#my engine on my ford explodes in the middle of the parking lot of the assembly plant for ford engines

[taofarren]

Tina The Cortina

It was December in Cape Town and the South African president decided to surprise us with the gift of additional lockdown restrictions. Alcohol was banned, and spending time on the beach or sea in any capacity was suddenly highly illegal.

With our surf plans turned on their head, my girlfriend, Renske, and I decided to head in the opposite direction of the forbidden ocean, and celebrate New Years Eve in the Cape wine lands. It had been a debate in my mind between taking my mom’s plastic, yet reliable car, and returning before she got home from holiday the next week, or taking Tina, my 1969 canary yellow Ford Cortina, and having the freedom of cruising home when we wanted to. We chose risk, pleasure and freedom!

Renske had always accepted my car without too many questions, but during this particular trip she teased me each time we drove up the smallest hill. “Babe, are you sure we can make it up this one?”.

Of course I defended Tina the Cortina loyally.  For a 52 year old lady, she had taken me on many successful adventures, and could surely handle a slow cruise to the wine lands. I was almost offended that Renske was teasing her. It didn’t cross my mind that it came from a place of real concern.

Half way through the journey I realised this was my longest trip Tina and I had taken in the three glorious years we had spent together.

My previous car had packed out after surviving me through the madness of my late teens. There were only terrible replacement options available within my very limited budget at the time. A ridiculously bright yellow car constantly popped up within the Gumtree search results, and I browsed the pictures as a joke. Yellow was my least favourite colour, and I wouldn’t dream of having a car that obnoxiously bright. Curiosity, and lack of a better option lead me to a test drive with the owner in Grassy Park. Despite my terrible driving and constant stalling of the old clutch, I instantly fell in love.

Just the feeling of sitting in the car felt so right. There is instantly a connection when driving a machine that old. The low seat, the thin steering wheel, having to throw my entire body weight into each turn of the power steering-less wheel. This was a real car. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to have her.

We agreed on a straight swap. His keys for mine at the traffic department. As happy as I was, I was too scared to tell my parents. In our initial chats about potential new cars, they shot down any idea of something classic and dangerous. I knew she was exactly the match that they were dreading, and I hid her from them until it had truly sunk in, and there was no turning back for me. They had to meet and accept her whether they liked her or not.

Even though she caused my mothers head to shake in disappointment, everywhere else she went, people would whip their heads around and smile. Whether a passenger or an observer, it instantly made you happier.

From the beginning, this car was surrounded by an invisible force-field of love. This came in handy, as rather stupidly, I think I only wore the stiff seatbelt a handful of times.

1969 must have been a time of minimal accidents, as this particular model had no headrests, and there was no such thing as an emergency stop. Stopping would require you to jump on the brake about 30 metres in advance. Surprisingly (most probably due to the colour), I never had a single accident other than driving very slowly into a few walls.

Contrary to popular belief, owning a classic car is not about self-image, and in this case, most definitely not a “chick magnet”. To most women it was just an old yellow car. Once they had their photo for Instagram, the reality of the journey would set in, and it would be a true test of their level of “maintenance”.

It was in fact more of an old man magnet. Or rather every man. From the day I got her, old men asked me complicated questions about her regularly. I learnt about her anatomy by rushing home to Google what on earth they had asked me.

Almost every day I had offers to buy her. Even though these  were mostly from car guards, petrol attendants, and a few times from a persistent garbage truck driver, I would obligingly take down their numbers, knowing I would never sell her. I knew that Tina enjoyed the attention and got the ego boost she deserved.

I wasn’t the only one to feel an emotional pull. It seemed to be the car that many people’s parents had, and seeing it triggered fond memories of their youth.

I was once approached timidly approached by an elderly lady who I mistook for a Jehovah’s witness:

“Excuse me!”.

“Good morning?” I enquired, squinting up at her, while flashing my most realistic, fake smile. She stooped in closer - Her wide eyes magnified by thick glasses,  grey hair exploding out from underneath a Christian hat.

“Did you know that my mother had this car when I was younger?”

She blinked at me expectantly.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to have known that, but I decided to humour her.

“Uh…. Good memories?”

She leaned in closer with a crooked grin;

“Yes… especially on the back seat!”

She giggled and walked off with a vacant smile

A few days later, the memory of that lady’s grin still fresh in my mind, a beggar at a traffic light told me that his father had the car when he was younger. Cheerfully, I responded along the same lines, saying that he must have been a great man, to which he responded:

“No, he was a horrible man”, and walked away sadly.

Despite constantly threatening to overheat in traffic, she dominated the city roads. To get across a busy intersection, I would slowly drive into the middle of the road, and people would smile and let me in, just to stare at her beautiful square bum with glassy eyes.

She had a knack with roadblocks too. On a particular incident, with the car filled with mates drinking beers after sundowners on the beach, I was pulled over with a lit joint in hand. I panicked and stalled diagonally across the road.

“Fuck fuck fuck”

I tried to casually stamp the joint out with sandy feet as the policeman walked over with a serious look on his face. Smoke hung in the sweaty interior and the beer bottles on the floor clinked to a halt as he leant down to the window.

“Excuse me sir… what year model is this?”

“Uhm,1969” I replied nervously

“Yoh, look after her hey!” He smiled as he waved us through.

One of the main reasons I had rationalised the choice of a classic car, was that I would learn about how cars actually worked, feeling so detached from my previous modern car. Over the years I learnt intimately what was possible to break in a car, as everything slowly fell apart.

Electrical faults, numerous flat tyres, the radiator exploding in the middle of a petrol station, ball joints seizing, the floor rusting through to the road, using torches as flashlights to get home at night. I got really good at putting my ego aside and asking people for help.

For summer there was definitely no air con. The beautiful black pleather seats became stove plates against your skin, and the only fan was created by the draught rushing through the holes in the bodywork.

This cooling system, so useful in summer, became a freezer in winter. Long johns, extra hoodies, a beanie and gloves were always packed in the trunk. To this day, the usually comforting sound of rain outside the window shocks me awake. I would lie in bed as it poured down, dreading the inevitable puddles filling up the car floor through these holes and the aged window seals.  

Strangely enough, the lack of headrests and questionable seatbelts made me feel more alive. The constant struggle to keep the loose steering wheel in a straight line, while listening to every sound in case of a problem, forced me into complete presence.

I saw so much more while travelling slowly. It felt like a leisurely stroll while on holiday, compared to a frantic run. Even if I was late it was literally impossible to drive faster. I learnt that at this point, it wouldn’t help to stress. Pushing the car further than its current 90 km/h top speed would most probably result in something breaking or flying off. I was forced to relax and enjoy myself in every situation.

Every ride, no matter how short, felt like an adventure, a real road trip. Each time I arrived at my destination, I was overcome with gratitude for having accomplished a magnificent feat.

On the streets I was instantly respected. I would pull up to traffic lights next to the latest luxury cars in elite places like Bantry Bay, and have the driver wind down his window to tell me how much he loved my car. When I’d ask them to swap, they would chuckle and zoom off while I tried not to stall.

We also received major street “cred” within the more alternative communities. This came in most useful when working on a documentary with the Ocean View Spinners, a community who passionately (and illegally) spun their cars until their tyres burst. I eventually realised it was safe to park inside the actual spinning parking lot,  and upon seeing Tina for the first time, their perception of me shifted. Even though I refused their offers to spin her, I became one of them.

I was invited to an event in a township in Paarl to shoot one of their sessions. When we met at sunrise, their car was too full to take me, as it was a big family affair. The young pit crew boys fought over who would join me in my car for the journey, and eventually all piled in. Their excitement and pride of just being a passenger in Tina filled me with an ovewhelming sense of gratitude as we cruised past the grannies of Fish Hoek main road. A white boy driving while they hung out the window, hooting and hollering to their rap music blaring from a portable speaker.

