Homecoming in Mossy Creek

by Debra Dixon

  “They said it would be air and water tight,” John said.

  We peered inside. “Okay, here goes,” Peggy said.

  The first two or three items seemed innocuous enough—a Mod headband and a pair of leg warmers in iridescent stripes. I doubted they had come from Janey’s stash.

  Mac Campbell at the back of the crowd laughed. “Y’all remember when coach made us all take ballet so we’d stop falling over our feet running down field?”

  “Yeah,” John said. “But I don’t remember those crazy things.”

  “Silly,” LuLynn slapped her husband’s arm. “They’re Bitzie’s. The headband’s mine, though. I can’t believe we wore those awful things.”

  Behind us, the doors swung open. Everyone turned to see Amos and Ida rushing down the hall. Amos was dressed in an ill-fitting tux about fifty years out-of date, and Ida wore a wedding gown with what looked like a blood-soaked gash in the side. They were covered in dust and cobwebs and didn’t look much better than Peggy and me.

  “Where the Sam Hill have you been?” I snapped.

  “And what in the Sam Hill are you wearing?” Peggy asked.

  “Hey!” Foxer yelled from a side table. “You were supposed to look after the Haunted House, not steal from it.”

  Amos sent a snarl around the room. “Don’t ask.” Then he reached for the box. “I’ll take that.”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Peggy said. “First off, you’ll drop it and break your foot. Second, it’s a darned sight too late for damage control.”

  “Yeah, Amos. Might as well get it over with,” Mac said. “How bad can it be?”

  “You’re pushing your luck,” Ida said. “But on your heads be it.”

  Peggy lifted out the first thing, a beat-up leather wallet. The three aged condoms inside had left circles in the cracked leather. She opened it and pulled out the student ID card. Three small photographs fell out along with the card.

  “Hey, give me that.” John McClure made a grab for it, but LuLynn was faster. “Oh, shoot,” he whispered and edged away from her.

  “John McClure, you’re carrying pictures of half the Homecoming court,” LuLynn snapped. “And three condoms? Huh.”

  He hung his head. “Shoot, that dudn’t mean anything.”

  “If I’d seen these at the time, you wouldn’t have been able to walk, much less play football.”

  “Nothin’ ever happened, hon. You know you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  “Humph.” LuLynn stalked off, holding the wallet at arm’s length as though it were a dead rat. John slunk after her, but turned back when Peggy held up a plastic sandwich bag with a lump of pink rubber inside.

  “What’s that?” Amos asked.

  “That, Amos dear, is a falsie,” Ida said. “One might call it ‘boob in a bag.’”

  Peggy said. “It’s labeled.” She looked up at LuLynn, who had stopped halfway down the hall. Even at that distance I could see the blush start on the back of her neck.

  “LuLynn,” snarled Eugenia Townsend, that year’s runner up for Homecoming Queen. She pointed at LuLynn’s bosoms. “You swore those were both yours. If you hadn’t cheated, I would have been Queen!”

  “They were both mine. Bought and paid for,” LuLynn said. “I didn’t win because of those. I won because people liked me better.”

  “Ladies, ladies,” Amos said. “That was a long time ago, and nobody was Homecoming Queen, remember? The fire?”

  Peggy reached across Amos, pulled out a photo and burst out laughing. Amos snatched at it. “Give me that!”

  She danced away from him. “No way. I knew you were a hellion back then, Amos, but I now know more about your rear end than I ever expected to.” She held up the photo or a naked male rear end with its pants down. The crowd hooted.

  “You don’t know that’s me,” Amos said. His ears were scarlet.

  I peered over Peggy’s shoulder. “Who else is going to moon the world out the window of your daddy’s squad car? Amos, he’d have killed you if he’d ever seen this.”

  “He’s not the only one. Peggy, hand it over,” Amos demanded.

  “No way. This is my get-out-of-jail card for speeding tickets the rest of my life.” She pointedly tucked the photo down the front of her shirt.

