need to worry somebody else to bother and leave me and my dream alone!”

“you might well go back to sleep, honey. you’re going to hang tonight. i’m tired of fooling with you and this dream. i’ve got more important things to do.” ..

i was more than ready to knock out this halo dipshit. she was walking on my last nerve. “and i’m sick of you!” I told her. “get your Atlanta House Wives ass off my dresser before i knock you off!”

“whatever. i’m not going to follow you in this silly dream tomorrow night! I’ve got a special assignment, and it’s not you!”

“go suck on a lemon, or whatever you can wrap your chapped lips around!”

“and you can get ready to hang by your neck until you see Jesus’s face looking back at you!” she zapped me back to Alabama; same shack, same crowd. brotherman was telling very, very bad jokes again.  

“i’m going to haunt your schizophrenic grandmamma, and your crippled daddy if he’s alive! i hope your liver have a heart attack! i hope your first child is born with three legs and one eye!  Uh-oh! Here comes those KKKers with that fancy New York rope . . .”

The End! 

The recluse and the students

Short story
by dorothy charles banks

The old man was like a character right out of a scary movie. Alone, no family or friends, he lived without fuss and complete anonymity in the roach infested house on Hollyvine Street. He never left his house. The 70-year-old was never seen going to the grocery store, to work, walking around the neighborhood or cutting his grass. Some of his neighbors speculated that someone brought groceries to him after dark, or heaven forbid, he devoured the roaches that scampered freely inside his house. This was the neighborhood joke. Of course, the guessing and wondering made no sense but some had fun with it. Some of his neighbors couldn’t mind their own business. They had to fill in the blanks with something, whether it was true or not.

The old man led a reclusive life until Pamela Austin and Matt Stone, two college students in search of a living subject to interview—heard about him. Pamela was writing a thesis was on the lifestyle of a recluse. It’s hard to imagine a recluse having a lifestyle. The old man living on Hollyvine was made to order. Matt knew that Pamela was scared to approach him by herself, so he decided to act as her “protector.”

Matt told Pamela that he heard about the recluse from a friend who lived in the neighborhood. Planning how they would approach the recluse they forgot one important factor: the old man himself. They didn’t know if he would agree to be interviewed, or if he would shoot them for having the balls to disturb him. It happens in movies. Why not in real life? A true recluse doesn’t like outside hassles, and people invading their privacy.

Matt and Pamela decided to visit the old man just to feel him out. Walking upon the porch they brushed aside tree limbs that had accumulated on the porch over a period of months, maybe years. Large trees surrounded both sides of the house that was in relatively good shape. Roaches of all sizes scurried wildly when they kicked branches. Pamela jumped, holding her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.

“I’m leaving,” she whispered to Matt. “I’ll find something else to write about!”

“We’re here now. We might as well see if he’ll talk to us.”

Pamela had never seen such a concentration of roaches in her life. A dark brown cockroach crawled feebly toward her at a tortoise pace. “It thinks I’m a piece of meat,” she whispered to Matt, who wanted to laugh. He wasn’t as scared of the roaches as Pamela.

Pamela’s legs went into convulsions as she excitedly shook off roaches trying to crawl up her legs. A cockroach landed on its back, too weak and dazed to regain an upright position. It just lay there like it was playing dead. From a tattered, sparsely curtained window, a man watched them on his porch.  He must have been amused by their fear of the roaming roaches. They heard his high pitched laughter behind the door. The window he stood in was framed by roaches inside and outside. Matt knocked on the door.

The old man disappeared from the tattered curtain. They could hear him jostling around inside. He didn’t acknowledge Matt’s knocking on the door. Thinking the old man was still in the living room, Matt asked him if he would come to the door. It was quiet inside. The old man didn’t look out the window again.  They had a feeling he was still watching them.

“I don’t think he is going to answer the door,” Pamela whispered. “We might have pissed him off.”

They left but they weren’t going to let the old recluse shake their determination to interview him. They hounded the old man for a week. He finally opened the door and consented to be interviewed. He told them that they had better hurry, because he wasn’t going to stand for nosy outsiders “poking roun’ in my business.” He didn’t make them feel welcomed.

The first visit was hair raising. The rancidness inside the house was a silent discourager. Pamela was tempted to call off the interview before it begin. Both of them talked with their hands covering their nose and mouth. Roaches crawled over them, under them, around them, all displaying perfectly bad manners. In the middle of the room Pamela noticed a pillow on the dirty carpet. The dingy pillowcase was covered by roaches.

The old recluse, dressed in a dirty shirt and pants and barefoot, was oblivious to the roaches and the howling stench in his house. His fingernails and toenails were long and dirty. He had no electricity. He used two lamps for lighting. One was sitting on a small table that had seen its better days, and the other one sitting in a corner. They didn’t dare ask him why he had no electricity. Pamela decided she would bring her flashlight the next visit.

By the third visit Matt was concerned about the affect the roaches, the smell, and the old man’s body odor was having on Pamela. She tried hard not to inhale but she couldn’t hold her breath and talk simultaneously. They learned that the old recluse’s name was Rufus Diggers, 75. He was light skinned, probably weight 145 to 150 pounds, tall and slender with no body definition. Pamela guessed that he was about 5 feet 7 inches tall. The lamp light wasn’t bright enough to tell what color his eyes were. She could see that his graying hair was shoulder length and matted, as was his long beard. This old man is ready for a role in a horror movie, she thought to herself. She couldn’t guess how old he was. She assumed her was around 70, maybe older.

