by: Kristy Duke

Chills quickly spread across my tired body as I slowly step out of the cold, dark winter night and into the local bar I have spent so much time at the past month, since I have returned home. Hugging my thick denim coat tightly against me, I stand next to my cousin as we squint through the smoke in order to see through the thick, rowdy crowd. “There he is,” I rest a caring hand upon Bo’s right shoulder to gather his attention while I point to a couple of tables squeezed together in the far back corner. Glancing over at Bo, I watch him momentarily as he continues to glare through the hazy smoke before recognition strikes in his baby blue eyes. Continuing to rest a hand upon Bo’s shoulder, I steal another glance at the table in the far away corner where Cooter, dressed in his usual grease stained clothes, sits leaning lazily against the brown wooden walls. Sitting across from him is a thin lanky man dressed in grease stained overalls with a red hat that hides his thick reddish brown curly hair, a man I have never seen before. “C’mon,” I finally motion Bo to lead the way before he slowly nods and does as he is told, “let’s go join them.”

Thick cigarette smoke lingers heavily in the dark musty air of the crowded bar as I slowly force my way in between the thin isle that lies in between the square shaped tables and chairs. Continuing to follow Bo through the thin maze of chairs to the table Cooter sits at with his friend, I fight to block out the loud laughter and talk that seems to echo off of the cheap thin walls. The old jukebox that rests upon the wall besides the wooden bar seems to come alive as it plays an old hit song by Waylon Jennings, only to contribute to the loud rough Saturday night crowd.

“LB Davenport!” Bo yells breathlessly as we slowly approach their tables and the thin lanky man sitting across the table from Cooter is quick to stand up, crazy-like excitement dances in his light brown-green eyes, “Whatchya doin’ home?”

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by: Kristy Duke

“When were you plannin’ to tell me?!” my cousin’s angered voice breaks the thick silence that had hung heavily over me while he was away, startling me. Taking deep breathes to calm my rapid heart beats I slowly turn around to find his dark green-brown eyes to be layered in concerned anger as he sets down a couple of brown paper bags. I watch speechlessly as he sets both of them down upon the hard wooden desk before he searches within the contents of one bag to bring out a thick bundle of newspaper. Angrily he sets the paper down on the edge of the open hood of the truck and points to a large picture and as I force myself to follow his finger, my heart comes to an abrupt halt at a mainly black and white picture of my old garage being eaten away by large evil red flames and dark black-gray smoke. Ahead of the picture in thick black bold letters read: LOCAL GARAGE BURNT TO A CRISP – MECHANIC MISSING, under the horrid picture in small black print reads: local Capital City garage was found a blaze by monstrous flames the other night while LB Davenport, the mechanic that owns the garage ends up missing. “Go on, read on,” Cooter urges me as I glance up at him from the paper.

I slowly nod as I glance back down at the large picture that captures a big piece upon the front page to send flash backs of the night rolling through my head. Reading the lengthy article I fight back the anger and the pain that the memory leaves within me as the article explains the situation with the McKleen Family Garage to someone spotting me limping out of the burning building, as if in pain, before being chased away by a newer model muscle car. Slowly finishing the article, I continue to stare at the picture as my thoughts run from the article to the night I had watched my hopes and dreams burn up in flames to my angered cousin who breathes heavily next to me.

“When were you plannin’ to tell me? Or were you ever gonna tell me that the reason why you are here, is because you are running away from something. . .someone?!” Cooter repeats himself as I force myself to look away from the article and from him, “Huh LB? Don’t you think, that I, of all people, deserve to know?”

