All posts by Buffy

bone cold


My aunt is ballsy as hell. Whether that works for her or not these days, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask. But I know I loved it when I was thirteen. When she used to sneak boxes of romance novels (Serious contraband in my house) into my room and under my bed. The kind

his daddy’s name was ennis


Man. Wife. Boy. The Jenkins family lived on top of Toler Mountain. Fifteen miles by road. We managed it in two by climbing straight up and over. Mr Jenkins was a Holy Roller who brought the message, and a good bit more, every Sunday down at a little church in Buttermilk Junction. Mrs Jenkins made

moose and a mullet


I went to my senior prom with a guy named Moose. Only he wasn’t a Moose at the time. He was a Jason and my best friend’s brother. He wore a white tux with a red cumberbund and I put my hair up in a big pile of ‘what the hell’. Reggie laughed and said

the coppertop kids


Laura was mean and pugnacious. Not the way most children are. She didn’t play practical jokes on busybody aunts or pull the ears of annoying cousins like I sometimes did. She told families of their father’s indiscretions and then wondered aloud in other people’s company why the children were so ugly and the mothers so

wash my face lord


Danny’s dead. He died because he didn’t want to live anymore, if you want to know the truth of it. That’s hard on a family. Knowing someone they love would rather be dead in a hole in the ground than be with them. And that’s where they all said he was. Because he didn’t believe.

piccolinos


It’s all good at the Italian eatery. Grilled swordfish on a bed of aubergine and sweet peppers. Two servings of spinach because it’s better than the panna cotta and I’ll take sauteed over sugared any day. A glass of Chianti. I’m working my way through the menu with the house red. Tall dark and handsome

you cant make this stuff up


When I was 8 and my brother 6, we dug up a dead horse. Didn’t know it was a horse, of course. Thought it was a dinosaur. Maybe one of those little mean ones. Billy rolled the ribs and the rest back home in his Radio Flyer (we found the carcass about 30 acres out

early in the a.m.


I’m drunk as a skunk and feeling fine. It’s not my fault. It’s the tablets. They’re for migraines. I only get three a month – only use three a year. They’re suppose to thin out the blood, or something. Keep the vessels from pressing against things they shouldn’t. Pain relief. All that. They cause me

something funny


She wears the ugliest sweaters I’ve ever seen. I’m not being mean. They’re really that ugly. No one would wear them in the 80s so someone, somewhere, put them all in a box and saved them for her. They’re all about kittens and nature and grandma’s old dressing gown. Made from polyester yarn and chenille.

punk


Doctor says: Three weeks rest. Will put you on the NHS list for physio but it’ll probably be better by the time you get an appointment. Come back next Monday and I’ll write you out for the rest of the month. Take these: they’re for osteoporosis but they should help. Pop some paracetamol if you