dontravis.com blog post #489
Photo Courtesy of Ludicrous Stock Vector (Royalty Free), shutterstock.com:
Thanks to Don Morgan for the guest post of his novel The Eagle’s Claw. I hope my readers appreciated the glimpse he gave us.
Perhaps
I’m back in the saddle since I was able to create a brand-new piece of flash fiction for
this week. Hope you enjoy it.
****
LUDICROUS
JONES
Ludicrous P. Jones. How’s that for a name?
Well, it’s my cross to bear. As soon as I’m emancipated, I’ll change it
legally, but I just turned eighteen, so I’ve got three more years to carry the
load.
My parents deny it, but I think they were
drunk or high on something when it came time to christen their son and heir. They’re
kinda retro hippies, and that might be the explanation for the nonsensical
name. Mostly, I go by Lud or Luddy—as in “Lood” or “Loody.” That wasn’t so bad
when I was a little kid, in fact, Luddy was sort of cute. But once I hit adolescence
it just wasn’t manly enough. Lud wasn’t so bad, except it’s too close to “lewd,”
which is what I saw in the expressions on all adults who heard it for the first
time. I tried to assign myself a nickname, but somehow Rod or Bart or Brick
just didn’t stick.
I thought about using my middle name,
except it’s just an initial. My driver’s license actually reads Ludicrous P.
(only) Jones. So if I use P as a name, people—especially the guys—hesitate
between the initial and the last name so that it sorta comes out as an order: “Pee,
Jones.”
And last year, I asked my track coach
something, and he unthinkingly responded, “Don’t be ludicrous, Jones.” For the
rest of the term, that became the stock answer when someone asked a dumbass question.
“Don’t be Ludicrous Jones. “Embarrassing.
When first asked about the source of the
name, I joked that when my parents first took a gander at their naked newborn,
they were shocked at the size of the equipment he carried. And, I claimed, since
that hadn’t changed as time went by, the name was still appropriate. Of course,
the guys in gym class knew that wasn’t true, but the story hung on and became a
school legend. I’d gotten used to surreptitious glances “down there,” even got
over being embarrassed by them.
My teachers handled things in their own way.
In shop and gym, I was “Jones.” Most of the rest of the teachers either called
me “You there,” or “What do you say, Mr. Jones?’ or sometimes Lud or Luddy. One
resorted to calling me by my initials, but LP, which brought a rose blush to
her cheeks when someone wisecracked “Long Playing.” Apparently, she equated that with carnal stamina
and thereafter adopted the gym teacher’s moniker for me of “Jones”
At any rate, I blamed my name for everything
that came later.
The first thing that happened was Bessie
Sue Quigley talked me out of my pants to satisfy her curiosity. While she
expressed a bit of disappointment, she later said she’d confirm the LP appellation
if I wanted her to. I insisted we had to try it a few more times before she
could be sure. After two months of Bessie’s auditions, we both moved on to
other things.
The next thing that happened was a new guy
transferred in and apparently heard the original thesis about my name. Luis—that
was his moniker—made no bones about studying my crotch. Once when I caught him
at it, he met my gaze and arched an eyebrow. Because I didn’t know how to
handle that, I just nodded and rushed on to my next class.
That same afternoon as I closed my locker
and prepared to go home, Luis suddenly appeared at my elbow.
“When and where?” he asked.
“When and where what?”
He seemed taken aback. “You nodded, so I
assumed you accepted my invitation.”
“What invitation? I was beginning to sound
like an idiot. In this matter, I probably was.
“I let my eyebrow ask a question?”
“Wh—”
“Are you really that naïve?”
“Apparently so.”
“You have a rep, you know.”
“I know what they say my name means, if
that’s what you’re saying.”
“Definitely.”
“So what’s your question?” I asked.
“I wanna see for myself.”
“Uh….”
Luis laughed, and I noticed how handsome
he was. I’d never considered it before, but as he stood chuckling over my reaction,
I fixed on that. A guy’s looks had never mattered before but, somehow, now it
did. What was going on?
“Well, I gotta go to the bathroom before I
head out.”
Luis shook his head, sending curly, black
locks flying. “Nah. Too public. I gotta get a good look before I render
judgment.”
“J-judgment? What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “Simple. I wanna see for myself
if what they say about you’s for real.”
Flummoxed, I blurted the first thing that came
to mind. “Under the bleachers at the football field.”
He nodded. “When?”
“How about now… I guess.”
“Gotta stow my books. Meet you there in
five minutes.”
I felt like a fish caught on a hook. “Sure.
Okay.”
And that’s how Luis talked me out
of my pants.
****
Can
you use your imagination to complete the story? Be interesting to see how you
think it came out. Drop me a line.
My mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say…
so say it!
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Don
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