ADVISORY:
Tales of Bubba feature a
stereotypical character
whose
manner of speaking
is peppered with profanity.
Contact the author
for publication permission.
Cousin Bubba's Lesson 137:
Divine Intervention
Ain't Always Pretty
Cousin Bubba is the cousin I always dread visiting.
Yet, following every visit I seem to walk away with a new lesson learned from Cousin Bubba.
And, it's happened again.
This Bubba tale must be prefaced with mention of the early hour of my visit. It was well before sunrise on a Saturday morning. I had borrowed two card tables from Bubba for an outdoor barbecue I'd hosted the evening before out at my place. I'd promised Bubba I'd get both tables back to him posthaste as one of them served as the dining table in his trailer home. (The other table supported the display of fine jerky treats that Bubba was famous for at the weekend Farmer's Market.) Not only did I feel obligated to make certain Bubba had a place to drop his skillet of bacon and eggs this morning, I was also aware that Bubba had a funeral to get to by 10 a.m.
And so it was quite dark when I pulled up and, getting out of my truck, the first thing I noticed sitting under the strands of jalapeno lights Bubba had carelessly draped between two hackberry trees was his new purchase. He'd mentioned to me yesterday morning when I picked up the tables that he was on his way to pick up this new F-150. A week earlier the same model Ford that he'd been driving for the last decade (one we had affectionately dubbed "the bluebird") died with such finality that Bubba had to abandon it in his neighbor's gravel pit -- a place known to locals as "the great graveyard of the untitled."
The new truck still had the specs sheet stuck to the window on the passenger side. I clicked on the penlight attached to my key ring for a quick scan at the listed amenities. I walked around the back end and was admiring the roomy bed before noticing with horror that Bubba had already thrown up against the back of the cab his old beat up tool box. While shaking my head at this typical Bubba disconnect I started for the steps of his trailer. I turned around for one final look of admiration at the shiny chrome encrusted front end and found myself disappointed again. For some odd reason Bubba had draped a black sheet across the F-150's front grill. What the --
"Cousin!
Whaddup?!"
"Mornin' Bubba! Here 'r your
tables. I sure do thank you..."
"Shi--i-i..., you ain't had to get up so early."
Bubba prefaces a lot of his sentences with this vernacular for excrement that he's mastered turning into a two syllable word despite being absent the final 't'. He reached down from the trailer door to grab the tables from me as I ascended his makeshift wooden steps. "Good party?"
"Yea, we had a good turnout. I gotta head back and start cleaning up. But I wanted to get these to you first thing -- knowin' you had the funeral to get to."
"I got bacon fryin' inside, come in here kiddo." He propped both tables up against his frig before proceeding to launch into his sizzlin' skillet with a pair of tongs. "Yes sir, I can't believe ol' Donnie Wayne done up and left us. What a dumbass thing to do. Beers in the frig, cuz."
"Bubba it's 5:30 in the morning."
"And?"
"Good lord, man, you ain't changed."
We laughed. "But I did see one big change sitting out there in your yard. Where'd you find that beauty?"
"Mack Ford over there in old town. Kinduva sore topic, actually."
"Well, I'm glad for you, cuz. It was long overdue. You drove that ol' blue devil into the ground, didn't you?"
"Don't --"
Bubba paused in the middle of his bacon transfer from skillet to plate and admonished me with greasy tongs, " -- too soon, cuz. Too soon. I ain't quite over the loss. Okay?!"
"Ah, sorry," Bubba could be a surprising drama queen at times, "I gotcha. Sorry, bud. But surely you're happy about the improved gas mileage you'll be gettin'. I saw that impressive "27 Highway" on the sticker. Bit surprising that."
"Humph! We shall see if there's truth in that --"
"But Bubba, why you got the front end covered with a sheet?"
"What sheet?"
"You got something draped all along the front grill, don't you?"
"Shi-i-ii-," Bubba shook his head and rolled his eyes as he set up one of the folding card tables. "that ain't no damn sheet!"
I drew up the two chairs he'd stacked against the wall and together we sat. "Well what the hell, I thought I saw --"
Suddenly both of Bubba's clenched fists, a fork in one and knife in the other, landed hard on the clumsy card table, "Feathers, dammit!"
"Feathers?"
Bubba released a heavy sigh, "Can we just enjoy my bacon? Please. You want some damn coffee?"
"I'll make it."
I got up and filled two mugs with water and, after setting the timer on the microwave, peered out the window over the kitchen sink.
