Search

My Buddy Kenny


Sometimes uneventful events aren't. I had lived in Carrollton long enough to make a few friends, mostly from hanging around Gallery Row coffee shop on the town square. It’s quaint, a place of great gab, and places of great gab attract those who are full of you know what, me included. We blabbed away on a warm day outside on the tables out front. Some in this group of five or six had high blown degrees in one form or another, were doctors of this or that. Somehow, I had snuck into the group with only my business degree and my truck driving credentials, and we blabbed away. Seated so that I could not escape seeing him was a young black man smiling, much younger than the rest of us. His being called to me.

“Would you like to join us?” I said.

“I would,” he said, then did. I noticed that his left hand was withered in a way that he could use it little and he had some trouble when he spoke. No matter.

Kenneth, or Kenny depending, has a job across the street at Leopoldo’s Pizza where he is a general handyman, bouncer and such. At night he walks with the waitresses down the alley to their cars, and they loved him for it. Turns out, everybody loves Kenny. He’s good, helpful and kind. Kenny is all the loving things we who are more able aspire to be but mostly fall short of accomplishing. He became a regular fixture in our group, and like everyone else around the square, I have come to love the guy.

One day I asked him what had happened to his hand. “A man twisted it that way,” he said. Later he mentioned that his mother had been murdered, but gave little details about the crime. Prying was useless, not because he wouldn’t tell you, but because he couldn’t. I began to piece together his story. I knew things weren't right with his mental abilities. I knew things weren’t right, but I didn’t know why. Now I do. Check this out:


https://www.11alive.com/article/news/crime/cold-cases/lane-crowder-cold-case/85-aa5ae21f-e75a-44fe-bc50-2791459168a4


When it got to the part where his baby sister put Band-Aids on the wounds, I cried, and I mean it.






Kenny is not the rabbit.


The Rabbit is psychologist


Fred Richards. He specializes


in treating people who think


they are rabbits.


45 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

 Carrollton Writers Guild Inc