May Rumble

[Tensleep]

Please see the rules before posting.

Ok, let's try out this rumble business! Now, another forum I am fond of gives 12 days for these kinds of things. We'll try that and adjust accordingly. So feedback to make this better is a must! C'mon, you all want to tell me what you thought

Rumble May 07:

Through a Stranger's Eyes

We have some pretty amazing boys to write about, whether they're getting into trouble or getting good grades. But how does this come across to other characters?

Write a piece depicting how a stranger sees one of the boys. This can be anyone (teacher, waitress, cop...) in first or third person perspective and can be set before or after the Curtis parents die. Please make note if it is before so all of us know where you're going with your idea.

Basically, have fun.

Ends May18th

Please copy, paste and post your entries under this tread so we can all enjoy them! I know there are some awesome imaginations on this forum. So get writing!

See ya in the funny papers!!!

Tens

[latch22]

I love that suggestion! (And the idea of these challenges, as I'm attempting to get back into the fandom that I seem to have all but abandoned, and this seems like a great way to do it.) I actually already have a story (basically one-shots, but so far only one one-shot, heh) with just that thought in mind. But I wrote it, I think, in November, or possibly December, and it's already posted at FanFiction.net, and so I'm not sure if I can post it here...

You know, I think I'll just write another one. Thanks for this forum -- it's a great idea. Thanks!

(Yeah, you were probably expecting a story as opposed to a comment, but I'm just cool like that -- comment first, write/post story later.)

Cheers!

[Tensleep]

Well, looks like I get to get the ball rolling. Hope to see more up soon! Until then, enjoy! Oh, and only 8 days left!

The Cooler Kings by Tensleep

The first time I met Dallas Winston I was greeted with a glare that would have put me six feet under in another life. He was only fourteen and he had the record of someone twice his age. Prison at ten and looking at a week in the holding cells for public brawling. What really bothered me was how…well, bitter wasn’t the right word, but there was something in his eyes that made me wonder if he wasn’t already dead and his body never got the message. It reminded me of a few of the guys from the war. You had to see a lot before you got to that point. To see it in a kid...I didn't even think it was possible. Dallas Winston would prove me wrong, on a lot of things, but I didn't know that then

The first time I met Dallas Winston was over a fight. The kids in Tulsa had no idea how to get along. If they weren’t fighting in their own groups, they were fighting each other. Social classes were the main division and it wasn’t uncommon for them to go after each other. When we pulled up, sirens blazing and lights flashing, all the kids took off. Except two. One was hitting the other ruthlessly while the other was clawing and gouging along with every other dirty move he could muster in order to get the upper hand. It was as if they didn’t even know we were there. Nothing existed beyond their fight, so we waited until they both had worn themselves out enough that we could get between them with no major injuries sustained.

The first time I met Dallas Winston was as I pulled Tim Shepard away from him. Tim had broken his nose and he was swearing every unprintable thing he could think up. Dallas was doing the same, but his actions were coupled with wild kicks and flailing arms. Tim was calm in my arms; far too used to this to be fighting it. Pripich had his hands full as he wrestled the boy to the car and managed to get him cuffed. He would be bruised spectacularly for the next week or so. He learned the hard way that Dallas Winston was a fighter to the bitter end.

“You alright, son?” I asked as Tim squirmed to get away from me

“’Broke m’nose,” he muttered, stemming the blood flow with his hands

“Here,” I said handing him the handkerchief from my pocket

“Don’t be nice to him,” Rick growled, “He knows better that to be fighting like this. Serves him right if he got his nose broke by that pipsqueak.”

I glanced at where the blonde was glaring furiously back at me from the car and then to Rick Pripich. He was panting from the exertion and I knew he was going to be feeling it for a few days. But he had a point. Tim had both inches and weight on that boy. I didn’t know it then, but he was a full year and a half older, as well. I imagined the observation would put Tim into a temper I did not want to deal with, so I made another observation instead.

“That ‘pipsqueak’ made sure you’ll have a nice shiner by tomorrow,” I pointed out dryly

“’Bout time som’un did,” Tim stated before spitting out blood by my shoes

“Cuffs, now,” Rick ordered, pointing a finger at me and then he did the same to Tim “You, shut up.”

I took the bloody handkerchief from Tim and blotted his nose once after putting the cuffs on him. He sent me a death glare and I sighed before tossing away the cloth. It had mostly stopped bleeding by that point and I was a little leery to put the pair of them in the back of the same car incase they tried to pick things up from where they left off again, but I knew that Rick was in a temper of his own and he would not want to wait on another car. So I steered Tim to the other side of the car and let him climb in. Rick was already starting the engine, so I sighed and climbed into my seat for one awkward ride back to the station.