At the Lavender Hill traffic lights, a notorious crime hotspot, the fun spluttered out along with the engine. Dead. In the worst place possible. Literally a bright yellow sitting duck with doors that couldn’t lock, and a boot full of camera gear. Even though they were the pit crew for the spin car, they were youngsters, and didn’t have any tools or the right knowledge. Internal panic kicked in as I ran through unrealistic solutions in my head. My internal spinning was interrupted by someone pulling in behind us. Sweating, I reached for the locking mechanism that didn’t exist on this model. Hijacking clearly wasn’t a problem in 1969 either It was a member of the Ocean View spinners convoy and most importantly, a mechanic.

They all crowded into the bonnet and fiddled until she begrudgingly returned to life. A few hundred metres of relief, before another cut out. Another stressed session of heads crammed together and hundreds of theories thrown around before we were back on our way.

During the event in Paarl, I was so overwhelmed by the deafening sound and smell of the cars being whipped around the “pitch”, that I completely forgot about my own car troubles. As the sun began to dip, it was advised that we leave the township and start the long drive home. Tina was towed out in amongst the traffic jam of exhausted spin cars and we started the painful process of resuscitation. The Spinners were just as tired as the cars, but they kept their patience with the old lady. An eventual tow-start and I was instructed to not let her cut out, whatever I do. No stops allowed on the hour long journey home.

Night shortly fell, and as we rattled along the road, one of the headlight fuses bumped out of place. The two headlights in their full glory hardly lit Tina’s path, now we were reduced to a single headlight. I couldn’t risk stopping to re-adjust it as I was sure she would cut out wherever she rested. I tuned out the passengers as they animately debated the events of the day, and zoned into the sound of her unhappy engine. We had lost the rest of the convoy on the highway, and this time I didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if we broke down in the middle of nowhere in the dark. I stressed us the whole way back to Ocean View, and as soon as we turned into the road and Tina saw our destination, she cut out.

This time she was done for the day, and nothing would bring her back to life. After everything she had been through that day, she had to spend the night in Ocean View. I got a lift home from the spinning crew, and arriving without a car, and a black face full of tyre particles, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the day to my family. “Good, thanks” had to do.

After a few weeks of rehabilitation, Tina was returned by a mechanic in Ocean View but still wouldn’t run properly. For more than a month she sat in the winter rain, while I desperately tried to figure out what parts she needed, and from where I could source them. Because she was so old, it was difficult to find someone that understood her.

She sat there limp and lifeless. My only form of freedom in those lockdown months, dead without much hope.

I eventually found the part that would get her moving and to Uncle Wasief, the world’s most reliable mechanic. He delivered the news that it had finally come to the crucial moment we had both been expecting: Very soon, I had to either let her go, or give her a complete makeover.

He fixed her up as best as he could until then, and we were temporarily back in action.

That day, I made a promise to her to give her the love she needed. I wouldn’t just take from her, but would listen to her requests.

I had all the windows and seats fixed, all the little odds and ends that I had previously dismissed as “character” and saved the quoted amount for a full restoration. She would be booked in at the end of January.

Over the howl of the wind though the holes, the disappointing sound of the portable speaker’s battery dying, brought me back to Renske, and our current journey to the wine lands As we arrived in Franschhoek, I think we both let out a secret sigh of relief, happy that we had made the right choice after all.

After a peaceful week of unnaturally green grass and  far too much bootlegged wine, it was time to return to the city, reality, and the new year. As usual we were running late. This time for the last available Covid test appointment before Renske flew to Kenya for a job. If Tina travelled at full speed with no stops, we could just make it to the appointment on time.

The impressively spacious boot, as well as every other surface of the back seat, was crammed to full capacity We had both of our lives packed into the car: Camera gear, laptops, and weeks worth of clothing.

Driving down the first hill and taking in the beauty of the passing vineyards one last time, Renske abruptly turned to me: “Hey man, I think your car is smoking”.

This wasn’t completely unusual, and I attempted to sniff a few times with my hay fever impaired nose. A few metres later the engine cut out completely. She’d done many strange things, but this was certainly out of character for the old gal. We sat in silence, and heard the usually soothing sound of crackling flames, confusingly out of place on a sweaty 30 degree day.

The smell of smoke quickly formed a grey cloud as I ran around to the bonnet, lifting it to reveal a healthy fire. Right in the middle of my engine bay.

“Uhhhmmm…”

Renske hopped out as my brain struggled to compute the next step.

The only knowledge I have of burning cars is from action movies, where they quickly explode in a ball of fire. The passengers are generally running away, or flying through the air in slow motion. Sometimes both. Not interested in the flying option, we started to grab all our bags, and run them up the hill.

During each frantic trip, we tried to figure out which bags were the most important, as we took them higher and higher. If we can only grab a few bags before it explodes, what do we take? My beach umbrella rolled down the hill and my toothbrush flew through the air as unzipped bags vomited our lives out.

“Tao, your laundry!”

Your mind gets a bit muddled under that life or death pressure, and you start to ask yourself important questions about attachment. I was aware that Renske kept running back for random things that seemed unnecessary, yet I couldn’t help worrying about Sunny, the dashboard Hula girl.

After the toothbrush was successfully rescued, Renske remembered that her laptop was right in the front near the flames. Without a second thought, I sprinted to the car and grabbed it. As a video editor, my fear of losing saved work will always be far, far greater than potential death of any form.

We eventually sweated our hundreds of bags to the top of the hill and we stood to truly take it all in. It really was a beautiful sight that I will never forget. There was not a breath of wind on the perfect summer day. Plumes of smoke billowed out of the bright yellow car, framed by lines of vineyards and a perfectly still lake. Not a single part of me could feel sad while taking in such a surreal scene. The sight of this paradoxical beauty was enhanced by the anticipation of it exploding, and lighting up the nearby crops. Realising that this was not the ideal way to thank the farm owner for the lovely stay, I quickly called her up.

“Hi Ginny, quite a strange one, but my car is on fire. Ya… my car…. We were driving and it lit up…… Ya….. I was wondering if there was any chance you could please call the fire department?”

A few moments later, Francois the farm manager roared past. He barely parked before sprinting towards the burning car, wielding a fire extinguisher in each hand. In the shock, I had forgotten that I was a photographer, and I quickly grabbed my camera, and ran to join him. I was now filled with a different sense of urgency: to capture the tragedy.

A few photos, yet still no explosion as Francois and the fire extinguishers quickly snuffed out the flames. The dodgy wiring in the bonnet had reacted to some leaked oil, and everything in the engine bay was toast. The interior, which was the only part of her that hadn’t fallen apart in our love affair, was completely untouched. During her last dashboard hula dance, Sunny’s dress had been partly undone, yet not entirely removed by the flames. Her dignity was proudly intact as she obliviously continued to play her ukulele in amongst the smoke.

Once the curious farm workers cleared off, and the insurance company was notified, I found myself sitting alone with Tina’s burnt carcass in the shade of the vineyard.

Strangely enough, the only thing that came to my muddled mind was regret that we didn’t ever have sex in her extremely comfortable back seat.

Nothing could have prepared me for the many life lessons learnt by owning a classic car as my daily runner.

It’s amazing how adaptable we are as humans, and what we can overcome for love. Broken window? No problem, open the other one. It’s just how it was.

Their age allows you to understand and accept their imperfections, and this understanding leads to love and compassion.

As we all struggle to come to terms with our own constantly changing and ageing bodies, would it be possible to treat ourselves with the same level of compassion?

I was snapped out of my reverie by the tattooed tow truck drivers from Bellville arriving. A quick elbow bump and signature, and they winched her onto a flatbed truck.

I watched as she was towed away on her last ever journey; a burnt chunk of bright yellow metal to everyone she passed.

If only they knew.

Dear old Tina the Cortina . My friend, saviour, teacher and true love.

#vintagecar classiccardailyrunner storytelling creativewriting journal

[yespolkadotkitty]

The Hot Humid Night, pt 2

Pt 1 here

Jaskier had tossed off the little quip partly out of annoyance that Yen had kept him out of the loop, partly to see if a man who read classics and eschewed alcohol was too high and mighty to mop the floor.