She could see that the old recluse’s stubby teeth had not been brushed in a very long time. Pamela, more than Matt, was curiously fascinated with Rufus Diggers. He didn’t make them feel welcome. To add to her apprehension, Pamela saw a gray cat enter the room, purring, looking straight at her. It walked over to her and rubbed against her leg, still purring.

Oh, God! All I need is a germy cat rubbing against my leg, roaches on my shoes trying to crawl up my legs! “Nice cat,” she said to Diggs. He didn’t respond. “Now call this damn ball of matted fur off me! Pamela thought to herself. She didn’t like cats.

One evening Pamela told Matt that she had a solution to protecting themselves from the roaches. “How about having jumpsuits made to cover us from head to toe? That way the roaches can’t get to us. We can tell him it's a uniform the school require us to wear. We have to wear a gas mask to wipe out the smell! We can make up something later about the masks.”

“What if Mr. Rufus tells us not to come back? You have a few more interviews to go. You don’t want to piss him off more than he already is.”

“Right. These damn roaches and Mr. Rufus are giving me nightmares.”

“It’s like being in the Twilight Zone. I like the old guy. He’s got a shitty attitude, but I like him.”

“Yeah. He’s weird like you. I got an aunt who sews. She can make the jumpsuits. Ol’ Rufus won’t know the difference.”

After leaving Rufus’s house Pamela called her aunt, telling her what she wanted. They went to her aunt’s house. Pamela told her that they wanted simple jumpsuits with tapered legs and sleeves and hoods. Pamela’s aunt had enough light gray material to make the outfits in a couple of hours. They could pick them up the next day, she told them.

That night Pamela had her first bad dream about roaches. Even the cat showed up. She dreamed that thousands of roaches attacked her, devouring her flesh, crawling inside her eyes and mouth, exiting out of her ears. She woke up, a scream stuck in her throat. Even though she was in the safety of her apartment that she shared with a roommate, she was too scared to open her eyes for 10 minutes. The next day she told Matt about her dream. He laughed and told her about a dream he had.

“Roaches don’t eat people except in a movie,” Matt said, laughing.

They changed into the jumpsuits at her aunt’s house.  She noticed a red bump on her right arm.  A roach must have bitten me, she thought to herself.  Their new look didn’t puzzle Rufus. Pamela talked to him for an hour. That is as long he was willing to talk. He sat in the only chair in the empty room. Matt and Pamela had to stand, which they preferred to do anyway. He had given her permission to use her flashlight so she could see to write her notes.

Leaving the house Pamela said, “The roaches seem to be multiplying. They give me the creeps, even with this jumpsuit on. The way they starred at us was unnerving! That cat is creepy too! I thought it was going to start humping my leg!”

“I think that cat likes you. Dogs hump legs, not cats!” As they got into the car, one of Rufus’s neighbors hurriedly walked towards them, beckoning for them to wait.

“Hello. My name is Cleo Louise,” she said, catching her breath. “I’m one of Mr. Diggers neighbors.  Been knowing Rufus for years. He changed so much since his wife passed. Poor dear had cancer. She died about 10 years ago right in this house. Rufus haven’t been the same since. He don’t come out that house for nothing. Oh, look at me! I’m just rambling on and on like we know each other! I don’t usually run my big mouth this much!”

They smiled at Cleo. “Happy to meet you. My name is Pamela and this is Matt. We’re college students.”

“I was wondering who you was, ‘cause Rufus don’t have no company. I’m surprised he let you in his house. I live two houses from here on the other side of the street. Rufus sold and gave away every stick of furniture they had when his wife died. They had some nice stuff, too! He took her death hard. Poor man lost interest in everything and everybody. I’m not trying to be nosy or anything, but why are you two visiting Rufus so much? Is he sick? I’d be glad to look after him.”

“No. We’re interviewing him for a paper I’m writing. He talks to us for an hour, and then he gets impatient. We take that as our cue to leave.” 

Fanning herself, Cleo Louise said, “Like I said, I’m not trying to be nosy. I was just wondering if anything is wrong with Mr. Diggers. We all get a little concerned about him, because he never leaves the house. I think his only daughter brings him groceries about once a month. She comes after midnight. I guess she works late. I just happen to see her one night. Rufus used to be so friendly and outgoing. He was good looking, too. Had a head full of curly hair. He sure did. You know what?” she asked, turning to Matt. “You sure look familiar. I swear I seen you before.”

“Yes ma’am,” Matt said, looking at his watch. “I don’t think you know me. Well, we have to go. It was nice talking to you.”

“You’re welcome. Like I said I’m not nosy. I was just wondering if Mr. Diggers is sick or something. You two have a good evening.”

“You too,” Pamela said, wanting to laugh at the woman’s obvious nosiness. “I bet she hasn’t tried to talk to Mr. Diggers is years!” 

“She knows about his hair and good looks. She probably tried to hit on him after his wife died.”

“He had a head full of curly hair. He sure did,” Pamela said, mocking Cleo, a middle aged woman.

Matt dropped Pamela at her apartment. She wasn’t sleepy, so she read her notes, making sure she was getting the information she needed. After a couple of hours she laid across her bed. She fell asleep. Her dream evolved into a nightmare. It was so authentic she could feel the roaches biting into her flesh. She woke up and turned on the TV. She decided that she needed only one more interview to tie up all loose ends. She had one week to finish her paper and turn it in. Summer courses were shorter and faster.

The next day she told Matt this was the last interview. “I have enough. Mr. Diggers is getting tired of us. And I’m tired of his pet cat and ill-mannered roaches!”

“Sure you’ve got enough?”

“Yeah. It’s going to take me a day or two to write at least 10 to 15 pages. Professor Murray doesn’t play! The man shows no mercy on his students. Write a complete paper or get an F.”

