Loudmouth

 Mawgish and Snuffy-Muffy sat on the front porch, spitting snuff juice into empty Peach Snuff cans. Ronnie-Bob ambled around the corner, grinning a grin. He held his little brother Boo-Boo’s hand. Mawgish could see that Boo-Boos diaper was still weighed down.
“I told you to go home and tell your mama to change Boo-Boo’s diaper!”
Ronnie-Bob slunk back around the corner and waited a few seconds, then came walking back into the yard.

 Snuffy-Muffy’s face was red with anger.

 “Take Boo-Boo home and tell your mama to change his diaper!”

 Ronnie-Bob finally gave in and went home, dragging Boo-Boo behind. He’d been having fun at the old folk’s house and didn’t want to leave. Even at four years old, he knew that the magic would be broken by the time he could return. They’d been telling stories and singing songs. By the time he got back, they’d probably be inside fixing supper or something. He knew his mama probably wouldn’t let him go back anyway. He was right.




 Ronnie-Bob was playing around with something in the living room, maybe a bug. When his mama got off the phone, he knew something was wrong.
“Your Paw-Paw’s dead.”
She started crying. Ronnie-Bob had never seen his mama cry before. He wasn’t sure how to react. He laughed a little, just from not knowing what else to do. He didn’t really know what “dead” meant. Not until he saw Paw-Paw in his coffin with flowers all around, and grown-ups crying. He knew then that it meant he’d never see his Paw-Paw again. He cried a little bit then.



 That night was the first time he heard Loudmouth’s voice. He heard it through the darkness as he lay in bed trying to go to sleep. It was an eerie sound; it spooked the hell out of him. It was far away, like a train whistle, but it was coming closer. He wondered if everybody else heard it, or if it was all in his head. Nobody said anything, so he decided it must be in his head. He heard it every night from then on. He thought maybe it had something to do with Paw-Paw’s death. They had moved away to a new house, and he couldn’t visit Mawgish and Snuffy-Muffy anymore. Things were changing. He decided that he didn’t like change. He didn’t like Loudmouth either, but there was nothing a six-year-old could do about it. He wanted to run away and be a pirate, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. There wasn’t an ocean nearby.




 Ronnie-Bob lay on the living room floor, drawing pictures of what he thought Loudmouth might look like. He looked like a guy wearing a ghost sheet, with a big yawning mouth… and for some reason, a green army cap on his head. His mama always bragged on his pictures. That made him want to do even better. He told her about Loudmouth, but she didn’t seem to understand. Probably no grown-up would. He knew somehow that it was one of those things only children could know about. Boo-Boo knew about it. They would be getting a new brother or sister soon, and he bet they’d know about it too. At least once they stopped being a baby and became a real person. Boo-Boo was four now, and he could talk to him.




 The new baby was a girl named Shern. Ronnie-Bob and Boo-Boo felt old and wise, and were very protective of their new sister. Ronnie-Bob missed Mawgish and Snuffy-Muffy’s songs and stories about the olden days. Mama read him Greek mythology, about things like people being served their baby cooked up and eating it without knowing. He didn’t tell her, but it creeped him out. He’d rather have heard Mawgish’s stories about when her mother was a little girl during the civil war. About horse-and-buggy days, things like that.




 The night of the day Willy was killed on his bicycle, Loudmouth was really close. Willy was the preacher’s son, and Ronnie-Bob knew him from school. He was a good kid. He didn’t have to go to the funeral, and he was glad. He’d already seen Paw-Paw and Uncle Finger in their coffins, and he didn’t want to see any more. People didn’t look like themselves when they were dead. They looked like department store mannequins made up to look like the person they used to be. He pulled the covers over his head and waited for Loudmouth to shut up. His mama came in to kiss him goodnight.
“Are you allright, Ronnie-Bob?”
“Yeah, I’m allright.” he lied.

 Ronnie-Bob was nine now, and beginning to realize that he’d never been all right. Maybe he never would be.