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by: Kristy Duke

A sharp chills races quickly up and down my body despite the humid air that floats heavily in the large farm kitchen as she glares coldly at me for a long moment. Anger flairs wildly in her normally soft and kind brownish blue eyes as her Duke temper quickly rolls through her towards me. “Damn it Luke!” she finally cusses under her breath as she quickly turns her back towards me to glare out the small window that hangs over the kitchen sink and over the front porch. An cold hard silence quickly enters the room amongst us as she attempts to control her anger while I sit silently at the forest green kitchen table, drinking my coffee, while my thoughts jump numbly from thought to thought of the cause of her anger. Slowly, she turns around to look at me once more and as I force myself to look up at her, I see more than anger in her eyes, but all sorts of emotions swarming through her brownish blue eyes. Quickly she runs a hand across her eyes to swipe away the tears of anger that had built up in her eyes before she takes a long deep breath while she continues to stare thoughtfully at me. “Sometimes you have no respect for his feelings what so ever,” she finally says to break the silence, her voice quivering in emotions, “you use to have all the respect in the world for him before you left,” she pauses to turn to look out the window once more, “now you show very little respect if any at all for him. He loves you Luke. . .looks up to you the same way he had when you had left six years ago, and you can’t even respect him enough to talk nicely to him.”

Anger once more begins to run through me, an anger that I had only momentarily shredded to discard as she continues to glare out the window. “What? Bo can’t defend himself so he has you and Uncle Jesse do it for him?” I question angrily for my elder uncle who had taken care of me while growing up walks in, an hurt _expression fills his crystal blue eyes, “Bo is twenty-two years old and yet you still treat him like he’s ten, always standing over him to tell him what a great job he’s doing. . .holding his hand. Always so damn protective over him! Bo is a grown man, who is capable of defending his own self if he really wants to.”

Silence is quick to fill the room as I receive hard, cold, and angry looks from my uncle’s crystal blue eyes as he stares at me in disbelief while Daisy continues to stare out the window. “You have some nerve talkin’ to me like that boy! You ain’t too old to be taken out to the barn out there to teach you how to respect your family!” Jesse finally yells, his temper clouds his caring eyes and I sigh tiredly, thinking of how long this will take now that I got him riled up, “I have no clue what this here argument is about, but I know one thing, when you are under my roof you will respect me, respect family and friends, and you will follow the rules no matter how old you are!”

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by: Kristy Duke

Pain continues to ripple harshly down my aching body as I nervously glance into the rear view mirror to watch thick wicked reddish orange flames clawing desperately at the dark cloudy night sky. My swollen heart sinks deeply within my chest at the sight of my beloved garage being harshly eaten away by the large evil flames and the thick black smoke that swirls up into the dark sky. Once again salty tears sting my blue eyes as I stare momentarily memorized by the horrifying sight of my vulnerable garage being swallowed whole by the dancing flames that brighten up the dark cloudy night. My mind flickers like a burning candle, from one terrifying though to another, the scenes of what had led me to where I sit now plays like a bad horror movie that won’t turn off.

Staring once more into my rear view mirror at the dancing flames that has engulfed my garage I am abruptly awaken to the severity of my troubles once again as the recognizable 2002 black Mustang quickly swings out of a black alley with a squeal of his tires. “Damn it!” I mutter silently to myself as fear swells deeply in my chest at the sight of the tinted windowed sports car begins to follow me. Quickly I press harshly upon the accelerator to send more harsh pain rushing through my throbbing body only to find the sports car to be quick to reach the bumper of my old rusty tow truck without any trouble.

Large droplets of rain begin to splatter upon my dusty windshield as I force my truck upon one of the many dusty dirt roads off of the sole cemented road that leads in and out of town. For the last time before it goes out of sight I glance into my rear view mirror and watch the dark evil flames greedily swallowing my beloved garage with thick black smoke dancing up into the night’s sky. Watching my burning garage leave eye sight behind business buildings and trees, anger, hatred, and fear burns vividly within me as my body continues to throb in unbearable amounts of pain. Glaring ahead at the empty dirt road that is surrounded by farm land, the rain begins to pick up along with the wind as I fight for speed or for knowledge on how to loose the Mustang that rides my bumper.

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by: Kristy Duke