The first time I met Dallas Winston he was fuming in the back seat of our cruiser. He was glaring at all of us, particularly Tim who had taken to clearing the blood from his nose by sniffing it back and spitting it on the floor. Rick growled and threatened, but Tim ignored him. He knew the drill. Rick had told him to shut up and he was going to keep his mouth closed until Rick realized he shouldn’t have told the kid that if he wanted him to eventually talk. For a kid repeatedly out of Juvenile Correction and flunking out of school, he was pretty canny when he wanted to be. This other boy didn’t make a noise beyond a muttered curse or a wince when he struggled with his cuffs and managed to jar something else. I got the impression he was not a fan of having his hands pinned behind him with cold steel, but he wasn’t complaining like a few of our regulars often did.

The first time I met Dallas Winston he had no record. He’d never made trouble in this city before and we really had no idea what to do with him. Tim was a repeat offender who would be getting time in the cooler. It wasn’t fair to let the other boy off the hook when he had done more damage than Tim had done to him. Something told me the boy had a record from wherever he’d come from. We sat at our desks, watching the boys through the open door as they sat cuffed to the same bench until we dealt with them. If they knew they were being watched, they weren’t letting on. It was Rick who finally broke our silent vigil.

“You know they’re going to give him to me, don’t you?” he growled

I merely nodded. The way things worked around here was that each of us was responsible for a handful or so of the gang kids around here. It was an initiative to straighten these kids out before they got in too deep and ended up criminals. Sometimes it worked, but more often than not it didn’t. They always found a way to slip between the cracks because you couldn’t be their consciences all the time. Rick had one of his kids overdose last week. It was only natural he’d get Dallas Winston of all people. Maybe the tough, gruff approach would work. I found that it only made things worse between one of my kids and me. Tim Shepard was my newest and I was hoping to keep him out of jail when he got old enough. I liked to think I was making progress. And then he goes and gets caught brawling or stealing. Well, at least I didn’t have to fight with him anymore. He knew me well enough to just go with it and everything moved along much faster. I didn’t envy the phone call I would have to make to his mother. Evelina Shepard and I were on a first name basis because of how often Tim got into trouble. He had a younger brother who would most likely follow in his footsteps some day and I was sure they’d stick him with me to save another officer the time of getting to that level.

“I’ll straighten him out,” Rick assured me and I just shook my head

“Good luck,” I offered, “That one is a powder keg.”

“So is Tim,” Rick countered

“Tim is a stick of dynamite. He’s predictable and has a fuse to burn out before he blows.”

The first time I met Dallas Winston he sat on a bench outside my office door and exchanged dirty words with Tim Shepard while Rick and I argued over which boy was more unstable. They both seemed to be enjoying themselves, so we let it continue. Tim called the boy ‘New York’. It was something more to go on. The boy had given us the sole name of Winston when we had asked for it.

“A kid of 14 with the last name of Winston from New York,” Rick spoke into the phone a few minutes later as I reached for my own phone and dialed the all too familiar number

“It’s Tom.”

“How long you keepin’ him?”

“Seven days worth,” I answered

“D*mn kid,” she cursed and the conversation was over

There were no pleasantries; nothing beyond what needed to be known. It made me wonder how Tim would act if she acted like a mother to him.

The first time I met Dallas Winston he shared boasts with Tim Shepard. We listened at they shared stories tying to best each other and I knew we were in trouble then. They were smirking and trying to act tough at the same time. They were cut from the same cloth and if they were getting along so well now they wouldn’t have too much trouble getting along in the future. I sighed and knew the pair of them would be causing us more trouble before retirement than I wanted to think about. It was bad enough Tim had enough daring ideas of his own without adding on a cohort.

“His name’s Dallas. He’s Jebb’s kid,” Rick informed me, hanging up the phone “And he’s got a record that challenges some of those delinquents over on Tiber Street.”

“His father must be proud,” I commented, remembering Jebb Winston, one of our usual drunks “You going to call him?”

“It’s Tuesday. He’ll probably see him in another six hours or so,” Rick waved it off

“What did the kid do to earn his status?” I asked

“Stealing, fighting, gang relations, drug trafficking, jail…”

“Jail, at his age?”

“No, at age ten.”

“My God.”

