Paincourt Antique

Title: Cherry Bean Bite-a-man

Bill asked, “mom why can't I go swimming?”
His mother answered as only mothers can, “you know I don't want you kids to go swimming in that filthy creek, especially right now with it up in its banks.”
“Jeez mom! First off, I am not a kid anymore. Second it's so hot today I heard that the devil was trying to buy an snow cone.” Bill whined as only a teenage boy can.
“I said no, what part of no don't you understand?” screamed his mother.
“Please mom?” begged Bill.
“No!” screamed his mom again. “Besides you have some chores to do, when are you going to take out the trash?”
“Later.” Resounded Bill.
“Are you going to do that quarter before or after later?”
Bill rolled his eyes and huffed, “Okay, I'll do it.”
Taking out the trash wasn't the only thing that Bill was going to do. Bill was fifteen years old, old enough to go swimming wherever and whenever he wanted. He decided during the mandatory screaming match with his mother that he was going to go swimming regardless of what she said. He picked up the bags and hauled them out to the garbage cans. As he walked down the driveway his mom yelled out, “I better not hear you were down at that creek!”
“Yeah, yeah whatever.” He said in a muffled and ungrateful tone.
After he dumped the trash he made his way to the creek. About halfway there he met his friend Bob. Bob was sitting on his front porch smoking a cigarette. Bob was around a year older than Bill. Bill thought that Bob was a very cool guy. Bob did anything he wanted; Bob smoked, Bob drank beer, Bob even had a tattoo. Bob was cool.
Bob called out to him, “Hey Bill! Where are you going?”
“To the creek, to go fishing or swimming, I don't know really. What are you doing?” Bill responded.
“Nothing, the creek sounds good to me. Mind if I come along?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
Then Bob said, “well hold up a minute and I'll grab some fishing poles and steal a six pack from my old man.”
Now Bill was happy as a lark. He would be swimming in the creek. He would be hanging out with Bob with the added pleasantry of beer stolen from his keepers. Today was turning out to be a glorius day.
They walked lazily on down to the creek, the tree line offering shade to the muddy and alluring creek. There was something about catching fish that made you feel like a grown man. Grown men answered to no one. Soon they found a nice little fishing hole that was deep and suprisingly clear. It was alive with crawdads and perch. There was a little metropolis of nature hiding in there waiting for Bill and Bob to conquer. They sat down and fished and began to reminisce about their short lives. Soon it became dark and they were both drunk and flush with stories of imaginary conquest.
Bill exclaimed abruptly, “I am going swimming!”
Bob responded, “I am not sure if that is such a great idea, the creek is up kinda high and it will be getting dark soon. I mean you could drown. Have you ever been drunk before? I mean, even if you have been drunk before it isn't very smart to go swimming. It just isn't a good idea. Shouldn't we be going home by now anyway? I mean it is getting pretty late.”
“Shit Bob, you kinda sound like my mom. I thought you were tougher than that.” Bill gloated and then full of himself exclaimed, “Nope, I am just perfectly fine right here, you go ahead and run home to your momma.”
“Well Okay, but I think I am going home, I am getting kinda tired, I mean I would hang out but I got stuff to do tomorrow. Here, you can have the rest of these beers for the road.” Saying that Bill got up and staggered home.
Bill lay back on the dew laden grass and contemplated the stars through the brush of the tree limbs above. Nature humming along with his alcohol induced buzz he noticed that the stars were moving in concert with him and although it made his stomach churn oddly, his head was on fire with this symphony of the stars.
He knew that things would seem funny when a person got drunk. Once he watched his older brother when he was imbibed and his brother had an in-depth conversation with a dog for a whole hour. That was pretty funny. Everything was seeming funny that night, when suddenly he imagined that somehow he began talking to something as well. For a while he wasn't sure if he remembered where he was or what he was saying.
“I don't like anyone telling me what to do.” Bill was mumbling. “Me either,” said something in the gloom with a hiss.
Bill sat up and rubbed his eyes, he couldn't believe what he was seeing, sitting next to him in a flannel vest and a fishing cap similar to that captain on that MASH TV show was a big red lizard.
Bill exclaimed in a startled manner, “Did you say that?”
The lizard replied, “Why yes my friend, who else would it be? There is no one else here but you and I.”
“Yeah, that is right, but lizards aren't supposed to talk let alone wear clothes.” Bill giggled nervously.
“Well that is because I am not just your run of the mill lizard. I am special in the reptile department. They call me a Cherry-Bean-Bite-A-Man. I am supposed to talk and wear clothes.” Commented the lizard while grabbing a flask of corn whiskey out of his shirt pocket.
“Wanna drink?”
“Yes, yes!” Bill took a slug of the flask and choked down the burn and then gasped, “that's good stuff.”
The lizard then grinned, “I see that you are a drinking man - and a fisherman to boot. Surely a man of my own taste.”
Bill rubbed his sleep ridden eyes a few more times and then opened them slowly and precisely to make sure once again that he wasn't seeing things. When he adjusted his eyesight he only saw the yellow buggy eyes of the lizard staring back at him.
The lizard smiled at him in his best reptile smile and said, “So what occasion brings you to this fishing hole at this late hour?”
Bill responded urgently, “Well, I just get tired of all these people telling me what to do. I needed to be alone for awhile. Everyone is always telling me what to do. When I want to do something, everyone tells me not to. They all do what they want to do; they go fishing, they go swimming whenever they want! Everybody always tells me what to do, I can't do anything unless THEY tell me I can It really pisses me off.”
Bill then chirped, “It is just like today, my mom told me not to come here but I am staying here anyway.”
“Good decision,” gurgled the lizard. “Stay here under the stars, yes stay under them forever - I have - no one tells me what to do. Let us ponder the stars for a moment. Let us say that each star was a soul, would they stop shining just because someone told them not to? Let's stay here under the stars. I am, I always have - I have always done exactly what I wanted to do.”
Usually the Cherry-Bean-Bite-a-Man is not so friendly - however he is very friendly if he sees an opportunity. His slit yellow and bloodshot eyes are seeing one now. Usually, the lizard will not attempt to fill his belly of land-dwellers - a lazy fat catfish will usually fit the bill. The reason for this is that he is clumsy on land, where he has all the grace of a sloth. However, in the murky, muddy water he is the ballerina of carnivores, the artist of eating, the poet laureate of ripping flesh from bone.
The lizard continued on, “Yes, I do whatever I want, when I want to go swimming, I go swimming. When I want some beer, I drink some beer. Say I want to catch some fish, well then - I catch me some fish, it is all rather a happy life that I lead.”
“I am going to do whatever I want as well!” Bills voice crackled with delight.
“Good, that's the spirit young man. I think I am going to go for a dip. Man, it is hotter than fresh bacon grease today. How bout' yourself?” The reptile smiled cautiously.
“Yeah, I am sweating like a pig - a swim sounds awfully good right about now.” Saying that, Bill gave a howl of manhood and dove into the churning water. The reptile slid in elegantly behind and made a savory meal of Bill.

Addendum 2010: This is a story I wrote long ago while thinking of my grandfather on my mother's side. Although the story is modernized, the monster was his invention. He created this guy to keep grandchildren from straying out to various ponds and creeks unattended. Also, in his version(s) the Lizard tended to eat much younger children. I wrote this originally in a creative writing class. It was submitted to be in some University publication by the professor but was rejected. Probably for good reason.