But Geralt surprised him.

Jaskier surreptitiously glanced over at the taller man’s biceps as he worked. He was all muscle in a really delicious way, built like a tank but beautiful with it. Not a lot of that about. Jaskier knew; he’d looked.

“So why the sudden need for security?” Jaskier asked as he followed Geralt’s path, setting bar stools on the freshly cleaned wooden bar tops.

Geralt swooshed the mop along the floor, making the thick, old cherrywood gleam. “Yen said you’d had a couple break-ins.”

“Well, we have, but it’s not the best area - no one middle class really wants this sort of… establishment near their kids’ schools,” Jaskier snorted.

In the background, his favourite Buddha Bar playlist floated through the air as they cleaned, the unique electro-ethnic sound captivating and relaxing at once. It was Jaskier’s go-to for winding down at the end of a shift or gig.

“And what sort of establishment is this?” Geralt asked, the expression on his handsome face difficult to fathom.

“You know. Fancy cocktails, fancy cock teases. Take someone home with you, avoid being alone, the usual.”

Geralt gazed at him for a long time, and Jaskier had the uneasy sense that the white-haired man saw right through him, through the sometimes-false cheer and the bravado and lazy wit. Then he bent back to the task of mopping and the moment passed.

“Hmmm,” the larger man said at length.

Jaskier overturned another stool as Middle Eastern music filled the space between their bodies. “So you’ll, what, brood around here after I leave to make sure no one smashes the windows in and takes all our booze?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“And you don’t find that... boring?”

One pale brow arched. “I’m not easily bored.”

They finished cleaning without words after that. Jaskier had to admit that Geralt did a fine job, leaving no patch, not even a small one, uncleaned.

Once done, Jaskier checked the safe, the fridge, the stocks.

Geralt sat at his booth, leafing through his book. A stray curl of his grey-white hair had come loose from the half-up, half-down style he wore it in, and Jaskier found himself wondering if it would be soft.

How Geralt’s amber eyes might look if he tucked that lock of hair behind Geralt’s ear.

I’m tired, he thought, and slammed the industrial fridge door shut.

“Okay, I’m done,” he called out into the space of the bar, shutting off the music, pulling the plug on all but the permanent lighting they had - the lighting meant to deter thieves. Whatever.

Jaskier snagged his coat and threaded his arms through it.

Slinging his satchel over one shoulder, he grabbed his lute and headed for the door, keys in his other hand.

“Walk you to your car?” Geralt asked as Jaskier unlocked the staff door.

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier shook his head. “Thanks, but I don’t think Yen’s paying you to watch my skinny arse.”

Geralt shoved the paperback in his pocket. “All the same,” he rumbled.

“For fuck’s sake.” Jaskier pointed at the ancient Ford Mustang. Poor thing had seen far better days. “It’s there. ”

“Hmmm,” Geralt replied, which wasn’t really a reply at all.

“Fine.” So over whatever this was, so ready for his usual post-work dreamless sleep, Jaskier slapped his set of the keys to the Djinn into Geralt’s wide-palmed hand, and headed for his car.

He dug the keys from his pocket and opened the passenger door first, tossing in his satchel, then laying his lute on the seat like he would a baby, or a precious, fragile possession. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Guess so,” Geralt said calmly, his amber eyes unreadable.

Jaskier plugged the key into the ignition. Click, click, click.  

No familiar rumble of the engine. He tried again. Click.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called. Jaskier ignored him.

“Jaskier, get out of the car, now!”

The sudden, sharp rise in decibels of Geralt’s voice, combined with the urgency, had Jaskier scrambling to obey.

Out of habit, he lunged for his lute just as Geralt bodily grabbed his shoulders and hauled him away from the car.

Jaskier turned on him, eyes wild.

“What the fuck, dude-”

BOOM.

Both men turned back, Jaskier’s mouth agape, as Jaskier’s beloved, ancient Mustang exploded, the bonnet blowing clean off, bouncing once, with a sickening screech of metal on the parking lot concrete.

Geralt yanked out his phone to call the fire brigade as Jaskier stood frozen, his gaze riveted on the fire. The flames danced and licked, created and destroyed, achingly bright against the pitch night sky.

He watched his beloved car burn, and clutched his lute like a lifeline. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that Geralt kept one arm firm around him as he spoke to the fire brigade in that deep, raspy voice.

It was a good thing, because Jaskier was sure his legs would have buckled beneath him already, otherwise.

Thanks to my beta, @flowerymoonlight !

Tagging: @eshra27 @mysterioussailorman @bardic-charm @promptandpros

#geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier au

[jasons-exposedspine]

Negan and Lucille Chapter 1

Summary: Negan is completely captivated by Lucille and she is captivated by him too. But she is hiding a lot of pain behind her fake smile.

Warnings: language, abusive father, kissing, mention of self harm.

A/N: i began writing this because i thought it would be good to have a multi chapter series of Negan and Lucilles life. From school to their marriage to Lucilles sickness. If you get triggered by abusive parents or any abuse at all and self harming you can skip this chapter and the other chapters to come. I’ll put warnings for those chapters.

Relationship: Negan x Lucille

The pitch lights were shining bright as Negan was waiting in line beside the fence to bat, it was the biggest game of the season. Negan loved baseball and he had fun playing in grade eleven. He had already batted three times but he enjoyed it, being able to hit the ball as far as he could. He had a good swing and he hit the ball further than anybody else in the team that he was in. Negan was last in the line because he had just batted in a line of five and they all get obviously one turn. The feeling of the wood of the bat was smooth under his fingers as his grip was loose on his slugger. 

He turned his head towards the stands and sitting right in the middle was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair was as dark as the night sky and her eyes were as blue as the ocean. Her skin was the perfect tanned completion similar to his in a way and her smile could light up a room. He didn’t understand how he had not noticed her before, she was a vision. She turned her head and looked dead into his eyes, she flashed a small smile and gave a small wave. He smiled widely showing his beautiful dimples and waved back, she giggled and turned her head. He had to get to know her and he had to ask her out now he just wanted the game finished. 

He stared at her the whole twenty minutes that he was in the line then the sound of the couches voice pulled him out of his trance. He lifted the bat above his shoulder ready to hit it hard. The ball was thrown and he watched it sail through the air, he swung the bat hard and the ball flew so far away. He dropped his bat and the dirt kicked up as he ran as fast as he could. He saw in the corner of his eye that girl in the stands standing up and cheering for him. He slid in the int and his foot touched the white mat before the ball could and he had helped the team win on that home run.

 All the boys on the team crowded around him and cheered him and pat him on the back. He just wanted to find that girl in the stand so he walked slowly across the pitch to the fence. It took him a while before he spotted her in the crowd, she was walking towards him. He smiled as she walked towards the fence to talk to him, his heart was beating fast in his chest as she approached him. “I noticed you staring at me” she beamed her voice was sweet. She knocked the breath out of him, his palms were sweaty and he blushed deeply.

“Yeah fuck I’m sorry for being all creepy and shit but I couldn’t un notice such a fucking beauty such as you.” She blushed deeply “I’m Lucille” she said holding out her hand “I’m Negan” he said taking her hand and shaking it. “Nice home run by the way” she commented “thanks I’m the best fucking batter in the team.” He tried not to boast but he wanted to impress her. “Um did you wanna go out sometime?” He asked fiddling with his hands, fuck he had never been this nervous around a girl before. 

“Sure I’ll give you my number” her smile was so beautiful, he loved it. He grabbed his bat and settled it on his shoulder as he followed her through the crowd. She was wearing baggy jeans, a oversized evil dead t-shirt and black boots and her hair was down past her shoulders. He followed her into the parking lot to an old black ford that was parked next to a willow tree. She pushed the key into the driver side door and unlocked it. Negan leaned his bat against the side of the car as he watched her pull a piece of paper and a pen out of the glove box.