“Yeah,” Rick sighed, “Something tells me he’s going to be bouncing in holding often.”

“I just hope he’s not a negative influence on Tim.”

“Quit worrying about Tim Shepard. You and I both know he’s going to end up in jail or dead; maybe both.”

“Not today,” I pointed out, getting up to take care of our young charges

The first time I met Dallas Winston I learned a lot of things about a boy I was going to know far better than I ever wanted to. The contempt in his eyes for me as I slid the cell shut, the calm façade that he wore like a shield. But he seemed almost relieved to be somewhere familiar. I didn’t try to understand it. I just sighed and ran over the rules.

“Any questions?” I asked

“Yeah. Where’s m’ball?” Tim demanded, less than articulate with his face swollen the way it was

“You lose control of it this time and I'm not sure Sergeant Wills will bring it back,” I told him, fishing it out of the desk

Tim gave me a look that basically told me to shut up and hand him the ball. I did so and made my way to the door.

“What, and I’m supposed to sit on my hands?” Dallas asked with an unimpressed drawl

“Share,” Wills suggested from where he was enjoying his lunch at the desk “That or roll up your socks and sit real close to the wall, kid.”

Dallas threw him some crude advice that Wills ignored. I signed them in on the roster while they studied each other from opposing cells. Something told me Wills was going to have a long week.

“Are you going to share, Tim?” I asked, watching as the boy fingered the ball thoughtfully

“The Cooler King share?” Wills snorted and I sent him a stern look

“Will it get me outta here sooner?” Tim asked, not looking up from the worn red rubber

“You know it won’t do anything but make the time go a little faster,” I called back

“Then no.”

The first time I met Dallas Winston I was sure there were a hundred little undercurrents going on that I couldn’t grasp and should have if I knew any better. I’d just met the kid, after all. All I saw an angry kid whose eyes were too old for the rest of him. All I saw a camaraderie building and suspected this would not be the last time they would be locked away like this. Maybe next time or the next dozen they would actually get along better.

But to be perfectly honest, the first time I met Dallas Winston the only thing I knew for sure was that I would need another rubber ball for the newest Cooler King of the Tulsa Municipal Police Department. Everything told me it wouldn’t go to waste.

- End
See ya in the funny papers!!!

Tens

[latch22]

The Cooler Kings. What a moniker.

That was a very interesting portrayal of the relationship between Dallas and Tim, which isn't seen often enough, I think.

Also, I think the repetition was well-applied. It can be difficult to bring across, but it worked quite well in this instance.

I like the openeing a lot, especially: What really bothered me was how…well, bitter wasn’t the right word, but there was something in his eyes that made me wonder if he wasn’t already dead and his body never got the message. It reminded me of a few of the guys from the war. You had to see a lot before you got to that point.

And this line: "He learned the hard way that Dallas Winston was a fighter to the bitter end."

You know, this one, too: “That one is a powder keg.

“So is Tim,” Rick countered

“Tim is a stick of dynamite. He’s predictable and has a fuse to burn out before he blows.”

You know, just have a list of things that I liked (I'll try to keep it brief): the observation of how Dallas *really* had an aversion to handcuffs; Dallas' relief at being somewhere familiar; the ending; and especially the ball.

That ball sounds awesome. Koosh balls are better, though, although they weren't developed until the eighties. But you can't bounce 'em, either... Oh, well. They're still one of the coolest things ever.

I think that I missed something, but that's alright. Great one-shot!

Thanks, and cheers!

[latch22]

Yeah, I kind of went the lazy route, so I'm a little iffy about the format. Also, let me know if it's confusing. Things make so much more sense when they're in your own head...

Say You Love Me, by latch22.

I never liked the kid, I’ll admit. He was obnoxious. He swore. He was sarcastic. He had a real sick, twisted sense of humor, and a twisted sense of pride to match. He spoke with his fists whenever he felt like it.

He was smart, too, and that just made everything harder.

So, I admit it freely now, I never did actually like Dallas Winston, but everyone comes to value their enemy eventually in life, if for the fruition of a lifelong pursuit of a worthy adversary or simple want of a focus for frustration.

Whatever we were, it was an interesting relationship.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself, Dal.”

“Must’ve had a bad day, usin’ those tired catchphrases on me.”

“You sound oddly sober.”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“At this time of night?”

Such was one of our more pleasant conversations.

With two tempers and no patience to speak of between the two of us alone, you would have thought that we’d have killed each other before we ever even got together each time. But, hey, such is life.