On the last visit Matt asked Rufus a few questions. Pamela completed the interview. They thanked Rufus. He nodded his head. They hurried out the door, anxious to shake the roaches off their shoes and pant legs.

“I’m going to throw away my suit. What you doing with yours?”

“I might keep it. I don’t know.”

Pamela took a shower. Balled up the jumpsuit and threw it in the trash. She fixed a sandwich, took out her notes and turned on the TV. It was around 8:30 and her roommate was getting ready to go on a date.

“Ellen do you ever do homework? How do you pass your classes?”

“That’s why I don’t worry about it. I pay someone to do my research and write for me. 

Stressing is for you. That’s not my idea of having fun.”

“You’re going to get caught one of these days.”

“I’ll worry about that when it happens.”

Around midnight Pamela put on her favorite t-shirt that she sleeps in. She took the sleeping pill that Matt gave her. He told her she would sleep through the night and not be disturbed by another nightmare.  She was tired, so the pill took affect within 30 minutes. The nightmare didn’t fall asleep with her. Realism was soon controlling her roach infested dream.  She could feel the roaches starring at her as they circled her bed. She swatted at them in her sleep.

She struggled to wake up. “That is some powerful pill,” she mumbled to herself. “Phew! Smells like roaches in this room!”

She sat on the side of her bed, gasping for fresh air.  She suddenly noticed that the floor was cold and gritty. Her apartment was carpeted. She reached to turn on the lamp next to her bed. It wasn’t there. No nightmare can be this real, she thought, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Suddenly, she heard someone come into her room. “Ellen is that you? My lamp disappeared. I can’t see my hand in front of me!” Ellen didn’t answer. Pamela reached for the lamp again. There was no table or lamp. “What the hell?” she asked out loud. “Ellen stop kidding and turn on the light.” 

Ellen didn’t move or answer. Pamela was getting nervous. She had no idea who was in the room with her if it wasn’t Ellen. This was all she needed: a silent burglar, maybe a rapist/murderer, and she was without a weapon to fight him off. In fact, this wasn't her room!

She stood next to what she thought was her bed. “Who’s in here? What do you want? I have a gun in my hand! I know how to use it!” The voice in the darkness finally spoke, erasing Pamela’s fear of a burglar, rapist or murderer. 

“It’s me. Matt.”  

“What are you doing in my room? How did you get in here! Turn on the light! You scared the hell out of me!” Pamela felt comfortable knowing it was her pal Matt in the room. “Does it smell like Mr. Diggers house in here? My carpet feels hard and gritty.” There were no roaches or creepy, crawling creatures in my apartment.

“Sorry I scared you,” Matt said calmly, still standing in the dark.

“Turn on the light! How did you get in here? You don’t have a key. Remind me tomorrow to get some disinfectant for this place! Ellen must have left some leftover food under her bed again! It smells awful in here! My lamp took legs and walked off!”

Matt didn’t answer. He didn’t turn on the light. Pamela noticed that it was darker than usual in her room. A streetlight near the apartment complex diluted the darkness in her room. She saw no hint of light. 

“Matt are you sure that’s you? You’re acting so strange. I can’t figure out why I’m standing here in the dark talking to you, and my feet are on a hard floor. She walked toward the wall switch to turn on the light.

She thought she was still asleep, and Matt had become part of her nightmare. He walked over to her and pushed her back onto the full-size bed. “Okay, Matt. Stop with the bullshit and switch on the light.” She was full of questions that were not getting answers.

“Don’t be scared,” Matt said, lit a lamp. He sat next to Pamela.

“This is not my apartment! What the hell is going on?”

“You’re not at your apartment. Remember when you promised to help me if I helped you? Well, I’m ready to do research for a short story I’m writing for a science fiction magazine.”

“What is the story about? Am I still dreaming and we’re in a strange room?”

“No, you’re not dreaming. The sooner you cooperate the sooner I can take you back to your apartment. It’s an experiment.”

“Back to my apartment? What are you talking about?” Pamela’s thoughts were now going haywire. How did he get her out of her apartment without her knowing about it? “This is some crazy bullshit!”

It seemed that Matt, who she had known for four years, was reading her mind. “You probably want to know how you got here. Wednesday when we were in the mall I asked you for your apartment key. I had a copy made. You didn’t ask why I wanted it. I had some sleeping pills and I gave you one the day you said that was the last interview. I told you the pill would stop your nightmares for that night."

“But . . .”

“I called you about 1:00. I hoped you would be sleep by then. I saw Ellen earlier and she said she was spending the night with a friend. I sneaked into your apartment and brought you here. No one saw us. I held you up, so it looked like you were walking on your own.”

“You dressed me?”

“Had to.”

Pamela screamed when a large cockroach attempted to run up her leg. “Where am I? It smells like the Mr. Digger’s house.  It’s not your apartment!” She did not hear Matt say he sneaked her out of her apartment.

For the first time since she has known Matt she didn’t trust him. Being in this strange room talking about an experiment was totally out of whack. She saw two shoe boxes sitting in a corner. There was no furniture in the room except for the bed with the musty white sheet covering the mattress. Pamela felt dirty, and wondered if she smelled like the rancid room. The heavy stench reminded her of the first day she and Matt visited Rufus. She heard someone walk into the bedroom.

“How’s it coming, son?” the familiar voice asked.

Pamela’s heart almost jumped out of her chest as she starred at Rufus Diggers. The strange room, the smell, the darkness at her apartment, the gritty floor, Matt giving her a sleeping pill was all coming together.  What was Rufus doing in the same room with her and Matt. Why was he calling Matt “son”? 

