Twisted Tales for Twisted Minds

A Whole Latte Fear

 At the southern end of Alabama, runs hills that break off from the Appalachian mountain range. Driving around those hills gives me comfort like nothing else.

Squeezing high between most any two peaks are traditional southern swamps filled with gators and moss-covered Bald Cypress. Down around another bend, wide valleys are full of cattle, stinky pigs, or them godawful chicken farms. Next, more mid-range, are clear shimmering lakes with old Hillbilly's huts perched beside them, including bearded men fishing, living their best life without a woman to nag them.

I wanted to interrupt their peace, but I knew better.

On yesterday's drive, I reached the closest thing to a city that I'll ever know. I'm terrified of life—a legacy of my uncle. A ton of things were left to me by him—much of it not his in the first place.

I was heading for the local coffee shop, run by a community church called Hebrews.

The funniest thing was that the barista is a former drug cartel agent. Tatted up, three tears under his left eye—a man you didn't think would turn into one of those old-school Jesus freaks. Apolo quite regularly would tell newcomers he was named after the author of the book the shop was named for, but they weren't spelled the same. If you lusted for reformed murderers and daddy complexes, come spend your time sighing dreamily at the man. I think his internalized punishment for his past is celibacy.

A pity...

Honestly, he's more free than me, but I wasn't here for him.

The hot summer's glare killed the lighting. I couldn't see a thing as I walked in, and I stood there, blinking owlishly against my round rims.

A hand pushed me on my right shoulder. I jerked towards it. Then a voice on my left spoke, "You've finally arrived, our main suspect."

A shriek flew out of me as I tried to shuffle my way ass first out the door. Eventually, I calmed down enough to take a breath as the yellow tape became visible. Damn eyesight had me thinking back to that one day that changed my life, not to a current crime scene.

"Alright, who died now?" I turned to face my friend-turned-foster-brother of more than half a decade, Jeff Turnsby.

"Oh, nobody, Macie." They put a too-small Postman's outfit on a 6'4" former Lineman, and he looks like a cross between a stripper and Mr. Bean.

I'm blind.

There's so much awkwardness you can't unsee. Thankfully, it's a very platonic relationship. "I just got the old place decorated to celebrate your hard-won court case."

That's when the many friends I more owe to his on-display junk than to my personality shrieked, "Surprise!"

It was from the corner of the shop, nowhere near me.

Really, this is All Things Jeff.

Ok, Willemina was a genuine friend, and that's why the doofus is engaged to her. This once-girl-heavy group was dispersing slowly.

I still put up with the Johnson twins (who had menagerie...no, ménage trois goals), Dense Kelly (a pansexual who calls themselves dense and talks about marrying frying pans for fun), Rita Toleda, Văn VanVans (Alice had her name changed to comply with Grandpa's will—he hated everything "ex-wife"), and Lewis (the tool that married Alice and was upset over her name change instead of her greedily staring at Jeff's groin). You would expect a group like this to be catty as hell, but this is our 7th summer after high school together.

We found things we liked outside of our quirks, like when Kelly quit upsetting the old Bible Thumpers? They now run a charity shop together that focuses on foster children.