I don’t think he liked me, either, but I must have amused him, somehow, or he had some strange attachment to me—or maybe he just wanted to see if I would keep coming back.

Of course, I always did. But I maintain that he sought me out on his own plenty of frustrated and lonely nights.

“Why don’t we talk?”

“Because we don’t need to.”

“Is that all I’m worth to you? A distraction?”

“Of course not. You’re a pretty good screw, too. Hey, don’t sigh at me.”

“I’m not sighing at you. I’m sighing because of you.”

“What were you expecting me to say? I don’t even remember your last name, for Christ’s sake.”

“I know yours.”

“Everyone knows me.”

“Everyone who’s been behind bars at some point.”

“You ain’t perfect, neither. Now, shut up before I go and neither of us gets anything worthwhile out of tonight. You never rocked the boat before—don’t start now.”

I don’t really recall the first time we met. I was drunk, he was getting there, and nobody else looked interesting in our hazy states. The only thing I do remember was the broken picture frame that had fallen loose from its nail in the wall that I found when I woke up later.

“You know I can’t stand you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And that I sometimes wish you would just forget to come?”

“Yeah.”

“Just checking.”

“But this ain’t one of those times, is it?”

“No.”

“And sometimes, you love when I come around.”

“How do you figure that?”

“You always open the door.”

As a person, no, I never liked him. But I came to respect him, and I grew fond of him, in a strange way. I usually only ever saw him in that setting—close, alone, frantic, routine—but, when I did see him elsewhere, it was like I didn’t know him. It was like we could start over then.

We didn’t, but I don’t suppose that matters much now. I do wonder, though, sometimes, when I half-expect to hear someone pound on the door in the middle of the night and I almost sit ready with a cheap beer or two, whether we could have ever been together. It wouldn’t have lasted, but it would have made everything seem a little more real.

“Say it.”

“You’re drunk, I’m drunk, and I won’t say it.”

“Say it.”

“Shut up about that!”

“Eventually, you’ll say it.”

“Not likely.”

“Fine. How ‘bout you get the mood started with one of those filthy phrases you love so much?”

“That, I can say.”

[zevie]

Re: The Cooler Kings

I agree, great name, although I didn’t understand it until the end (I love double meanings though )!

I also liked the repetition – like stanzas of a poem or song. If that’s the impression you want, then to drive that point home, I think you can fuzzy the edges of the language a bit. (I’m going to get in massive trouble for this…) You go back and forth between this cop’s thoughts and the story he’s telling, so, maybe while you are (or, he is) describing Dallas, let the grammar drift a little (but keep it in tact for the story part). Don’t kill me guys! ;D Use more poetic techniques, let it ramble more…poetry is so open. You do this a little already, sort of following your narrator’s thoughts, and I enjoyed it. It was very subtle and if you want, I think you can do more. But, that is just my taste.

I thought it was a really cute little ficlet! I agree with latch, the Dallas and Tim, powder keg and stick of dynamite was a great way of describing their respective characters. I love how you represent their temperaments in their younger age. Again, I agree with latch, I love the idea of Tim in jail playing with his ball. (You of all people know how hard it was for me to leave out the extra “s” there. )

I like the idea of each of them getting a different cop-parent. (By the way, Tim’s mom’s careless acceptance of his being in jail was great.) If Tim had to deal with the “bad cop” he’d probably just get quieter and cooler, but I could definitely see this situation aggravating Dally’s already volatile temper. I thought it was funny that Tim got the pushover. Gives him a taste of the power he’ll have later.

I have to say, the part about Tim blowing his nose on the cop car floor was absolutely disgusting and I’m so glad you wrote it in, haha. I love seeing him as a normal gross kid just like everyone else his age.

It’s so funny that they become friends through fighting. I always kind of thought their friendship was based on a grudging respect for each other rather than caring; it seems like there’s some element of competition in the book. That really comes out in this fic. Beating the crap out of each other seems an appropriate way to begin things.

…sorry I like to babble in reviews. The short and short of it is that I liked it!

P.S. Tiny thing, but for some reason I get anal about this. “Blonde” is one of the few adjectives in English that has gender agreement – blonde for female, blond for male. (Another less common is brunet or brunette.) Blonde as a noun means a yellow-haired woman traditionally, and so, now blond is used for guys. I don’t know why I care about this, except that every time I read it the Canadian (who was forced to learn French) in me thinks Dally’s a girl. (Some people don’t distinguish, but I’m very old school about it. Because I’m just that cool. ) But, it’s a really tiny silly thing.

