Moving the Rooster
Traditions: Consecutive Substack Story 1204
Edward Ryan Carpenter defended his doctoral dissertation on large scale desalination and coastal water redistribution then drove nine hours straight to Banch, Louisiana where Poppy was, according to his sister, “fixin to beg the Good Lord for his final blessing.”
Long life had skipped a generation in the Carpenter family. Both Eddie’s parents were dead but his paternal grandfather, Poppy, was still living at 102.
Poppy was out on the patio, his shine jug in one hand and his BB gun in the other.
He couldn’t walk anymore, but he could drink and shoot the same weathervane he had been shooting with BBs since before Eddie was born.
Poppy.
Make shine, shoot weathervane, do a little fishing.
That was it.
Made a comfortable-for-the-parish living making that shine.
Never bothered to do anything else.
Be drunk.
Shoot the weathervane.
He looked no closer to death than he had at Eddie’s 16th birthday, when he gave Eddie a 63 Dodge Rambler chassis with no wheels and no engine and told him “Good Luck, Loogie.”
Eddie had cried during the drive, the tepid pings of the BB’s hitting the weathervane echoing in his head, the day he sold the Rambler chassis and was afraid to tell Poppy, the day he had gotten accepted to college and Poppy didn’t think you could go to college if you didn’t play football or basketball.
When Eddie walked up Poppy said “Loogie, whereybeenc’mere.”
“Allie said you weren’t feelin’ well, Poppy.”
“I ain’t felt well since…what year is it?”
“2025 Poppy.”
“I ain’t felt well since a long time ago.”
Eddie would have texted Allie WTF he’s fine but cell service was so spotty in Banch that he decided to wait until he saw her in person, where she could see his pissed but relieved face.
Boxes of BBs were on the table next to Poppy, open and unopened.
A bag of Zapp’s Voodoo chips and what looked like a rib sandwich with one bite of it gone were next to the BBs.
“Allie said you were really bad, Poppy. Call the priest bad. Where is she?”
“Said she was going to Debeaux’s to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what Poppy?”
“Me not dying, I guess.”
“So you both thought you were dying?”
“Yup.”
“Did she take you to St. Vincent’s?”
“Naww. I wouldn’t go nowhere. I done tol’ her if I’m dyin’ I’m dyin’ here where it’s free to die.”
“But you’re better now.”
“Yeah. But I had a kinda…a reawakenin’ you might call it.”
“What kind, Poppy.”
“It’s a big one, Loogie.”
Eddie stepped forward and knelt at his grandfather’s feet, right hand on his thin knee.
“Fizzy wouldn’t comply with my request.”
Fizzy was Poppy’s nickname for Allie. If anyone else called her that she looked like she could spit real fire.
Eddie was tempted to text her Fizzy what the fuck is going on?
Like magic a text came through.
Allie.
Poppy passed two boxes of BBs this morning. Cardboard box, BBs and all. Surprised it didn’t kill him. Sorry to worry you. I’m going to Debeaux’s Message me when you get in.
Eddie stared at his grandfather.
“Ummm…what did you ask Allie for that she wouldn’t give you?”
“I wanna move the Rooster.”
Eddie looked at the weathervane that had been sitting on the same pole anchored in the same cement forever. He had seen pictures of his father next to it when he was five years old.
“Why do you wanna move the Rooster?”
“I don’t see so good anymore. Sun gets in my eyes. I accidentally ate a box of BBs or two the other day.”
“You ate BBs because the sun was in your eyes?”
“No, I accidentally put sauce on ‘em because the sun was in my eyes.”
Eddie stood. “Ummm… Poppy, didn’t you notice that you didn’t have ribs in your mouth?”
“Nope.”
“That’s weird.”
“Ain’t weird. Fizzy can’t cook.”
Poppy leaned in his scooter a bit to his right and fired off three shots. Two out of three pinged off the weathervane.
“See, I can’t see so good. We need to move the Rooster.”
Eddie walked over behind his grandfather and picked up the rib sandwich.
He took a bite and chewed. And chewed some more. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Poppy.
Poppy shot again. Three times. Only one BB hit the weathervane.
“I’ll get some guys out here to move the Rooster tomorrow, Poppy.”
“Naw, guys costs money. Do it yourself.”
“Not sure I can do it myself.”
“Sure ya can,” Poppy said. “Ya got that Rambler on the road, didn’t ya?”
***
There was alot darker story in my head when I started, hope you like how that one turned out.
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If the old man was born in 1923, he would have been alive for the discovery of Tutankhamun's burial chamber, the founding of the Soviet Union and the first erection of the ‘Hollywoodland’ sign.
We sometimes forget how much the World has changed within the lifetimes of people who walk (or sit) among us. Are we to tell them to broaden their horizons? Get with the program? Tune in to Reality FM?
I’m glad his grandchildren respected him and his wishes. We will all be old one day, God willing. I’d prefer indulgence to contempt.
Great story, Jimmy, your compassion shines through your stories.
Jimmy Doom, I love this story! Loved every character, every beat. I feared for the old guy, then cheered. Great, great writing. I would probably like the dark version too, but after two fires and a funeral, this one was just what the rooster ordeered.