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Depression SoupChapter 7: The Bastard free porn video
When I was in the third grade, there was one boy whom I remember with great sadness because of what he went through. His name was Billy Joe Waters. Billy Joe got into fights and was sent home from school at least once a week.
His clothes were a little, but not much, worse than what the other kids wore; and he was no uglier than any of the other tow headed, buck toothed boys with cowlicks of unruly hair sticking up on the back of their heads. He was skinny and average in height.
The problem was Billy Joe was a bastard. As far as I can remember, I only saw his mother a couple of times. She was a short, moon faced, slightly pudgy woman who tried to dress "stylishly" and ended up looking like Betty Boop gone bad.
Lorna Mays, Billy's mother, was what was known as a "wild one." She worked hard all week as bookkeeper for the broom factory. She was good at her work, whose record keeping was the pride of Ed Bowes, the owner of the little factory. No matter what, come Saturday evening, as soon as workday was done and the Bowes Broom Company had locked up for the weekend, she rushed home, bathed in the old washtub she dragged into her kitchen and hurriedly dressed in her "Sunday finest."
Garish red lipstick would be applied liberally to her generous mouth and a round circle of rouge was applied to each cheek. She was the town tramp. Woodman had a town drunk and a town bastard, so it was fitting for the bastard's mother to be the town tramp. It's hard to believe people thought and acted in such a manner nowadays when it seems anything goes almost.
Preparations completed, she headed out the door with a goodbye wave to her neglected son and was on her way to the Bloody Bucket, a roadhouse two miles outside of town where, like the man said, "Cheap corn whiskey flowed freely and the music was loud enough to wake the dead." I learned all of this from listening to adults and other classmates. Pa looked in contempt at the people who hung out there. "Why aren't they home with their families where they belong?" he asked many times.
Ma wanted the place shut down. "Dens of sin and iniquity like that awful place can only encourage immorality and lawlessness."
But the greedy, corrupt sheriff permitted Herm Larkin to keep the place open where Lorna "kicked up her heels" Saturday nights. Billy was left home alone as usual. He was accustomed to being alone. He was a bastard so no one ever associated with him. He had no idea who his father was and his mother had only a vague idea at best. No one else in town cared one way or the other except to brand Billy from birth with the awful name. Back then, I thought it meant the other children were not supposed to play with him for some reason or other.
It seems strange today when so many children are born to single, never married mothers. But back then, especially in the south, a child born without two parents legally married to each other was an outcast. Most often the mother and her illegitimate child would move to another town where she would quickly assume the role of "widow" or "divorcee." It would give mother and child a tenuous claim to legitimacy in the eyes of the community.
Billy Joe's mother didn't bother. She seemed neither to care nor to understand the plight of her only child. Billy Joe began to fight back at his tormentors right from the very beginning. He was surly in school, resentful toward the teachers and openly rebellious at any who would assert authority over him. Finally, one day it all came to a head and Billy Joe was expelled from school for the last time. It started at the Saturday matinee.
Billy Joe Waters paid the required dime for his ticket and entered the darkened interior of the movie house. His hero, Tom Mix, was starring in "The Lone Star Ranger." Billy bought his nickel bag of greasy popcorn and went to the back row of seats and sat himself down in the middle. This was a treat for Billy. He sold the Woodman Daily Press on a street corner after school all week to earn the precious few coins he now had to spend. No one else was sitting in his row or anywhere close to him.
I was with the main group of kids down in the front three or four rows. I was eight years old and had just recently been permitted to go to a Saturday matinee by myself. I felt like I was almost a grownup.
The movie began and suddenly stopped when the projector jammed. The house lights went on and the boys and girls looked at each other and began their usual horseplay. That was when the real trouble began.
Wilmer Edger looked back and saw Billy Joe sitting by himself, as he ate his popcorn. "Hey, lookee there. There's that bastard. What you doin' here in the movies with white people, bastard?" he yelled back at Billy.
I had never liked Wilmer. He was a loud mouth who tried to cause as much pain and discomfort for others as he could. He was never so happy as when he made another boy or girl to cry. He had seen me whip Elmer Davis a few times, so he didn't care to pick on me, let alone anyone else who could defend himself.
He swaggered back and eased up to Billy. Suddenly he slapped the popcorn out of Billy Joe's hand, scattering it all over the adjoining seats.
