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Timmy,
Hand Momma her Gun PAGE
2 Ask me the capitol of Malaysia or when the Magna Carta was signed and I'm stumped, but I do know how to make a radar detector out of tin foil, pipe cleaner, and baking soda, all thanks to Chastity Blevins. Another thing about bus drivers in the South is that, usually, they take their buses home with them. The schools barely have enough money for a fully equipped football team, and they certainly have no money for extravagances like bus yards. I assume there was a rule that said you weren't to drive the bus on weekends for personal use, but Chastity Blevins was a visionary and a maverick who had no use for rules. I once saw Chastity's bus parked outside the Grog N' Tankard, our town's only bar. The windows were cloudy with smoke and the bus rocked from side to side as moans filled the yellow steel hull creating a cackling echo. The next Monday morning, I was sure to choose my seat wisely. I loved Chastity and she loved me. "Hey brown eyes," she'd say eyeing my butt through the giant mirror as I took my seat. "If you were just two years older..." I was 12. She also took a shining to my friend Christine. "Christine. You are pretty as a China doll." Chastity Blevins was our town's only openly bisexual resident. But then again, Chastity Blevins was the only resident in our town that could afford to be open about her love for "fuckin' it all," as she put it. She could, and regularly did, kick anyone's ass who would dare challenge her or whoever she slept with. Chastity was fond of saying, while eyeing poor Christine, "Why limit yourself? I like the rod and the sod." She was a fountain of knowledge and we loved her for it. Of course, on Chastity's bad days we learned a whole lot more. You could always tell when you were entering into one of Chastity's off-days. The bus would fire up, the door would open, and there'd be Chastity staring straight ahead, her leathery skin trying to hang onto her expressionless face. Any kid in the neighborhood with any sense at all knew to get in, sit down, shut up, and hold on. Her bad days were usually a result of her on again off again boyfriend, Dell. Dell had rid Chastity's bus of the oppressive governor, and by the way she talked about him, his hands worked magic in other areas as well. After
taking my seat and securing my backpack to the center pole, the
bus swerved past the highway, and onto a dirt road that went nowhere
near our school. The bus careened off the dirt road, and onto a driveway covered in oyster shells. Chastity slammed on the brakes, and the bus skidded to a stop, about a foot away from a beige and brown mobile home. She took a deep breath. "Timmy," she said to the blonde sixth grader that won cigarette duty for the week. "Hand Momma' her gun." Timmy, knowing what was best for him, passed Chastity the shotgun she kept under the front seat, "just in case." "No, not that one. The big one… with the scope." Chastity walked off the bus, emotionless, carrying the gun, glided up the concrete steps, and before pounding on the front screen door, fired a single shot in the air. Inside, we flocked to the side of the bus that afforded the best view and watched as a sleepy man, in his underwear and no shirt, opened the door. Chastity nodded to him, said something that we couldn't hear, and entered the trailer. I'm not sure how much time had passed, or what transpired in the trailer, but when Chastity returned, she didn't have a scratch on her. She got on the bus, shut the door and peeled out. "Timmy. Momma needs two cigarettes. Light both of 'em." Timmy did so and she continued. "Now. If you want to learn a mother-effen lesson, one that's better than all the crap-ola those uppity teachers will learn ya', the lesson is that you do NOT, and I repeat do NOT "f" your girlfriend's mother under no circumstances, even if she's got a great effin' body and pays you 35 bucks." Yes. I suppose that was a good lesson to learn. Good thing Chastity wasn't a resident of a part of the country like the North or California where any abnormal behavior would have been identified early, treated, and medicated out of her before she even had a chance to fully develop it. But, the Journal of Abnormal Psychology doesn't quite make it down to rural Virginia, and so folks are free to be themselves (and I don't mean this in a celebrate-diversity-sort-of-way, I mean it in a you-should-lock-your-doors-sort-of-way.) No, much like our President, Chastity had no use for uppity "scientists" telling her what was right or wrong with her. She had her bus, a bottle of blue-black Clairol, and a loaded weapon -- proof there "wasn't nuthin' wrong." "Now
sit down, hold on and shut the fuck up. We gotta' haul ass if I'm
gonna' make it on time. My mom's house is way up the county, and
I gotta' kick her ass, then get you assholes back to school before
that goddamn bell rings." PAGE
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"Efficiency, kids. That's what it's all about. Anything you
can take care of while still on the clock is just more mother-effin'
free time for you." It's sad, but I think I learned more from
Chastity than any other teacher. She chimed in on a myriad of topics,
including politics: "I ain't votin' 'cause they're all the
same anyways… The only difference between a Republican and
a Democrat is one fucks you in the pussy and one fucks you in the
asshole." And sex. "Boys. One word. The clit. Do NOT neglect
the clit. I don't care if you're only eight years old. You're gonna
need that advice when you're 14." 
