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  • Rebekah Mallory

The Wind Don’t Talk

A shift's a-comin'. They don't know it yet but it's comin'.


A soft breeze tickles ears of corn out yonder; they sway, gently rockin' back-n-forth, foreshadowin' signs and portents.


I done told Marylou, my sister, and she's the only one who believes me. Course she believes mosta what I tell her, being five and all. But Meemaw, Pa...they roll their eyes and say, "Tommyjames, you quit that hollowed out daydreamin' and get them chores done."


I tell 'em I was doin' my chores when the wind spoke, and the wind ain't gimme no choice but to listen. They shake their heads and say, "The wind don't talk, Tommyjames. That's just one of them fool tall tales you musta heard downtown. Now git."


But I don't go downtown. I ain't heard nothin'. Meemaw and Pa think I's eavesdroppin' on the n'er-do-wells sittin' in front of Joe's Butcher Shop waitin' on their slop. Boy, will they be sore when they find out I ain't fibbin'; the wind does talk and if what the wind says is true, big things're gonna happen.


Wind told me I got the curse. Wind told me lotsa folks came before me and mistook the curse for a gift. But it's a curse cuz I got in more trouble tryin' to tell folks what's comin' than I done got gifts. So, it ain't no gift though the wind says I should 'preciate that I was chosen.


"Tommyjames! Git your butt down here!"


Aw, hell. That's Pa. I gotta go. I'll write more later.

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