Billy Joe

I wrote this a few years ago. It's an intro to a story I never got back to. I don't know if I think it's good or not. Y'all are welcome to weigh in with constructive criticism if you've got any!

Billy Joe Bob Ray Franklin Bob, or “BJBRFB,” as people would have called him if they could remember that many letters, which they couldn’t, so they didn’t, was outside. The air had a strong hint of manure. Actually, the smell of manure was so pervasive that Billy Joe didn’t want to open his mouth for fear that he’d taste it, and eeeww, yuck. He was “all man” in plenty of ways, but he squirmed like a little girl when it came to poop. That’s why he wasn’t a cowboy, a farmer, a veterinarian, or even a rodeo clown – he was an HVAC man, and he was on a mission on this hot, humid, manure-filled day.

Mrs. Cutter’s AC system was down. The old bat was in a tizzy. Actually, she was in an insane, heat-, sweat-, and manure-smell-induced rage that involved throwing things – things which BJ all-manfully dodged as he made his way to the pooped-out (poop again, ha ha!) system. With a bandana over his nose and mouth, he set to work, sometimes allowing a projectile launched by Mrs. Cutter to hit the machine. It was a trade secret that strategic – and sometimes random – kicking and banging do make things work, so he took full advantage of Mrs. C’s powerful pitching arm. Pretty soon Billy took to placing his head directly in front of the area he wanted whacked, so that when Mrs. C aimed at him, he could dodge right before he was beamed and – WHAM! – she’d hit the desired spot. He was highly amused at the whole situation, not to mention his own cleverness. He couldn’t laugh, though, because that would mean breathing deeply of the poopy air.

After about 20 minutes of tinkering and whamming, the air conditioner was beaten into submission and began chugging, and then whirring. The effect was like that of a snake charmer’s flute on Mrs. Cutter. She became quiet. Then, with the look of someone who could hear musical voices no one else could hear, she hoarsely whispered, “Air conditioning!” and ran inside. Billy Joe chose not to follow her in; he stuck the bill inside the screen door. Though she’d been driven crazy by the poop-heat, in her lucid moments Mrs. Cutter was good at paying her bills. She’d often throw in a pie or some biscuits or something else highly edible. BJ was willing to brave the manure smell for the promise of good food (although the two together would have made him vomit, and violently).