DJPMUFA - Part Two

The next mornin’, Brooke’s momma made a full breakfast to celebrate the Twins…Almost’s … uh, triumph? The families gathered around the table and blessed the food to the nourishment of their bodies. Butter melted and flowed over the homemade buttermilk biscuits. Brooke forked a sausage straight from the serving dish to her mouth, causing both mommas to spit all three of her names out. Scrambled eggs were passed around and pancakes with syrup and gravy and Good Lord, this is making me hungry. Once all the items had made the rounds, everyone dug in. After only three bites, Wes’s momma lifted her coffee mug to her lips and sipped thoughtfully.

“Is there a drama club at y’all’s school?”

Wes started to answer.

“Honey, finish chewin’ and swallow before you talk. There’s no need for what you put in your mouth to be shown to everyone at the table.”

While Wes prepared to speak, Brooke’s momma agreed that a drama club was just what these children needed (their daddy's agreed too, but no one was listenin’ to them). It was the absolute perfect venue to channel all that creative energy. The school was well out of earshot of the neighborhood, but of course they didn’t say that.

“I’m not sure, Momma. I’ve never heard anyone mention it, and we read a play version of Peter Pan last year, remember? I read Wendy and Brooke read Nanny?”

“I should have ready Peter but Mrs. Johnson was relivin’ the time she played Peter in a park in Atlanta and had to fly by climbing up and jumping out of trees.”

“That’s right. Well, we need to find out. And if there isn’t one, we’ll just have to find out how y’all can start one.”

The plan was set. Breakfast finished with discussions of the day’s plans. Brooke and Wes were going to rehearse their routine. Their daddy’s were going to see if they could get a tee time or a check out the hardware store or go to the rifle range or hangout at Sears. The Mommas remembered they had a whole day of shopping to take care of and would the Twins…Almost be okay here by themselves?

“ABSOLUTELY!”
“Just … try to keep it down. For the neighbors.”

“We’ll try but we can’t make any promises.”

“When the Spirit moves you…”

“Yes. Well, try.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After everyone had showered, dressed and started their days, the Spirit most definitely visited the children and that Spirit moved and moved and moved them. The local mall had record sales and record amounts of loitering that day. It even beat the holiday rush. If they had known the cause, I’m guessing the two seven years olds could have been gainfully employed until at least their 8th birthdays running people out of their neighborhoods for the day.

So I'm going to keep working on this piece and posting more of the story. The coming parts will be only first or maybe second drafts, but I'll try to edit a whole story together once I have the whole thing out of my head and on to the computer screen.

Dear Jesus, Please make us famous. Amen.

Brooke and Wes were born in the fantastic, fabulous year of 1981. They were not siblings, but there were born in the same town and in the same hospital at the same time. Kismet. It is said they came out kicking their little feet and wailing at the world. Normal for babies, but the nurses swear ‘til the cows come home they were singin' and dancin'. And they didn’t stop. Ever. So they were placed in neighboring bassinets. Their mothers met at the window when they came to say hi and became fast friends. And because each had big personalities and relatively dull husbands, they decided they should raise their kids together. They even moved next door to each other. Now that, that’s just crazy. But what’re gonna do? It’s the South.

Now the two children would wake up singin', dance any ole crazy thing to the bathroom (let me tell you, they left some MESSES in the toilet), and continue the rest of their day in pretty much the same way. Any song and whatever dance came into their little heads and feet. From cradle to crawlin' to walkin', just singin' and dancin'. Drove their houses to madness. And the neighborhood too. One summer day when they were seven years old, the radio one day introduced them to Dancing Queen, and bless my soul if the pair of ‘em weren’t inspired by the Good Lord Up Above. They demanded the cassette single. Then they locked themselves up in Brooke’s room for two weeks playing nothin' but that song and makin' odd stompin' and bangin' sounds (shut your dirty mind and just wait, Reader).

Brooke’s folks stayed at Wes’s house to avoid the commotion. Food was brought to the children at the appropriate times. School was not EVEN discussed. And the neighborhood had two weeks of peace (well, Mr. Chaundry ran off with his 20 year old secretary – typical – and Mrs. Johnston was arrested for God knows what and the two sisters on the corner declared that they were actually lesbians and that they were moving to Idaho to start a homosexual nudist colony, but that’s neither here nor there. And anyway, I’m not the biggest fan of potatoes – potatos? – potatoes.).

Finally the Twins…Almost (as they now called themselves) emerged with looks of slightly starved triumph on their faces. It was complete. Nervous, their parents asked what ‘it’ was. The twins yelled "Hit it!"

God bless me, but it was the most god-awful dance routine with off-key singin anyone has ever conceived, bless their little hearts. Momma and Daddy and Momma and Daddy smiled crooked smiles and clapped hesitantly. For the Twins…Almost, they had rocked it.

That night on their tin can phone, their prayers were extended. Tonight and ever more, the Powers That Be got the following synchronized message: Dear Jesus, Please make us famous. Amen.

This is a story that Art Club had come up with for a short film. We've all been distracted by life since then, but this is the start of story I wrote for it.