P.P.S. This rumble idea was a great one.

P.P.P.S. I forgot to add...*cough* River King *cough* update...

[Tensleep]

Say you love me

Latch, I though that was one awesome fic. I love the fact that the character seems so apart from everything and yet an integral part of it. I also love that you have no mention of her (or his, since I did say slash was allowed) name. It left the element of mystery and made the POV so universal. You could picture so many characters sitting there and having this conversation with Dallas. I really enjoyed that element.

I really liked that "Such was one of our more pleasant conversations". So in character with anyone who has ever talked to Dallas. You really show that there is nothing in this relationship that changed him and that whomever he was going to have fun with was jaded enough to accept this and move on. It was really well portrayed! Kudos!

Oh, and the formatting was just fine, no worries about that! You gotta love that it puts it up just as you typed it.

Keep on with the awesome writing! I expect you to contend next month!

See ya in the Funny Papers!!!

Tens

[Tensleep]

Latch, thanks for your comments, I'm really feeling proud of m'self right now. You picked out a lot of my favorite things and the repetition - my biggest worry. Glad it worked. And Koosh balls...Man, I miss my first Koosh. Stole it, but loved it all the same. Thanks again!

Zevie...You're killing me here! Nah, I really appreciate your view and your suggestions. I should let everyone here know I am not a poetry fan. Never have been, never will. So this is about all you're going to get for poetics!
I'm glad you picked up on Tim getting the pushover! I like the parallel you made with his running of the gang, too. I never even thought of that! Oh, and Je parle français aussi. I just always liked the 'e' on the end and hey, he could pass for a PMSing girl . Thanks again, and I want to see some of this rambling poetic fiction!

See ya in the funny papers!!!

Tens

[zevie]

Mars: Canadian pride, yo! I’m in Toronto, ON. I heart BC though. Everything cool starts in the west.

Tens: No, no I wasn’t aiming to kill! Lol. The poetics aren't necessary, lol, just felt like you might be going there. My bad. I was thinking Joy Kogawa style, lol. Nah, I like to write straight prose too… I figured you spoke le Français cause you’re in Alberta right? Just thought I’d toss in the blond/e thing anyway cause I’m a freak about that one topic. Yeah, Dallas is probably one of those guys who gets PMS, haha.

Latch: Say you love me

I’m loving these titles! I love that you get a sense of some story from it, but then you read until the end and it turns into something different…hope that makes sense, lol. (Same as with the Cooler Kings.) I liked that the title never appeared in this ficlet. I confess, I thought the title was a little cheesy when I first read it, but by the end of the fic I liked it, and thought it fit.

I love that it’s confusing…I mean, it’s not hard to follow, but I like that you trust readers enough not to spell everything out. I agree with Tens about the namelessness of Dally’s lover (or…whatever s/he is). I think I picture Sylvia for this, although she calls Dallas a kid. He is a kid, though, lol. Whoever it is seems older – maybe this is set post novel? The language has a couple of sophisticated moments, so I find it hard to picture a kid narrating, heh…but, since you have an unspecified narrator it could be anyone, so this is just me wondering, lol. And, I suppose, kids can be sophisticated too, lol.

I especially enjoyed the dialogue in this piece; it read like a script or something. Hah, I have to stop making prose out to be something else, lol. But, I like when people bring in new devices. But, anyway, I like that you never tell us who is saying what. I don't think it's hard to figure out who's saying what.

Nice little ficlet!

P.S. Heh, I like giving constructive criticisms when I can. But, I really like these fics, and I will be posting soon…it’ll have plenty of missteps in it, so you guys can rip me apart right back, lol.

[latch22]

Tens: Wow, thank you very much. Really. I wrote that in all of five minutes and was quite lazy about the restructuring that I wanted to do but didn't bother with.

I will definitely participate next time.

Zevie: You want the truth? I was iffy about the title. That wasn't even the story that I was going to write--that was actually the opening line of something else--but then I started listening to--wait for it--"Say You Love Me," by Fleetwood Mac, and I really wanted to use that title... which is odd, since I rarely, rarely write romance, unrequited or not. (I wouldn't consider this unrequited, though. It wasn't even romance, but... you know what I mean...)

Haha! I didn't even realize that I made it androgynous. I knew that it was anonymous... I've done that before, intentionally, but this time... Wow. Thanks for catching that--and Tens. You, too.

(I'm verbose. I warn you now. Stop before you get too far sucked into these ramblings.)

