Short Stories and Poems by Me

Coward of the County

I watched as they hit him again, and again, their fists flying, cruelty etched across the their faces. I just stood there and watched as they screamed at him taunting, “You yellow-belly, fight back!”. I just stood there and watched as they hit my twin brother Tommy one more time and he collapsed to the ground.

I know I could have stopped the fight, hell I wanted to stop the fight, but Tommy had given me stern instruction three years ago after Daddy died to never ever try to protect him, only to protect myself.

You see Tommy didn’t want to be branded the “County Coward”. The unfortunate name our Father picked up a few years back. Sadly in our town if you do something especially cowardly they switch from calling you “Yellowbelly” to “County Coward” and you're stuck with the title for life. Being known as the “County Coward” really takes a toll on you, and has some awful side effects. No one will hire you, people give you weird looks in the street, and there is endless taunting. Because of all this our family basically lived in poverty and were afraid to leave the safety of our own house.

But, in my opinion, what our Dad did hardly deserved the drastic name alteration. I guess it all started in the summer of 1972. Daddy had just gotten fired from working in the mines, for refusing to go down in the obviously unstable and dangerous mine shaft. Which landed our family in some hard times, but we all decided we’d rather be poor and have Daddy alive and well instead of better off with Daddy dusty and dead in the bottom of a mine shaft. But in exchange for his safety he earned himself the name “Yellowbelly”.

He was out of work for about the month, when he landed a job at the town Grocery Store as a cashier.

After a few weeks we were back on our feet, we even had enough money to buy pastries on Sunday morning after church, a luxury most couldn't afford. It was all going stupendously until that horrid day, a man dressed completely in black attempted to rob the Grocery Store. He busted through the door at two in the afternoon waving a gun around haphazardly, yelling, “Everybody hands up or you get it!”. He picked a good time of the day to rob a place, the Grocery Store was nearly deserted. The only souls in the entire place where Daddy and Old Mrs. Henry.

Rumor has it the man dressed like a shadow cautiously approached the checkout station where Daddy was in the midst of bagging Mrs. Henry’s food items, pointed his gun at the old trembling woman and told Daddy to give him all the money or he’ll shoot poor Mrs. Henry.

But you see Father was never good under pressure, he had a weak heart. So instead of handing over the money and saving Mrs. Henry’s life he fainted on the spot. The robber misreading the situation thought Daddy was trying to escape so he yelled, “You damn coward”, and shot a bullet straight through the poor woman's head.

When Daddy awoke he was in a jail cell with a sharp looking lawyer telling him he has been arrested on charges of unintended assistance in murder. A week after being that cell Daddy’s best friend (being the first of many), stopped by the jail to inform him he was now officially the “County Coward”. They all taunted him, saying cruel things that nearly broke my father to tears. But my Father never cried ever.

He spent seven years in that cell until he died of an overlooked brain tumor. His death riveted our family, Mama went slightly insane, crying constantly while cleaning the house over and over again, Tommy essentially became a cruel mute, and I went into a dream state.

Three years later our family was doing a little better, Mama no longer cried, and Tommy was no longer mute, he was definitely cruel but not mute. To me it just felt like a bad dream I was slowly disappearing. But I missed the old Tommy. The Tommy who played Basketball with me and helped me with my Math Homework. He didn't do that kind of stuff anymore, all he did now was pick fights with people he knew could kick his ass. I think he blames himself for Daddy’s death and uses the fights he inevitably loses as a form of punishment.  

I’ve grown accustomed to going out every night and finding Tommy knocked out and carrying his dead weight back home. When he wakes up he never remembers me taking him home so he doesn't yell at me for protecting him. But in a way I think he knows and is thankful because tonight when I picked him up to carry him home he whispered thank you so quietly I almost didn't hear him.