Sunday, March 11, 2012

Tex Part II

About a month ago, I was on my way home when I saw Tex about a block from the house.  He was swinging a stick at some invisible foe when he looked up and saw me.  I waved and kept on driving.  When I pulled into the driveway, I looked in my rearview mirror and was surprised to see Tex running up behind me.

Me:  Hey there, Tex!  How’re you doin?’ 
Tex:  Well, I’ve done run away, is how I’m doin.’
Me:  Hmmm…well, how come you run away?
Tex:  I been accused at school of sayin’ somethin’ I didn’t say, and my grandpa just about beat the life outta me, so I left.  I don’t have to take that.  (Tex started talking faster at this point) I’mgonnaliveinthewoods and killarabbitwiththisherestick and I’mgonnabuildafireandcookitandeatit.
Me:  Well, what did they accuse you of sayin?’
Tex:  That I called this big old fat girl a big. old. fat. girl.
Me:  Hmmm…well, you know that if you did say something like that, it wouldn’t be nice, right?
Tex:  But I didn’t, so that’s why I’m running away.
Me (looking at the sky):  Well, okay, but it looks like a storm is rolling in.  You may want to postpone your running off until tomorrow or something…
Tex:  Naw, I’ll be okay.  I can sleep on your porch and be safe.
Me (with much put-on emphasis):  Now listen here!  We can’t be havin’ no fugitives livin’ on our porch!  You best get them thoughts outta your head!
Tex (laughing):  I’m no fugitive!
Me:  Why, yes you are!  The minute you ran away, you became a fugitive!  You’re tryin’ to get me and Eric in trouble with the authorities for harboring a wanted fugitive…aiding and abetting…you little rascal!  I’m not fallin’ for that…

By this point, Tex was bolstered by the idea of being a wanted fugitive, and was looking right proud of himself.  He swung his stick up under his arm like a Tommy Gun, threw his head back for a belly laugh, and strolled off down the road.  He was on the lam…

An aside:  Eric pulled in from his race yesterday afternoon.  It usually takes him a little bit of time to unload his gear from the car, so I headed out to help him.  When I walked out on the porch, Eric was unstrapping his bike from the car, and talking to what seemed to be the brick post.  I walked over to see what he was talking to, and a grinning Tex poked his head around the corner.  Tex was in a talking mood.  We listened as he told us about his new pet chicken, the one he was keeping in his tub at home, how he had come by it, and how he was planning on never having to buy eggs again.  As Tex talked, he pressed himself up against the brick wall, scooted down to creep up the stairs to the porch, and folded his body behind our chaise lounge.  It was as if he was trying to sneak up on our porch without our permission, but was doing it right in front of us by distracting us with his storytelling.  It worked.  Pretty soon, he was sitting on the chaise lounge across from me, talking up a storm.  When he notice that the couch upon which I sat was one that moved on hinges, he exclaimed, “A swing couch!”  Eric responded, “Well, it’s a glider, actually.”  Tex retorted, “Well, I call it a swing couch!”  Eric’s last words as he walked through the door were, “Some folks call it a Kaiser couch…”  Smart aleck.

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