“It’s Mr. Diggers!” Pamela almost shouted. “Oh, my God! What is going on here? You’re scaring me, Matt!”

“Don’t worry,” Matt assured her. “He’s harmless. He’s my dad.”

“Your what!? What are you talking about?”

“My dad,” Matt repeated. “He’s helping with my experiment. How long do you think it will take, Dad?”

“Can’t tell, son.”

“I want to go home tight now, Matt! You’re scaring me again! If this is a joke I don’t think it’s funny.”

“No joke, Pamela. This is serious. Just like when we were interviewing him. We planned it. My dad pretended like he didn’t want to talk to us.”

“Ready, son?” Rufus asked. “You hold her down while I tape her up.”

Pamela suddenly realized that Matt and his father were going to tape her arms, legs and mouth so she couldn’t move or scream. She struggled to break free of Matt’s hold on her arms. Rufus was taped her arms behind her back, then her ankles. Her struggling was useless. No audible screams were forthcoming out of her tape mouth. She was crying. Her eyes pleaded with Matt to stop the nonsense. Or if it was a nightmare, please God let me wake up! 

“Don’t fight, Pam. You promised to help me.”

Matt took two sleeping pills out of the bottle in his hands. He removed the tape from her mouth, forcing her to take the pills. Water spilled on her chest as she shook her head from side to side.  She fought and tried to scream. Matt quickly taped her mouth again. Rufus was laughing at Pamela’s struggle to break free. She closed her eyes, still wishing and hoping this was a nightmare that she would wake up from. 

Why are you doing to me, Matt? Pamela eyes asked Matt. She suddenly remembered the nosy neighbor tell Matt that he looked familiar. She had seen coming to the house late at night.

“We’re not going to hurt, Pam. You wouldn’t have cooperated if I told you the truth. I really hated fooling you.”

Pamela was getting sleepy. She fought to stay awake. Her drowsy mind was trying to find a way to free her hands. She fell asleep with her eyes asking Matt: Why are you doing this to me? He was holding the lamp close to her face. He could see her eyes. He ignored the question.

“I know you’re still a little asleep. That was a strong sleeping pill. I want to tell you what my science fiction story is be about.” Pamela was almost out like a light. “You’re going to love it when you read it.”

“Ready, son?” Rufus asked. He opened one of the shoes boxes, sitting it on the bed next to Pamela. He and Matt watched as the multi-sized roaches scampered out the box and who crawled onto Pamela’s sleeping body. Rufus opened the second box of larger roaches. He stepped back, giggling to himself, standing next to Matt.

“This experiment will unravel a mystery for me,” Matt said to Pamela, keeping his distance from the bed. He didn’t want to distract the roaches. “I’m trying to find out if roaches will eat human flesh when they’re really hungry. I won’t let them hurt you too much. I just want to enough information make my story interesting. I’m sure you’ll understand. What’s a few roach bites between friends?”

(c) by 1980 by dorothy charles banks

Maudy Whitt, a woman alone but not lonely

A shorty story 

by Dorothy Charles Banks

Maudy Whitt is as stubborn as the devil is in hell. But I like her.  She is talkative, adventurous and a loner. She carries a “cutting knife” tucked away in her small bosom. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a gun hidden on her somewhere. Laughing, more to herself than with me, Maudy said she only "packs a sharp knife. Used to pack a razor."

“My poppa taught all his children how to use a knife. My oldest brother can turn a man to a sifter before he knowed he been cut. I seen him do it. We don’t bother nobody, but we ain’t gonna let nobody bother us neither.”

Maudy, the liberator of her own soul long before the women’s liberation movement, expresses herself as colorfully as the ribbons in her hair. She says she does not mind ‘cutting a fool. I’ll cut a woman just as hard as I does a man. It's some tough talking, rough women out there. They'll cut a man or woman to pieces just as fast as they'll look at'em.”

Maudy does not believe in female helplessness. “It ain’t nothing but a show.” She says a woman can do whatever she wants to as well as any man. A woman got to make up her mind to do it. I never seen my mama back off nothing she had to do. That's one reason I packs a knife, and a mouth of bad words for anybody who think they gone treat me wrong. I ain’t letting no man knock me around. Not me. No sir. Not me. I never seen my poppa raise his hand to my mama. He knowed better. Mama took a frying pan to his head like greased lightening. He had a couple of knots, maybe three or four, on his head. He didn't try that no more.

“I think a man is a coward if he hits a woman. Real men don't hit women. Enough of that talk. You look the same as when I first met you two years ago.”

“I’m the same Maudy Whitt every time you sees me. No reason to change today. Ain’t no reason to change tomorrow. I leaves that to the weather. Don’t believe in flipping my ways. Folks don’t know how you gone act from one minute to the next.” 

Maudy told me that first time I met her. She was sitting at a bus stop, watching people watch her. We had talked to each other so openly and honestly, I felt like I had known her all my life.

I was impressed with her upbeat personality; her refusal to stay in anyone’s company who accepts depression and ineptitude as a way of life. She said back then, “If you ain’t cripple, you don’t need no crutches. If you crazy you need to be locked up in a nut house. If you broke you need to find a job.”

Maudy says depression is only a word waiting for somebody to pick it up. "People latch onto that mess for some kind of comfort.  Depression don't go round hooking itself to folk who don't want it. I don't want nothing to do with it. Ain't never been down in my mind a day in my life."

Some people looked at Maudy and immediately decided she’s homeless. That was my first impression, despite her being cleanly dressed. She was not panhandling. She asked me what time it was, and that’s how we began to talk.  “I can read and write some. No much. I know peoples with plenty education and they don’t seem to be doing no better than me, money wise. I don’t understand it. Don’t make good sense.”