I was considering editing out those sophisticated moments, but then I realized that I liked it. The "kid" was because of the fact that it was, originally, with a different intention, as I previously mentioned. But I kept it because (I can't remember if I thought this then, or if I'm just compensating now, hehe) I wanted to show how they had moved on a bit, and grown up a little, and moved away from it. They distanced themselves from it. That, and I think that they were a little older, in my mind. (Kids can be sophisticated, though...)

Anyway, thanks, and cheers!

[zevie]

Misstep

A/N: Set pre-novel. Had a lot of trouble with this voice...any comments would be mucho appreciated! Be brutal, please.

It was not yet nine in the morning when the crew went to work.

I was up, of course, I had been for hours. I never laze in bed, even on Saturdays - Lucy likes to do the sheets first thing.

The most unfortunate thing about having to repair one's roof is that no matter how large your home might be, when the construction starts there is not a single quiet spot to be found. I decided to retreat to the garden with a glass of iced tea and my novel. I thought that maybe in the outside air the sounds would dissipate and leave me with at least the semblance of peace. I was wrong.

"Oy, you gots any more a those one and a quarter inchers?"

"Hell, no! We used 'em up on the Richardson's last week. F***in' Hastings told me he'd send us a new order by last monday."

"Lyin' sonovab****."

It is difficult to enjoy the subtleties of a Jane Austen romance under such conditions. I thought about pleading my female sensibilities, but they were rough types, and even the most civil of men do not take kindly to a woman interfering with their work.

"Ma'am, not to bother you, but you might be a wantin' to hightail it to somewhere more quieter. It'll get awful loud and dusty here."

At first glance, the man appeared to be somewhat older than I. His face was lined, tanned and burnt in places from the sun, but his eyes were warm and kind. He must have been only forty.

"Of course." I rose as gracefully as I could and turned to move deeper into the grounds.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

For a moment it sounded like the man was addressing me, but a quick glance around and it was obvious who he was yelling at. Not ten feet away, a young boy was holding up two bundles of tiles. He dropped one quickly, looking guilty.

"For Christ's sake, you wanna snap your back in two? Be careful with that roofing, son, you drop one of those bundles from the top of a ladder that'll come straight outta your paycheck - and your muscles won't thank you none."

The boy started to say something, but it dissolved quickly into a coughing fit. The older man - he must have been the foreman - moved forward quickly, his lined face creased more deeply with concern. "You sick, boy?"

The boy waved his hand carelessly but continued to cough. Even from where I stood, I could see his cheeks were flushed and beaded with sweat from sickness.

"You oughtta head on home, son."

"Can't," the boy gasped. "I barely got enough for rent if we wanna eat this month, an' it looks like Pony's gonna need a doctor. Can't seem to get through a night without having one of them dreams."

The man let his breath out slowly. "Look, son, I knew your daddy and he was a hell of a worker. But, he wouldn't a worked a day being sick like this. You do that and it'll get bad enough to take you out for a week. This here is dangerous work son. I ain't itchin' to see you take a tumble."

"You gotta let me work," the boy said. "Look, I'm okay. It's just a cold."

The man looked skeptical, but said: "Alright. But, you be careful."

The boy nodded and hoisted the roofing up in his arms.

The foreman turned away, and caught my eye. "Kids," he said grinning. "Think they're super-human most of 'em. These young'uns got plenty of energy, but it's the old codgers like me that know how ta get things done proper."

I laughed. "Believe me, I know. My kids always think they know better than I do. Goodness, it's difficult to teach them proper manners. When I was their age..."

"You ain't kiddin'. I got a couple of 'em, thirteen and eleven and I ain't lookin' forward to teenagers. Used to be we all worked hard through that age to help out the family."

"Now it's tough enough to get them to dry the dishes," I laughed.

He joined in. "Ain't that the truth." He watched the boy shimmy down the ladder and grab another bundle. "That Darrel though, he's one of the good 'uns."

I nodded in agreement.

"Guess I better get back to work," the foreman said reluctantly.

"When y'all are finished, come and grab some iced-tea in the kitchen," I said.

He brightened. "Why, that'd be just fine, Ma'am. Thank you." He gave me a jaunty wave, and jogged back to his crew.

I read for a bit, then gave up and watched them work. The sick boy was by far the youngest on the crew - he reminded me of my son Thomas. He was leaner than Tom, though, skinny even, though clearly from his muscles he was used to hard work. It was Friday; I wondered why he wasn't in school.