  Amos rolled his eyes and sighed as I pulled out the final photo—this one a professionally enlarged black and white. It was grainy and had obviously been taken at night, but both cars and drivers were recognizable. So were some of the spectators as well as the girl holding the starting flag. “My word, Amos, isn’t that Loralee Atwater holding the starting flag?”

  “I guess,” he said.

  “Drag racing?” I said. “Amos, you are absolutely death on drag racers, and here you are revving up your old Trans Am.”

  “That’s why I come down so hard on drag racers. One time we nearly killed ourselves and a bunch of innocent bystanders. Give me that.” I handed it over. “I’ll hang onto this. Good teaching device the next time I bust one of your grandsons, Louise.”

  “Huh, Loralee’s two thugs are more into drag racing than my grandsons.”

  “Who’s that in the other car? I can’t tell,” Peggy said.

  “I’m sorry to say it’s me,” Mac Campbell said sheepishly. “Not too good for my image as a upstanding family lawyer.”

  “We were kids, Mac,” Amos said. “And damned good drivers if I do say so myself.” He glared at the crowd. “That’s not to say I won’t bust y’all for doing the same thing.”

  “What’s this?” Peggy asked. “Looks like some kind of report or theme. Whatever it was, it got an ‘A-plus.’”

  “There’s an article from a newspaper clipped to it,” Amos said. “With a note that says ‘plagiarized’ on it.” He looked up.

  “Ha! Miss Know-it-all!” Tammy Jo Bigelow turned on Francine Quinlan. “Can’t even write your own essays.”

  Francine rounded on her. “That’s not true. I was just quoting.”

  “Extensively and without attribution,” Peggy said. As a college professor, she hated plagiarized work.

  “That’s the only time I ever did it, I swear,” Francine said. She was on the verge of tears.

  “Riiiiigght,” Tammy Jo whispered.

  Janey went to a great deal of trouble over her secrets, and I’d say they had the desired effect. We remembered her, all right. The Homecoming dance would be a tad less cheerful because of her. Once we started unearthing them, it was simple to see her little packets stuffed down the side of the box. In the low lights at the first dance, nobody would have noticed anything amiss before they closed the box.

  There seemed to be only a couple of items left. One was a small steel flask.

  Amos unscrewed the top, took a whiff, then wet his finger and tasted the contents.

  “Bourbon?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “North Georgia moonshine would be my guess. Tastes like a good grade of Kerosene.”

  “After all these years?”

  “It’s a good flask. See, he’s etched his name on it. Walter Hickman.”

  Everyone looked at the minister of the Mossy Creek Mt. Gilead Methodist Church.

  He scowled. “I was named after my Daddy, you know.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I said. “You preach about the evils of alcohol at least once a month.”

  “And for our final exhibit, ladies and gentlemen,” Peggy said. She held up a baggie filled with desiccated bits of greenery. Inside were a couple of yellowed and brittle hand-rolled cigarettes and a grainy photo of a young man smoking. A very good-looking young man.

  Beau Belmont. Mossy Creek’s own hell-raiser-turned-Hollywood.

  Everyone looked over at Beau, who merely shrugged.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Ida sa
id.

  “So what do we do with all this stuff?” Peggy asked.

  “Burn it,” John McClure said. He had his arm around LuLynn, but I saw she still carried his wallet and stood stiff as a board. I suspected John might sleep on the sofa tonight.

  Peggy nodded. “All except for the photo of Amos’s tusch I intend to keep in my safety deposit box.”

  “Now, Peggy,” Amos said.

  She grinned and lifted her eyebrows. “I could be persuaded to make a print for our esteemed Mayoress.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “I’ll leave it to you in my will.”

  “Why bother burning it?” I asked. “We all know the worst. Everybody can keep or toss the stuff that pertains to them. How about that?”

  “Hey, we still haven’t looked at the stuff we put in,” Pruitt Cecil said.

  “Except for the legwarmers and headband,” Francine said.