Everywhere Maudy goes, she has two large pillow cases, sometimes two large shopping bags filled with everything she owns. “I travels light. When I eat my whole family done ate.” She carries in her mind, memories of her travels, the people she’s met.

Maudy won’t talk much about her family. She told me what she wanted me to know then said she was through with that part of her life.  Once in a while she broke her own rule. I learned quickly not to push her. About her age, she says: “I was roun' two years old when Noah was fetching animals for his Ark. My mama says we was neighbors,” she laughed.

Maudy is good at telling jokes. Dirty jokes. Few clean ones. She says if you can’t make people smile saying something nice, tell them a dirty joke.

“That’ll get they attention. Most everybody likes a dirty joke. Women folk, too. Don’t let no woman tell you she don‘t listen to’em cause she do. Even them stuck-up ones who think butter wont' melt in they mouths. I seen some of'em do some things worse than a dirty joke.”

Maudy says people laugh at her when she walks down the street, her whole life tucked under her arms. “I look straight in they eyes and throw they laughing right back at’em. Don’t never let peoples see they can get the best of you. They’ll ride your backside till you can’t stand straight. I don’t have to ask nobody for one thin dime. I don’t have to lay in nobody’s bed to sleep. I don't have to turn no tricks out here for a couple of dollars so I can eat. I don’t mind taking day work to keep money in my pocket. I can sleep in the house or outdoors. Don’t matter.”

A native of Oklahoma, Maudy’s salt and pepper hair, that hangs to the center of her back, is always adorned with colorful strips of ribbon intertwined into her long braid. The color offset her caramel complexion that still has a glow. Her small feet are housed in Indian moccasins and socks, sometimes matching, sometimes not.

 “My mama was half Indian. I don’t what tribe. She didn’t talk bout’em. I got some Indian in me, too. You can probably tell. We all of in the family got these cheeks. Peoples tell me all the time they likes my high cheeks. They just cheeks to me.”

It had been a number of months since I last seen Maudy. I had been thinking about her, wondering if she was alright or still alive. One Sunday afternoon some friends and I were picnicking in City Park. To my surprise, Maudy walked up, frisky and talkative as ever.

“How y’all doing this fine Sunday afternoon?” she asked. “It’s a mighty good day to be alive. A mighty good day.”

“We’re doing okay,” the five of us said in unison.

“That’s good.” She sat her bags on the ground. “Y’all  young folk don't mind if I sit for a spell, does you?  I already walked five miles today if I walked one." Smiling, Maudy fanned her face with a frayed fan bearing a picture of Jesus.

"You want a beer or a soda, Miss Maudy?" Jerry asked, pushing both towards her.

“I’ll take the soda water, son. Too hot for a old woman to be drinking alcohol. I don’t want to fall out on the streets. Thank you anyhow.”

"You're welcome."

“Y’all celebrating? Ain’t no holiday is it? I don’t keep up with’em much. Once in a blue moon I celebrates Thanksgiving and Christmas. Everyday I live is Christmas and Thanksgiving to me.”

"We're having a picnic. Nothing special," I said.

"Come on everybody! Let's play ball!" Fred said.  "You too, Miss Maudy," he invited.

“I'm staying to talk to Miss Whitt," I told them. “I’ll see y’all later.”

“Shucks, honey. Go on and play ball with your friends. You don’t have to sit here with me. Soon as I kill this bottle of soda water, I’ll be moving on. I can keep myself company. Go on and have some fun with your friends,” she urged me.

“I’d rather sit and talk to you. I haven’t seen you in a long time. I can play ball with them anytime. Besides, it’s too hot to play ball.”

“Know what you mean.  Thought I was gone faint before I got somewhere to sit. This  is the hottest summer I seen in a pretty good spell.”

"It'll probably get cooler later this afternoon. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in while."

“Just got back from out West Texas. Show is hot and dusty out there. White people still don’t want colored people to come in they cafes. The more things change, the more they stay the same. My mama was right bout that.  Just before I come back here, a colored man got kicked in the tail on account he went in a White folks' cafe. They said he caused trouble. He was with a White woman. Reckon that the trouble he caused. Them White folk didn’t like it. All they wanted to do was eat. They looked like they was pretty hungry. 

"That colored man no more got it out his mouth before the owner kicked him and her out the door. Told'em not to come back less they wanted to wash dishes or sweep the floor. That White man knowed the colored man wasn’t gone call the law. They stick together out there. The colored cook that works there told me 'bout it. He a friend of mine. Shucks! He gotta eat in the kitchen! He can't even take his family there to eat with them White folk. I thought a law was passed where Negroes can eat where they wants to.”

“Desegregation was supposed to stop discrimination. Guess it hasn't. That was a terrible thing to happen to that man. People should be able to go where they want without getting kicked out of a business,” I said. “That’s why Martin Luther King led the civil rights marches.”

“I been round white folk long enough to know it's hard for’em to drop they old ways. I found some days work while I was out there. One of the White womens I worked for wanted to give me some clothes she didn’t want. I told her to giv’em to some poor White peoples. I said it in a nice way. You know what that cow called me? A uppity nigger! I told her to go straight to hell, and take them her old clothes with her. I didn’t go to her house begging for a hand-out. I was looking for work. I seen’em treat they dogs better than they treat they colored peoples.  Them old clothes she was trying to give me was too big anyhow. Fat cow!”

“I guess she didn’t see that you are a small woman."

“Reckon she didn’t. Anyhow I told her in the front so she won’t stick out behind! Sho’ did! Treating me like I'm a beggar!"

We laughed.

"How many cities have you been to, Miss Whitt. I’ve never been out of Texas.”

