Flash Fiction: Big Boy

The day was hot, but there was ice in mah beer cooler so I could give a shit whether Bobbie-Jean’s was sweatin’ or not. The chicken’s were coming home to roost alright. “‘Goes ‘round, comes ‘round”, mah momma used to say, “’specially iffin’ you give it a good ole push.” Karma, momma knows a lot about that.

I looked down on her from a top of Heaven and laughed at my good luck to be rid of her. I hardly remembered anymore what I ever saw in her. Mah momma said, “Big Boy, you ought’n a go round wit dat gal. She a brazen thang. Be wit all kine a mens.” Well truth b’ told that’s zactly why I figured I had a chance wit her, but still, momma do know best in hindsight.

I mean I’m not a stupid man, but I’m not well… I’m not what tha ladies would call “eye candy.” Big Boy Anderson have never been know to be a ladies man, nah suh. So you know when the fellas say a gal kin be ‘had’ for pretty coin, even an ugly man wit a good job owe it to hisself to try.

Problem was, I let it git to mah head. See, she stuck wit me after the first few weeks and even let me have a go at her dang near everyday. So I got to thinking she actually loved me and well… you know I blame mahself for that much. Shouldn’t oughta give any woman free run wit ya pocketbook.

Two days back I checked mah bank box that’s under mah bed and it was empty ‘cept for mah pipe. But damn if that gal didn’t take mah weed too. Shit! Momma always said, “Big Boy, you need ta be taking yo money to da bank, lessin somebody come and steal ya blind.” Momma do know best in hindsight, true ‘nough.

Anyways, I tracked Bobbie-Jean back to town and spied her carousing wit a bunch of the guys from the factory where I’m foreman. Saw her rubbin up on Tom Datherby wit the front his pants pointin’ in her direction. Saw her flash a bag of mah good weed and shove it back in her purse as she pied-pipered ‘im out to her Impala.

Well I do hope she had a good time. I sure had a good time yesterday wit her. I played real dumb about it. Just made sure I gave her a go three or four times, since I knew I was done wit her. ‘Sides, I wanted her off balance when I let on this mornin’ that I knew she was a thief and a hussy.

Now here she was at the bottom of Heaven’s Gorge out cold in her Impala. I wondered if her legs were broken when it smashed up against the rocky floor. I was surprised it didn’t blow. Impalas are tougher than I thought. The temperature was 110 degrees. A nice Nevada day. Thankfully I had bought mah sunshade and cooler full of ice cold beers. I looked over the edge from time to time till I was sure she was dead. And then a bit longer. Meditation, ya know, it’s good for stress.

But it was hot and mah sunblock was only SPF20. “Dat skin cancer’ll kill ya Big Boy, unlessin you put at least Spiff-45 on ya,” momma said. I didn’t wanta learn that one in hindsight. I put mah cooler and lounge chair in the back of mah truck and drove back to mah place.

They found her a week later. Coroner said the heat had killed her. Said her blood showed she’d been drinkin’ and dopin.’ Said she probably drove off the cliff not her right mind. Yup, being chased by a big ugly angry man’ll do that to ya.