It was two o'clock before they began to look close to finished. I hurried into the house to find Lucy to bring out the tea.

"Lucy, we have another pitcher here somewhere, don't we? The workers will be done soon, and I invited them in for some iced-tea."

Lucy chuckled. "Ain't that just like you, with your good Tulsa manners. You bring this all outside, though, instead of in here." She wrinkled her nose. "A bunch a rough men in a house with a lady all by her lonesome? It ain't right."

I frowned. She was right. It wouldn't do to bring them into the house.

We'd just stacked the cups and tea on a platter when we heard a dull thud and the mens' shouts.

We hurried outside to see what went wrong. Lying in the grass was what looked like a large bundle of roofing, scattered from the fall.

"F***!" The foreman clattered down the ladder as fast as he could, a look of panic in his eyes.

"Don't worry," I said kindly. "I'll pay for the roofing."

He looked at me fiercely. "That ain't no roofin', ma'am," he said roughly and jogged towards the bundle. Lying in the grass under a few scattered shingles was the sick boy.

"nuts! Darry... Darrel you alright?"

The boy's eyes and mouth were open and moving - he was alive at least.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

The foreman looked at me again, with annoyance. "Don't know." He pulled the roofing off of the boy.

"Bring him inside," I urged. "He can rest up on the couch."

The foreman looked skeptical. "He ain't clean."

I turned towards the house; there were at least five doctors in the neighborhood I could call.

Lucy had beat me to it by the time I got to the kitchen. "Dr. Carmichael from down the street was home, he be here in ten minutes, he says."

The foreman appeared at the door, carrying the boy, scuffling his boots on the ground. Lucy's eyes widened and she frowned at me.

"In here," I said firmly, swallowing my hesitation. Lady or not, there couldn't be a mother alive who wouldn't give up her couch to a boy just fallen off her roof.

He placed him down gingerly on the white couch. "I think he's just winded," he said quietly. He looked uncomfortable in the grandeur of the salon.

Lucy brought in a tray with a glass of water and a wet towel. The boy's eyes were closed, but they opened when I placed the towel across his brow. They were bright with fever.

"Mom?" he mumbled.

"Easy," the foreman said. "You just fell two stories, son."

I stood up. "I'll call your momma, honey, if you give me her number."

He shook his head and tried to sit up but fell back groaning against the couch. "Can you call my brother?" he whispered.

"Sure, son." The foreman motioned me out of the room into the kitchen.

"We ought to call his parents. He might need a hospital."

He gave me a long look. "His folks are dead. Been just three months."

I sat down quickly at the table. "Oh..."

He shrugged. "Darry's managing. I got his brother's number in my truck, I'll go get it."

When I re-entered the salon, Lucy had brought in Dr. Carmichael. He was examining the boy.

"Couple of cracked ribs, and you'll have some painful bruises tomorrow," the doctor was saying. "You've got a bad fever as well, but there shouldn't be anything more serious."

The boy heaved a sigh. "Good," he grunted.

"What were you doing, when you fell, anyway?"

"Tryin' to clear up the leftover roofing."

"And carrying more than one load at a time?" I teased.

The boy glanced at me, and reddened. "It makes the job go quicker," he explained. "The sooner we finish this one, the sooner we can move onto the next one. We can take more jobs that way."

"Alright, well, I'm through here," Dr. Carmichael said, standing up. "Since it was just a quick examination, I won't charge you much."

"What?" The boy's eyes widened. "You gonna charge me?"

"Well, it is my profession," Dr. Carmichael said dryly. "If I gave everyone free examinations, I'd never be able to make a living, now would I?"

The boy's mouth opened and closed quickly. He swallowed. "I - I ain't got more 'n seventeen dollars."

The doctor raised his eyebrows. "Well, I was going to charge twenty, but if that's all you've got..."

"Now Frank," I said smoothly, "we'll pay. It was our roof after all."

"I don't need your charity," the boy said quickly. I looked at him and he blushed again. "I mean, I can take care of it myself."

I shook my head. "This is strictly legal business. Insurance."

The boy hesitated. "Well, if it ain't charity," he said finally.

"It's not," I said firmly. "Frank, send us a bill, and thank you for coming. Lucy, get my purse."

We sat in awkward silence, the boy and I, for a few minutes.

I cleared my throat. "It's a school day isn't it? Why aren't you in school?"

He gave me a startled look. "I'm twenty. Turned it four months ago. I ain't no kid, I'm a gr- an adult. I gotta work to live just like anyone else."

