NO, this is not about ME. Be nice.

This is the beginning of a Lonnie and Tiny story. It’s in the Southern Indiana Writers anthology, HOLIDAY BIZARRE, and will be in my upcoming collection of Lonnie and Tiny stories.

“Lonnie, Me, and the Battle of St. Crispin’s Day”

excerpt
by Marian Allen

It all started when Lonnie got on Facebook. One minute, me and him were chuckling at his wife, Leona, and my wife, Mary Lee, for being “Face-heads”, and the next minute, he’s on there himself.

Not that he told me. The first I knew of it, Mary Lee whooped, “Oh! I don’t believe it!” from the little room where she keeps the computer and her sewing machine. Then she stood in the doorway like she was leaning on it for support and said, “Guess who just friended me on Facebook.”

“Lady Goo-goo.”

“Lady Gaga, and no. Lonnie Carter.”

“Lonnie Carter? Our Lonnie Carter? Across the street Lonnie Carter? What in the world is Lonnie doing on there?”

“Ask him yourself,” she said. “He’s on here now.”

She ducked back into The Hole, waving to me to follow, but I’m built like a linebacker–maybe a little gone to seed–and no way would there be room in there for me, much less me and Mary Lee and a computer and a sewing machine. I grabbed my Bigman husky-plus jacket and hot-footed across the street.

Leona opened the back door before I knocked. When I asked her where Lonnie was, she grinned like a polecat and pointed toward the living room.

And there he sat, holding some kind of little something in his long skinny knobby hand and poking at it with one finger, looking as serious as if he was working.

“Hey, buddy,” I said.

He jumped so hard, the thing flew up out of his hands and tumbled through the air. He snatched at it but missed and the thing landed plump on the couch cushion beside him.

“Dang it, Tiny!” He grabbed the thing and rubbernecked between inspecting it for damage and glaring up at me. “I coulda broke my smart phone!”

I would have thought giving Lonnie Carter a smart phone was about like giving a banana to a cat, but he sat me down and showed it off and seemed to know how to work it.

“And you know,” he said, “you and me has had some laughs about this Facebook thing, but Leona got me onto it and who do you think friended me?”

“Lady Goo-ga.”

Leona came in with a cup of coffee for each of us, said, “Lady Goo-ga?” and went back into the kitchen.

I gave up. “Well, who was it?”

“Daniel Halloran.”

“Daniel…. Daniel….” The name was ringing a bell, somewhere in there. “Danny Halloran? Dime-Store Danny? King of the Five-Finger Discount?”

“That’s the one! And guess what he’s doing?”

“Ten to twenty for grand larceny?”

“No, he’s a priest! Father Dan is what they call him. And guess where he’s priesting?”

Lonnie r’ared back on the couch and bobbed his head in encouragement, but I was all done guessing for the day. “I don’t know, Lonnie. Tell me.”

“Saints Crispin and Crispinian. And guess what day it’s getting to be.”

~*~

If you just can’t wait for the collection to read the rest of the story, buy HOLIDAY BIZARRE:

On Amazon in print and for Kindle devices/apps
From an indie bookstore through IndieBound

A WRITING PROMPT BASED ON MY POST: Write about somebody unexpected with a cell phone.

MA