A Place Called Wiregrass by Michael Morris Page A

white-and-navy hat, but the way she bent over sideways, clutching her shaking bosom, made me believe she could pass for one of my neighbors at Westgate Trailer Park. A couple behind us peered to see what the commotion was all about.
    I have got to straighten up, I kept telling myself. But every time I tried to stop laughing, Miss Claudia would mimic Prune Face by dropping her chin, bugging her eyes out, and pointing to the floor with her index finger. Then it would all start right back up again.
    “Y’all are embarrassing me.” Cher held the menu up to her face.
    Through a blur of tears, I finally staggered to the ladies’ room, leaned against the magnolia-printed wallpaper, and howled. The deep stomach holler felt good. Miss Claudia really didn’t like that Prune Face after all.

Five
    I had never been late before in my life. Not even when Bozo would get on a drunk and keep me up until two in the morning. That play only had two scenes. Either I’d try to find him and drag him away from one of his watering holes, or he’d find me with his raging fist.
    But when I faced the morning late for work because my car wouldn’t crank, I knew I had to take action. Not even the pliers trick could make the engine come to life.
    Kasi, Laurel’s mama, appeared out of nowhere. I barely knew the woman who lived in the double-wide across from me. Her bleached white hair was shorter than Mama’s and stuck up all over the top of her head. To look at Kasi, you’d think she never ran a brush through that spiky mess. She approached me as I tinkered under the hood of the car, mumbling every cuss word I knew.
    “Sounds like you got you a mess.”
    When I leaned from under the car hood displaying my evil eye, as Cher calls it, she took a step backward.
    “I just…well, thought maybe you needed me to call somebody or something.” She took a drag on her cigarette and pulled down her already too tight black T-shirt with a face resembling Vince Gill spray-painted across her bosom.
    “This piece of crap just got on my last nerve is all.” I slammed the hood down. “As it is, I’m already going to be late for work.” I didn’t want to tell her I had no one to call forhelp. Richard first entered my mind, but fearing he might have an attack of his nerves under the pressure, I decided against it.
    “Well, my shift ain’t for another hour. I’ll run you to work.” The ride to Barton Elementary in her sapphire blue Toyota pickup was risky on my part. I still didn’t know who to trust.
    “That old bat Miss Trellis give you her rules yet?” Kasi squashed out a cigarette in the ashtray while trying to steer the truck at the same time. “Don’t tell her nothing you don’t want the whole entire trailer park to know.” She squinted her eyes and held the fire-orange bulb of the truck lighter to a second cigarette. “Oh, and about that car. Take it to Gerald Peterson, down at Peterson and Son. He’ll give you a real good deal. Tell him I sent you. Just down past the trailer park on Naples Road.”
    When her blue truck made its way up the circular school driveway, I wanted out of there. I was hoping Patricia wouldn’t look out her corner office window and see me, late for work and talking to a spiky-haired creature in a pickup truck. “I sure do appreciate it. Let me know if there’s any way I can help you sometime,” I said. If the closing truck door had squeaked any louder, I would have missed Kasi’s parting words.
    Kasi leaned towards the open passenger window and nodded her head. “Awright. Sounds good. Maybe we can go out partying. When Cher’s daddy comes to visit, you’ll have a full-time baby-sitter then.”
    Before I could get the questions I wanted to ask out of my opened mouth, the blue truck lurched forward and gained speed. I was so shocked at Kasi’s announcement of unexpected company that I forgot to be nervous about being late for work.
     
    By the time I had mixed up the potato-burger loaf, I went from being