I nodded sadly. "Of course, you do."

"It ain't nothing different than usual," he said. "Ask anyone my age."

"Of course."

"Really. I was planning on getting a job with the company this summer anyway. My dad..." He paused. "He used to work roofs too until he died."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He brushed impatiently at his hair. "Lotta guys my age don't got parents. Like I said, it ain't nothin' unusual."

"I believe you."

"I gotta go," the boy said stiffly. He stood up quickly, wincing at the dirt left on the white couch.

I followed him outside where an old Ford pickup was just pulling up.

"Darry! Whatcha do?" A younger boy with golden hair leapt from the car almost before it stopped.

"Fell. Two-stories." The foreman was tossing the last few tools into his truck.

The gold-haired boy grinned. "Only two? That all you call me for? I was at work, man."

Work? This one couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen I was sure. I wasn't about to let Thomas work until he was through school with good grades.

"Sorry, I shouldn't a called you," Darrel said making his way towards the Ford.

The blond looked closely at Darrel. "Well, you look alive, at least, that's something."

Lucy nudged me in the back and handed me my purse. I hurried to the foreman. "Thank you for your work," I said, handing him an envelope with the tip. I hoped some of it got to that boy. "Sorry about the iced-tea."

"Some other time, maybe," he said. "Thanks for the use a your couch." He hopped into his truck.

Behind me, I heard a shout and saw Darrel leaning against the Ford. "What's Pony doing in the truck?"

"Aw, shoot, he wanted to drive and I thought it'd be good training-"

"He's fourteen!"

"You were driving then, don't play the saint."

"I was driving in the country where there ain't no other cars to hit. Don't you two ever think?"

"Hey, calm down, man. Look, Pony didn't get much sleep and he had a couple of tests this morning. He was having a rough day, and hell, so was I. I thought it would cheer him up."

Darrel started coughing and didn't answer. I looked at the dirt and sweat streaking his arms and his flushed, feverish face. He wrapped an arm around his cracked ribs as he coughed.

I wondered if they'd ever find out what kind of day he'd had.

The End.

[zevie]

...it won't let me swear! Very sad.

[Tensleep]

Misstep

Zevie, I think I will have to have some fun with the controls and see if there's any way I can fix our dirty mouth problem...

I liked this one! You really brought out this character without telling us anything about her besides the fact she knows someone named Lucy - a maid perhaps - and has a son named Thomas. At first I thought this was a guy and he was married to Lucy, but that was probably just me.

The colloquialisms were great, but I thought you maybe just squeezed in a few too many with the accents. It worked with the story, but it was a little distracting after a while for those of us with simple attention spans .

Aside from that, I thought this could very well have been a page from Darry's life story. It's what he'd do to the T and his reasons were all right there. I like the parallel between Darry and her son - it was awesome to have that connection bringing the story back to the fact this woman was a complete stranger. I especially loved the jerk doctor. Nice touch.

Great job! Keep on writing, I look forward to reading more!

See ya in the funny papers!!!

Tens

[zevie]

Yes! Go for the controls Tens!!!! Wow, I did NOT realise how much I swore until I noticed the amount of asterisks in this piece. I’m looking forward to a couple of good f***s in the next fic.

…yeep. I swear that joke was unintentional.

Haha, it was a woman, but I felt strangely proud that you thought it was a guy. Some sort of Outsiders related identity crisis. :S It's funny, I have tons of stuff written out about her in my own files, I was kinda surprised to see how little of it made it to the actual fic. I know a lot of writers do this, but I almost never use original characters so it was funny to me.

I re-read the fic and you’re totally right about the accents. I don’t think I ever use the word “of” in my writing anymore, lol. It all comes out “a”. And literally all my "g"s have become apostrophes, lol. Time to spellcheck.

Thanks for the comments!

[Nittanylizard]

Tens, "The Cooler Kings" (I'll post for the other two as soon as I read them , but I've got a couple minutes here:

Like the others, I thought the repetition worked really well. And, they picked out some of the points that stood out to me - the dynamite/powder keg comparison and Tim having the laid-back cop. Also, the conversation between the cop and Tim's mom was great, and how the other cop doesn't call Dallas' father because he expects him to be brought in later that day anyway.

This actually made me crack up: "I just hope he's not a negative influence on Tim." Hahaha, that was so funny! I'm laughing again, just typing it in. Great line.

Okay, I'll get back on the other two as soon as I can; I'm excited to see what everyone's writing about.
Liz