Dancing in the Chicken Pen

Granny loved the fiddle, and she sawed a mean tune on Sunday afternoon. Nearly everyone gathered at Granny's house on Sundays. After church you could count on her to make enough fried chicken and mashed potatoes to feed the entire U.S. Army, and it was so good it'd make your eyes roll up in your head. The porch was as wide as the house and fairly deep. Though it used to be screened in, the screens had pulled away in most spots. Yet it was still the coolest place to be found in the entire yard, and most of the older folk sat in the shade to be found there. Other people just sprawled beneath trees to find relief from the sun. I didn't bother, the humidity was thick enough to boil crawdads in my pockets, and a little shade wasn't going to help. I just sat with my skinny little butt perched on a coffee can for a stool, and watched my cousin Cyrus trying to get lunch together.

Cyrus looked like a fool, standing in the center the chicken pen. He crouched; feet planted firmly apart, arms akimbo as if he were a wrestler at the county fair. The big red hen watched him from the corner of her eye, not deceived by the stupid expression on his face. He wasn't going to outsmart her, but she knew if he were to fall on her she'd be fried up with taters and biscuits within the hour. She clucked quietly to herself, feathers smooth as if she were alone in the world.

Bubba is my brother, and he's the same age as Cyrus. He sat underneath the Magnolia tree to the left of the chicken pen, his arm around Katy Prichard. Katy is as pretty as the day is long, and Bubba didn't have any intentions of leaving her to sit alone while he went and chased chickens with his cousin. Bubba just leaned back, rolling his chaw between his lip and teeth, occasionally spitting like a grasshopper into the dirt. He tapped his foot to the music, tickling Katy now and then and grinning with his big �ole stained teeth. Granny was playing that fiddle hard, and the music seemed to be a nice setting for the little drama in the chicken pen. I felt my own foot bouncing to the rhythm, and noticed everyone else seemed to be nodding to the jig a little bit too.