The Glass Top Coffin (standard:drama, 2307 words) [2/12] show all parts
Author: Stephen-Carver Byrd	Added: Dec 31 2002	Views/Reads: 2877/1937	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
***Part 2.*** On Becoming - A Young Writer’s Inspiration

“THE GLASS TOP COFFIN” 

***Part 2*** On Becoming - A Young Writer's Inspiration 

By Stephen Bryan (HurricaneWarning) 

Fifteen minutes later, Jordan stood in the gravel driveway of Mr.
Moore's country general store and was closely eyeing his target. The 
boy sank to a low position, gathered a breath, angled a foot then 
slightly lowered a knee. With a rapid exhalation of the held breath, he 
exploded toward the concrete steps, leaping high and swift, sailing 
like a gracious bird in flight. His bottom sneaker smoothly polished 
the top step, and in one fluid motion, Jordan flung open the old screen 
door, accidentally tripped and hurled hard onto the wooden floor. 

“Damn you boy, one of these days you're going to bust your head wide
open on those stairs,” Mr. Moore barked from behind a stained and 
cigarette burned counter. Jordan just laughed and picked himself off 
the floor then pulled the quarter from his pocket. Sliding the coin 
across the counter, it perfectly targeted Mr. Moore's outreached 
fingers. 

“How many times have I done it?” Jordan asked the old man. "That was the
only time I've ever missed," he added proudly. 

“Damn it boy, it only takes one time to crack that skull of yours wide
open. If your brains get spilled all over my outside vegetables, 
someone's gonna to pay for them. And another thing, don‘t expect me to 
go running off trying to find you some damn fool doctor either,” 
cranked Mr. Moore while disinfecting the old wood counter, his custom 
each time money came in contact with it. 

Jordan listened with heavy skepticism, knowing perfectly well that
Wendil L. Moore was a man of tender heart and generous compassion, even 
though he enjoyed playing the tough-guy part. 

“Come on Mr. Moore, I know you better than that,” Jordan teased.
“Remember when you found all those abandoned puppies under your store 
last winter. You took care of every one of them, even found them all 
good homes, and you wouldn't even call a doctor for a good friend?” 

Mr. Moore's face broke from a frown into a lighten smile. “Oh, Shut the
hell up, boy,” he snarled, knowing the little nasty game was officially 
over. 

Mr. Moore was such a softy. His bright blue eyes sparkled like fireflies
on a dark summer evening. The long flowing white hair and white bushy 
beard highlighted his fair skin and rosy Irish cheeks. Everything 
combined, including a large potbelly and small-rimmed spectacles made 
him the perfect Santa Claus. At Falls Hills Baptist Church, he enjoyed 
playing that very part each Christmas. 

At the church, he may have been a fake Santa but come late Christmas
Eve, the old man would pack his blue pick-up truck with boxes of new 
and used toys, clothes, and accessories. On his list were thirty-seven 
of the most underprivileged families in Hills Falls, including Jordan 
and his mother. If by chance you were on Mr. Moore's list, you would 
find a large box full of neatly wrapped presents waiting outside your 
door on Christmas morning. They were always delivered inside a hefty 
brown box with two double crossed white and red ribbons. 

“By the way, Jordi, I just wanted to tell you again, how sorry I am that
I couldn't use you this summer. Business has just been so damn awful 
with the drought and all the fire restrictions. I don't believe in 
paying a man to just sit around and do nothing. Wouldn't be fair to 
either of us.” 

Jordan knew exactly what Mr. Moore was talking about. The 1963 North
Carolina drought had been the worst that the state had endured in 
almost a century. The famous (at least locally) fishing and hunting 
cabins (about 35 in all) that surround Lake Sapphire had been 
officially closed due to several fire violations. Almost three-quarters 
of Mr. Moore's business came as a direct result of that nearby rustic 
resort. Jordan bit lightly on his bottom lip and glanced to the back of 
the store. His eyes darted around a wall that was strictly devoted to 


Click here to read the rest of this story (168 more lines)