the routine never varied: morning preschool chores, school, after school chores, homework - which I didn't do, then to bed. In school I was always getting into trouble and being punished but never had to serve a detention, they couldn't restrain rural family's children from going home to do their chores. The Administrative Board knew the parents would pull the kids out completely and profess to 'home school' them which equated to no education at all. Only about half of the students completed high school in less than twenty years of age anyhow. They held me back in the third and fifth grades due to my lack of effort, amongst other things, but I got passed for the other grades cause the teachers wanted to get rid of me. Luke had earned all A's and was placed forward a grade which then separated us by three years. I had tried to steal his work when we first started out together but an ugly scar on his forehead which ran through his left eyebrow enabled the teachers to easily distinguish us apart. I felt it wasn't fair to hinder me like that and I made them pay by 'keying' the faculty and principal's cars with a sharp rock.
Then when we were thirteen another strange thing occurred which reminded me of the first rooster. We had a dog named 'Mutt' because he was a mix of just about every low-life, cast-off breed that ever lived and wasn't the least bit friendly even to the hand that fed him. He would run wild and return home if the mood struck him. One afternoon a neighbor who lived two miles down the road came knocking on the front door. "I'm sorry, Orwell," as he held out a partially filled potato sack. "I recognized your dog as he attacked my goat herd... he killed a young'n. I tried to call him off but he turned on me and my little boy standing by my side. I had to put your dog down. I think he may be responsible for other livestock killings on other farms 'round about also. I brought him back to you. Sorry again, Orwell. I had no choice."
"No problem," answered Pa. "Thank you for your consideration. Let me pay you for your losses and time. You're a good neighbor." The man declined and they shook hands in an understanding. And that second incident prompted my parents to have another after dinner discussion which I suspected and resulted in just about the same course of action. Although I personally didn't see what transpired - I was kept out of sight from the proceedings on this occasion, they allowed Luke to observe but he wouldn't talk about it. That didn't bother me none; I didn't care in the least in what silliness these old people did. I had always felt Mutt was a mean old cuss who scared the poopy outta me and I woulda tossed his worthless ass in a field for the possums and raccoons to eat if it were up to me.
Sure enough eight days later another young, friendly dog with a right leg limp and the same body markings appeared. He scampered as best he could about the homestead. I wondered, "Where was Pa finding these replacements and how could they afford it?" Then figured, "They were probably trading with poultry," which made sense to me. Ma and Pa were pleased, Iya acted indifferent and Luke seemed as happy as a pig in slop. I quickly developed enough courage to kick my ex-nemesis in his hind quarters whenever I could. He would slink away, turn and pant at me. It looked like a smile. I yelled at him, "You stupid dog, what'cha you lookin' at?"
One day, just to mess with my brother's head while he was gardening, I said, "Luke, I haffta admit your flowers sure look pretty. Besides, you being a good gardener, you're smart and could go to college someday... if'n that is you got a scholarship so it wouldn't cost Ma and Pa no money. What'cha gonna do about your fancy flowers if that happens? I sure ain't gonna tend them for ya."
Luke thought about that situation for a moment then answered, "You're right about the money. If I'm lucky enough to receive a scholarship I'll go to the community college in Monroe. I hear they have a four year program now and I'll commute somehow. Either way, go or not, I have to maintain my garden. And thanks for saying it looks nice."
"And what about after you're finished college?" I persisted. "You gonna leave these sticks and go work in the big city? You'd be crazy not to."
"That's all right, Cory. I have commitments here. I reckon I'll stay close-by." Luke grinned, "Just to give you someone to pick on if for nothing else."
My brother was always upbeat and willing to help. "Luke, you can leave anytime you want to as far as I'm concerned," I thought, "and the sooner the better." Then it occurred to me, "What if I left instead? Screw Luke and these other Rednecks... but... I ain't quite ready to take off yet." I kicked the trowel out of his hand and declared, "Your flowers look and smell like cow manure."
