When Chickens Come Home to Roost
Bev Vines-Haines

The thing about jealousy is you can't control it.  I know some people say you can but did you ever try?  Take me and Sadie.  I really loved that girl.  Wanted to marry her.  Intended to speak to her father right before Christmas. 

A few of my friends laughed about that.  Said it was 1904, a brand new century.  I should just run off with her if that's what we wanted.  But I didn't listen.  Wanted to get off on the right foot, so to speak.  So I stayed at my place down in Waxahachie, building on three extra rooms, plotting out a nice garden for Sadie and putting a year's worth of cotton money in the bank.

Once crops were in, I did my fall fix-ups, slicked back my hair and headed for Dallas.  But Sadie was gone.  Her folks said she ran off with a college boy from A & M and they got married in El Paso.  Apparently he had a chicken farm in McKinney.  She planned to start a hat business once they returned.

I got to their place first and waited in the drawing room until they got home.  Sadie was a vision in her traveling suit, and hat all covered with downy feathers.  I hit her husband on the back of the head with an ax.  With Sadie I took a bit more time.  Cut that feathered head clean off.             

Thought I'd feel better but I don't.

First published: May, 2006
comments to the writer: Knob'sWriter@iceflow.com