Talked Into

When I met my wife, I was young, stupid and horny. I'd have screwed a knotty pine just for the namesake. But Donella defined the word hot; and it was good; tip your hat; "Thank you Miss " good. It was "Don't tell your buddies" good. And the more we did it, the more I liked her. She had a funny sense of humor.  She was smart; WAY smarter'n me. She made sure we didn't just go off the beaten path do do it... but off THAT road too! Loved the way she could think.  She made me feel good. She always said nice things about me. She was always sayin nice things... She was a good girl with enough devil to make her great. So I married her.

And it went straight to Hell.

I realized too late that her giddy temperament was anxiety; over everything from being late to being mad that someone ELSE was late. Her smarts? She over thought everything from what to have for supper to looking down on what others put in their grocery bags during her weekly shopping trip because that was what THEY was having for supper... sometime. Heaven forbid you ask her opinion. By the time she was done givin it, ya had a headache and no clue what you wanted to know in the first place. And the speed at which she rattled it all off had to be a record in the county if not the state.  People always seemed to stare at her as if their contacts were too tight. I think they were just trying to catch it all... Lord she could talk! And gossip was her hobby second only to snooping, rounding out the top three with judging others.

Yeah, over the course of our forty-two year marriage I regretted many a thing;  not keepin it in my pants that steamy summer night at the fair grounds, pullin out that ring the night we graduated high school, and saying "You bet" to the preacher.

But she taught me a lot. I suppose the fact that she talked non-stop, I just learned it by ... smosis? OS-mosis. that's it. Donella was surface educated on just about everything and expert in nothing. But it made her fun at parties and I enjoyed taking up the finer points to argue with her behind closed doors.  I loved to agitate.  She didn't know enough to really come back at me so her stock answer was "We'll see bout that." accompanied by a narrow spit fire glare. I knew I'd won.

Well enough about my charmin busy body wife. Let's get to the crux of it.  I tried to tell her to quit snooping, spying, gossiping and waggin her tongue as well as her guilty finger at people. I warned her. I think it started when Carly-Jo came home with her new baby. The girl was victim to a smooth talkin boy ... like me back in the day. The baby, little Jeanne, well now, she had some special needs.  I think that's what they call retards nowadays. Well my delicate daffodil marched right up to Carly-Jo and asked her what kinda home she was gonna put her in. Wanted to show her all the places a "baby like that" could be kept outta sight and embarrassment. HONESTLY WOMAN! Ohhh I bout hauled her round back of the wood shed for a whuppin of epic proportions that day. CJ was kind and gracious enough to smile, nod and thank her for her concern.  Funny, little Jeanne grew up to be the best vet this side of Harper's creek.. Of course if you asked my wife, she'd have handed CJ a little bit of advice that made Jeanne all she is today. Lord-a-mercy.  Then she bought the little glasses. Opera kind at first but they weren't strong enough. She hadda have the big ole by-noculars. One time I put my camo grease around the eye sockets so when she put em up to her face she got big old black rings around her eyes. I bout runned outta air laughin at her.  It took her two hours and four more fittings afore she realized what I'd done. I was blessed with silence for two whole weeks.

Then came the Sawyers. They moved in across the way about two years ago. Margret was a shut away according to Donella. I think she just liked keepin to herself. She read books a lot on their porch. She liked to play out in her flowerbeds and they were impressive.  Donella was certain she was puttin stray cats or orphans in the dirt a make em grow so good. I would just shake my head and move along. Now Margaret's husband Bud was a different story. I hear from down at the mill he was some big shot sales guy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jars; money AND women. Not for nothin but he had no reason to be lookin over his fence. He had it all right there in his own back yard. And by the looks of him? He shoulda been grateful.  He had tiny dark beady eyes and big greasy pompadorish black hair. He was thick in the middle but swaggered better'n most better built men. His skin was... just too ... shiny; like he had too much lotion on or something. Anyway, nothing he had was enough. Eh, some folk are just greedy I guess. None of my business. I wished Donella coulda seen it that way. She just wanted to see it.