  Now that the secrets were out in the open, the rest of the box could have been anti-climactic, but instead, it was a great success. I don’t remember last week. I certainly can’t remember what went on the year I graduated from high school. From the howls of laughter as each item in the box was pulled out, I don’t think anyone else could either.

  Here’s what they buried the night of the fire:

  •A small reproduction of the space shuttle Columbia, which made its maiden voyage that year.

  •A coffee mug with a wedding photo of Diana and Charles on the side.

  •A folded and creased poster from Raiders of the Lost Ark. In pristine condition, it was probably worth some real money.

  •A flier from the Simon and Garfunkel free concert in Central Park, also valuable to a collector.

  •A small packet of Post-It Notes. How did we live without them?

  •An adoption certificate for a Cabbage Patch doll.

  •A photo of the back of somebody playing PacMan, out that year.

  •A .45 record of Sailing by Christopher Cross. I’d never heard of it, but somebody said it was the top-selling record that year.

  •The first album by Anthrax, and an album of Slow Rollers by the Rolling Stones. They looked like children.

  •A Rubik’s cube. I never could finish one of the things, but I remember them.

  •A bootleg copy of the first MTV production called Video killed the Radio Star.

  •A five dollar pre-paid telephone card—no cell phones in those days.

  •A pink My Little Pony. My daughter Margaret had a stable full.

  •A folded-up poster for Cannonball Run, also probably of some value.

  •Somebody’s old white Pixie boots, the knee-high pull-up ones that all the cheerleaders wore. And a pair of ‘jellies,’ the inexpensive plastic sandal the girls wore that summer.

  •LuLynn’s neon orange headband.

  •An extra large (and extra ugly) man’s Hawaiian shirt straight out of Magnum P.I.

  •One pair of men’s polka dot bikini jockey shorts. No one would admit to owning them.

  •A pair of huge Rambo style sunglasses

  •Finally, a bottle of black Goth nail polish. I’m sure whoever added that felt it was a passing fad.

  Except for the items of clothing, there wasn’t much actually about Mossy Creek itself. I suppose the teenagers thought there wasn’t much of interest inside their own city limits.

  But then, we’d already removed the really interesting Mossy Creek items.

  Peggy and I watched until the last item was laid on the nametag table, and then backed away.

  “Tonto, our work here is done,” I whispered.

  “Hi-yo Silver,” she whispered back.

  I took her arm. “Hey, that’s my line.”

  Once we were back in the car, Peggy leaned back and closed her eyes. “Louise, I cannot believe we worked that hard for those little bitty secrets.”

  “That’s what passes for scandal in Mossy Creek.”

  “No way. Those were high school secrets. The real scandal is buried a whole lot deeper than that box ever was.”

  The Mossy Creek Gazette

  215 Main Street • Mossy Creek, Georgia

  From the Desk of Katie Bell, Business Manager

  Lady Victoria Salter Stanhope

  The Clifts

  Seaward Road

  St. Ives, Cornwall, TR3 7PJ

  United Kingdom

  Hey, Vick!

  Well! What a Homecoming this has been. I tell ya--it don’t get any better than this, entertainment-wise. The whole town turned out for the Homecoming Dance, just to see what kind of trouble folks were in who attended the Mossy Creek High School just before it burned.

  Everyone was talking about it, too. Nobody knew if it had been found, or who found it, or what was in it. But they all wanted to know! About an hour into the festivities, Louise Sawyer and Peggy Caldwell wheeled the sucker into the room. What a buzz! I put the list of incriminating evidence in the next issue of the Gazette, so I’ll let you stew awhile yourself so you can see what we went through all week. It’ll all be in my next Bellringer column, though. The whole town got a real hoot out of the entire evening!

