Melancholy Jeannie was a fine, young thing strutting her long smooth legs in a tiny, tight jeans cutoff. That bright red painted mouth of hers pouted upset. Behind the deeply black makeup of her eyes was deep despair. Her black high heels tick-tocked on the wooden porch. Caged like a pretty bird, the expanse of muddy fields and partially plowed over wheat stubbles kept her on that little porch.
"Daddy, I ain't gonna have it no more."
The farmer man, a red faced man with an overflowing belly, diddled his suspenders in angry impatience. His blue eyes glanced down her body fitting white shirt that ended much too short above her pants. A rebellion of wild feelings and thunder that had been quelled by the hands-on farm work for years. A glimpse of his own lust after his wife, when she was young and silly tried to rip open inside of him. He saw that same lust in every single man in the county staring at his sacred daughter.
"God damn. If you don't put on clothes right now, I'm gonna get the paddle out. And I'm gonna drive the wicked out of you!"
A little shiver of the past stole into the white of her eye. The jeans shorts grabbed hard around her bottom like a hand. The evening breeze played through her long, plain brunette hair. She fidgeted with a stray strand that got stuck in the moistness of her mouth. Her body was so bare with nothing to hide behind. Her daddy was tucked in farmer jeans with thick fabric, a shirt, and a heavy tool belt. She had to stand on her own, half his size.
"No daddy, you lay a finger on me, and you go to prison."
The fingers of his prawn grabbed the railing of the porch. His hand was twice the size of a city person. Each finger was thick like a sausage. The skin was thick and insensitive. A two hundred fifty pound grain sack was like an air balloon to him, when he tossed it onto a truck. Silently, she strutted forward. Her ankles were shaking with the little silver anklet and heart. When she pressed past him, she could smell the soil and sweat on him. And there was also the very dear personal breath of her daddy, that smell that she had remembered ever since a child, when he was holding her.
"If you go to that damn bar, you are grounded and eating only oats for two weeks. I don't care that you are twenty-two. You are still my little daughter!" He hollered behind her. She stepped into the dawn down the dirt path to their house. The sun was setting the opposite site. So, she was going into the darkness. Dark, foreboding clouds of thunderstorm were brewing her way. Her ankles were shaking from the uneven pebbles on the ground.
When she stepped into the bar, the sky was unleashing a torrent in one second. As if someone had pulled the bottom out of a pool, the water fell down. The thunder cracked and rattled the windows. The electric end of days terror was in the hearts of men and beasts. The gray, curly haired church ladies tried to talk over the drumming rain in their booth with their no-sugar, low salt burgers, fried chicken, and mashed potatoes.
"Wow, Jeannie, you look hot today," called the owner of the bar over to her. His was a skinny tall man with an oversized handlebar mustache and serious book keeper eyes. "Here, your first drink is on the house, because you look so fine. That's absinthe. They say the green fairy will visit you if you drink it."
"Oh, my, is that from Europe? What will the green fairy do if it visits me?"
"Well, the green fairy while whisper lots of bad ideas into your head. She is a great seductress into the darkness."
"Wholly gosh, it's about time that I grew up. It sounds so tempting. I wonder what she'll whisper me!"
A mischievous smirk rushed over the bartenders lips before his cheery smile returned. He poured the bottle from high up to let the absinthe drizzle down in a long string. Biffs mouth dropped open watching Jeannie and watching the absinthe. His hands were over Collin's jeans butt cheeks. She was sitting on his lap in close embrace. Her stretched out fingers pressed into his cheeks to focus his eyes back on her.
"Maybe, I'll get me some of that absinthe," mumbled Biff, speaking and breathing through his open mouth.
Another mischievous smirk rushed over the bartenders lips. "Biff, I'll give you a 2 for 1 deal, because you are both absinthe virgins. You both can share the experience."
The green liquid tasted flowery like a meadow of wild flowers and distinct like all the herbs and grandmother's garden taken together. And then there was the burn down her throat. The warmth spread out in her itsy bitsy girl belly. She was slender. Her abdominals were a smooth line between the hip bones. She flipped the shot glass over and banged it on the counter like she had seen the big boys do it. "Did Herbert arrive," yelled someone at the pool table.
Jeannie meandered over to the pool table. She kept her knees straight and swung her legs from the hips. Her torso had to counter twist. She lifted her chest high. Her slender fingers with the red nails caressed along the wood paneling on her way. The green felt of the pool was lit by a yellow lamp low across the pool table. Everyone else was in the shadow against the wall. Thick smoke clouds spread out with the lethargy of the Mississippi. Big glasses of beer were held next to rough jeans and flannel shirts. A t-shirt had the sleeves cut off to show the fatty shoulder muscles with the elementary-school-stick-figure-tattoo of a pig. Heavy boots banged on the hollow wood floor.
"Does any of you gentlemen want to engage in a real game with real stakes?" she asked pointedly. The eyes fastened on Jeannie. The silence was evidently due to the air having left.
"You don't have a job. Are you daddy ain't giving you an allowance. So how are you going to pay if you lose?" Wanted Bronston to know.
"If I were to lose, I would give that gentleman one dance," replied Jeannie.