The wind blew through the tree making a few leaves drop down onto the top of her car and it made her hair wave a little. She handed him the strip of paper “do you wanna give me yours?” Negan took the pen from her hand, his fingers brushed hers and they both blushed, he wrote his number on the paper. She took the strip of paper from him and put it into the front pocket of her jeans. “Do you need a lift home” she asked pushing they key into the ignition and turning it to hear the purr of the engine.

 “Nah I got my fucking car but I’ll talk to you at school tomorrow.” She smiled at him again “ok well don’t fucking crash” he chuckled at her comment. “Don’t fucking worry yourself doll I won’t” he snatched up his bat as she closed the door of her car. He began walking down the isle of cars as she backed out of the parking space. As she drove past she beeped her horn and he waved to her and a huge grin spread across his face. Lucille had liked Negan for a while but she never thought she would have a shot. He always had all the pretty girls and Lucille never thought she was pretty.

Her father told her that she was a useless whore and that she was fully and he still told her that to this day. Her father hit her and her mother too but her mother was too afraid to leave her father. Lucille wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend by her fathers rules but her mother didn’t care. She had a boyfriend when she was fifteen but he left her because of her father and he wasn’t good to her either. Negan lived with just his mother because his father wasn’t good to his mother and him so she took Negan and left. 

The girlfriends he had weren’t really girlfriends they were just a quick fuck that wanted something more afterwards. But the girl he had just met was different, she made him feel nervous and shy he was never like that around girls. She was gorgeous and he wanted to know what her personality was like. Usually just wanted a pretty face and some sweet pussy but this girl he wanted to know more about. 

The next day at school Negan found Lucille sitting on the stands by the playing field. Her long black hair was blowing the wind as she was drawing on a fresh page of her sketch pad. She looked up ever few seconds to look at the scenery and sketch it on the page. She was wearing a Marilyn Manson shirt with ripped jeans and black biker boots. His heart began to pound hard in his chest and his palms were sweaty. He took a deep breath in and walked towards her on the stands, the metal of the bench seats creaked under his feet. 

He sat down next to her on the seat and she turned her head, a smile spread across her face. “Hey Negan” she said sweetly “hey Lucille” fuck why was he so nervous around her. “You can call me Lu y’know it’s fine” her Southern drawl was stronger than his and he loved that. “So did you wanna go to a party some of my friends are having tonight?” Lucille knew her father would say no but she wanted to go with Negan so she was gonna lie and say that she was go nan stay with some friends.

“Sure Negan what time?” Negan smiled “how about seven will that be ok?” Lucille nodded. “Pick me up on the corner of Lowell street which is my street” he smiled widely and his heart nearly exploded. “Fucking great i can’t fucking wait Lu” she giggled at his excitement which only made him smile wider. He looked over at her sketch book and saw a drawing of the playing field and it looked just like what he was seeing in front of him. “You draw well” he commented making her blush, she looked out to the playing field. “Yeah i do it to keep my mind off of shit” Negan stood up “i gotta bounce but i’ll fucking see you tonight Lu.”

 He bent down and kissed her cheek softly making her blush and giggle. “ok Neeg’s i’ll see you tonight” he liked that nickname but only she could call him that. Once was out of sight he jumped up in excitement “fuck yes” he whispered to himself. Lucille squealed with excitement “fuck yes” she giggled, she was so excited for tonight and she knew just what to wear. Luckily her father was working the nightshift so her mom could help her get ready.

Once school ended Lu rushed home in her car to go shower and get ready, she basically ran through the door. “Hey Lu how was school?” Lucille rushed into the kitchen all jumpy and excited. “Well someones excited” her mum said smiling “mom i met a guy last night called Negan and i’m going on a date with him tonight.” Her mom rushed over to her and grabbed her books out of her hands and put them on the wooden kitchen table beside them. “Lets go upstairs, go shower and you pick what you wanna wear and i’ll do your makeup.” 

Lucille was so excited, she flew up the stairs and showered. She ran to her room in her towel, she had another hour to pick what to wear and her mom could do her makeup. She went into her closet and picked out her black dress that went down to her knees, she picked out her sexy black lacy panties and bra. She slipped on her black stockings and then her dress with sleeves, she put on her doc Martens with the red roses on the sides. She brushed her hair and did two braids that went into a little ponytail so her black hair was half down half up. She then put on all her bracelets on her right wrist to cover her scars and new wounds.

Her mom came into her room and began to do her makeup, first her foundation, then her eyeliner, then her black and purple eyeshadow, her mascara and last but not least her nude lipstick with gloss over it. Once she was done she flew back down stairs and out the door down her street to wait for him on the corner. She waited two minutes until she saw a black truck come speeding down the road. As soon as he saw her his blood rushed straight to his dick and his hair stood on end. He pulled up and got out of the drivers side and walked around to the passenger side door. 

He was wearing a pair of black jeans with a grey t-shirt and a black leather jacket that was unzipped and his dark hair was slicked back. He opened the passenger side door and held out his hand, she took it “ma’am” he said as she stepped into his truck. “Thank you sheriff” she said letting go of his hand he smirked as he closed the passenger side door. Her heart was beating fast as he got back into the truck sliding onto the bench seat next to her. “Lets fucking go doll” he beamed as he sped down the road, truth is he was so fucking nervous.

“Where are we going Neeg’s?” she asked looking out the window at the sun going  down over the hills. “The party’s in the fucking woods near a hill we’re almost there” he said that just as they turned off the road to a road that led into the woods.  After a few moments of driving they pulled up next at least ten other cars and there was light from a bonfire. Negan killed the engine and got out of his truck and walked over to the passenger side door. He opened it and held out his hand, Lucille took it a stepped out of his truck. “Thank you” she said letting go of his hand, he closed the door and locked the truck. He bent his arm at the elbow offering for her to take his arm and she took it by slipping her arm around his. 

The cool leather his jacket making goosebumps appear on her skin, the sound of ACDC was playing loudly and peoples voices could be heard. Lucille wasn’t the most popular girl in school she was like the loser so she was nervous about being seen with Negan. As they walked into the space there were people sitting around the huge bonfire making out and drinking. Some were dancing and smoking and some were sat on the roof of the blue truck parked near the fire.

Lucille felt like just running and hiding but she didn’t want to upset Negan and he was good so far. “I’m gonna go and get a fucking drink you want one Lu?” she slid her arm from his and looked up at him. “Can i have a beer please?” Negan nodded “i’ll be right fucking back” he leaned down and kissed her cheek. Returned around and walked over to the table that had cartons upon cartons of beer. Lucilles dress had pockets so she pulled out her pack of cigarettes and her silver zippo. 

She pulled out a cigarette and put it between her lips, she flicked the lid open of her zippo and flicked the flint. She lit the cigarette and flicked the lid of her lighter closed and put them both back into her pocket. Lucille took a long drag before before blowiangthe smoke into the cool night air. Negan approached her with their beers in his hands. He handed her her beer and she took a long sip of it before holding it beside her. Negan saw the cigarette inner hand “can i have one?” Lucille pulled the pick and her zippo back out of her pocket. She pulled a cigarette out and handed to him and she handed him her zippo. She took another drag before turning her head to blow the smoke away from Negan’s face.

“C’mon let’s sit by the fucking fire” Lucille nodded in agreement and followed him over to one of the many logs placed around the fire. Lucille took another sip from her beer as did Negan. “So who do you live with Lu?” she turned her head to look at him, his hazel eyes were sparkling. “I live with my mom and my dad but we are pretty fucking poor and my dad is an asshole.” Negan’s face softened “i live with just my mom cuz my dad was a fucking asshole too.” Lucille smiled “I guess thats one thing we have in common” she said taking a drag of her cigarette. 

“I guess it fucking is” Negan replied taking a drag of his cigarette, Negan still felt nervous. “I gotta take a piss i’ll be back” Negan said placing his beer on the ground and getting up. He walked off into the woods, Lucille just sat their finishing her smoke and sipping her beer. Blonde headed girl walked up to her “oh no” Lucille thought it was Samantha the girl who bullied her. Lucille flicked her cigarette and stood up from the log and she came face to face with Samantha.