Wilmer counted on his being two years older and a head taller than Billy to make the difference in whether he, Billy, would defend himself or not. Billy jumped up on the arms of the theater seats and drew back a bare foot. If he had been wearing shoes it might have been another matter, entirely ending in tragedy.
"Why you dirty..." Billy Joe screamed, not completing his sentence.
He kicked Wilmer in the mouth with the heel of his right foot. As it was, two teeth were spit out. With blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth, Wilmer tried to get away from the raging boy. Billy Joe followed close behind him He kept windmilling punches at the back and head of his antagonist.
As Wilmer broke free of the confining seats, he ran away as fast as he could, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Mamma. Mamma." Billy chased after the longer legged Wilmer and fell far behind but still tried to catch him. The two ran outside past the amazed owner of the theater and his wife. Down the street the two boys ran until winded, Billy Joe could chase his tormentor no further.
"I hate you, Wilmer Edger. I hate your guts!" He screamed over and over again. Slowly, all alone and forlorn, he turned and began the slow walk home. He was sobbing to himself. I felt sorry for him because I hated to see anyone unhappy. But after all, he was a bastard; the other kids said so.
I walked over to the feed store without going back inside to see the rest of the movie. It seemed there were so many things in my short life I didn't understand. Pa had just got up to leave the feed store when I got there. "Let's go meet your ma and have something to eat, Davy," he told me.
I fell in step beside him and his hand rested on my shoulder for a moment. Then he squeezed my shoulder and let go. As his hand came away from my shoulder I asked, "Pa, what's a bastard?"
"Where did you ever hear that word, Davy?" he asked me in a surprised voice.
"In the movies today I heard Wilmer Edger call Billy Joe Waters a bastard and say he wasn't a white boy. But Billy sure looks white to me."
"Son, let's let your Ma explain it to you. She has a better way with words than I do." We walked across to the Bid A Wee Café and waited for Ma to meet us.
Ma came in, spotted us and came cack to our booth. Pa stood up so she could slip inside the booth. He sat back down beside her and said, "Hon, Davy wants to know what a bastard is and I thought you'd do a better job of explaining than I could.
Ma's mouth dropped open as she did a double take, "Where on Earth did you hear that word?"
"Well, Wilmer Edger called Billy Joe Waters one and said he wasn't a white boy. But like I told Pa, he looks plenty white to me."
"Bastardy has nothing whatsoever to do with skin color. To be called a bastard is to imply a person's parents were never married. In Billy Joe's case, it is very true, unfortunately.
"Well, we ought to feel sorry for Billy Joe, not pick on him," I argued with her. "It ain't, er isn't his fault his ma and pa wasn't married."
"They weren't married, Davy," Ma corrected me.
"It's what I said," I answered her and then caught on I used the wrong word. "Er, yes ma'am," I agreed with her,
"You are correct about one thing, though, David, it definitely is not his fault. To make him an outcast is to punish him for his mother's mistakes and sins."
I thought about it for a moment and then, as the waitress bustled up to take our order, I forgot all about the subject of Billy Joe and his bastardy. I ordered my usual hamburger and French fried potatoes and gravy. Food took every bit of my attention. I forgot all about Billy Joe Waters until the following Monday.
On Monday morning when he came to school he was sent home, permanently expelled. We all watched in silence as he made his way off school property, all angry eyed. His chin was thrust forward in a defiant manner as he dared anyone to get in his way. His face was filled with a black rage.
I thought it was unfair when Billy Joe got kicked out of school and Wilmer Edger, the one who started all the trouble, didn't. But as I learned in later years, there are many things in life we feel are unfair.
Billy Joe and I ran across each other every now and then after his expulsion from school. Every time I saw him he was hustling to make money. He never loafed around like the other town kids did.
Sometimes he shined shoes, or he ran errands for the hangers on at the pool hall or found something to sell. He chased after a nickel, a dime or a dollar, and anything else available to be hustled after. He always took pride in his appearance, once he had money to buy new clothes and seemed to always be neat and clean and combed every time I saw him.
We would nod and say "hi" whenever we met. He would answer my greeting, but never tried to get close. The wariness in his eyes sent the message out that he didn't trust anyone or care to be close to anyone.
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