...We watched amusingly as Billy Ray stumbled back and half spun around on his heals, and not so much from being hit square in the jaw, but more from being drunk on cheap Mexican wine we snuck out of Pop's truck. No one leaned in, we all knew Billy could take a punch like a bull, and could easily whip any one of us at anytime, and even all of us at the same time if he tried. Billy though didn't even pretend to try and fight back, he just closed his eyes and laughed looking up to the sun although he had just been punched square in the mouth. Blood trickled down his lip, crimson against his dark skin, and as he wobbled and teetered, keeping his balance by grabbing his knees and laughing from the belly. I felt he was downright feeling joy at that moment for some odd reason. He was clearly having fun. I felt it myself, and was smiling for him. Frank and Billy were just horsing around like we do every day, although Frank was obviously pulling no punches short. I'm not even sure how this one got started, but we seemed to end up in boxing matches all the time, at least whenever we were able to sneak off drinking whatever liquor we could get our hands on. I didn't care too much for fighting though, and didn't ever find fun in getting hit for no good reason. But today I kind of enjoyed seeing Billy feeling no pain, or whatever you want to call this horse sense of delightful madness he was dancing in, be it because he was drunk or not. I just leaned back on a fender and watched both perplexed and amused, like seeing a real life slapstick comedy with no idea of what was going to happen next. Nobody was going to get hurt, we really were a thick as thieves.
My sense of joy and amusement though withered in an instance as that dang rodent of a boy, Junebug and his stupid self, came over and crept up beside me and all in my space, carrying a damn rooster. He came up all fidgety and annoyed, stood there shuffling and pouting while stroking this ugly rooster he was holding. He started mumbling and complaining left and right, "Y'all come on now! Y'all all said we were gonna fight roosters today! Y'all just left without telling me!"
It wasn't uncommon around here to have cock fights, but mostly on the weekend, late in the afternoons on Sunday.
June bug seemed to carry a rooster wherever he went, and for the life of me, it seems i can never shake this dumb kid. It never fails, he always shows up out of nowhere buzzing around like an ugly mosquito.
I looked over at him and winced at how pathetic he was, and the fact that he was standing way too close to me almost got my temper to flair. I didn't even answer, and just shook my head.
That scrawny bones and feathers of a rooster he was carrying wasn't even worth boiling. It was missing half it's feathers, and it's leathery red comb had been cut off probably with a rusty dull knife or broken tin can. One of its eyes was clearly infected and tearing up. Junebug himself was just as pitifully sightful. I was close enough to see lice in his matted hair, snot dried and smeared across his face, spittle and skoal juice dripping from the corner of his mouth, and his own crusty pinkeye, which i would bet a dollar he got from that damn bird. He was all one big nasty sight. If you didn't know better, you could be sure he was dropped on his head or something. I was hoping at that moment for both Billy and Frank to spot him and come over and slap the tar out of him. I might have slapped him upside his head myself except for the crusty scab and wax in plain sight on his ear.
At that same moment, I heard a loud smack as Frank delivered a solid blow to Billy's right cheek. I turned just in time to see him fall in slow motion dropping to his knees while still gazing at the sun and smiling ear to ear as if seeing something pretty in a world of riches... Last he must have heard was,"come on now y'all! quit foolin around, lets fight these roosters!"...
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