“Well if it isn’t Lucille the whore” Lucille just rolled her eyes and scoffed “says the one who gets guys to pay her to fucking suck them off.” Samantha chuckled and rolled her eyes “so why you here just to find someone to fuck?” Samantha scoffed. “No i actually have a fucking date unlike you” Lucille retorted feeling braver than she ever did. “Oh yeah who with your dad” that comment hurt Lucille a little “no Negan actually.” Samantha laughed hard “Negan wouldn’t bat an eye at you, you’re just a fucking loser with a rapist for a dad bitch.” Lucille just ignored her comments even though the ones about her father were true. 

Negan walked into the fight and stood in front of Lucille. “Well actually you’re fucking wrong she is my date Samantha” Negan drawled. Samantha stopped laughing and swallowed hard “why would you want to date a fucking lowlife like her when you could have a girl like me.” Negan chuckled “because she doesn’t suck guys off for money and she is actually fucking genuine not like you. Your just a fake ass whore who only wants men who can fucking own you and buy you every fucking thing. So leave Lucille the fuck alone or i will fucking sort you out myself” Samantha just looked blankly at both of them and stormed off.

Negan chuckled as she stormed off, he turned around and excepted Lucille to begin tears butte wasn’t. “You didn’t have to defend me y’know, i’ve been putting up with her most of my life.” Negan moved stepped closer to her and reached up to push a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I know you can but she had to be put into her fucking place she should know better and fucking live you alone now that i’ve fucking sorted her out.” Lucille looked up at him “thank you for defending me, guys have never really done that for me before.” Negan smiled at her before taking her hand and pulling her back towards his truck. 

She didn’t question him she just followed him along. He opened the passenger side door for her once again and she stepped into his truck and slid onto the bench seat. The truck shook slightly when Negan shut the door, he walked back around to the driver side door. He sat on the bench seat and pulled the door closed and pushed the key into the ignition and the truck started. He backed the truck out and drove it back down the road they came down and turned right on the highway.

Lucille looked out the window and watched the street lights speed past her eyes, Negan was the only guy who had ever stood up for her like that. Negan turned into one of the many diners in their town and parked the truck at the front of the diner. “What do you want to eat Lu?” Negan asked as he was getting out of the truck. “Whatever you’re having but i want a chocolate milkshake please” Negan smiled at her “sure just stay here i’ll be out fucking soon.” 

He closed the driver side door and she watched him walk into the diner. While he was in the diner she sat and thought about him. He was sweet and funny and he hadn’t put a hand on her, yet this was their first date. But she could tell that he wasn’t like that, she didn’t know how she knew she just did. A part of her was afraid, if her father found out god help her and her mom. Lucille was afraid that if she told Negan he would leave her and she didn’t want that. So at that very moment she decided to not tell Negan about her father and her boyfriend rule. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts when the driver side door opened and Negan placed the bag of food in the middle of the bench seat. He then handed her her milkshake “thank you” she said softly as she took it from his hand. Negan got into the truck with a drink of his own and pulled the door closed behind him. “Alright doll lets fucking go” he said backing out of the parking space and turning left on the road. The smell of the food was making her mouth water and her stomach grumble but she was patient. 

Their date wasn’t over yet but she didn’t care she didn’t want to go home. Negan turned off the road onto a dirt track that led to the top of a hill. He parked the truck on the top of the hill and killed the engine, the truck was facing the moon. The moon was full so it lit up the sky and the area that surrounded them. “You wanna come sit on the fucking hood?” Lucille nodded, the paper bag with the food it cracked as Negan picked it up. Lucille jumped out of the truck and walked around to the front of the truck, she placed her drink on the hood. she then climbed up the bull bar and leaned her back against the windscreen. She grabbed her drink and took sip.

The truck shook when Negan climbed up the bull bar he set the food down in between them and sat down. Negan unlaced his boots and kicked them off and threw them into the open window of his truck. Lucille did the same as him and laid back down staring at the sky. Negan handed her food to her and she took it saying thank you as she always did. She unwrapped the cheeseburger that he got her and bit into it. They just sat there quietly and looking up at the sky, both to nervous to say anything. 

Lucille had finished her burger so she scrunched up the paper it was wrapped in and threw it into the paper bag. She took a long sip of her drink and set it back down on the hood of the truck. “The moon is so pretty tonight” Lucille said nervously “not as fucking pretty as you.” Lucille blushed deeply and her heart was beating fast in her chest. “You’re just saying that i’m not pretty i’m fucking ugly” Lucille scoffed. Negan turned his head to look at her but she was looking forward. “Lucille look at me” Lucille turned her head and was met with his sparkling eyes.

“Don’t believe a word that fucking bitch says you are fucking beautiful and you aren’t a whore she is. You are a sweet and fucking caring person who deserves the fucking world. That fucking bitch doesn’t deserve anything in the world” Lucille stared into his eyes. She turned her head back to look at the sky but Negan kept staring at her. She really was beautiful on the inside and the outside, this was their first date but from what he had seen she was sweet and caring. He moved his hand slowly towards hers and he slowly laced his fingers with hers. Her hand was much smaller than his and he thought it was cute that her hand was much smaller in his big one. 

Goosebumps spread across her skin and her heart was beating faster in her chest. It began to get cold so her body shivered slightly, Negan noticed.  He let go of her hand and sat up to take his leather jacket off. He draped it over her shoulders and she pushed her arms into the sleeves, it was warm from him wearing it. They both played back down against the windscreen and Lucille grabbed his hand again, their fingers intertwined.

His jacket smelt like nicotine and mint along with leather it was intoxicating and she loved it. Lucille shifted a little closer to him feeling the heat radiating from his body. Negan’s heart was beating fast in his chest as was hers, he turned his head to face her. They stared into each others eyes, Negan reached up to cup her cheek and softly caress it. He shifted closer to her so they were only a breath apart and their noses were touching. He leaned his face closer until his lips pressed softly against hers and she instantly melted against him. Negan pushed himself up so the upper half of his body was over hers. 

She tangled her fingers in his dark hair while her other hand was on his shoulder. Negan cupped his cheek while his other hand was on her stoking covered thigh. Lucille’s tongue traced the seam of his lips and Negan complied by opening his mouth. Her tongue licked against his and explored his mouth he tasted like chocolate and mint. He moaned quietly at the taste of her like chocolate and nicotine.

Negan shifted in between her legs, she bent her legs at the knee a placed her feet flat on the hood of the car. All that could be heard was the wet sounds of their lips and Lucilles soft moans. She had never been kissed like this by a boy before usually it was dominant and emotionless. But with Negan it was slow and loving and the feeling of him grinding softly against her core was making her love it even more. They made out like this for at least thirty minutes before they were both hot and flustered and Negan pulled away. 

“I better get you home baby” Negan said pecking her lips, Lucille was dreading going home. She picked up her drink and jumped off the hood of the truck and opened the passenger side door. She jumped into the truck and pulled the door closed behind her Negan started up the truck and drove back down the road. He turned left onto the highway and started heading back to her street. Lucille moved her hand on top of his and laced her fingers with his. She was scared but she did her best to hide it so she just squeezed his hand. 

Negan looked over at her and noticed the fear in her eyes he turned his head back to focus on the road. “Whats wrong Lu?” he asked concern lacing his words “nothing Neeg’s i’m fine just drop me off where you picked me up please.” Negan knew something was up he could tell by the fear in her eyes and the way she was squeezing his hand. He turned down her street and pulled up at the corner where he picked her up from. “Thanks for dinner Negan and thanks for sticking up for me” Negan smiled at her and rubbed his thumb softly over her knuckles.

 “No fucking problem baby i had a good time too did you wanna do this again on Tuesday?” Lucille thought for a moment she knew what her dad would do but she didn’t care “sure i’d like that” she replied. She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips then pulled away and kissed his cheek softly. She opened the door of his truck and stepped out all the while still holding his hand. She grabbed her boots in her other hand and looked up at him hiding her fear behind her smile. Little did she know he could see right through that fake smile and he could see she was scared.