“I been bout everywhere you can go on a Greyhound bus. Rode a train a few times. You won’t see me getting in no airplane to go nowheres! I don’t never get in that big a hurry. Been thinking about going back to California or New York. I got some kin folks in both them places.”

“I envy you. I wish I had the nerve to travel like you. I’m scared to pack up and leave home. I want to know everything is going to be safe when I get where I’m going.”

“You can go if you wants to bad enough. You ain’t got but one life. Best thing to do is pack and go. Don’t sit round til you too old. If you do you’ll die thinking the world stopped you, when you stopped yourself. Let too much grass grow under your feet, you might start thinking you a tree. That’s the reason I stay on the move. I love my life. It ain’t much but it’s mine.”

“All of my friends are here. I don’t want to leave them.”

“I meet new folk all the time,” Maudy said, reaching for her purse, pulling out a wad of chewing tobacco. “I ain’t gonna offer you no chew. Young people today don’t chew tobacco. Been chewing since I was a young girl.”

“My mother caught me dipping snuff when I was younger. She almost beat me senseless. It made me dizzy and sick. After that, I swore I’d never dip snuff again.”

“You gotta get used to it. I dips and chew. Neither one don’t make me no difference.”

"No more for me. I don’t even smoke cigarettes."

“Does you smoke them funny smelling kind?”

“Miss Whitt, shame on you ! Why would you think that?” I asked, laughing.

“Just thinking out loud,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes. “When I was younger I tried it a couple times. Didn’t like it. Don't like alcohol either.”

“That’s a surprise,” I said, glad she answered the question before I asked.

“You hear about that fella what kilt hisself last week? Killing yourself is a sin. I read in the paper he was in love with this cheating gal, and they was to get married. She call if off cause she been sneaking round with his best friend. Goes to show you can’t trust n body. Not even your best friend.”

"I hate to think I can't trust my girlfriends. I don’t think my girlfriends would do that to me. They trust me. I trust them."

“I was in love one time. He was in the war. He hadn’t been gone long before he come up missing in action. His mama come to my house to tell me the news after the Army told her. I cried and carried on till I couldn’t squeeze another tear out my eyes. We was gone get married soon as the war was over. Loving somebody else didn’t cross my mind after that. Hurt too much to love somebody and then lose him.”

I turned my head so Maudy could wipe away the tears forming in her eyes. “I better get myself on where I’m going before I make a fool out myself, telling you all my business. Hope it don't be too long before I sees you again."

"Me too,” I said. I worry about you when I don’t see you. I enjoy talking to you.”

Picking up her bags, Maudy Whitt was ready to go. “ That’s mighty good to hear.  Somebody in the world worrying bout me.  Thank you for the soda water. It hit the spot. I enjoyed talking to you. You learn to live and stop worrying. Don't be no tree. I know you heard this before, but ain’t nothing coming to a dreamer but a dream you might not want.”

“You’re right, Miss Maudy.  That’s something to think about. You be careful and take care of yourself. Who knows what might happen in  the future."

“You got to make your own future. That’s the only way I’ll live a long time. And I intend to be around for a long time!”

I hugged her. She looked startled. “I don’t get too many hugs,” she said, smiling.

“Good. That means my hug is special.” Still smiling, she walked toward downtown, where I first met her. Miss Maudy Whitt was a rose, but she wasn’t looking for perfection.

Little Lizzy and Uncle Tinny and "they"

Nine-year old Lizzy was an affectionate, outgoing, sensitive child. There were only a few people she met that she didn’t like. One of the people she didn’t like was her Uncle Tinny, and the way he innocently hugged and kissed her cheeks in the presence of her family and cousins. She was his favorite niece and had been for three years.

When Lizzy and Tinny were alone, Tinny dropped the hugging and cheek kissing facade. He would slip his hand under her dress and fondle her private part. She was old enough to know that she didn’t like his hands on her, touching her. Tinny told her what he was doing was normal.

“All little girls like their uncles to touch down there,” he told her. “You can’t tell June and your daddy cause they won’t understand. And they might come and take you away from her and Dallas.”

Tinny didn’t tell Lizzy who “they” were and Lizzy didn’t have the wits to question him. She knew she didn’t like her uncle touching her, but she didn’t want “they” to come and take away from her family. Tinny reminded her repeatedly every time he got her alone. She endured his kissing, hugging and fondling.

Tinny wasn't married. He was Lizzy's oldest uncle and her mother’s only brother. In the eyes of his family, he could do no wrong. He pretended to be affectionate toward all of his nieces and nephews, even cousins. He hugged, kissed and played with all of them to cover his tracks, making sure no suspicions were raised. Who would believe Lizzy if she told how Tinny played under her dress. Her mother and father would have scolded her for making such a ridiculous accusation. June and Dallas taught her that lying was a sin.

“You can always tell me and your daddy what’s on your mind,” June always told her. “No matter what it is, you can tell us, okay?”

Her parents reminded Lizzy how much her uncle loves all of his nieces and nephews. As far as everyone in the family knew, no girls had been molested by anyone inside or outside the family.

When Tinny came to their house on Saturdays to take Lizzy to cartoon matinees, unbeknownst to June and Dallas, trips to the movies were often skipped. On the occasions they did go, Tinny would make a big deal of how Lizzy laughed and had a good time. He stressed that Lizzy wouldn’t have room to eat supper because she ate so much popcorn, candy and soda.

“You’re spoiling my baby,” June would say. “Next time I’m going too, so I can eat popcorn and candy with her.”

“You know you’re welcome. We can all be kids together,” Tinny said, hoping June was joking about going to the movie with them.

