Jerry Smile

The blare again--from a distance.

Skip made a mad dash for the goal.

Surprised, Scott and Jerry were too slow to catch up. Skip cut between them, cross dribbled, and finger rolled a lay-up that clanged off the front of the rim and left the court through the gap in the fence.

The ground shivered--the horn was closer, louder--echoing from the short-leaf pines and the back of the gym.

The ball gyrated across the grass and onto Ruby Avenue. Without warning, a red, four wheel drive pickup came around the blind curve. The driver locked down the brakes: squelching mudders joined the wail of the approaching horn.

The ground shook.

Skip, Scott, and Jerry watched the Dodge stop just in time. In the meantime, the basketball continued across the road and traveled up a rock bank, finally coming to rest in the middle of the railroad tracks.

"Gott-dammit!" the driver shouted.

Skip’s eyes widened. Judging by his head, this was one mean dude. First of all--as far as the boys could tell--he had no neck. His head was plump and wide, and his nose was short and pugged, giving his face a piggish look. His bushy mustache matched the red of his cap, which had a confederate battle flag on it and the words, "Forget, Hell!" written on each side in magic marker. Hanging out the window shaking a fist, was an arm as thick as a whole ham.

The horn faded away again: the ground stilled.

"Watch what you’re doin, Faggots!" The whole-ham arm disappeared into the cab. Next, "If Heaven Ain’t A Lot Like Dixie" came blasting from the open window. Then, the whole-ham arm returned with an almost empty bottle of Jim Beam.

Jerry couldn’t help it, "Fuck off, Redneck."

Piggy’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed.

"What the hell are you doin?" Scott hissed to Jerry, punching him on the shoulder and thinking about shotgun racks in rear windows.

"Screw him!" Jerry shouted.

"Screw me!" Piggy barked back.

"Screw him?" Skip breathed, looking wide-eyed at Jerry, "Screw yourself. You tryin to get us kilt?"

Piggy sucked a sup of whiskey and smiled.

Jerry stalked towards the breach in the fence.

"I said, fuck off, you dumb hillbillyrednecksumbitch! We ain’t done nuthin to you."

The ground jarred--the baring horn exploded louder than ever.

Piggy shouted--something lost in the blast of the horn and threw the bottle. The boys ducked as the bottle shattered against the fence, spraying them with whiskey and shards of glass. Piggy squealed his tires and streaked away down Ruby Avenue.

"You’re one stupid S.O.B." Skip glared at Jerry.

"I ain’t scared a no redneck." The Jerry smile, "They’re all bark and no bite."

"What’re you?" Scott chuckled.

"I ain’t no fat faggot like you, Goober." Jerry winked.

"Go get the ball, Hosenose." Skip told Jerry, "Seein as how you nearly got us sat on."

"You missed the gimme shot, Gayboy." Skip poked his skinny finger at Skip.

"Well, I’m gonna have to explain to my old man why I smell like whiskey. So, you can go get the fuckin ball before a train runs it over an I have to explain that too."

In answer, the horn blasted again--even louder--though, nothing could be seen on the tracks from the trees about thirty yards away.

"Okay, Okay." Jerry stomped through the hole. "Just get off my back, Dude, or pay for your ride."

Each lighting a cigarette, Scott and Skip waited while Jerry ran across Ruby and up the rock slope to the tracks.