The Tongue Behind the Teeth

If I shoulda been upset at some point with my forebears for naming me at my birth Sherman Kermit Abernathy, a name riddled with portent potential for hurled sticks and stones, I was not, since it has never been my nature, far back as I can remember, to let any obstacle thrown in my path hinder me from getting from point A to point B arriving where I need to be, especially when the chips are down; there I am landing victorious as the last man standing, if not always, damn near close.

“Lest we forget up in the sky, it wasn’t a bird... it wasn’t a plane… It was Superman, faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, fighting the unending battle for truth, justice, and the American way,” E pluribus unum, and yeah that was the title sequence for an old black and white TV show, a fantasy, but if you would be so kind as to do me the honor and let me explain some of my real life heroics you will come to understand how I alone was able to do the impossible, how I, on my desert island, was able to convince 11 of my fellow jurors within the confines of deliberation, all of them dead set on a guilty verdict, held up in a room with no view to see things my way, and trust me I’m not one to fabricate fish tales, nor am I a braggart, I am just trying to help you to understand my capabilities, my nature, truly, so far be it from me to boast since us Abernathy’s, we understand the benefits of humility, but at the same time, little ole’ regular me, well I’m not so little, but I am just one single solitary man with a receding hairline, uneven nostrils and big buck teeth I struggle to conceal, wearing jeans a size too small, all personal attributes that have nothing to do with my character, but do help keep me humble, the point being, I Sherman Kermit Abernathy do solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but I am not on trial and I certainly did not commit a crime during the process of persuading any of those fine 11 American citizens not to convict an innocent man of murder, jurors just like me only doing their civic duty, but the fact alone that I was able to convince them was sorta in line with who I am, meaning no easy accomplishment, because I am the guy that found a big red tiger cat running across a divided highway at midnight with a Chef Boyardee can stuck on his head, in the rain, stopped my car, stopped traffic, picked up the cat without a the slightest retaliatory scratch, found an all night diner, went around the back where sure enough some guy name Raul that I never met before, honorable guy, came to my aid grabbing his kitchen shears lickity split and while I held down the cat he did the can ectomy ever so gently and voila, off with can, back in the car, driving right back to the place I picked up the relieved red rover, singing Home Home on the Range in three different keys the whole way, dropping him off like he had ubered me, waited and watched until I saw him duck down stealthily under a rocking chair porch unscathed, unperturbed, since I know my demeanor on the ride home kept him calm while his little tongue continued to do some dirty work, the same tongue that caused a most unfortunate predicament in the first place, remedied by yours truly.

And if that doesn’t grab you, if cats and dogs don’t pull at your heartstrings the way they do mine, you may appreciate that I am also the guy that was there at the bank at 2:45 in the afternoon on a sunny Thursday in March to make a deposit of $2500 cash, all hundreds, entrusted to me by my boss Larry, that had the time to do it himself, but why should he when he has a guy like me working for him ready willing and able to tackle anything and I mean anything asked of me, but how could he know what would happen when I was waiting on line behind a guy wearing a cowboy hat and alligator boots that said “Thank you ma’am,” I heard him, real polite handsome guy, looked a little like a Jonas brother, couldn’t tell you which one, or maybe a young Clint Eastwood, and then he says the words no one wants to hear in a bank, “Stick em up,” and I thought he was kidding or pretending he had fallen back in time to the wild wild west, or auditioning for some part in a B movie, but he wasn’t kidding but he should a been, cause one two buckle my shoe, I took him down in a full nelson hold faster than a dog on a bone, retrieving his weapon that was fully loaded but fake, not knowing that at the time taking a chance when I stuck it in the back of my skinny jeans, not concerned that it would go off, phew, it didn’t cause it wasn’t real, and the nice lady teller with the high ponytail who was just doing her job until evil Clint Eastwood made her day, bravely tripped the alarm without screaming or nothing and I just kept his pretty face down on the cold terrazzo floor until the Calvary came marching through the front door to relieve me, must a been 5 or 6 of them badged heroes in blue, and that’s exactly what they called me, a hero, when the gave me a citizen’s award several weeks later, ceremoniously hosted by the Mayor, guest of honor yours truly.

See what I mean?

None of the other eleven knew a lick about any of this or anything else about me, except they were about to find out I like Werther’s candies since when we entered the jury deliberation room on that first day, ushered in by the court officer; sorta okay fella, but a bit on the short and chubby side for a man in uniform if you ask me, acting quite authoritative as he lead us into the jury room, then seeming a tad bit annoyed at me, I know because he made that tsk-tsk noise with his tongue, while I stood just inside the door next to him, real close, like we were a welcoming committee duo for the jury, me pressing one wrapped sweet morsel into each of their unique palms as they entered the room before they could sit down, gently, like a lover’s kiss, shaking the other unencumbered hand vigorously, sharing my name proudly, asking them their names with a big smile, in spite of my self consciousness regarding my chompers looking them hard in the eye, and I knew right then and there I had them cause double entendre sugar has a way of speaking to people and I suppose they learned something else about me soon after we all sat, that fact being I can talk and talk and talk, as they all soon came to realize, more likely not a surprise to anyone I gather, because talking is really what I do best, always has been an Abernathey strength, besides the feat of being somewhat of a real life superhero on occasion, and I worked them over with my opening salvo and legal sensibility, as it is a typical propensity of us heroes to know right from wrong, talking over all eleven of them, some of them at moments covering their ears, others lowering their weary heads, and I took no offense, call my tongue a weapon if you may, but I used it well, since I got them to see things my way, dagnabit, convincing each and every one of them it was the right thing to do to change their vote to not guilty, when clearly as I told them over and over and over again, the circumstantial evidence pointed in that direction. Yes. I made my case single handedly. Boom. That’s how you do it my way, sugar ah honey honey, and not cause it’s my way or the highway, it’s cause my way is the truth, justice and of course the American way. Might I share a Werther’s with you?

#theholdout#randomhouse#theprose

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