WheelMan's Place - Fiction - "A Lazy Afternoon in a Small Georgia Town"

Little whirlwinds, tinged red by dust off the dry Georgia clay, danced across the yard. The little store sat alone beside the winding road like an outpost along an abandoned trail. The few trees nearby whispered softly in the early August breeze.

Clem and his friend Willie sat on the store’s porch like aging wooden sentinels. Each wore faded overalls, Clem’s stretched like denim shrink-wrap around his large waist, Willie’s hanging like loose sackcloth off his thin frame. They ignored the insects nipping at them from time to time, focusing all their attention on the meditations of the day.

“Looks like we may get a shower later,” said Clem, scratching his scraggly chin.

“Yep,” replied Willie, taking a drink from his warm can of beer.

Something appeared on the road a half mile away, approaching fast. As it neared, they could see that it was a black sedan. It soon pulled into the yard, kicking up a red cloud as it slid to a stop. A man dressed in a form-fitting black suit, white shirt, and narrow black tie, stepped out. He adjusted his dark sunglasses as he rounded the car and walked toward them.

“Reckon he’s a revenuer, Clem?”

“Naw, they ain’t that well dressed. Besides, Prohibition been over for years.”

The man stopped ten feet away. He paused to regard them quietly while he wiped his forehead. The hot wind tossed strands of his dirty blonde hair.

“Hello, gentlemen,” he said.

“Howdy,” responded Clem and Willie in unison.

“My name’s Johnson. Albert Johnson. I’d like to ask you a few questions if I may?”

“Depends,” said Willie. “You ain’t one of them that’s always callin’ on the phone are you? ‘Cause I’ve told you folks a million times, I don’t need no description to National Geography--”

“No, I’m not a salesman, Mister...?”

“Reese. Willie Reese. And he’s Clem Turner. He owns this place.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reese. Mr. Turner.”

“What exactly can we do for you, Mr. Johnson?” asked Clem.

“Well, I’ve been sent out here to investigate an anomaly--”

“Anomaly? Clem, ain’t that the game your kids were playin’ the other night. You know, where you buy houses and stuff?”

“Look here, Mr. Johnson, my kids ain’t stole nothin’. My wife bought that game in Atlanta when we went there last March. I saw her get it myself!”

“I’m sure she did, but--”

“That’s when your sister had that operation, wasn’t it, Clem?”

“Yeah, it was pretty bad. But you know, I never did find out how she got that buckshot in her--”

“Gentlemen, please!” shouted Johnson. “I’m not here about a child’s game. I said anomaly, not Monopoly.”

The two men stared at Johnson as if he’d just grown a second head.

“Er, an anomaly is something strange, unusual you know.”

“Oh,” said Willie, “you mean like the time Miss Jude’s cat was born with three eyes?”

“Three eyes?” said Johnson, pulling out a pad and pen from inside his coat. “Exactly when--”

“That cat didn’t have no three eyes, Willie, and you know it. He just had a white spot in the middle of his forehead that she thought was another eye. You know how blind that woman is.”

“Yeah, Clem, but the man said he was huntin’ somethin’ weird, and you gotta admit, for a minute there, that was mighty weird.”

“What it was, was stupid.”

“Now don’t you go callin’ that sweet old woman stupid!”

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em, buddy.”

“Well I got a few things to call you too--”

“Gentlemen--” Johnson paused to scratch his forehead. “Look, we’ve had reports that some odd things have been seen around here in the evenings recently. Like bright lights in the sky?”

The two bumpkins glanced at one another.

“You mean like the stars?” Willie asked, “‘Cause they’s always--”

“No, no, Mr. Reese, I mean something that shouldn’t be up there, like maybe a flying saucer?”

“Oh, well I seen a flyin’ saucer last night,” said Clem. “Flew right over my head about 2:30 in the mornin’.”

“Really?” replied Johnson excitedly. “Where were you at the time?”

“In my house. It’s just a good thing my wife’s got bad aim.” Clem threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Clem, you’re a nut, I tell you!” Willie stood and playfully tugged on Clem’s suspenders. The two slapped and poked each other as they continued to laugh, while Johnson slowly massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, very funny, Mr. Turner. Now as I was saying, we have eyewitness accounts--”

“We?” asked Clem, leaning back. “Who’s we? Who you workin’ for, Mister?”

“I work for the government, and--”

“You see?” cried Willie. “I told you he was a revenuer! We ain’t made no moonshine in years, Mister!”

“Exceptin’ that little bit we make now and then for medicinal purposes, of course,” said Clem.

“That’s right. And we sells it for only a few pennies more than what it costs to make.”

“Willie.”

“After all, a feller ought to be able to make a tiny profit off his hard labors, right?”

“Willie.”

“I mean it ain’t our fault that people all over the Southeast got ailments that need treatin’--”

“Shut up, Willie!” cried Clem, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t mind him, Mr. Johnson. Willie ain’t been right since he fell off a mule when he was three and bumped his head.”

“I didn’t fall and bump my head when I was three! I was kicked in the head by that mule when I was two.”

“Dropped. Kicked. Whatever.”

“You know,” said Johnson, tucking his pad and pen back into his pocket. “I can see that I’m wasting my time here. I’m sorry I disturbed you. Have a pleasant evening.”

Johnson turned and strode to his car. He got in, slammed the door, and as soon as the engine roared to life, he did a quick one-eighty and sped back the way he’d come.

“Seemed like a downright high-strung feller, huh Clem?”

“He sure was high on somethin’!” The two burst out laughing again, swaying in their seats like old trees in a strong wind.

They talked and exchanged wise cracks well into the evening. As the sun sank beyond the clouding horizon, Clem stood and stretched his arms wide in a yawn, then patted his ample belly. A low rumble echoed in the distance.

“Reckon I better close the store and go home, Willie. Been a pretty slow day for business anyway. Besides, I’m gettin’ hungry.”

“Yep. Guess I better head on myself.”

“Need a ride?”

“Naw, I like walkin’ on nights like these.”

“Well,” said Clem with a wink, “watch out for one of them flyin’ saucers.”

“I swear, Clem, you are hysterical sometimes.”

“See you tomorrow, Willie.”

“Take care, Clem.”

Clem went inside the store. Willie turned and headed up the road. Flashes of light grew brighter along the horizon, and the ground shook with thunderous booms. Dogs howled in the distance, their cries intermingled with that of the rising wind.

As Willie reached a clump of trees, a myriad of spinning lights erupted overhead. A large object descended upon him, its glare so intense that he could barely make out its shape. A column of light appeared before him, and he threw his hands up to shield his eyes. A shadowy being slowly materialized within the glow. The figure reached out a slender hand and touched Willie’s face....

“Hi, Honey,” it said.

“Sylvia! I told you not to come pick me up. The lake’s only a mile and a half away. I didn’t mind walkin’.”

“I know, but it was getting dark and I was worried about you. Lots of strange things happening these days, you know. I figured you can never be too careful.”

“Dang it, you’re the sweetest wife a man could ever have. Come here, woman!” Willie pulled Sylvia to him and their lips merged in a passionate kiss.

They were still intertwined a few minutes later when Clem drove by. He jammed on brakes, and stood watching as their silhouettes faded into the column of light. He sat there long after their ship had risen up and vanished beyond the treetops, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I can’t believe it,” he mumbled, glancing once more at the sky. “If them two is that damn horny, they oughta at least go behind a tree.”