Now, with a bit more light outside, I could see it plainly. Across the front of Bubba's new F-150 was draped from one headlamp to the next a thick cover of black feathers.
"Oh my god. Bubba! Them's ARE feathers stuck all up in the grill of your new truck! What the hell?!"
"Shi-i-ii-, you ain't gonna believe..."
Ding!
I removed the two mugs from the
microwave and began spooning in the instant coffee.
"Wait til I sit down again, Bubba.
Somethin' tells me this is gonna be good." I carefully set the mugs on the wobbly table.
"Shi-i-ii-"
"Okay Bubba," I took a small sip of the hot brew, "let's have it."
"Shi-i-ii - cousin, you know thirteen thirty-one?" and he shoved his fork loaded with a large helping of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
"I take FM 1331 every Wednesday to go see kinfolk in Buckholts, course I'm familiar with it."
"Well then you'd know the turn off on to County Road 320 just after you pass through Hoxie Hollow?"
"Sure I do."
"Well that's where I decided yesterday I would take my new truck out to see what it could do."
I nodded. "Sure. Perfect. One long, scenic stretch."
"Shi-i-ii- you ain't gonna believe this story." He takes his first sip, and proceeded. "Cousin, I was floorin that badass down that long stretch of 320 through the Bud Adams Ranch," here he inserted a long sip of coffee before finishing his sentence, "probably doin' at least 80-85."
Another fork full of undercooked huevos were inserted into his mouth. Mouth full and dripping from the sides, he continued, "I had Johnny Cash singin' 'bout the Mason-Dixon line, had all the windows down," a thoughtful wipe with a paper towel helped matters, "jus, you know, enjoying the wind funneling through my new-car-smellin' cab, and then --"
Suddenly his head, then whole body reared back as he leaned back on the chair's back two legs, "oh lord, cousin, you ain't gonna believe this shi-i-ii -" and then he bounced back on to all four legs, leaned in towards me, eyes were wide and wild, teeth clenched, "then I sa-a-ww them sons-a-bitches..."
Shaking his head, he reached over to the stove and pulled another slice of grease-soaked bacon right out of the skillet, bent his head back again and dangled the dripping slice of bacon over his mouth before releasing it.
He paused to chew and, despite the mouth full of bacon, managed to take a sip of coffee -- all the while staring at me sitting there in bewilderment and anticipation.
I laid my fork across the plate and decided it was time to wipe the grease off my hands. I sat back in my chair for the rest of the story. "Will you get on with it. Saw what?"
"Stubborn brood, too. I honked." Again I was pleased to see him make use of the paper towel. He dab-dabbed at his mouth, and continued, "Oh, don't think I didn't start honkin' from a long ways off. But hell no, they weren't about to give up on that hunk o' roadkill they was feastin' on. So I start brakin' but, hell, it was too late. Honkin', brakin', and prayin' a Hail Mary, I plowed right in to them sons-of-bitches. Jeepers creepers, cousin, you would not believe the cacophony of noise and debris. Shi-i-ii-," and he reached over to the skillet and began fishin' for another slice but to no avail. He sighed, and contented himself to licking the grease off the two fingers he had swiped across the skillet, "... and the damn smell that followed. Oh my god, summpin' awful it was."
"Bubba, are you telling me you crashed your new pickup -- one not yet a day old in your possession -- into a flock of buzzards?"
"Vultures, my dear cousin, vultures! E-e-evil bastards! Planted in the middle of my path like an omen in some cryptic hollywood b-flick. Must've been about eight or nine of them big ol' nasty vermin."
Picking up his cup he flipped it 180, "We gon' need more coffee, cuz."
I dutifully rose to fulfill the request.
"But I tell you one thing. No more than one or two of 'em survived. I know sure as hell it was at least three my front grill took out. And as for the windshield, hell I still ain't for sure if it was just one or two that took it out. Thank the --"
"Windshield?" I set the timer and spun around. "They took out your windshield?"
"Shi-ii-i, cuz. You musta not had yourself a very good look out there. Yes!"
Bubba was shaking his head and so was I as I again peered out the kitchen window.
"See it now? Shi-ii-i, there ain't no - damn - windshield -
on my new feather - encrusted - F-150.
Shi-ii-i, I spent three hours when I got back here vacuuming up what was left
of it in my cab. That is, after I
finished picking all the damn glass out of my own flesh and flannel!"
"Oh my god! Bubba!"
