(Continuation of story of Jamey Awful’s birthday party, without a doubt, the most fun I ever had in my life.  If he gave a party today, I’d be there!)

Jamey’s birthday party was incredible. There was no sappy “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”, no party hats, just fun, fun, fun. Mama Awful didn’t concern herself with us, leaving us on our own.  Of course, we ran wild, ripping through mud puddles, jumping out the barn loft, and robbing chicken nests.  We splatted eggs against the side of the barn and climbed into fig trees breaking off a branch or two. My sandals were long gone and the skirt of my dress ripped from the waist band.  The sash ties were mud-caked.  From the look on Mother’s face when she walked over to get me, I could see she was not happy, not even going in for coffee like she usually did at neighbor lady’s houses. “I ought to tear you up for running wild like that, losing your shoes and tearing up your new dress.”

“But Mama, we was just playing.  We didn’t mess up nothing in the house!” I protested.  I usually got in trouble for meddling with people’s whatnots when we went to visit, a terrible wrong.

“ Don’t dispute my word!” she hissed through clenched teeth.  “”You’re never going over there again!”  My heart fell.  Surely she didn’t mean it!

I figured Mother would forget after a few days, but no……….No visits to the Awfuls. If they noticed they were being snubbed you couldn’t tell. We were always ready to play with them if they rambled through our yard on the way to bigger and better things. During this time Daddy brought home a huge, mean turkey, to fatten for Thanksgiving. He was a monster jumping, spurring,  and flogging us with when we had to feed the chickens and gather eggs. He even got bolder and started flying over the fence to attack us in our own territory. We stayed as far away as we could, but he ambushed us if he caught us off guard.

My personal favorite among the Awfuls was Junior who enjoyed a special claim to fame. He ate bugs and other strange items. He ate his first bug on a dare and liked it, saying it tasted like peanuts. From that time forward, he was generally known as Bugeater. The kids in the neighborhood took pride in finding the biggest, strangest bugs for him to eat. Bugeater did have standards, refusing to eat worms.

Before too many days, we were lucky enough to have Jamey, Bugeater, and Davey pay us a call. “Where’s that bad turkey?  I wanta see it.” demanded Jamey.  

“He’s out in the chicken yard but you better leave him alone! He’s real mean!”  I pointed out.  I watched them head for the chicken yard, wanting no part of that turkey.

Sure enough, that old devil turkey flew at them, ready to do battle. They screamed and ran like crazy, but not in the cowardly way we had. “Whoo whoo!  Turn turkey run!” they shrieked, chasing him all over the chicken yard, flogging him with their caps and sticks.  The terrorized turkey finally escaped up into the trees and stayed there till they sauntered off.  

“That ol’turkey ain’t so bad,” Jamey said as they banged the gate shut on the way out.

”Wait, where are you going?  Don’t you want to play?”  I liked them even better now.

”Nah, We’re going crawfishing over in Donnie Parker’s ditch.”  Jamey replied, ruining my day.

That turkey’s spirit was broken.  He never bothered us again. I liked those kids even better than ever after that.

I gave Mother a little time to forget before asking to go to the Awfuls. One golden day, she had a headache and wanted to rest on the sofa until her head felt better. We played quietly for a few minutes till she went to sleep. “Mother, can I go play with the Awful’s?” I whispered.  She didn’t say no, so off I went.

The Awfuls had the best place in the neighborhood. Overgrown bushes tangled into the fence so the yard was a jungle, a great place for adventures. Tall grass and junk in the yard made it easy to hide. We chased the sleeping hound dogs out of the abandoned cars and played cops and robbers. We pulled broken boards off the barn for fort-building. Best of all, there was a big tree with low-hanging branches by the front door. “Look at this!” Jamey shouted.  I followed  the boys up the tree and through a window into the attic. From there, we dropped through a hole into the living room ceiling and sneaked behind the furniture into a back bedroom where daft, old grandma was in the bed.

“Aigheeeeeeee!” she screeched, clutching her blankets like she’d seen a ghost. 

“Y’all git out’a there!  Don’t git your Granny stirred up.  I got a headache” yelled Mama Awful over the TV.

They showed us a secret way out through a hole in the floor of her closet. Pelting each other with dirt clods from their bare yard, I’d never felt so free.

Eventually, Mother came stomping over.  “What are you doing over here?  Don’t you ever go off without asking!” she said.  “I’m gonna tear you up!”

“But Mama, you said I could go!” I whined. dreading a switching.  “ I asked when you was layin’ on the couch.” I told her.  

I could see she remembered. “You knew I was asleep.  Don’t you ever pull that again.” she threatened. Sadly, that was my last visit to the Awful’s house.

Not too long afterward, the Awfuls showed up with little Becky Awful in tow. She was about three and overdue to join their traveling show. Daddy was unhappily cleaning out a clogged septic line, bailing nasty stuff into a wheelbarrow.  Not in a great mood, he sent the Awfuls on their way, not noting that Becky had remained behind playing quietly off to the side. She was making mud pies with clean white sand and septic drain sludge. As soon as he saw her, he howled for Mother. “Kathleen, get this kid out of here!  She’s playing in this excrement(paraphrased) and nasty as a pig!  Do I have to do everything?”  

“Bill, I didn’t know she was out there.”  Mother washed Becky a little under the hose and led her home.  Becky was so filthy and smelly it would probably have been easier to get another little girl than to try to clean her up. As it turned out, that wasn’t a problem. Becky showed up two days later in the same malodorous outfit.

Since we couldn’t visit the Awfuls anymore, we had to make do with whatever crumbs of joy they tossed our way. My parents had their noses out of joint because Mr. Awful had shut his pigs up in a small lot between our house and theirs. Not surprisingly, it really, really stunk. Mother had us helping her hang laundry on the line when we heard a huge ruckus next door. It seems Mr. Awful had noticed Jamey’s missing birthday shoes.  “You boys get out there and find them shoes or I’m gonna tear you up.  We ain’t got money to waste on shoes.”  he roared. I could have told him where one of them was, but Mother shushed me up. The boys made for the pigpen, wading around, looking in the muddy black hog-wallows seeking the lost shoes. Of course, it wasn’t long before Bugeater slipped and fell, then Davey, then Jamey. They forgot about the shoes and were streaking through the pig mud. Mud showered everywhere. The beleaguered pigs cowered in the corners, trying to save their bacon. Eventually, Mr. Awful came out in the yard to check the progress of the shoe search. Finding them in the pigpen meant big trouble. He pulled a spring of grass and threatened to switch them if they didn’t find the shoes.

“No don’t whoop me,” whined Jamey. Then the other boys chimed in.

“He backed down. “ Well, I won’t whoop you, but you gonna have to git a bath before bedtime.

It did my heart good to see they could get in trouble. It’s hard to live next door to kids with a perfect life.