So she watched as Bud began to parade women in and outta his house while his wife was workin or away for church functions. Donella wrote countless anonymous letters and I intercepted each and every one. No WAY I was gonna let her do that ~ Put stuff in the paper or air someone's dirty laundry like that. And at last we were introduced to the last piece of the puzzle. Joe Goodall.

Now I grew up with Joe. He's was my baby brother's age. He was a bad boy and just about every girl in town tried to set him straight.  He had dishwater blond hair, green eyes that could charm a snake and a grin that could coax an "Amen" from an atheist. The challenges always accepted but certain to fail. Joe loved lovin women and Margaret Sawyer was a beautiful creature. So I hear. Well then my petite flower began seein Joe and Margaret sneakin around while Bud was hosting many a gal in the local motel.  It was sordid but funny... to hear about from my chatterbox wife. Donella was fixated on the twists and turns of the house across the way. She just set there day after day, writing stuff down and cluckin her tongue; most judgmental hen I ever did meet. Then came the fight. Seems that Joe and Bud crossed paths; not at the Waffle house but the Sawyer house. Hoowee! Joe was pullin out, so to speak and Bud was rushin in. Well needless to say, it was a fire storm and then some! I confess in my state of weakness I did pull up a chair and watch for a bit. Donella was riveted.

Joe slugged Bud and Bud commenced a poundin Joe. Margaret was squallin from the porch and Donella couldn't stop gawkin. I went out back and fired up the grill. All that rough housin made me hungry. Burgers. A double stack for me thanks. Well I guess it was Nellie Horbatch next door that called Sherrif "Baldy" his name is Spalding but he lost his hair his junior year of high school so Baldy stuck. Heehee... Baldy. He's a good egg though. He's fair. Well, he come out and broke it all in to bits then came over to ask Donella what she knew...knowin she would know SOMETHIN. He stayed and had burgers because Donella knew a lot. In fact, he took her papers and wanted to copy em for notes cause his hand cramped up. Donella had now been deputized in her eyes. Oh good Lord I prayed they wouldn't give her a gun!

Well things settled down a bit. Bud was still runnin round but Margaret seemed to disappear. Donella was suspicious the first time she noticed the flowers were droopin. She began houndin me to go chew on Joe's ear and find out what was what. Not bein a gossip hound, I insetead, turned a deaf ear and turned up the game.

One night, oh I guess about two weeks later; it was a Thursday because trash went out on Friday. Seems Donella was watchin Bud and saw him carry out trash: A LOT of it; big, black leaf bags.

"There's Margaret." she said flatly and took notes.  Now normally I would have a  smart mouth comment but I watched and nurtured a little seed of suspicion myself as Bud hoisted those bags into the back of his truck and drove away but my attention was short lived.  Soon I gave up and went to bed. He returned in the wee hours because I was just gettin ready to head out for the mill. I covered Donella up with a blanket and kissed her nosy forehead. She begged me to confront Bud, or go to Baldy. I ignored her and with a bit of a snap told her to watch her own hen house for once. She knew I'd bout had it so she stopped talking about it; to me at least.

She marched right out to Nellie's library and checked out all sorts of books.  she began reading day and night while watching (a little less) the house across the street. She was studyin ghosts. It wasn't even October so I knew it had nothin to do with Trick or Treat.  AND she bought one of them talker boards...and began trying to communicate with Margaret. I bout laughed myself insane watchin her talk into a little tape recorder and play it back listenin to the snow while tellin me she heard stuff... Margaret talkin back.

"That's good Hon. Ask her if we're gonna have a rough winter."