A few more years had passed and we were now sixteen. It was a Monday night; I sat flipping through the pages of a girly magazine and listening to a radio I had stolen from another kid while Luke did his homework in the room we shared. I was failing the Eighth grade while Luke was about to become an 'honors' senior in the fall. I announced, "I ain't taking this crap no more! I ain't got no future here. Feeding chickens, slopping pigs and having the school on my ass all the time. I'm giving you notice brother." He relayed my feelings to our parents who remorsefully shook their heads. Iya remained stoic as usual.
Three days later, I rose up at 3 a.m, snuck through the house and took all the money Ma and Pa had stashed away - I knew all their hiding places. I didn't enter Iya's room; she kept unusual hours. You could see flickering candle lights coming from beneath her bedroom door at the strangest times. I packed my school backpack with a few food provisions, extra undies, strapped on my hunting knife and left on foot in the opposite direction they'd expect, away from Monroe. After walking four miles to the south I caught a ride on a Big Rig (an eighteen wheeler) headed toward Columbia on SR165. The driver smoked a stogy and used a lot of profanity. I had to drop my drawers and give him a peek. Nothing else happened, or else I woulda had to gig him proper with my pig sticker. I wasn't in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.
Many years passed. Cory had been arrested and spent time in more jails than he could count - all for misdemeanors or non-violent crimes except for once in Texas where a persuasive junkie convinced him to be a driver on a 7-11 stick-up. He said the attendant was in on the score and it was a done deal. Instead, the whole rouse was a trap set up by the local police. In court Cory had been sentenced to five years due to his multiple minor convictions. The judge, an ex-minister, felt the lad was headed in the wrong direction but still redeemable and offered him an alternate. He said Cory could enlist in the Army which needed to booster its ranks due to some low-key skirmish in some unheard of country called Vietnam. He accepted, went to Boot Camp in Fort Hood and washed out of Basic Training after three weeks. But during his short stint in the service of Uncle Sam he met and semi-befriended another boot recruit in the same company. His name was Hector, a black Cuban who hailed from Mariel and had joined the U.S. Army in order to receive citizenship. Their bunks were adjacent and his new buddy sure was happy to be in the military due to the current racial violence and political issues raging in America. Cory had never been part of that sordid, prejudicial scene due to his upbringing by 'Aunt' Iya. Hector and he would swap stories of their youth while they ironed clothes and polished their boots. His Cuban tales were always full of hope and Cory's were always dismal. Fortunately, in one of their many bitching sessions, Hector explained to him the mysteries which had nagged him about Iya.
"The name Iya is short for Iyalorisha," he stated. Cory vaguely remembered hearing her being called that once or twice. "It is an African term for a Santeria 'woman priest'. The Santeria religion has many rituals and bizarre beliefs. For the most part what you observed with the chicken was pretty basic. After they skin and carve away the meat of the animal it can be eaten or put to another beneficial use such as fertilizer for crops or in a garden as your Ma did. The flesh is the 'good part' of the being. The blood is the soul. You can pray with it to the gods, cast spells or mix it in potions for good or bad intentions. Blood has many uses. The bones contain the goodness or the badness of the life form. If the dead one has led a good life then all of him can be buried in a grave with respect. If he has lived a 'bad' life then his bones must be burned for purification and scattered back into the eart
h where no one dwells."
"What about reincarnation?" I asked. "I think maybe the chicken and a dog both came back from the dead."
"Ha. No, I don't believe so," he scoffed. "I have neither seen nor heard of it. I think your father got new animals which appeared similar to the old ones. All roosters and mongrel dogs look the same to me." He shrugged his shoulders, "But I do not know all."
That made me feel better. Iya was strange enough without me thinking she lived in secret as a voodoo witch using black magic.
But now I was out of the Army and had to make sure the judge when he received the notice wouldn't have me arrested again to serve my sentence. I got out of Texas as fast as I could. Hoo-rah. I had outsmarted those cock-suckers again.
I didn't have any skills and needed money. I bummed around the south doing construction work and when that went dry I became a 'picker' with all the illegal immigrants chasing the seasonal produce. More time passed, I was in my mid-thirties, one step above living on the street and decided to return to a life of crime. It had benefits and if I got busted