“Oh you’re jacket” she went to take it off “no its ok you keep it on you look badass with it on and it fucking suits you.” Lucille blushed and her heart swelled with love and it distracted her from the fear she felt. He leaned down and brushed his lips over the back of her hand softly and she smiled back at him. She walked backward still holding his hand but her fingers were sliding from his grasp. Her pinky finger curled around his until her hand was fully pulled away from his. It was like if she let go of him she would get hurt which she was when she got home. Negan pulled the passenger side door closed and blew her a kiss she caught it and blew it back.

 Negan drove off leaving Lucille with love and fear in her heart. She walked home slowly dreading what was to come, she walked up the path to her house and gulped as she turned the doorknob of the front door. She opened the door and closed it softly behind her and her dad appeared from the kitchen. “Where have you fucking been Lucille?” her father growled she cowered in fear. “I was just out with sone friends daddy no boys i promise” fear was slowly filling her as he walked closer to to her.

“Where did you get that jacket?” he asked looking over it “one of my friends gave it to me its one of hers.” Her father raised his eyebrow “you’re fucking late Lucille” she swallowed hard. “I know and i’m sorry daddy i just got held up” her dad lifted his hand and back handed her across the face and she fell to the ground. “Thats no fucking excuse you know the fucking rules you little slut!” he spat as she wiped the tears falling from her eyes. “Y..yes daddy i’m s..sorry” he scoffed, she pulled herself up from the floor and stood up.

 He slapped her again but much harder and she wiped her face and ran up the stairs and locked her door. She ran over to her bed and buried her face into the pillow and cried her eyes out. She pulled Negan’s jacket tighter around her and she inhaled deeply, his scent calming her down. He made her feel good and mostly he made her feel safe like her father couldn’t touch her. She dried her tears and stood up from her bed and wiped off her makeup and got into her pyjamas. She put Negan’s jacket back on and zipped it up and fell back onto her bed his scent calming her once again.

LIKE OR REBLOG FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER!!

@you-a-southpaw-doll  @savedpeople @negan-morningstar @negan-the-cat @smcc212 @negans-lucille-tblr

#negan x lucille #soft negan

[lilpootworldtour]

Saturday 11/21/2020 Roswell, NM - Las Cruces, NM

First we woke up. We were very excited because we had left over dominos. I do not know if we ate any because we ate too much the night before, but we had lava cakes. Boy oh boy, it was yummy. Okay, so then, first stop on our trip out of Roswell. Donuts. We had donuts. Roswell donuts. We got one Bear Claw, One Apple Fritter, One Chocolate, One Chocolate Glaze with sprinkles. The Bear Claw was on recommendation from the worker bee, all very good, Bear claw was clear winner, glad she recommended it. Yeast based donut: not quite as good as Krispy Kreme, but still top tier. Second stop was hotly debated, we definitely wanted coffee but did not know where from. Based purely off of yelp reviews, positive yelp reviews I might add, and niche appeal, we decided to go to Perk ’N Jerk coffee and Jerkey emporium. When we got there, oh boy did we realize we were in for an experience. There was not a soul around except for a 90’s ford station wagon in the condition you’d expect parked right in front of the front door. Naturally, you would think it was a customer, but when we walked up and didn’t see anyone inside, we realized the owner was the type of person who owns a business and parks in the closest parking spot either not expecting anyone to come so no need to leave it open or he wants to claim it first, who knows. He welcomed us in and asked us what we wanted, we responded with “A Perk and Jerk please.” His flavor board had two sides to it. We were confused and thought that only one side was jerky, so we only ordered salt and pepper jerky. We asked if he had any other jerkies, maybe something hot, and he said, “The board has two sides to it, the other side is spicy.” So we also got red pepper, which was literally just red pepper flakes on jerky. After receiving our order, he went to retrieve the jerk. He went into the back and brought large Tupperware storage containers out and placed them on the table in the middle of the room. He then grabbed a box of quart sized zip locks, a zip lock full of labels, and a sharpie. He straighten up a food scale that was on the table and zeroed it. When he opened the first Tupperware, we were able to see a sea of jerky which he grabbed a hand full of and placed on the scale. After getting the desired weight by adding and removing tears of meat, he sealed the bag, slapped a label on, and scribbled the date. He did the same with the second jerky. After getting the jerky bagged and tagged, he asked if we were interested in any coffee. Upon entering, we both felt that we did not want to buy any coffee from the joint, but when asked point blank, we panicked! Hannah got an iced coffee and I got a hot coffee. He asked us about our trip plans while preparing our coffee and we told him our next stop was White Sands. He muttered something under his breath that made us feel like he didn’t think too highly of our trip and began giving us a few suggestions of his own. One being to go to an Airplane museum that had a legitimate plane of a certain, very specific model. I asked about the plane, to get a better idea of what to visualize, and he must of thought I wasn’t worth anymore of his time because he replied with a change of subject. He handed us our coffee, we paid, and we were on our way. While we were waiting for our coffee and Jerky, we took in the ambiance he made by putting up pictures of army things and his “Will return soon” signs. You can see these arts in the photos. After leaving Perk and Jerk we got on the road heading west on the way to White Sands National Park. Starting some point around Wyoming, during our last trip, as we drove through the rolling west of open land, I couldn’t help but imagine myself riding along beside the camper in cowboy boots, wranglers, very cool cowboy style shirt, bandana/bolo, and cowboy hat - full gallop on the back of a stallion I broke all on my lonesome and consider to be my best pardner. By the time we were west of Wyoming I knew if I saw a nice pair of cowboy boots or cowboy hat I was going to buy them regardless of any practicality post trip. I never found the little genuine cowboy store I was expecting in any of the one stop sign towns we drove through via country back roads so I just kept hoping and looking and as we spent time back in Wilmington with Lil Poot in the shop those desires kept floating further and further to the back of my mind. Those thoughts and desires, though, never fully disappeared, and when we made It to Texas they rushed back into my heart like a tornado and I couldn’t drive for being blinded by a flurry of images of me riding horses, roping cattle, riding full gallop chasing bandits with a six shooter in each hand one firing straight to my chase and one firing behind me at my chaser. I must have blacked out or passed out or just plain fell asleep, for I woke up to Hannah shaking me saying “David! Wake up!” I snapped out of the most realistic reality where I was defending a train car from a robbery with TNT exploding all around me, and worse, exploded the on coming bridge. We only had 15 seconds to get all 250 passengers off the train before we were all taking the express elevator down the 700’ cliff and, I am sorry, but no stops between or getting off, this is the express elevator. Right as the engine started to drop and the wheels of the last train car left the tracks, only a dozen passengers managed to jump off the train prior, their fate unknown. I started calming the people in my car telling them we were on our way to Dairy Queen and everyone is going to get a free Sundae, knowing full well I didn’t have enough gold and silver for five sundaes. My eyes opened and I saw Hannah for the first time in what felt like years. I started to smile as Hannah pointed to her right, which led my gaze to the on coming tractor trailer who must have gotten in my lane after I fell asleep and became a sheriff. I soon realized I had drifted in to their lane so I perked up and jerked the wheel to the right making all six wheels squeal and smoke till we were over the double yellows and I was yanking the wheel to the left in hope of correction, locking the e- brake, down shifting, sliding back, gassing it, gaining traction, and we were back on track, in the right lane, going 50. After being on the road for an hour or two post Perk and Jerk Hannah spotted a store called Frank English’s Custom Boots and we both knew we had to pull in! We pulled back hard on Lil Poot’s reins, then to the right, guiding the good steed to Frank English’s hitching post. After putting Poot in park, we found our masks, wallets, sense of direction, and headed inside. During the short walk from the camper to the door, I imagined all sorts of awesome boots we were soon to see and how difficult it will be to choose just one pair to buy leading us both to walk out of the store cash poor and boot rich. After entering, as soon as our eyes adjusted to the light, we saw that we were not in the boot emporium we expected and that we allowed our desires to lead us astray once again. Frank English politely put down the boot he was working on and asked how he could help. I sheepishly explained how we were expecting an emporium of ready made boots and how I have been dreaming of being a cowboy recently with Hannah supporting me through the whole confession. Frank took it easy and told us we could go up the street to a store that sold lame boots and we were almost out the door when he asked us to halt and listen to what we should look for when buying boots. He then captivated us for an hour using a spare boot as a prop, pointing to various parts and explaining what to look for in a good boot. He then put the boot down, with a loving last look and feel, turned his attention to us, and asked about who we were and where in the world we were coming from. We obliged, telling how we left New York during the pandemic, headed down to NC to live in our parent’s abodes before buying an RV and hitting the road. He cut in a few times with his own stories of living in NYC, moving around, and suggestions for us as we head west. One of those suggestion being Silver City NM where he used to live and where there is a neat coffee shop in the arts district called Tranquil Buzz owned by Dale. With heavy hearts we said our good byes and tootalous, headed back to Lil Poot, who was shuffling his tires in the dirt and humming rock ballads, loaded up, and got back on the road. As we continued on towards White Sands, we looked at each other and decided we should have bought boots from Frank. With this decision we talked about turning around, but decided on looking him up instead, maybe we could talk about the buying process first. Hannah found an article on him and read aloud, boy, Frank is COOL. I will include the article somewhere in this post. After learning about Frank, and driving some more, we made it to White Sands National Park. We took a right off the highway, like everyone else coming from the east, headed down the one road weaving between the white dunes. We saw the road turned from asphalt to salt, the main component of these dunes, so we pulled off at the pull off just before the change. From there, we got out to stretch our legs, decided to return tomorrow and bike down the gypsum salt road but enjoy the short boardwalk here since the sun will be setting soon. We walked along the board walk reading the info signs as we went, learning about the mice and lizards that adapted to live in the dunes as well as the insane life story this once lake told scientists of how the world used to be and how it was once a youthful, fun body of water looking for a good time, not worried about all its salt flying around. After returning to Lil Poot, this time he was hunched over in the corner of the parking lot with his back to the sun, head shadowing his gameboy trying his hardest to beat Misty with out taking the proper amount of time to train his Pokemon, got inside and headed west to our BLM land campsite near Las Cruces. After finding our camp site and getting the camper ready for parked mode, we hung Christmas lights below the cabinets and around the ceiling while listening to Christmas music. After playing with the lights some, they have different modes, one of which reacts to music, we settle on leaving the colored lights, under the cabinets, on solid and let the white lights, our crown molding, dance to the music. Hannah started boiling hot water for Hot Toddies and David probably looked at his instagram feed, soon both were drinking hot toddies and crafting.

