Showmanship

8 - Irish Soda Bread, Gay Billy May, and Thin Ice

Irish Soda Bread

   Dorothy got her ivory pale skin and freckles from the Irish part of her family. I saw her as the most American thing in the world because of the three things. She was raised on a dairy ranch. She sang Stars and Strips for her school two times during Memorial Day. She made fun of Canadians more than I made fun of Americans.

   Even with the Americanness - her veteran grandfather was as Irish as it got without having an accent. I know I shouldn't say that all Irishmen are drunk because I'm from London, but when I walked into the farmhouse it was 12:00 p.m and her grandfather had a mason jar full of moonshine.

   I thought it was water at first but the smell was so pungent that I almost fell over.

"Why don't you sit down?" Her father said with more force that's in a normal question. "Benji can park the car for you."

I didn't know who Benji was yet, but the only people that were outside now where the three eight year olds. Even thought my car was really old, and Alex and I drove his Jeep everywhere - I still loved my car. I didn't want a child who couldn't reach the peddles of my vehicle getting it out of a ditch and parking it.

After entering Dorothy's two story white panel ranch house, I found myself in a kitchen that looked like it belonged in an actual crock pot. This kitchen with the oak table, mismatch chairs, and floral curtains looked and smelled like it was being slow cooked in chicken broth for the whole school day.

Her grandfather with the ginger beard and moonshine jar even more added to the aesthetic.

   Dorothy rolled her eyes at her dad and dropped her bag on the linoleum kitchen floor. "I can get it myself dad. You don't have to make Benji do everything-"

   "No." Her dad picked up the bags. He was being helpful in that passive aggressive dad way. "You had to have someone else drive you, so you can't drive the car out of the ditch."

    "I could do it," I had thought I said, but all that really came out was. "Icouldit." Which made the young women sitting across from the jar of moonshine force her laughter down.

  Even for having hundreds and hundreds of relatives, I was embarrassing myself in front of the whole right branch of Dorothy's family tree.

   Dorothy's dad glared at me. His brown eyes could have been boiling sewer water I had been thrown in. "How articulate."

   At least they have a good vocabulary.

  "You can sit here it's okay." The young women said. She brought out a chair without cushion on it and motioned me to sit their.

   She had green eyes, and her hair was a muddy blonde that you could see the red tint on from the light. Her freckles only collected around her nose bridge and were more orange than Dorothy's. Her hair was also no where near as fluffy as Dorothy's, and her teeth weren't as straight.

   So my attention went straight back to Dorothy.

   "This is my aunt," Dorothy waved to the girl that only looked twenty three. "But not really because our family is so screwed up-"

   "Well I mean," the girl interrupted Dorothy. Her slight buck teeth gave her a lisp. "My sister kinda raised us like siblings, but I always ruled over her by being the aunt."

   "-her names Willow." Dorothy stated in a purposely sarcastic tone. And then she turned away from Willow and faced her grandfather.

   "He fought in Vietnam and forced me to drive through a heard of cows," she let out quickly, like her grandfather was a topic that should just be left under wraps.