A redneck takes the high road, sorta-A note for Mike-Coop rethinks his life
Ernest Cooper stared out the window of his trailer. He saw the BMW across the road. It had been there all fucking day. It was night when he saw it after coming in from his shift at the sawmill. The license plate was from Connecticut. Coop popped the top on another beer. He sat down and considered the car across the road.
His own vehicle was a 1992 Chevy Silverado four wheel drive pick up. He had bought it used. It was banged up from repeated treks in the woods. Coop loved that pick up. It didn't always love him. He had to replace the tranny and the crank case. Otherwise, it was what every country boy needed along with some beer, a good dog, and the love of a good woman. It was that last part that vexed Coop.
Coop had been to Anita's a few times. It wasn't love for Anita. It was more like maintenance. Anita needed a man to keep her satisfied until her real man came along. For Coop, it was love. He knew what Anita had been through with her husband. He also felt bad for her boy Eric. Coop was fond of Eric. Not having a boy of his own, he would toss the football or baseball with Eric and teach him how to shoot a slingshot. Coop spent much time in his head considering being a husband and a father to the widow and her son. It was what he wanted. Now, Mister BMW was over there fucking his wife.
It wasn't the first time for Coop. There had been a Crown Vic once. Must have been a cop having a one nighter. Another time, it was a minivan. He smirked at that one. What kind of man drives a goddamn minivan? Then, there was the brand new Camaro. Coop couldn't say much on that one. Now, here was the BMW.
Coop wanted to go over there and smash all the windows out of that car. He wanted to beat the shit out of whoever this Connecticut yankee in King Arthur's trailer court was. But he just popped the top on another cold one and let it drain straight down his pipe. Fuck it.
All those men had something in common. They were somebodies. Coop was a nobody with his muddy ass workboots, his old pick up truck, and his dirty job at the sawmill. A woman like Anita didn't want a man like him. She wanted a man that was established. Guys like Coop were just appetizers along the way to the main course. Anita needed a man with money. She didn't need a man like Coop who was nothing.
"How did I get here?" Coop asked himself.
Coop stared at the beer can for a bit. He drank the last bit of beer and crushed the aluminum in his fist.
"I'm tired of this shit," he mumbled to himself.
Coop rummaged in a closet and pulled out an aluminum baseball bat. He pulled another beer from the fridge and marched out of his trailer and across the road to take it out on the BMW. That fucking Yankee was going to feel some goddamn Southern wrath. Coop pulled the bat back and was fixing to bring it down on the back window of the car. Then, he stopped.
"This car smells like shit," Coop said as he caught a whiff from the open window.
Coop thought better of his plan. The Yankee didn't know him, and he didn't know the Yankee. He was just getting some pussy just like Coop had before. They weren't any different. Smashing those windows out wouldn't do nothing but get his ass in jail. Plus, the car reeked of a shit smell that just wouldn't go away. Coop went back to his trailer and got a pencil and some paper. He wrote this note:
Dear yankee, Your car smells like a shithouse. It must suck to be riding around in such a fancy automobile looking respectable to the world but smelling that shit smell inside. Ain't that the way it is with all things? What looks good don't always smell good. Sincerely, A FRIEND
Coop left the note under the windshield wiper of the car. Then, he returned to his trailer to rethink his life and have another goddamn beer.
Chapter 4
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