Cara was a thin teenage girl who spoke with an awkward and hesitant quiver in her voice. She was relatively good natured with mid-length straight blond hair and large, thick glasses. She was, I believe, of Appalachian blood and reminded me of a sort of modern day Laura Ingalls from the frontiers of a riverside trailer park.
At the time, I had my hair grown out in a long and thick mop of mangy waviness rippling down to my shoulders, and I possessed a full, moderately close-cropped beard. For reasons I cannot imagine, Cara one day took to calling me "Jesus."
She enunciated the syllables with a deliberate cadence in her quivering Bluegrass drawl, sounding not unlike Dana Carvey's "The Church Lady": "Jee-zuss." She then smiled at herself with an immense visage of self-satisfaction at having thought of the clever moniker.
Her barb was good natured, but as I prided myself on always keeping an upper hand on the taunts between the kids and me, I had to think of a retort quickly, lest I lose my perch of superior wisdom and wit. I smiled at Cara and offered, "Oh, yeah?" to stall for time to think of something good.
"Yeah!" she responded.
"Okay, no problem," I said. "Coal Miner's Daughter."
Cara's jaw dropped. She took on a look of incredulity, a loss for words. She gazed around for help, but all she saw were my coworkers laughing apparently at our comedic name-wrangling and the fact that I had pinned down her counter-ego so precisely. She huffed a few times, and then retorted, "Jesus."
"Coal Miner's Daughter."
"Jesus."
"Coal Miner's Daughter."
Later I discovered that my coworkers were not only laughing at our tussle of nit-wits, but also at my naivety. Apparently I was too simple to see that Cara's barbs emanated from a crush she had on me. A very innocent crush, no doubt, but a crush nonetheless, and prudent to discourage. Once I realized this, I kept vigilant about our interactions.
Yet, I could not resist, and I continued evermore to christen Cara as our resident "Coal Miner's Daughter."
And I continued in the role of "Jesus."
Amen.
********
© 2008 David Lee Cummings
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4 comments:
Hey, mister. You got a problem with Appalachian people who've lived in trailer parks?
Hey Jesus, how's pops?
Pops is always busy, always busy ...
Regarding Appalachians living in trailers, I have no problem with them at all. In fact, I was a Hawaiian pineapple who lived in a trailer when I first moved to Indiana at age 10. So, I too can empathize with the trailer park experience. Yes indeedee.
flip-flopper. Should I call you Mitt?
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