Chicken Nuggets

Yes’m. Ol’ Grandmammy Lou used to always say right then in that pretty little knitted saffron shawl of hers, “That boy wouldn’t do no harm to nothin.’” Sweet and precious grace, Granny Lou. The most honest, heartfelt soul in Dixie. 

I cross myself: Father, Son and Holy Ghost and — oh, heck. 

I wipe my hand across the steering wheel and there’s still a smear of sweat. You didn’t do no nothin’ wrong. You’re a good boy, an awfully good one. Ain’t no one and anything on this here road to tell you otherwise. Just dirt and trees, and they ought whisper nothin’ to nobody. 

A branch slaps the windshield.

I ought to turn back. I ought to tell somebody. It was just an honest simple mistake. No harm done. But ain’t nobody to suspect no nothin.’ Not out here, not no one.

Except him.

I tilt back the silver rearview mirror. Heck, I’m just seeing things. Ain’t done no one ought to have any business following nobody out here. All just some green bush and the whittling white chapel of his deceased Father Joseph. Ain’t anywhere lead to nothin’ but some overgrown dead-end boreen. These eyes don’t deceive nobody and, no, it couldn’t be. But it is. 

He hoists the little beacon onto his dusty hood and the light blinks round blue and red. There ought to be plenty other cops this side of the State, and he couldn’t have saw no nothin’. ‘Cause that’s what it all is. I didn’t do no nothin’, and much obliged I’ll let him ride on past me. 

He waves his hand out the window. I keep my foot on the pedal, and he keeps on right behind me. He’s bound to go past, but he ain’t. Pulling over ain’t gonna do no good, but to keep on driving ain’t no better. And to heck, why I shouldn’t pull over for this’m most gentle of men. Because I ain’t done nothin.’ He’ll just drive on past. 

I turn right. The truck judders into the ditch. He just does the same.

A burly man climbs out of the car. In the cloud of roadside dust, he pats down his khaki uniform of prime quality felt. Much too delicate out here. A proud little gold badge of metal flickers in the August rays that go on breaking through the cover of the evergreen live oak. His tempered claps of leather boots on cracked concrete join in rhythm with the cicadas in the trees. I roll down the window. He hunches down peering inside with a toothy smile. I stare back at my reflection in them soulless black aviators of his.

“License and registration.”

I click open the glove compartment and pull out a little white card from my leather wallet. He laughs and shoos the piece of plastic card away from his stubbled face. “What’s this shaking now? You have done any idea who I am?”

I know exactly who you is. I shake my head and notice the brown paper cup of coffee in his hand. “I don’t need to say no nothin’ until I’ve seen a lawyer.”

“What’s getting into you, buddy? You know, I thought I recognized you just crossing over the road back there. Yeah, ain’t no mistakin’ this old beast.” He slaps the hood of the truck. “You’re the fella who paid for my muffin and coffee at the drive-thru! Heck, if I’d known the buddy ahead of me were paying I would have ordered a dozen.” He pats and rubs his belly.

Well ain’t that right now? “You…you is…you’re still hungry?”

He looks back inside the truck. “Beg pardon?”

“Me. I got some chicken nuggets. I can share one with you, if you’d like.”

He notices the little brown paper bag sitting beside me in the passenger seat. “Well I’ll be damned. Ain’t today a lucky one to be following behind you, dear stranger.” He looks back and forth up the empty road, and pulls out a stained white kerchief from his shirt pocket to wipe the sweat rolling down his there wrinkled forehead. “Chicken nuggets. I ought to be a fool to say no to that!”

I pull open the paper bag and take out the white carton. I open the package, the crispy golden skin shimmering in his smiling face. Pockets of grease stain the box’s underside. “Well I’ll be! Ten pieces! Let’s see,” he says, wiggling his fingers at the deep-fried little cluckers. “One…two…” He counts. “Now hey now, don’t shake so much, I’m losing count!” His hand stops over the cardboard cradle of processed chicken. “Now hold on, let’s wait a minute here.” He pulls his hand back. “Well, I’ll be. It looks like you got here eleven little chickies. Seems our nice lady at the drive-thru happened to be so kind as to give you an extra nugget.”

Yes. Yes, that’s right. “Really? I hadn’t taken notice.” 

“Hell, karma’s here for your lucky day, friend.” He picks out a little boot-shaped piece and tilts his hat as he takes a nibble. “Much obliged, much obliged.” Another nibble. Yes, take another bite. Just another bite and nobody ain’t ought to know nothin.’ We’ll be both on our ways. “What business does a feller like you got out here anyhow?”

Just go on and keep on biting. He smiles and shakes his head. “I’m just messin’ with you. You shoulda seen the look on that face of yours when I walked up over here.” He backs off the truck and adjusts his glasses. “You have yourself a nice day now.”

I close up the basket of ten pieces and watch him walk back to the patrol car. 

Yes. No, yes. He’s right. I hadn’t taken notice. 

Yes, that’s a nice thought. The nice lady at the drive-thru, yes. She was just being nice. I didn’t steal no nothin.’

Just a nice little thought. Just one extra nugget, after all. That’s right.

There he goes right now, wiping off the greasy crumbs on that nice ironed pant leg. Ain’t nobody got no business knowin’ now, and no one ever will.

Yes. It’s all just like he said: I never noticed. Yes’m.