Low Dug Clay Pit

Eat a Peach for Love
Nov 3 · 15 min read

low dug clay pit maybe the size of a double-wide trailer a low dug pit most of which banked up into against the piney wood that splotched here and there wide and thin thick and narrow between amongst fields and pastures and junkyards and pecan orchards both functioning and abandoned west and down south of cuthbert georgia

off some labyrinth of dirt roads off of two sixty-six off a timeline that’s not now but it’s not

not now

under a late morning august sun that worked hard to burn off what’s left of the earlier heavy dew a keen eye might see sense the air absorbing it becoming heavier with every minute heavier on the shoulders heavier to breathe

the clay in the exposed pit getting warm crusty at the edges yet moist and cool and slick and sculptable just below the surface

if there were a wind or a breeze or a black bear’s breath it would not matter the pit protected by the peripheral clusters of young pines densely packed each desperately fighting to extend their roots deep and wide into below beneath the clay

water water everywhere not a drop to drink gasping for droplets of water as one might for air

each fighting the other for survival stretching upwards for advantage branches boxing with each other light tall malnourished welterweights slugging it out branches extending into each other as if in the clinch up against the ropes spreading their needles toward their fiery master

their botanical angst heightened by an imported neighbor that has begun to creep up from below broad green kudzu leaves wrapping like christmas lights around the trunks and branches of several off away from the road creeping up from below with voracious appetites dragging down the weak toppling them into waiting arms

only a few only the strong will remain to feast upon the rotted flesh of those who fail to breakthrough

if there were a wind it wouldn’t matter but the air it’s oh so still anyway a still warm pond

and the morning hot and humid and smelling of pine and clay and the oily overtones of a still-warm sixty six impala ess ess its blue body dusted with a fine rusty red clay finish puffed up billowed and settled while speeding slipping sliding spinning atop across the dirty dirt roads

the impala parked at the edge of the pit about two feet above

a cardboard box indicating it once held forty-eight sixteen-ounce bottles of heinz ketchup sitting next to the car

open

filled with implements of destruction of all varieties firecrackers m80s silver salutes a box of kitchen matches a couple of bic lighters a tube of bb’s a wire clothes hanger with a twisted knotted large green hefty garbage bag tied to its hook a box of twenty-two shells and a smattering of individual twelve-gauge shotgun shells

a bb gun a twenty-two rifle bobby’s new browning twelve gauge pump and an army navy surplus folding shovel leaned across the box

a second box next to it also open but mostly empty maybe a few assorted differently sized plastic wheels some with axels attached some golf ball sized globs of melted plastic the headless torso of a toy army man and a once wet now dried partially burned around the edges two-year-old penthouse magazine

the three of them lean back against the hood of the car all in a line all gazing down at the pit mickey hands in pocket pete smoking bobby with a perspiring paper bag beneath one arm he reaches in pulls out a sweating beer hands it to mickey hands another to pete takes one for himself leans over and slides the bag beneath the shade of the car stands back up momentarily holding the cool beer to his sweating forehead

they all three pop their beers bobby first then mickey then pete each tossing his tab off into the bushes one after the other

they drink

bobby sixteen pete fourteen mickey twelve ozzie osborne croons sings of generals gathering in their masses from the impala’s eight-track stereo

pete’s head nods in time his fingers playing the frets of his budweiser then finishes his beer first with a long sudden pull looking up and over at bobby to see if he noticed

mickey he just sips the foreign bitter taste cool but not really satisfying he’d rather have a doctor pepper or a mister pibb

before them a glorious diorama a vignette a slice of history that never was

a dystopian time-confused battlefield of three opposing armies comprising a diverse size shape color and period an amalgam of toy soldiers mostly world war two american japanese and german army and their respective tanks half-tracks jeeps and cannons but also cowboys and indians and knights in armor and robin hoods and dinosaurs and assorted jungle creatures

sculpted into the far clay banks of the pit lay two distinct set of soon to be conflicting bunkers and ramparts and battlements made of clay mud sticks and stones representing some target of desire for a vast advancing army upon the dry plain before them setting siege with their own cannons and tanks and grunts and jeeps and giraffes and warriors on horseback

snipers perched behind rocks on faux and fragile cliffsides

and assorted plastic toy army nurses could be seen among the troops except on the left side cliffs pete had built a walled-in brothel complete with mud beds and a line of soldiers waiting to get in

