The prompts for this story were:
- daughter
- journey
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Humid Birmingham
Carla Meadows stared at the hammer in her hands. It was heavy. Bulky. It felt nice. Then she looked up at her father and reminded herself it was illegal to bash his brains in.
“Don’t matter if we die of that COVID”, her father said to his friends, “At least we die white.”
She had always hated humid Birmingham with its redneck, roasted racism. She hated the stereotypes about her, and her accent, that if someone from the north heard her speak, they’d immediately think she was racist. And she hated even more that, often, they’d be completely right.
“Carla,” her father said. “Come on over here and say ‘hey’. This is your going away birthday, girl.”
Her ‘party’ was just her father, Dwight, and his two friends, Roger and Eddy, drinking beers over the bbq. Carla had been looking forward to the university life, living away from her father and among other likeminded folks at University of Alabama. But now COVID made it likely she’d just end up staying home with the online classes as a replacement for a university social life.
Carla made herself a drink of vodka and stood next to the men as they talked about football.
“You excited to hang out with those lib-ur-uls?” Eddy asked. He had a big nose and a fat face and greasy black hair and she hated the way he looked at her chest.
“Uni is probly closed in the fall.”
“It’s all a bullshit lie,” Roger said. “COVID aint even real. It’s just the flu.”
“It’s not real, but it’s the flu?” Carla asked.
“Hey now.” Roger raised his hand. “Don’t go talkin’ the CNN communist propaganda now.”
“I just asked a question,” Carla said. “You said that it was a lie and not real, but that it was the flu. The flu is real. So either it is a lie and not real, or it is real and it’s the flu. It can’t be both.”
“The numbers are all skewed cause the tests are just getting more and more of,” Roger said. “Cause doctors are getting government money for every death that gets listed as a result of COVID.”
“So it’s real, then.” Carla said. “And people are dying.”
“The masks are just a way for the fascist communists to take over the country.” Eddy said. “This way they can bring in the Muslim rule faster. More masks means the hijab is easier.”
Her father looked at her with a smirk on his face. He knew that she hated these guys and he waited to see what her reply would be.
“The masks are used as a deterrent to spread the virus. People in Asian countries regularly wear masks for the simplest of reasons as a gesture of public courtesy.”
“Yeah well this isn’t no communist China,” Eddy said. “Go to China if you want me to wear a mask.”
“Would you rather get sick, or get people sick, because you don’t want to wear a mask?” she asked.
“It’s my right to my own health,” Eddy said proudly, standing tall and letting his bear gut hang out.”
“It’s your right to get other people sick?” Carla asked. “And send them to the hospital, where they can remain sick with symptoms, including damaged lungs and blood clots, for months?”
“You gotta stop believing the liberal lies,” Roger said.
“I’m still not sure what the lies are.”
“The liberals want you to believe that we are dying of the Corona but people are waking up, and seeing the truth, as the democrats try to put the violent minorities and paid crises actors to pretend to die on video in order to incite the communist race war and bring out the blacks on the streets like in Los Angeles or hell, over there in At’lanna. You see those idiots running around there killing each other? That’s what they want. No way in hell its happenin’ in Alabama. I’ll shoot them.”
“You’ll shoot people protesting about police violence, but you wont wear a mask.”
“I can’t breath in one.” Roger said it with a dumb smile on his face and Carla couldn’t take it anymore. She shucked her cocktail at his face and Roger spat out and swore and smacked her.
Then she was ready to get that hammer and hit him, but to her surprise, her father grabbed Roger by the throat and popped him one in the eye. “Don’t you dare, ever, you fucking worm, don’t you ever lay a hand on my daughter again. You ever, EVER, do that again I swear to god and my mother that I will kill you.”
Roger squirmed in her father’s grip, his face going red, as Eddy cried out for him to let Roger go.
When he did, Roger fell to his knees and gasped for air. Eddy helped him to his feet and the two left, muttering under their breath.
“Are you okay?” Dwight asked.
Carla smiled.
Wow, @dirge. This is painful. And powerful. It it like a time capsule of our times, and also a microcosm amidst all the painful socio-political drama. Very accurate, I'm sure. I don't live in the south, but there are various flavors of this scene everywhere - clashing ideologies, people name calling and putting people of "other" viewpoints in boxes. It is ripping us all apart.
Fiction gives us the opportunity to capture real life at its best and worst, and to create art of real, everyday experiences. Well done.