Songs About Tennessee – Catfish and Kool-Aid Part I
Catfish and Kool-Aid laughed as they tied the Lay-Z-Boy to the truck’s ball hitch. Kool-Aid laughed because he thought he was driving the truck. Catfish laughed because he knew Kool-Aid thought he was driving the truck.
“You ready,” Catfish hollered from the cab as he slammed the door.
“God, I reckon,” Kool-Aid said to himself feeling the May heat seep from the recliner’s foam and polyester.
“Hell yeah,” Catfish mumbled to himself. He cranked *Freebird* in the dusty, crackling speakers.
Smoke from Kool-Aid’s Marlboro rolled out in twin trails behind his fat, honest face as they climbed Herd Ridge Road. He smiled with blank amusement as he relished the beauty of the low, Appalachian hills. He’d walked the same road hundreds of times on the way to Catfish’s house. He felt now disconnected and superior to it all from his rolling throne. He reckoned lazy folks would pay a bundle to see this country from a rolling Lay-Z-Boy. He watched the cattle grazing in the orange, sun-speckled shade.
The flatbed crested the steep ridge and Catfish coasted out of granny-low. Kool-Aid began to feel a little embarrassed when he thought of old Miss Taylor cruising by his spectacle in her spotless Olds. He was the spectacle, he thought. It wasn’t weird to see Catfish driving his daddy’s Ford out of the Herd Ridge on any old Sunday. But, boy, this county ain’t ever seen any fool brave enough to coast the tar on a Lay-Z-Boy with wheels.
“Hope you’re enjoying yourself you damn fool cause we’re about to hit cruising speed,” Catfish mumbled glancing back at Kool-Aid. “You damn fool.”
Catfish opened up the four-barrel quickly into second gear. The tension in the sisal rope jerked taut between Kool-Aid’s legs. He awkwardly groped the familiar upholstery. He wondered why he ever let Catfish talk him into anything.
“What are you doing,” Kool-Aid screamed. The Glasspacks bouncing off the thick pine stands muted his tiny voice.
“You got somethin’ to say to me,” Catfish hollered as he saw Kool-Aid’s mouth agape in speech. “They ain’t nothin’ left to say about this one, son. This is all she wrote, by God.”
The tachometer screamed out of third gear. Catfish casually dropped the flatbed into fourth. The guitar solo blistered through the cab and raw power coursed in his beating veins. Dust swarmed from the sides of the parade from hell. Kool-Aid wished he could personally thank the man who invented mud flaps. Catfish T-boned a holstein in the road. Kool-Aid slammed into the truck bed.Like this piece? Click here to vote it to the top!