Cila Warncke’s first entry in our Ain’t It Quaint contest takes as its inspiration, A Square Jaw is a Sign of Willpower. But whose jaw and whose willpower? Only one way to find out, dear readers, follow Cila’s lead and read on!

**************

Couldn’t Do It, Daddy

“For exercisin’ his jaw. He’ll tear up anything in five minutes.”

“That right? Ain’t you worried he’ll take your arm off?”

Missy shook her head, balling the cuffs of her long-sleeved, black tee-shirt into her damp palms. “He’s a big baby with me.”

The mechanic shrugged. “Okay. Gimme a minute, let’s see what we got.” While he looked around the grease pit Missy stood inhaling the Les Schwab potpourri of oil, rubber and butter popcorn. ‘Free – help yourself!’ read a sign next to the machine. A little girl in a pink tee-shirt was eying; she tugged at her dad’s pant-leg and pointed. The room flickered for an instant, like a spaceship hitting warp speed, then reemerged, intact. Fox News rolled silently on the TV in the corner, the receptionist picked up the phone, the little girl still had a fistful of khaki and a hopeful look. The roar was only in Missy’s ears.

“This do?”

“Yeah. Sure. How much?” Missy asked.

The mechanic handed over a tattered tire. “It’s not steel-belted. Figure that’s okay. Unless you got robo-dog out there.” He chuckled at his joke. “No charge. Gonna toss it anyway. Just come in next time you need wheels, yeah?”

“You bet,” replied Missy. “Thanks a lot. That’s real nice.”

Piggles was in his favorite spot under the tree, back legs splayed, barrel chest pressed hard against the packed dirt. “C’mon buddy,” Missy crooned. “Mama got ya a present.” He hoisted himself to all fours and swaggered over. Fat cords of muscle bunched and flexed over his shoulders and hips. “Goo’ boy. Come on.” She slipped her hand beneath his broad head. His chin was as wide, and weighty, as the plates stacked with pancakes she ran back and forth with eight hours a day. Look at that – built like a house brick, the man said when she bought him. Pull a truck with that jaw. Piggles swiped Missy with his tongue, his thin black lips drawn back in a joker’s smile.

Missy grabbed the end of an old rope dangling from a branch. Hefting the tire with one arm, she ran the rope through with the other then looped it a few times till the tire swung a few feet off the ground. Finishing it with a knot, she stepped back. “Go for it, buddy!” Her companion responded with a massive yawn. “Come on fatty. That’s your new toy! I went to trouble for that, so don’t just sit there on your big ass.” He grinned some more. “Alright, lazybones. I’m going to get me a bite before work.”

While the water was boiling for Top Raman Missy checked the calendar. June sixth. Two weeks till Father’s Day.

When she got home that night the tire was a ragged, upside down half-moon. Plunking Piggles’ dish on the back step Missy paused to rest her thumb against his jaw, feeling the thick pads of muscle. His teeth ground against a knucklebone. “You little killer,” she murmured warmly. He grinned his grin.

Work was hotter than a holiday in hell. Missy pushed her cuffs up over her elbows, intermittently mopping her face with a napkin. She dropped off a half-stack of blueberry and a waffle with whip at one table. Turning away she heard the kid ask: “What’s wrong with her arms, daddy?” Shame shivered her spine. Quickly she unrolled her sleeves to veil dozens of deep, glossy scars running horizontally across her flesh.

Father’s Day she got up while it was still cool. Rubber flakes were scattered around the tree like rice at a wedding. Would he come? She’d written a letter, even tried to call. Missy sat on the back porch with Piggles, drinking Busch. The red line in the thermometer oozed up and up. Midday came and went. “Lucky I bought plenty of beer, huh?” Pig whacked his tail against her leg. Near sunset a truck door slammed out front. She stood up too fast and felt dizzy. Shuffle-thump-shuffle. He came around the corner, hunched over and leaning on a stick. The sky went white as wallpaper paste.

“I got your letter and done come,” he wheezed. “They say I ain’t got long.”

In the falling light Missy’s scars shone gold. Piggles rumbled. Leapt. She hollered, snatching at his collar with both hands. “No-no-no-no-no.” His jaw trembled on her knee. “That’s Daddy. Don’t bite.”

*********

This could be your moment of glory, of having your contest entry online for the whole world to see. Don’t be shy, get your thinking cap on and get posting!

http://www.awordwithyoupress.com/2010/06/15/gas-up-your-computer-and-fasten-your-seatbelts-new-contet/

And Cila is creating a blog of her own.  You could try first star to the right, straight on till morning, or simply click this link:  http://cilawarncke.wordpress.com/2010/07/06/a-word-with-you-press-writing-contest/