https://www.taosnews.com/opinion/columns/know-your-neighbor-frank-english/article_e50ba70e-48ce-5371-91f1-7a1c7cc19e14.html

#lilpoot #lascruces #whitesands #frankenglish #perknjerk #pizzaomlette #newmexico

[textales]

“A Curious Cat”

The Egyptians had a thing for cats. They even had a religion where they worshiped the feline gods. And If any one of those elusive feline gods had been even remotely as bewitching as my childhood cat I totally understand why.

She was a Seal Point Siamese…with deep blue eyes and a shimmering coat with blonde and brown fur, and even a strand or two of blue and silver mixed in. She was unlike any “normal” cat you’d see loitering in back yards or on front porches – this cat was downright exotic and stuck-out like a fine French restaurant in a trailer park. Great Falls was a simple “all American” blue-collar town, best suited for plain cats like Morris, the fat orange thing from the TV commercials for 9 Lives. Weird cats belonged in places like Missoula or Seattle with hippies and tie-dye and lesbians. She was clearly an outsider and a total anomaly. She might have been imported from Egypt or the land of Siam - wherever that was.

We lived on the right side of the tracks….but only by a few feet.  As a matter of fact, old railroad tracks remained in our back alley, abandoned since the 1950s when trucks replaced rail cars for local delivery of freight. We were on the last street where the old residential area met the industrial zone, with a giant three-story warehouse and tire repair shop on one end of the block, and a family-owned lumber yard across the alley. Our teeny home was built in 1916 when Great Falls was a thriving metropolis.  I’m guessing it was originally occupied by workers from the copper smelter or one of the many hydroelectric dams that were built in the era. Another set of tracks, about a half-mile away between our street and the Missouri River, carried the Burlington Northern freight trains which rumbled by a couple times a day.

Sometime in the mid-1970s my dad remodeled and we got all fancy with expensive Masonite paneling and a velvety couch and love-seat combo purchased from the House of Furniture for $499. We had multi-level shag carpeting and recessed lighting on dimmers, and the cottage-cheese ceiling had shiny silver sparkling bits.  

Ours may have been one of the nicer homes on the block - but just barely. I’m pretty sure the only reason it looked as good as it did was because my dad was always trying to out-do his sister who lived across the river in a double-wide. Hers was a very nice, color-coordinated double-wide, with full skirting and tip-outs. But according to my father it was still a “goddamned trailer.”      

My dad worked at a glass shop a block away. There was a vacant gravel lot between the shop and that three-story tire store/warehouse, and two tiny old houses between the warehouse and our place. His commute was better than that of a modern day “telecommuter” – his 30-second walk provided a little exercise and just enough separation between work and home to give him a decent “work-life” balance.

The glass shop was essentially our “second garage.”  We spent tons of time there when we needed to do big projects that required more space and the big air compressor. I have fond memories of that place. We painted our old Ford pickup in that shop…twice.  We did multiple overhauls on multiple engines for motorcycles, snowmobiles and lawnmowers, and we rebuilt at least one transmission in that space - all on nights and weekends after my dad had spent a solid 40 hours working. Who knew a glass shop would be such a good place for honing cylinders and grinding valves?  

I was in that shop with my dad and friends Lloyd and Wes the day Elvis died. And it was there where my dad and I had a big one sentence talk about “the birds and the bees” after my teacher sent me home with a note to advise the class had viewed the sex education film that day.  “Well, if you need to know anything about any of that shit, you just let me know.”  Thanks, Dad. 6th grade was so awkward.

Nobody seems to remember exactly when, but a Siamese cat showed up at the shop and didn’t want to leave. She didn’t need a new pane of glass for her cathouse - she was lost. My father took a liking to this adorable thing and offered up a little food and some attention.  

An exotic animal like this must certainly be someone’s pet. Perhaps it crawled from the back of a station wagon when its human came to get a makeup mirror fixed?  “Someone will come to get her” my dad explained as he poured Friskies into a makeshift serving dish fashioned from a decorative glass block.

After a couple days and no reports of a missing cat, Red decided he’d take this thing home. It would be easy to retrieve her should the owners come looking, and it couldn’t live at the shop anymore because the manager was allergic.

I was maybe five or six years old and hardly qualified to name a pet, but for whatever reason my parents gave me the opportunity so I decided her name should be Susie.  Where that came from I have no idea…it’s not like Susie was the name of a famous movie star, super model or even a family friend. In retrospect, and knowing her personality, that name was way too plain and simple for this enigmatic feline who had few characteristics typical of a domestic house cat. Susie was my spirit animal, and honestly I think she belonged in a circus.

She was a curious cat. Susie didn’t like milk, refused to eat Tuna, and loved the vacuum cleaner.  At least once a week my dad would spend an hour grooming her with the old Filter Queen, a beige-colored canister unit the size of a modern day shop vac. She’d come running the second it was brought out of the closet and would lie down in front of him, letting him suck her tail into the tube before extending her legs spread-eagle style waiting for the suction to take away whatever excess hair she would otherwise shed onto the carpet.  

Susie didn’t use a litter box. She’d hang by the back door and would announce with a polite meow when it was time for her to do her business.  Even if it was ten below zero she’d go outside.  The smell of her fur when returning from the frozen outdoors was something I wish I could bottle – I know I’d make millions on that magic scent.