  Oh, I almost forgot to tell you the most interesting part of the evening. Amos and Ida--yep, the Police Chief and the Mayor--came prancing in just after the time capsule arrived. And they weren’t in their own clothes! They were in the tux and wedding dress off of murdered dummies in the Masonic Haunted House. Ida had “blood” all over her. It was downright ghastly. What’s even more interesting is that I received several reports of various Creekites trying to get ahold of both of them all Saturday afternoon, but neither one was answering their cell phones. Don’t that just grab your fancy and run away with it? They weren’t saying nothing about what went on, neither, but I’ll get to the bottom of it or I ain’t a professional snoop!

  I’ll keep you posted! Never you fear!

  Until next time--

  Your friend and confidante,

  Katie

  (Continue reading for more information)

  The Mossy Creek Storytelling Club

  (In order of appearance)

  Peggy & Louise: Carolyn McSparren

  —The Great Time Capsule Caper

  Clementine & Hayday: Darcy Crowder

  —’Shine On, Harvest Moon

  Argie: Berta Platas

  —Pas de Gridiron

  Fred: Nancy Knight

  —New Guy in Town

  Jayne: Martha Crockett

  —Everybody Knows

  Inez & Lucy Belle: Susan Goggins

  —Bake Sale Blitz

  Hermia: Brenna Crowder

  —Mossy Creek by Any Other Name...

  Win: Martha Crockett

  —Homecoming Headaches, Homecoming Heartaches

  Christine & Monica: Sandra Chastain

  —Queen for a Day

  Tag: Nancy Knight

  —Tag Takes Over

  Pearl & Spiva: Maureen Hardegree

  —Sister Knows Best

  Ida & Amos: Debra Dixon

  —Wild Goose Chase

  Bubba: Wayne Dixon

  —Tailgating Recipes

  Recipes from Bubba Rice & others

  Asian Sloppy Joes

  Here’s an Eastern version of an old American tailgating favorite. Simple, quick and just as sloppy as the American version.

  Ingredients:

  ½ cup hoisin sauce

  1/3 cup soy sauce

  1/3 cup honey

  2 tbsp rice vinegar

  2 tsp minced ginger

  4 cloves garlic, minced

  1 shallot, diced

  1 pound ground chuck

/>   Preparation:

  In a large skillet, brown the ground chuck, then drain and set aside. In a medium saucepan, combine the remaining ingredients and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer covered for 10 minutes or until the minced shallots are translucent. Combine all the ingredients in the skillet over medium heat until boiling, and then reduce the heat to a slow simmer for 20 minutes.

  Preparation time: 10 minutes

  Cooking time: 30 minutes

  Serve on sesame seed buns.

  Makes 6 sandwiches.

  Hawaiian Sliders

  This one should be done at home before leaving for the game. You can warm them up on the grill before serving.

  Ingredients:

  1 dozen Hawaiian rolls

  1 dozen slices of ham

  1 dozen slices Swiss cheese

  Sauce ingredients:

  1 stick of butter

  2 tbsp brown sugar

  2 tbsp yellow mustard

  1/2 cup sweet yellow onion (Vidalia, if they’re in season), finely diced

  1 tbsp poppy seeds

  Sauce:

  Combine all sauce ingredients in a saucepan and bring to a rolling boil, then lower heat and simmer covered for 5 minutes.

  Sliders:

  Assemble sandwiches, 1 slice of ham and 1 slice of Swiss cheese per sandwich. Place the sandwiches in a 9 x 13 baking dish and pour the sauce over the sandwiches. Bake at 350 degrees for 15 minutes or until the cheese melts.

  Game Day Apple Cider

  A great drink for the cooler weather of football season.

  Ingredients:

  2 tbsp butter

  2 tbsp brown sugar

  2 cinnamon sticks

  2 x 2 inch strips of orange peel

  6 cups of apple cider

  1 cup brandy

  Instructions:

  Melt the butter in a large sauce pan over low/medium heat. Add the sugar, cinnamon sticks and orange peel and cook for 1 minute. Add the apple cider and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a low simmer for 15 minutes. Remove from heat and add the brandy. Remove the cinnamon sticks and orange peel and pour the cider into your favorite Thermos and head to the game.