If…if momma bumps into Mr. Hopper and asks him what Fannie Flagg book he is currently enjoying, Mr. Hopper will probably say something like, “Flynn? Flynn Murdock? He hasn’t read to me in weeks.” Momma will begin to learn of her son’s lies.
If…if momma will walk her fat ass outside, down the three steps of the stoop out front, and peer inside the backseat of Flynn’s Taurus, she’ll see Jigger’s three library books staring up at her. Plain as day. Fuck yes. Momma’s about as clueless as a rat in a field filled with hawks. Poor thing.
* * * *
Flynn’s a strong storyteller, though. Always talking his way out of shit. Always making the Friday or Saturday night drives down by the river and…
“Nothing,” he tells her tonight. “I haven’t been doing nothing, momma. Nothing at all.” And he climbs the stairs to his attic room, distancing himself from her, Jigger, and Chess Road, smiling.
* * * *