they had spent the last couple of hours setting up terraforming the pit meticulously laying out artillery and cavalry and mechanized units flanks of charging soldiers readying them for glory

mickey he thinks to himself he says not really in words not these words at least but his body his pretercognitive twelve-year-old self his bowels they suggest they hint

perhaps this is how the gods play with us

pete crushes the empty beer can between two hands chest high with a grunt and tosses it over the empty box into the bushes walks over picks up the bb gun reaches into the box and pulls out the tube of bb’s

he unscrews the top of the cylinder on the rifle pulls the paper top off the tube with his teeth gently pours a trickle of a stream of tiny copperish balls

polished to catch the gleam of the sun and reflect it back at a person

and then he caps the tube screws the top back on the ammo chamber walks to the edge of the pit and sits down

his legs dangling the bb gun laid across his lap

mickey he wakes early he always does every morning

the summer sun it he pops his pecker up his big wide grin gleaming telling the world hey all rise and shine goddamn rise and shine all my chirruns mister apollo like the dude in the let’s boogie blacklight poster on bobby’s wall got that cocky leanback stepping long out of the brightness of the sun scorching his path giving a nice morning howl

and the shades only hang over the main window not the little victorian window above not the bare oval pane that transpires heavily apollo’s manly boogified heat on her backside flowing through hitting head on the humid frigid air blasting caddy cornered from across the room from the air conditioner cranked to full blue frosty the snowman

window wet she sweats shivering chilly love streams all the way down dripping little moist tears tumbling flipping flopping to the sill below

leaving little puddles in those slight depressions made by generations of little elbows connected to wrists and palms supporting the chin of this kid or that kid this time mickey laying in bed head under where the shades do pull down staring out the window at that outside universe centered grounded by the grand old magnolia in the corner of the yard

massively blooming opening itself to the neighborhood to the town like some meandering urban brothel hundreds of open windows virgins wearing white and just that touch of rosy red lipstick sitting smiling in each

mickey knows every drop of dew on the surrounding lawn carries their scent

dragonflies and robins and blue jays and hummingbirds and ground squirrels feed and worship at her roots bouncing flitting scurrying hovering poking probing tasting nibbling scratching around their world

all the while mindful of the siamese cat that mickey can’t see that he knows is there on the porch beneath

bobby comes in from his room wearing only a pair of scraggly white briefs his morning wood poking its head out above the band he’s yawning stretching walking into the sitting room where mickey slept when he was in town he says

hey mickey i gotta idea since we’re not working the store today i gotta thought i got an idea ‘bout some fun

mickey he turns from the window wipes his elbows on the bedspread and slides out of the covers rubbing his eyes

he walks to the hallway door shaking his head then nodding his head hair tossing flying opens the door and walks out into the hall he says

ok sure

mickey he knows doesn’t even consider bobby says they go it’s gonna be a thing whether it’s simply eat a bowl of cap’n crunch build a model car go steal playboys from the drug store or shoot up some empty school bus it don’t matter something gets stuck in bobby’s head it’s gonna happen

mickey he walks into the bathroom closes the door lifts the lid spits into the toilet looks at his twelve-year-old cock in its miniaturized full stiff morning glory and he whispers to himself

fuck fuck fuck

and then breathes a deep breath looks up closes his eyes slowly silently whispers to himself to last night’s dreams he says

baseball baseball baseball

breathing between each ball and base until there is a little less glory and he lets loose a vigorous morning stream

he walks back into the bedroom and bobby has his jeans on and is throwing shit from the closet into a couple of the grocery boxes mickey he watches as he sits and pulls on his cutoffs standing up onto his tiptoes to hoist and zip

slides into a tee shirt after first sniffing it

he says looking over at bobby while bobby’s head is still stuck in the closet things fly back into the two boxes fireworks and ammo going into one box and toy soldiers and assorted related accouterment into the other mickey he says

so what’s up we getting some breakfast

bobby he stands up looks at mickey he says he slides the boxes back away from the closet with his foot mission accomplished he says

we’ll stop by hardees and get a couple of sausage biscuits and a co-cola better get started before it gets too hot

mickey he wanders over and peers into the toy soldier box stuffed with the lifeless bodies of hundreds of toy soldiers their hands forever attached to whatever weapon their god the factory in taiwan deemed necessary appropriate and required for the waging of imaginary war