On the Saturdays they didn’t go to the movie, Tinny took Lizzy to his apartment, where they would stay for a couple of hours. He freely fondled his niece, all the while reminding her that “they” were going to take her away from her parents if she told them about their secret "game." 

Lizzy liked dresses but she gradually started wearing blue jeans, thinking they would protect her from Tinny's touching. At night she pulled covers over her head, trying to hide from Tinny even though he was not in the room or at their house. One night June went into Lizzy’s room to hang some clothes in her closet. She noticed Lizzy’s head was completely covered.

“Baby girl, you’re going to smother yourself to death if you don’t get the cover off your face,” June said, thinking Lizzy was asleep. She reached to pull the cover off Lizzy face. Her daughter was holding onto the covers for dear life.

“What’s wrong, baby?” June asked, looking concerned. “How come you suddenly sacred of the dark?”

“I just want to cover my head,” Lizzy lied. "I'm not scared."

“If you’re comfortable I guess it’s alright.” Had June pulled back the covers she would have seen that Lizzy was fully dressed in blue jeans and her favorite t-shirt. She was even wearing socks.

Keeping count of the days, knowing that in three more days she would be going the movie with Tinny, Lizzy asked June if she could call her cousin Lamont to see if he wanted to go with them. June told her to call and see if Ester would let him go.

When Tinny came to pick her up on Saturday he was disappointed to learn that they would have company. He smiled to hide his disappointment. “Can I go with y’all every Saturday, too?” Lamont asked, excited.

“We’ll see,” Tinny said. “Your mama might have something for you to do. Never can tell.”

“Next thing you know, you tell all your nieces and nephews and they'll wanting to go too. I wouldn’t wish that on nobody,” June said, kissing Lizzy on her forehead. “Have a good time, and don’t eat too much junk just because Tinny is willing to buy it!”

Tinny lied and said he would not mind if all his nieces and nephews went to the matinee with them. "The more the merrier," Tinny lied.

At the movie, Tinny sat Lizzy in the middle seat, keeping his hand on her knee. She was too uptight to have a good time. Lamont was having such a good time eating popcorn and drinking soda he didn’t notice how quiet Lizzy was. 

Tinny took Lamont home first. On the way to Lizzy’s house he told her to unzip her blue jeans. He fondled her as he drove. A block from her house he told her to zip her pants, telling her no again, not to say anything to June. As usual, he made Lizzy swear that she would not tell their secret.

As one year rolled into another year and another year, Lizzy turned 12. The molestation was getting more intense. Tinny began sticking a finger into her vagina, staring her in eyes, asking if she was enjoying it. June and Dallas noticed that Lizzy was changing. She was growing irritable, eating more than usual. Her grades dropped from A's to C's. This concerned June and Dallas. Lizzy couldn't tell them why her grades had fallen or why her appetite increased.

“If you don’t slow down on that food, you’re gonna start looking like your Aunt Mattie,” Dallas laughed on night. "And you don't want to get big as she is!" Dallas joked.

“I’ll put her on a diet before I let that happen!” June said. Secretly, she was curious about Lizzy new eating habits.

Lizzy couldn’t tell anyone about the pressure on her. She still believed that “they” were going to take her away from her parents if she told on Tinny. Her frustration and guilt mounted more and more each day, especially when Tinny came to visit.
 
Lizzy's English teacher recognized Lizzy’s personality change. One day she told Lizzy to stay a few minutes after class. Sitting directly in front of Lizzy, she asked what was wrong. “You can tell me, sweetheart. I hate to see you like this. You’re too smart to neglect your grades. I’m worried about you.”

“Nothing is wrong with me, Miss Lacy,” Lizzy said looking down at the floor to avoid eye contact with her teacher. 

She cupped Lizzy face with her hands, the way June does. Lizzy began to cry. “There. There. You don’t have to cry. Whatever is bothering you, just get if off your chest. If you like, I can call your parents.”

“I can’t tell,” Lizzy said, sobbing.

“Tell what, Lizzy?”

“They will take me away from my mommy and daddy.”

The teacher gave her a Kleenex to wipe the tears from her eyes. She knew about Lizzy’s unspoken dilemma, but she wasn't sure. All the signs were familiar to her; grades falling, the erratic behavior, an insistence on wearing jeans, hiding as much of her body as she could. 

Mary Lacy had been molested as a young child by her stepfather. Only difference is, he threatened to kill her mother if she told about their “game.” When she turned 18, Mary told her mother about the 10-year ordeal that ended with her getting pregnant by her stepfather when she was 17. He left town before she and her mother went to the police. She had to baby, giving it up for adoption.

“Who is “they” Lizzy?”

“They will take me away from my mommy and daddy,” she repeated. She couldn't explain who "they' were. Only Uncle Tinny knows who "they" are.

“There is no ‘they’ Lizzy. No one is going to take you away from your parents. I’m going to take you home. I want you to tell you parents what you're telling me.”

“I'm scared to tell them. They'll be mad at me.”

“No they won’t. They love you. They'll understand. I know what happened to you. But I want you to tell your mommy and daddy. You’re not alone in this. Your parents will understand.”

Mary Lacy drove to Lizzy’s house in silence. As they walked up the steps, she squeezed Lizzy’s shoulder in a show of support. June was surprised to see the teacher bringing Lizzy home. She immediately thought Lizzy was in trouble or sick. 

“What did my little girl do?” June asked smiling. Her broad smile wasn’t real. The change in her daughter was of great concern to her and Dallas.

“She didn’t do anything, Mrs. Shipper. Lizzy is a good girl and a good student. She has something to tell you. I’m going to leave so you two alone to talk. I think it will explain why her grades are slipping.”