"Shi-ii-i, cousin -- I coulda been killed! I could just see the local headlines: "Bubba Bunsford Found Bee - headed By Buzzards on Backcountry Road"
I start laughing while sitting the hot coffee mug in front of him.
"'t ain't funny, cuz. I was so pissed off while having to peel what was left of those sons-o'-bitches off my grill," he manages to take a sip while shaking his head, "then draggin out that one big bastard that had plum landed right before me on my dash -- prying loose its wing that had jammed up in my rear-view mirror -- I had to yank and yank on that sucker and drag it across the blood-streaked hood of my truck... Oh, lordy, you talk about a mess I had to clean up inside that truck."
"Damn, Bubba, I can only imagine! You're lucky to be alive!"
"Shi-ii-i, cousin." Another sip. "You darn tootin' I coulda been killed! So excuse me , please," here he goes with the cocky head bobbing again, "if I haven't had the time -- or the courage -- to go out there and revisit the situation and clean the exterior! Okay?!"
"Bubba, I'm sorry. I had no idea."
"Besides, I think I'm gonna leave the feathers for the funeral."
"Say what --?"
"Well, it's a funeral, after all. Am I right? And I plan on driving in the processional from the church service out to the cemetery."
"But, Bubba, I mean --"
"What? They did stuff like that back in the day? I seen pictures. Draping in black, you know. Black armbands, women in veils, and them wagons festooned with black crepe and feathers." I was giving him my best incredulous look. "You seen it, too. Don't act like you haven't. And so I'm resurrectin' the tradition. "
Shaking my head, "Bubba, that is ridiculous. You have got to clean that scene of gore off your vehicle."
"What scene of gore are you talking about? There ain't no blood and guts! It's a soothing pelt of black feathers representin' mourning. Something I now believe God ordained."
"Say wha-a-a-t?"
"Well think about it, cousin. For everything there is a purpose. Here I get this new vehicle the day before my ol' pal Donnie Wayne's funeral - a fella, mind you, that I used to go dove huntin' with. Why, together we probably shot up more birds in one season down on the lake than half the county boys put together. It ain't no coincidence that as I'm preparin' to pay my respects that on the day before the funeral I find myself in an incident that leaves my mode of transportation covered in black feathers. It was meant to be. Them vultures in the middle of my path yesterday were indeed part of God's plan."
"Oh dear God, Bubba, I have heard some crazy shit come out of your mouth before. But this --"
"Well," Bubba stood and began removing our plates, "say what you wanna. You may see in my misfortune a certain kind of misery. I prefer to look upon it more optimistically. And --"
It was at this point Bubba got right up in my face while waggin' one pointed finger, "I intend to wear my coat of many feathers with pride. Do you hear me?" And he spun on an axis and reached for the door of the frig.
"You sure you don't want a beer?"
"No cuz, but thank you for the bacon and coffee." I took one final look at that coat of many feathers draped across the front of Bubba's new F-150 as I made my way out to my own truck that morning. It was indeed a sight to behold. Even more astonishing was the view into the cab where all along the frame that once housed his windshield there were shards of glass still protruding at various angles.
_____________
Later that day, having finished with the clean up on the back patio, I was riding my mower down at the front gate of my own property. Having made a turn in the southeast corner of the fence line I gazed ahead at the traffic on Highway 95 that runs along the front of our place and I noticed a number of vehicles approaching with headlights on.
Sure enough, it was Donnie Wayne's funeral procession.
As is customary, I stopped what I was doing out of respect. I turned off the mower, removed my cap, and stood while the procession passed by on the highway. Immediately I caught sight of him. Bubba.
What a sight to behold! Fourth in line in the slow-moving procession in his new, shiny black Ford F-150 with tinted windows and, if I say so myself, a beautiful and appropriately wispy black fabric draped across his front chrome grill. He saw me as well. With his left hand clamped to the steering wheel, his right arm now extended well beyond the frame that once securely held in place a windshield and was waving wildly. And then, he threw me a thumbs up.
You betcha I gave a thumbs up in return. And a huge smile as well while I nodded. All the while silently thanking him for yet another of his lessons:
Vultures in our path have been placed there for a reason.They can cause us misery; or, therein we might find opportunity.
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_____________________
Terry’s “Good Living” Guide:
Avoid the 3 PsBsSs
Processed Foods, Phthalates, Plastics;
Beef, Butter, Breads;
you’ll be feeling better in no time!
Avoid the 3 F’s
misinformation, fear, anger and hate!
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