squat men on their knees with a large caliber machine gun being fed with belts of munitions men lying prone with sharpshooter rifles pairs of men feeding firing mortars one crazed japanese soldier running full stride his mouth wide open in some foreign-tongued scream charging ahead with bayonet raised several soldiers walking casually with their rifles over their shoulders german goosesteppers german officers doing the heil hitler thing

and cowboys and indians some on horses some gunslinging some replicas of the crazed japanese soldier but this time an indian with a hatchet

all veterans of the wars contrived by mickey and bobby over the years battle scenes delicately constructed then destroyed by marbles or pea gravel used to kill them to claim their pitiful lives one at a time or as many as you could bowl down

what the fuck they were just plastic bodies

familiar but plastic

they’ve been in cuthbert longer than he has

and bobby he walks back in from his room shoes on pulling his tee-shirt on jangling his car keys as he slides them into his pocket he grabs one of the twenty-two rifles off the rack on the wall the one with the shoulder strap and hands it to mickey butt first he says

hey strap this on and grab that box

and mickey he does and bobby he takes the shiny new browning off the rack cradles it in his arm barrel pointing down and picks up the box of destructive material nods toward the door for mickey to open it

and mickey he does and bobby he leads the way down the stairs and there’s his momma mickey’s aunt louise she’s at the foot of the stairs still wearing her nightgown aunt louise she liked wearing that nightgown that loose silky pajama with the matching robe all nineteen seventy-one southern suburban flowing she wears her nightgown every day until she has to get ready to make lunch

until she gets ready to have thelma make lunch

and aunt louise she’s at the foot of the stairs in her nightgown her hair wet in curlers her arms crossed beneath her ample bosom she says looking up as they come stomping down she says legs slightly apart her short stocky body blocking the stairs

bobby parker where in the sam hill are you going with these guns this early on a wednesday morning

she stands on her tippy toes sees what mickey has in his box and she looks up right into mickey’s eyes for a good three-count until mickey can’t stand it trembles and looks down and then she turns to bobby hand up finger pointed heavenward she says in that high strung voice that makes mickey giggle without giggling she says

bobby parker dammit to hell you know i was saving those toys for my grandchildren to play with where are you taking these things what are you going to do with them

then back at mickey she says

hey baby you hungry you want thelma to make you some eggs and grits there’s bacon warming on the stove

then back at bobby she says

you best answer me robert parker

bobby he looks at mickey he looks at the back screen porch door over his momma’s shoulder he looks back at mickey he does not look at his momma he pushes by walks to the door mickey his eyes follow from floor to bobby he stutters he looks at bobby leaving he looks at his aunt louise he says his voice trailing as he looks back at bobby walking out the door hearing the screech of the spring pulling it back shut he says

aunt louise i ain’t that hungry right now thanks though aunt louise

as he hurries out the door after bobby putting the box into the trunk of the impala that bobby held open impatiently waiting for him to get there and then mickey lays his twenty-two across the back seat and hops up into the front bucket bracing himself for bobby’s big foot stomping down quick and hard on the gas fishtailing out of the gravel driveway and out onto college avenue

only to pull into a drive five houses down with the same spinning and crunching and spitting of gravel with an added honk of the horn pavloving pete out the house onto across the front porch and three strides later at mickey’s door looking down expectantly mickey looking straight ahead pete leaning in looking at bobby and bobby thumbjerking him into the backseat pete pouting opening the door and pushing mickey’s seat forward with a little more pressure than probably necessary

and door closed they do the reverse starsky and hutch backwards out onto college

gravel tossing and all that as pete says one hand reaching up to the interior top to steady himself pete he says

what’s up where we hea —

as the beast jerks with a terminating screech when bobby kicks the brake they slide to a stop he palms pops the ratchet shifter down to forward another screech squeal and bark on out towards the city limits and beyond

hop the tracks climb the hill pull over at the bait shop sitting at the top stop leave the car running in park its three quarter crane cam rolling rumbling over like a goddam motorboat every two and a half seconds

bobby hops out takes long deliberate strides swings the door open disappears inside pete lights up a cigarette leans back into the sweatbox that is framed by the black vinyl of the backseat short sleeve shirt unbuttoned his shiny white belly puffed out all shamu protrusive umbilical scar and all bobby comes out with a full paper bag hands it through the window to mickey walks around to his side slides into his captain’s seat does the footwork magic along with the fancy wrist-action shifteroo back out on the road