“Will you stay, Miss Lacy?” Lizzy asked, her eyes and voice pleading for the teacher to stay. She needed her support in case June didn't understand.

Lizzy told the about the molestation, when it began, the Saturday trips to the movies and to Tinny’s apartment. As she expected, June couldn’t believe Lizzy was talking about her brother. He loved children. He would never touch a child inappropriately, let alone molest one of his nieces or nephews. Or cousins. He loved his three sisters, none of whom he had touched inappropriately.

Lizzy added another surprise to her story. Tinny had begun forcing her to touch his "private part." Lizzy said he took her hand and guided it to where he wanted her to touch him. She closed her eyes and obeyed him. His naked penis repulsed her. She told him she didn't want to touch him again. He told her she would get used to it, because she would be touching it more often. He told her one day "I'm gonna stick it in you.” Lizzy had no idea what he was talking about.

June was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. She put her hand to her mouth. Still, she didn’t want to believe what she was hearing. “Baby, are you sure you’re talking about Uncle Tinny? I can’t see him doing something so ugly to his niece. I just can’t see it.”

Lizzy looked at her Mary Lacy for support. She was regretting telling June. Tinny knew his sister wouldn’t believe such an ugly story about him. Mary spoke up, telling June about her early introduction to molestation that led to a pregnancy, and giving up the baby for adoption.

“I’m gonna be sick!” June ran to the bathroom. They could hear her vomiting. She came out 10 minutes later, her face stressed. “Come here, baby girl,” she said to Lizzy, her arms outstretched. “I’m so sorry I didn’t realize what was happening to you. The signs were there but I was too blind to see them or to pay attention. I don’t know how I’m going to tell your daddy. He will kill Tinny. I can't let him go to prison for killing your uncle.”

Lizzy understood what death was. June explained it to her after the death of Dallas's mother. The idea of her loving father killing Tinny scared her even more.

“You're not alone, Mrs. Shipper. Most parents don’t want to believe a family member would molest a child in the family. But it’s not unusual,” Mary said. "It's more common than you think."

June’s mind was spinning. She remembered her brother’s obsession with Lizzy. His buying presents for her. Lizzy's faked illnesses, his babysitting her on Sundays. Dropping by after work, at least three days a week, pretending to be hungry, eating supper with them. They would tease him about being a poor cook.

“I’m gonna find you a wife," June often told Tinny. "I'm talking about one that can cook so you’ll stop eating that fast food.”

“I can’t wait until you find her,” Tinny said, pretending he was interested. "I been looking too."

June’s thoughts were turning to harming her brother in a deadly way. Tinny was on the way to destroying her daughter's life. She didn’t know what affect the molestation would eventually have on Lizzy. That one thought added to her rising anger. How much was Lizzy's future going to be affected by this trauma? 

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she said, apologizing to Lizzy again. She started crying, causing Lizzy to cry.

“Don’t cry, mommy. Don’t cry.”

“I’m leaving now. I'm happy Lizzy revealed her uncle before something awful happened.”

“Thank you, Miss Lacy,” June said between sobs. “I appreciate your help in getting Lizzy to talk. I wish she would've told me first.”

"Sometimes children feel more comfortable telling someone other than their parents. It's all out now. That's all that matters." June thanked Mary Lacy again.

Lizzy and June were sitting on the couch, holding onto each other when Dallas come home. The second he stepped into the living room he knew something was wrong. His wife and daughter were not pulling a joke on him like they sometimes did. But there was no humor in the solemn room this time.

"Just listen to what she's gonna tell you. If I could help it, I wouldn't let her tell you. I'm scared of what you might do," June said warned Dallas, knowing he would try to kill a rock if it harmed his baby girl.

June didn't know how she would stop Dallas if he grabbed his gun and stormed out the door, enroute to Tinny's apartment. She had to keep him calm, making him understand that it will be better to call the police. She knows how difficult it is to reason with Dallas when he's angry. Upon hearing what Tinny had done to his little girl, he would be a hundred miles past angry. Lizzy is the baby he and June thought they would never have.

Still standing in the middle of the living room, Dallas said, "This better be good one you fixing to tell me. Somebody do something to my baby?" he repeated. June winced. There was an edge in Dallas's voice.

"Sit down, honey and let Lizzy talk. Promise us both you won't do something . . ."

"I can't make no promises until I hear what Lizzy got to tell me. It better be good."

"Go a head, Lizzy. Tell your daddy what you told me and Miss Lacy."  After Lizzy repeated her story, Dallas was calm. He walked upstairs to their bedroom. June knew that he was getting his gun. She ran upstairs to stop him. She couldn't let her husband go to prison.

"Dallas, listen to me. It ain't worth it. We can file charges against Tinny. Let the police take care of this. I don't want you getting in trouble."

"I'm not gonna get in no trouble. I just gonna take your low-down brother to jail myself for what he did to my baby. I'm making my own arrest."

"Well then, I'll go with you."

"You stay here with Lizzy. I can handle this." With that Dallas walked out the door, the gun tucked in his waistband. She begged him to leave the gun. He promised he wouldn't shoot Tinny. 

June prayed he wouldn't do anything foolish. "Please, God. Don't let him get in trouble."   

Questions for the reader:

1. Is there an Uncle Tinny in your family?

2. Does Lizzy’s story sound or feel familiar?

3. How would you handle this situation if it were you?

4. What should June and Dallas do about Tinny?

Uncle Tinny comes with many faces. He is usually adored by family members and friends, all of whom will defend him until they learn the real truth. Uncle Tinny is everywhere. Leave a comment telling other readers how you would remedy this problem.