Pansy Faye Buckner owned the local cafe, where you could get a meat and three for just under $2.00. Chicken breasts were a daily menu item and every Friday, the regulars flocked in to relish her famous fried green tomatoes, made from a carefully guarded recipe passed down from her grandmother.
She inherited the cafe from her grandfather, a would be entrepreneur who had owned everything from flower shops to fillin’ stations. He had never achieved wealth in monetary terms but he had been rich beyond imagination when it came to friends.
Pansy Faye was one of those people who had never met a stranger and called everybody darlin’. She was average in every sense of the word. Average height, average weight and average looks but there was one exception.
She was endowed with a bosom that women envied and men lusted after. She laughed when she said “the good Lord didn’t bestow me with great beauty but when he was handing out breasts, I thought he was talking about chicken, so I got in line twice.”
She never had time for a relationship because when her parents died, she kept a promise that she would take care of her younger sister Lucy Mae, a late-in-life child who had been born with Down’s Syndrome.
Lucy Mae had been a permanent fixture in the cafe until she was thirty-eight years old. One day, she started laughing while she was eating a salad and choked to death on a piece of lettuce. In her memory, Pansy Faye changed the name of the cafe to “Lucy Mae’s,” and never served another salad.
Down the road a piece, stood a store called “Get It Here.” It was owned by a man named Elwyn Turner but everybody in town just called him “Pop.” He was a good old soul who would “carry you” until your next paycheck, should you be a little short on cash.
In his store, you could buy everything from a kitchen table to a brand new mattress, advertised as having “never even been peed on.”
He was a grandfatherly type, who wore dark tortoise-shell rimmed glasses that framed coke-bottle lenses. Due to an unfortunate encounter with a chainsaw when he was in his forties, he was missing two fingers on his left hand. They’re buried under a tree behind the store and every anniversary of the accident, he puts little flowers on their grave.
His wife had taken a trip up to Heaven to be with Jesus some time ago but not long after, he acquired a new companion.
One day, he saw something scampering around in the back room of the store. Not wanting to kill one of Gods’ little creatures, he set a trap in an old bird cage. He was amused when he saw what he had caught and immediately named him “Mousey Tung.”
He fed him corn and peanut butter crackers. It wasn’t until a few months later, he realized it wasn’t a mouse. It was a wharf rat…but he didn’t care.
Ron Carson was the local mechanic and had a reputation as did everybody, for being as honest as the day was long. He never had any formal training and tinkering, as he called it, just came natural to him. For some reason, how a car ran made sense to him. He always assured his customers that when he got through fixin’ a car, not only would it run…it would purr.
He was married to his high school sweetheart and they had two boys named Peter Paul and Paul Peter. It was a family thing and the townsfolk found it to be endearing rather than strange.
Ron had a genetic flaw that prevented his permanent teeth from forming. He kept his baby teeth until he was well into his twenties but then they started falling out. When he lost the last one, he was given dentures but he didn’t like to wear them because he didn’t think they fit right.
He was always taking them out and leaving them somewhere. One afternoon, he got a call. He had left his teeth on the bumper of a customers’ car and by some miracle, they hadn’t fallen off. His reasoning was that all that denture cream he had used, had given his teeth a “firm grip.”
To be continued_____________________