We had a clothes hamper at the bottom of the stairs where she’d hide until we walked by. Then like a Jack-in-the-Box she’d pounce and start gnawing on your Achilles tendon. You’d think we’d have gotten used to it but it was always somehow a surprise.

My father would tease Susie by wagging a finger until she exploded and jumped from the floor into his arms.  She’d purr like the engine of a freshly rebuilt Mercury Cougar until she decided she was done with it, then without warning those beautiful blue eyes turned into fire, the fangs came out and she swiped with a vengeance.  Felines are so fickle.  

Canine Kryptonite.

Susie was like one of the guys. Far from being feminine, she wanted nothing to do with girlie things and could outfox and outrun any of the dogs in the neighborhood. She was far more masculine than Lloyd’s dog, Velvet, who played with rocks. She was far fiercer than Grandma’s Chihuahua, Cubby, and she had bigger balls than Aunt Kathy’s French gay male poodle, Shante.   

Neighbor Doug had a police dog, a German shepherd that looked like Rin Tin Tin. Susie scared the shit out of him – he knew to steer clear when she was on patrol.  

Susie and our cock-a-poo Peanuts loved to watch my dad and I work in the garage. They had a favorite spot on a 4-foot-high wooden ladder. The dog would sit on the top rung while Susie hung out on the tray intended for the paint can. Peanuts usually slept. Susie, on the other hand, paid close attention.  She was probably taking notes on how to operate the equipment and would be preparing a report for her alien overlords on the mother ship.

My brother and his wife were school teachers in the far-away lands of the Tri-Cities in Washington state. Just like the Egyptians, my brother’s wife had a thing for cats.

I recall one trip when they came thru town with a bizarre hairless cat like Mr. Bigglesworth from the Austin Powers movie. This cat and Susie had a lot in common (both being exotic and suitable for the circus) and Gloria fawned over Susie.  I can only imagine how pissed-off she had to have been, having spent thousands on exotic cats imported from breeders.  And we got ours for free because she was essentially a homeless drifter, rescued at the glass shop.

“Turn Me Loose, Set Me Free…Somewhere in the Middle of Montana.”

It made little difference where we were going, but on the weekends we just had to get out of town. In the summers we’d pack-up the pickup, hook on the travel trailer and head to a campsite somewhere. Whether a forest service campground or a gravel parking lot in a town 20 miles away it didn’t really matter - my dad just had to escape. Maybe something about the glass shop and our house being so close together didn’t provide the separation from home and work that he had hoped for? Hell, I don’t know…

Susie and my dog knew the routine: they’d wait patiently near the back door at 5:15 PM every Friday after work as we prepared to embark on another adventure. Peanuts knew instantly where he would sit in the cab of the truck between my mother and I on the bench seat. Susie usually jumped up onto the dashboard where she could sun herself and enjoy the view.

Susie was a swimmer - not to be left on the sidelines when the guys went fishing, she would jump in the water, “cat paddling” to the rubber raft floating out in the lake.  A cat that swims? Yes. And she would jump in the bathtub every so often.  This cat was crazy.

Once on a trip to Canada with my Aunt Ruby we met an Australian woman who really took a liking to Susie. When we went to leave the cat was nowhere to be found and my dad was convinced that the Australian chick had stolen her. She insisted she hadn’t, and joined our search party.  After an hour of panic and calling her name we’d almost given up. All the while she was in the tree directly above us, sprawled out with her legs hanging over the tree limbs. Immediately upon hearing the truck start she started meowing. Twenty-seven seconds later she returned to the dashboard and international peace was restored.

“Too many motors.”

My mom had reached a breaking point. “We have too many motors,” she exclaimed, slamming down the glass of “Chillable Red” she just filled from the box.  She then took a drag from a Newport menthol and promptly called the Tribune to place an ad in the classifieds.  We’d be having a big garage sale that weekend, to offload some excess items with engines that included at least one lawnmower, a go-kart, and the Honda 50 mini-bike I’d outgrown.  

Other goodies for sale included a collection of my mother’s hand-made doilies - you know those round frilly things that go underneath lamps or get used as an emergency potholder just once until you burn the shit out of your hands?  And we’d be offing a ceramic cookie jar, a creation of “Kathy’s Busy Bee Ceramics,” the studio for which was in a trailer next to the one my Aunt Kathy lived in across the river. This cookie jar was in the shape of a Christmas tree.  I hated that effing thing, especially when it sat on the counter well after the season was over.  I thought, but didn’t dare say out loud: “It’s not Christmas in July for Christ’s sake – so let’s get rid of this goddamn thing.”

The Garage Sale attracted all kinds of bargain shoppers including one family who arrived in a 1971 Plymouth Satellite Sebring station wagon plucked right from a Brady Bunch episode, complete with wood grain paneling, driven by a woman with a black bouffant hairdo and looking a lot like the country singer Loretta Lynn.

Susie got bored hanging out on the paint tray on the ladder and decided she’d explore the mysterious world of the Plymouth. It was warm, with strange smells and plush carpeting.  Its humans were different, and there were “stink sticks” (incense) from the Import Depot. A leftover wrapper from Burger Master smelled interesting, but after wondering “Where’s the Beef” she quickly went to sleep in the Sebring.  Nobody took notice and Susie went for a ride for a while, cruising the Garage Sale Circuit all over town.  

Of course she woke-up and started howling. She was not for sale. The kids wanted to keep her, but she wanted nothing to do with them now. She was agitated, and wanted to get back to her native habitat where she could guard the roost - even if it had too many motors. Those motors belonged to her and she needed to watch over them.

They had to back-track, returning to all the garage sales in reverse order until they found us. “Is this your cat?” asked the Loretta Lynn look-alike.  Susie was returned annoyed and unharmed.  Like a wayward teenager busted drinking at a party and retrieved by her parents, she was reluctant to show any emotion and quietly leapt from the tailgate of the Plymouth and returned to the paint tray on the ladder in the garage.

“Houston Means that I’m One Day Closer to You.”

In my junior year of high school I took my first trip on an airplane to see my sister who lived in the northern suburbs of Houston.  It was around Christmas of 1982 and I’d finally go inside a real building taller than ten stories.  I’d go to NASA where astronauts would say they had a problem if there were one, and I’d shop at a fancy shopping mall with an ice rink inside. Everything was fascinating and I tried not to stare, but I’m sure I made a quite a spectacle and an embarrassment of myself.

When I left Montana there was snow on the ground and it was maybe in the 10s. Since I was in the blistering hot warmth of Texas, I could get a little tan before returning to the frozen tundra up north. The neighbors had to wonder WTF as they looked through the shutters at some albino kid wearing shorts and laying out on the side lawn in the middle of winter.  It was maybe in the low 60s the day I tried to tan.

At the mall with the ice rink I remember looking for stuff you just couldn’t get in Montana.  I was kind of bummed I couldn’t find the platform tennis shoes like those worn by Stewart Copeland of the Police, but I did buy a cool, slightly “off color” dark-comedy cartoon book from one of the novelty stores there. I’m not sure what motivated me to buy it other than wanting at least one souvenir from Texas, and the book was easy enough.

Later that night I called home to check-in.  I was having a great time, and I told the parents I’d see them in a week. This town was fascinating and it was fantastic to be in a “real city” with 8-lane freeways and tall buildings and radio stations that played more than classic rock or country.  

“Your cat’s been moping around, so we’re going to take her to the vet.”  This message didn’t really alarm me.  Susie was getting old, but she was bullet proof. 

When I got back to Great Falls a week later I was greeted at the door by Peanuts but no Susie. “She was sick so we had to put her down” said my father as he fought back the tears. “She had feline leukemia” my mother said.

It was a bit of a shock, but really….Susie was no spring chicken (I think she was at least ten years old at that point) and it’s not like it was devastating.  Cats die. We all die.  And it’s not like I hadn’t thought about it.

Oh, and what was the name of that book I bought at the shopping mall with the ice rink?

“101 Uses for a Dead Cat.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have bought the book?

#sealpoint siamese greatfalls trains