One
night, me and Buzz were lying out back in his mama’s yard just hanging.
We wanted to go hiking across the top of Yellow Ridge but his mama was
having none of it. Since Buzz’s pappy had gone, she was feared people
coming to her house and stealing things; to be honest with you, his mama
had nothing worth stealing.
So
there we were looking at the stars, we must have been about five years
old and right there and then I convinced my friend that the fireflies
were little people and the lights were their little city. I kind-a
guessed back then that Buzz wasn’t gonna be no Einstein.
Now
Buzz would tell you that he’s a gnat’s wing taller than me but he ain’t
telling the truth. All thru’ schooling he was always the small one - I
guess he thought back to the fireflies and was hoping that he wasn’t the
smallest thing on this here planet.
Nope,
between you and me and the kitchen stove, I was always the first
between me and Buzz to feel the rain, I swear on a stack of bibles
that’s true.
Then
one day he grew more than me and I was kind-a suspicious until I check
and see he’s been messin’ with his boots, stuffin’ them with old socks
so he looks taller.
In his naked feet he still ain’t bigger than a grasshopper – I tell ya he could look one right in the eye.
I
swear that boy has an inferiority complex, at least ways that’s what
Stevie (the cleverest kid in school) told me. Not too sure what it
means.
One
day Buzz says to me ‘Jay, ain’t it time we headed over to Duchess
County a spell’ and of course I asked him if that was where all the
short kids went these days.
He
said nothing until his fist hit my face. He was that quick that I
didn’t see nothin’ till it was right there on the end of my nose - which
was now as flat as Corry Mitchin’s chest.
Of
course I ain’t for hittin’ my best friend, on account that he’s so
stupid – no sir, so I did what anyone would do, I threw his boots into
the river. Even the Sunday preacher would have said I had a right.
No man should put a fist to his best friend’s nose.
Buzz
keeps saying that on account of his good looks – only his mama told him
that – that maybe we should think of headin’ out west to California.
I drag him to the old barber shop to show him on the Civil War map that hangs on the wall there, how far it is.
Buzz
says, ‘it can’t be more than 11 or 12 inches at most’ and that wasn’t
too far - from where he was standing. Can you believe my best friend,
just how stupid he is?
So the upshot is, me and Buzz are heading out west just as soon as he finds another pair of boots.
Guess he’s scared he might get beaten up by the grasshoppers on the way there.
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