Donella became a ghost hunter. She was so angry at what Margaret was supposedly tellin her that she next took up voodoo. She wanted to get back at Bud, who was by now having all sorts of women sleep OVER and wanted to make him pay.  She would make sure she was getting mail when he got mail and she would make rude comments.  She would tell him to watch his step because she was watching and no one believed his story about his wife runnin off. She had proof and he would pay.  Bud would smile a greasy smile and invite her in for coffee.

"Not on your LIFE." and she would give him a sour look and wander back up the steps in her "dress jeans" and turtleneck with some ugly vest one of her friends hand made. I'd smack my hands if they committed a yarn sin like that. Who puts horses with long yarn manes on a sweater vest? Who wears sweater vests? Anyway,  she turned him down and told me all about it. It took over an hour and my ears were hot.

"What do you want ME to do?" I asked her; regretting the words the minute they stumbled out in to daylight.

"Well... NOTHING I guess you old bump. I'll do it myself."

I laughed at her. and regretted that. To this day.

It was a Tuesday. I went to the mill as usual. She was up with me; dressed and talking into her little recorder.  She told me she had had a long chat with the ghost of Margaret and she was ready to do what was right.

"Okay then. Be good." I took my lunch off the kitchen table and went.

And that was the last time I saw my chatterbox. I had to tell Baldy the whole thing. He would write and listen, chew his pencil which he did all through school. We USED to call him Beaver. His teeth were so bucked, he could eat an apple through a picket fence, but braces changed that and contacts made him cute I guess. he worked out and toned up... lost his hair so we still could make fun of him but .. well I git sidetracked.  He helped me a lot and he tried to find my Donnie.

I knew right well what had happened. I knew who did it. I knew we'd never find her. I sat alone in Donnie's chair at night just watchin Bud. He would sit and stare right back; daring me. But I've never been a fighter. The same can not be said for my wife. I began to read what she'd written. I read all the books she got from Nellie and I began playin with that talkie board; weejah but it's spelled fancy.  I asked if Donnie was there; like I was callin a college dorm. I asked her to let me know she was around. I got some thumps and bumps. I told whatever it was I missed my wife. I was sorry I didn't do more. I asked if she was okay. A few lights flickered. Her favorite music box played though I hadn't wound it since the day I bought it for her. I played with her recorder and began to listen through the static. I can't be sure but I thought I heard her tell me "I'm ok." I told her we couldn't find her body. I said we knew it was Bud but we couldn't prove it." Then I heard it clear as day.

"We'll see about that."

 I had to laugh at my chatterbox. I began to watch Bud a little closer.  He seemed to change over the next weeks.  He looked tired, like he'd been up all night. He seemed agitated and nervous; always lookin behind him. It was like he was... haunted. Then about nine months after my wife went missin, Bud Sawyer walked right up to Baldy and offered his hands ... like they was gonna skip and sing kiddie songs on the playground.  He confessed right there and continued confessin all during his arraignment, his trial his sentencing.. he just kept talkin.  The police went where Bud told em and found Margaret and Donella. When they gave him life without parole for the murder of his wife and mine. He began to weep like a little girl.  He looked up and all around him and shouted

"THERE! ARE YA HAPPY? WILL YOU SHUT YOUR CAKE HOLE NOW?"

I smiled, went home and put all her ghost stuff away; satisfied my motormouth Donella talked him into doin the right thing.



Happy Daylight Savings! I sure hope this is the beginning of something warm, sunny and snow-less.  This one, although silly and a bit skewed was fun for me. I read it aloud and just loved the flow. It felt good to hear the accent and I enjoyed the path this one took. I hope you did too. A little fun and silliness on a Sunday mornin is okay by me. 

I have a super-busy week. My daughter turns Sweet 16. Sigh. BIG sigh. So we have lots of neat things planned for her; some she knows about... others.... (I know you read this my lovely little girl.. so.... It's not here either... quit snoopin! :)   ) are top secret. Anyway, I hope you have a fantastic week. I will be very sentimental and on the brink of tears most of the time.

Enjoy! See you soon.