turns off headed southwest on a county maintained tar and gravel road turns off again onto a dirt road onto another dirt road and a broad curve around a vast cornfield cut out of the middle of the woods and then again off towards the woods and then

here

pulls off the road into a tiny clearing at the edge of the low dug clay pit

leaning against the warm hood of the impala still sipping his beer sipping his breakfast wondering why they didn’t stop at hardees mickey he looks straight ahead looking over at pete

his legs dangling the bb gun laid across his lap

sitting on the edge of the low dug clay pit

bobby he drops his empty beer can stomps on it into the dirt uses the toe of his shoe to kick it off the edge of the pit as he hops down after it

he grabs the bb gun off pete’s lap cocks it a couple of times to build up enough pressure aims as he walks and pops off a toy soldier over on the left-side cliff cocks it a couple times more and all they hear is a soft thud

without casualties

and pete walks over tiptoes through bobby’s army advancing across the vast red plain leans over with his lit cigarette lights a twisted paper fuse emanating from the earth beneath some of bobby’s men right next to the small home of a remote band of fire ants

a pop pop and a puff and several of bobby’s army fall two more topple as a horde of angry fire ants pour out of their half-collapsed and smoking mound

pete he looks back he says his cigarette dangling his eye cocked from the smoke and the sun poking above the pines he says taking the cigarette from his mouth he says

land mine

and walks on by smoke trailing

mickey he takes the bb gun from bobby pumps it twice takes aim gets a bead on the left side cliff and takes out a cannon by accidentally hitting the rock it was propped upon

mickey he hands the rifle back to bobby he’ll take what he can get

and so on and so on for six or seven rounds until bobby he stops he says he points over to the right side cliffs pretty much pristine he says

hey we’re really only firing at my army and pete’s army what the fuck

pete looks over he shrugs bobby he hops back up car-side grabs the twenty-two lays prone at the edge of the pit pulls back the bolt action cocks aims fires

several of mickey’s brave boys go down the bolt comes back again reloads cocks fires another platoon down

pete drags the box of fireworks down into the pit reaches in grabs a small string of firecrackers lights it with his cig tosses it into the middle of bobby’s army and releases havoc mickey grabs an m80 holds it out for pete to light and he quickly tosses it at pete’s cliffside it bounces over to his own explodes takes out two tanks and about six pounds of earth that blast up and rain down on all the armies and rednecks alike

and so on and so on each round escalating until bobby grabs the clothes hanger wrapped with the garbage bag walks to mickey’s cliff lights the end of the knotted bag with his lighter holding the flame beneath the plastic until it begins to drip

begins to glop

small balls of fire that make horrific hissing whistling sounds as they fall to earth splattering even smaller balls of flame that instantly cool into bits of plastic fire falling on the plastic soldiers and horses and dinosaurs that in turn also burst into flames

hissing wicked witch of the west whispered screams

and bobby he holds this contraption over what is left of mickey’s army firebombing napalming the entire cliffside until there is nothing left but some eco-wrecked dystopian apocalypse spots of small flames and smoldering flames and smoke and darkness gone all dresden

mickey and bobby stand staring at the carnage bobby holding the smoldering no longer blazing hanger mickey holding an unlit silver salute in one hand a lighter in the other both with jaws slightly open

staring

then instinctively jumping springing forward up the far cliff as behind them they hear the ch-chung of the browning pump slide shell engaged and they turn to see pete pointing the twelve-gauge at what was left of the attacking plains army

from a distance

allowing the shot to spread

with an enormous cacophony exploding plastic bits and rocks and birdshot and fire ant corpses and clay spray up and out and away and from the pit

underneath which a second ch-chung cranks explodes shatters lifts separates whatever had been spared the first blast and a third ch-chung follows the succeeding explosion interrupted by bobby’s

goddamn it pete for fucking out loud

and pete points the shotgun down the adrenalin seeping down his body out his toes a red dusty face looks up broken by a toothy grin and the whites of his eyes he says pointing at the devastation before them with the lowered browning he says he shrugs he smiles he says

a bomb

Eat a Peach for Love

There is no devil just god when he's drunk.

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