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In the days of my youth
Hot Dogs
by ReneeD
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| Category: | General Fiction |
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Posted: | March 8, 2013 Views: 37 |
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In my rocking chair late at night, I dreamed of past glory, I dreamed of my youth as the flames of the open fire engulfed my mind. Tonight, I traveled down the path of the summer of fifty four; the year Mother rented the old manor.
The locals called the place the 'Castle'. It had fourteen rooms, three floors and dated from the late eighteen hundreds. It was an idyllic pad for a family earning their kept by illegal means.
That morning, I found Mother sitting at the kitchen table in her pink kimono, a cigarette in her hand, a coffee in front of her, unfocused eyes, feet tapping to the sound of an imaginary beat. I was a small girl of ten that year but I'd learnt early on to recognize the signs of a money making scheme.
'You tall legs', she called to me, 'come and sit here. Listen, will you?' I often was her ears while she brought forth ideals, rejected them, planned and analyzed how to mix it all up to make money.
I sat quietly at the table with a cup of hot chocolate while she paced the room 'Yeap, I think I got it now,' she yelled, her face flushed with excitement. Tall, slim with lovely legs, she looked dark and regal at the same time; her nickname, the Raven was well earned.
'That's what will do, girl. I'll hire pool tables and poker tables. On the first floor goes the pool and on the second floor, I'll get the poker going,' she announced, sitting back down at the kitchen table.
With pen and paper in hand, she wrote a list, her mouth chewing the top of the pen, her long eyelashes flicking in beat to her feet, big black eyes vibrating with intelligence. She weighted every aspect of the night.
With my two younger sisters, we took care of the food. Hot Dogs it was. We were the Rasta muffins and I was leader of the pack. Mother let us keep the refund money of beer bottles collected at their parties and we had enough to buy sausages and hot dog breads.
The entire Hell's Angels headquarters came down for the event; their bikes neatly aligned by the door. The local pimps with their gals shared space with bar owners and other low lifer. Order was maintained by the discrete appearance of two of Mother's hired minders.
The Rasta Muffins flawless strategy involved timing: the hot dogs came out after the adults had hours of hard drinking and smoking illicit drugs. They were ripe for the killing. Sure enough, they knocked them off like there was no tomorrow and what money the punters had not lost gambling, they thrown away on hot dogs.
The real profitable part, the one I left from telling Mother, was using my delicate hands. With the lightest touch, I removed from the gentleman's pockets their valuable coins. Come Sunday morning, the adults comatose in beds, us kids we'd be at the local shop buying lollies, friends and favors.
In my old age, I have much to amuse myself with memories of my youth.
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© Copyright 2013.
ReneeD
All rights reserved.
Registered copyright with FanStory. 
ReneeD
has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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