Bread Chapter
Carly Couture was born to the Jim and Margie Couture in 1961 in Russelsburg, Tennessee. They were not rich parents, but they were parents, and well respected in the village for their bus driving abilities and child wrangling skills. They didn’t have a large house but it was as loving as the people it protected.
Carly’s father would come home puffed up with pride with a loaf of bread under his arm and his chin as high as a ham. His pride would enrage his pre-teen daughter, and she would quickly deflate his ego.
“Father, why do you come home so puffed up? Your job is that of thieves and alcoholics.”
Jim’s smile turned to a frown. His eyes would well up with tears. He thought of his father.
“Carly, you don’t know how an alcoholic even behaves.” He dropped the bread on the ground. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a father that brings you bread.”
“Bread sucks. My friends’ fathers bring home pizzas. Their fathers have real jobs, like real estate agents and teachers. Respectable jobs.”
Margie overheard the typical ruckus and rolled out of her bed to break it up.
“Carly, go to your room. Don’t you ever speak to your father that way. You weren’t raised to be so disrespectful.”
“YOU GUYS are disrespectful to ME!” Carly screamed and stomped up the stairs. “I wish you were both DEAD.”
School Bus Driver Dance Tragedy Chapter
The night of the school bus driver dance. It was May 7, the one night of the year that Carly’s parents would look forward to. This was a night created for middleage fun. It was the one night of the year that the bus drivers got to let loose, dress in their finest garments, perhaps dancing with that cute dark haired driver you’ve been eyeing from across the school parking lot. Stalkings grow into slow dances. This particular school bus driver dance would be one that Carly shall never forget, nor would the rest of the community. It would be a memory so horrific that nobody in the town could utter it with clarity.
Margie took the curlers out of her hair with the same care that she would drive around her children. She descended from the stairway wearing a gorgeous mauve gown, dazzling with crystals. Jim’s jaw dropped.
“You take my breath away.”
“As do you.”
Driving to the dance, Jim could not help but admire his wife’s beauty. Sometimes he would forget how he used to think of her. She now dresses drab, and of course this was the reason for his many explicate affairs, but today, she was his queen.
“Pull over.”
***INSERT UNNECESSARY SEX SCENE****
They pulled into the parking lot. Margie began to fidget.
Jim sighed. “You are thinking about Gary, aren’t you?”
“No, honey. I ain’t thinking about nobody.”
Jim looked at her. “He’ll probably pass out before he even gets to the doors. Just as my father did on his prom night.”
“Will you shut up about your father?”
“I’LL STOP TALKING ABOUT MY FATHER WHEN YOU STOP THINKING ABOUT GARY,” yelled Jim. “I bet you put on that dress with him in mind. You dressed up for Gary… not for me.”
Margie held her head in shame.
“You disgust me, Marjorie.”
“Let’s just… have a good time.” Margie put her hand softly on Jim’s leg. “I’d like to have a nice time with you. This is the most important night of the year. Let’s not taint it with talk of Gary.”
“Fine,” Jim muttered.
Little did they know that Gary would taint the night. He would taint the night indeed.
Gary sported a bad boy leather jacket, his hair slicked up. He was dressed to the nines, just like Margie liked him. He and his cronies tried to enter the school bus driver dance, but were denied due to their obvious intoxication.
“Too drunk to enter huh? I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you.”
And he showed them all indeed as he drove his school bus into the dance hall.
Post Parents Death Time: Living With Grandpappy Chapter
Carly imagined that her grandfather lived in a mansion on the outskirts of Plano, Texas. She was certain that her father denied his existence out of envy, pure envy, and the fear that Carly may love him more than she did her father. Carly thought of a quote she once read: “One Jim is always more worthy than another.” That quote that would soon haunt her but the thought of it now led her to chuckle. She was in the car being driven by Poppy, her mother’s childhood friend to Grandpappy Jim Sr.’s home.
Carly’s joy turned to fear when she saw his humble abode. The trailer was decorated in the finest of “Beware of Dog” signs and Rebel Flags. It wasn’t the rebel flag that offended Carly, it was the thought of a dog. She was not fond of canines. Thank the good lord there was no dog, merely a sign warning of one. She knocked on the door, her smile as bright as the sun. She looked back at Poppy who was waiting in the car fussing with the radio. Carly gulped. She knocked again. Nothing. She began to feel embarrassed. Her lifelong dream of impressing Poppy was being crushed, crushed like her parents under the school bus wheels driven by the hands of the leather clad Gary.
Carly sighed. “Gary probably had a good reason for his actions.”
Finally, the door was opened.
“Can I help you?!” A leather faced bearded man opened the door, his body as rotund as his red cheeks.
“I’m Carly.”
“And?”
“I’m Carly.”
“Great, Carly. Get off my property.”
Carly began to tear up. “But I’m your granddaughter.”
Grandpappy’s liquor coated mind lit up like a lightbulb in a bathtub.
“Ouch! Oh yes. Granddaughter, granddaughter. Some professional type called me about your the other day. I guess you can stay for a bit til you find a job.”
“But, Grandpappy I am twelve.”
“Twelve is old enough for many occupations. ” He said while winking. “Come on in.”
Carly entered the home.
“Have a seat. Let me fix you a drink.” He ran into the kitchen as giddy as a lad in a stock car audience. “Now why are you visiting here again?”
“My parents were killed.”
Grandpappy dropped a glass. It shattered. “Great. Now look what you made me do. If you want to stay here you should think about warning me before you bring up a gruesome topic. Especially if I am handling glassware!”
“I’m sorry, here let me help.”
“No! I don’t need no help. This Couture family is of a proud nature. We don’t accept help. Unlike my son. He was weak. That is why he ended up driving a school bus, like a pansy. He may as well have moved to New York City and become a Broadway actor.”
Grandpappy wiped some dirt from a glass. “So you said he was killed, right?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled again. “Of course, always having things done to ‘em. Not a thing he did himself. Maybe his death was a blessing. Maybe I can teach you how to do your own handy work.”
Carly’s eyes swelled up with tears. “I’d like that Grandpappy. I’d like that.”
—-
Since she was first programmed, Gina Tron has been actively churning out creepy cartoons and dark humored fiction. Reading, socializing, fashion and exploring are a few of the other skills that have been uploaded into her database. She is an editor for LADYGUNN and a staff writer for music & art magazine, Pork & Mead. She also contributes freelance to a few other publications like Woman Around Town and BULLETT. She has had numerous works of fiction published, and is currently working on her first novel. Find more of her work here: www.ginatronic.com
