CARBON COPY

Chapter 5: A Couple Of Wild Boys

Chapter 5: A Couple Of Wild Boys

The Talton Residence, The West Pasture, Keedon, Georgia.....(1992)

      J.W. Talton had barely missed being hit by his mother's broom as she suddenly caught up to him once he'd made it out the bedroom window. He managed to pivot rather quickly as he rolled out of the way kicking up a bit of dirt as he moved to avoid yet another well-timed lung at his body from his mother's wooden broom. Wilma Jean had heard the commotion from inside and rushed out to see the outcome. Norma Jean Talton had been a force to be reckoned with and the only woman in the world who could put her only son J.W. in check when she got going. She'd been a rather plump woman given to casual wear and flower decor attire even though she wore thick perfume, and various necklaces and earrings in the style of flamingos.

She had a pair of pink framed glasses and wore pink lipstick with her hair in numerous large blonde curls. J.W. had been privy to the fact that she had them due to always wearing her hair in rollers at the end of every day and it didn't seem to change once she'd been out and about. Norma Jean had been all business as she narrowed her blue eyes at her only son swatting at him with all her might with the hard wooden broom.

"MOMMA!" shouted J.W. barely ducking her swings as he tried to explain himself.

"YOU NO GOOD HORNDOG FIRST YOU TAKE UP WITH A YOUNG FLOOZY AND THEN YOU LEAVE YOUR WIFE AND BOY FOR SIX WHOLE MONTHS!" shouted Norma Jean enraged at her son for his perceived callousness.

"Momma it ain't like that." J.W. attempted to explain while still ducking the swinging of the broom. "Momma let me explain, I didn't touch that girl....and I left to make some money on an oil rig job...Momma don't!"

He ducked another swing of the broom as Wilma Jean watched from the front porch laughing like crazy as she folded her arms across her chest and enjoyed the show.

"Momma this ain't right I didn't do nothin' with that girl." J.W. continued to plead his case once more barely missing his mother's swing of the broom as she tried her best to knock his head off with it.

He took note of the truck coming barreling down the dirt path and rushed toward it as his mother gave chase. He was relieved to see Whitmore in the driver's seat and rushed up to the door. The boy had known the drill as he slid over in the seat and smiled when he took note of his grandmother.

"Hey Grandma," he said happily.

"Hi Wit, my don't you look handsome today," she said pleased to see her grandson as always. "You have been a good boy, unlike your no-good father."

"Something like that," replied Wit with a sheepish expression.

J.W. glared at his son recalling that all of this drama had been his doing but he didn't say a word as he pulled the truck out of the path and turned around to barrel down the dirt path wanting to avoid his mother at all costs.

"YOU GOTTA COME HOME SOMETIMES WAYLON JUNIOR!" shouted Norma Jean gripping her broom with malice. "AND WHEN YOU DO I'LL BE WAITIN' FOR YOU!"

J.W. ignored her as he drove his truck along the dirt road with his only son sitting in the passenger seat. He had been fortunate that he managed to get dressed before his mother caught up to him despite being annoyed about his current situation.

"Next time you get the broom," said J.W. glaring at his son from his mirror.

Whitmore smirked and tried his best to appear grateful.

"Sorry Dad," he said in a small voice.

J.W. sighed and shook his head. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his son, even take the heat from the women for his folly in the barn.

"How was school?" he asked as he continued his drive.

"Boring as usual," replied Whitmore.

"You meet any other girls?" asked J.W. already proving to be something of a terrible influence on his teenager.

"None that I liked," replied Witmore.

J.W. smirked.

"Look how big you got," he said remarking on his son's towering height. "In a couple of years, you'd be a proper lookin' man."

"No thanks to your Neanderthal genetics old man," remarked Witmore. "Do you know how many pairs of jeans I had to go through in the last three months?

J.W. smirked.

He had similar issues growing up but had an easier time of it because his mother sowed all his clothes. They continued their drive in relative silence just as Whitmore turned his attention to the radio. He had been fiddling with it until he managed some rock station that made J.W. narrow his eyes and turn it in another direction.

"Hey Dad that's a popular song," said Whitmore.

"The hell it is, it just sounds like screaming noise, can't even hear the guitar in the background." replied J.W. not at all missing to convey his detestment for his son's taste in what he called "music" as of late.

The radio landed on a particular country music station that J.W. had been fond of, as Whitmore rolled his eyes the moment he heard the familiar beat to his father's favorite song. It was a classic from the year after Whitmore himself had been born. His father was fond of it as it reminded him of his younger days running wild with the girls and being a more or less pissed-off teenager even at the age of twenty-two until he came across Wilma Jean and she made him grow up to be a father to Whitmore.

"I looked for trouble and I found it son, right down the barrel of a lawman's gun." J.W. howled along with the radio.

Whitmore shook his head recalling how goofy his father looked enjoying the music. He'd recognized the song as Ain't Living Long Like This, by Country legend Waylon Jennings. He'd been quite sure that the words and the fact that the singer's name was Walyon largely contributed to his father favoring the song even more so than the memories of his misspent youth.

Unlike most people, J.W. had not hesitated to tell his son all the stories about his time before Whitmore was born to ensure he understood what he'd eventually have to go through and how to get out of it. Whitmore had an enormous amount of respect for both parents but he'd been his father's boy through and through. So much so that Wilma Jean had been blindsided by it time and time again.

Whitmore noticed they had pulled up to the DMV and that instead of getting out right away, J.W. had lingered to listen to the rest of his favorite song before heading inside. The lad knew all too well why they had shown up, his recollection of being pulled over and Sherif Pike addressing his expired permit had been right at the forefront of his mind.

He did not doubt in his mind that he'd been fortunate that everyone in town knew his father as he'd been something of a local celebrity with various ideas and schemes that people greatly benefited from in the past. It was an unspoken rule that The Taltons were more or less town royalty when it came to the town folk and everyone had been rooting for J.W. and Wilma Jean to make the long haul even before Whitmore was born.

J.W. Talton had been the town darling ever since he'd been five years old and even his wild and rebellious phase never deterred anyone from having love for him. Sadly, he never took note of how much everyone loved him in town often scheming to make a break from it whenever he could.

Once the song ended, J.W. and Whitmore filed out of the truck and headed toward the door of the small DMV office. J.W. had not been one for waiting in the long line and of course, knew the girl that had been working there for a good deal of years. She had a crush on him and he often used it to his advantage when it came to getting out of waiting.

Whitmore had been well aware of this and often dubbed it his father's evil superpower, given his sway over women he'd never take to bed as his romantic interest had only been in his wife.

 Still, he'd been something of a charmer since birth and it never failed him as of yet.