Remembering Bobby

The cans of green beans were lined up on the grocery shelf like little soldiers. She reached for a can of Green Giant, and then robotically filled the top portion of the metal grocery cart with five more.

As she steered her wobbling buggy toward the check out express line for eight items and under, she thought about the phone call she had received earlier, telling her Bobby had suffered a heart attack and dropped dead. She hadn’t known where the bastard was for years.

The last thing he said to her when he swaggered out the door eight years ago was “and don’t buy no more yellow waxy tastin’ beans. For the last goddamn time I want green goddamn beans!” The trailer door had slammed behind him, leaving her laying on the shiny linoleum floor, her pretty face bloodied by his fist for the last time.

Kelsey opened the plastic Farmer Jack bag and stacked the beans carefully like she was organizing rations for battle.

She put her blue Chevy in reverse and then headed to Bayside Cemetery serenaded by Shania Twain singing “Man, I feel like a woman.”

She could hear the cans of green beans rattling aimlessly in the bed of her truck. She remembered when she met him, how kind he’d been to her ageing Grandma, who had raised her. She didn’t know then that his motive was the inheritance her terminally ill Grandma was going to leave her. And God knows he was handsome, with his jet black hair, and shirtsleeves that stretched across his rippling muscles.

Kelsey fingered the faded scar running along the right side of her face as she turned up the gravel road to the tiny cemetery. She spotted Bobby’s brother standing in front of the gaping hole, his hands folded in front of his Levi’s, a cigarette dangling precariously from his mouth.

Kelsey slammed the truck door and retrieved the bag of green beans from the truck. Clutching the bag, Kelsey strode up to Bobby’s brother. He eyed her suspiciously.

“How y’all doin’ Kels? Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Kelsey rose up to her full height of five foot two. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Buddy.” She marched through the churned dirt to the other side of the rectangular opening, listening to the hum of voices rise in the misty air.

Kelsey gripped the first can of green beans in her clenched fist and raised her arm back and fired with great precision at the pine box below her.

Bobby’s brother’s gruff voice snapped. “What the hell you doin’?”

Kelsey pelted the next can with such a force it dented the top of the casket. One can after the other left their imprint on Bobby’s eternal resting place.

After each can had been released into the precipice of brown earth below, Kelsey swirled around and marched back toward her truck. Her tongue glided over her bottom lip, enjoying the sweet taste of revenge.

Kelsey swung open her truck door and looked back at the mourners shaking their heads as obscenities floated in her direction. Kelsey’s clear and even voice rang out into the fog. “I remembered the green beans this time, Bobby.”

Dust from the country road clouded Kelsey’s rearview mirror as she pressed her leather boot down on the accelerator.

Elizabeth Crocket writes short fiction, poetry, and haiku. This year she was published in RKVRY online literary journal, and in May will be published in Roadrunner Haiku Journal. She has a diploma in Addiction Education from McMaster University, as well as certificates in Counselling Studies and Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages.

Email: Elizabeth Crocket

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