Smokey Mountain Breakdown

A Friend Scott Story ~ Part 1


Peggy had a troubled past. Her present was none too peaceful either. She was now in her late twenties and was fast approaching that point when well-used women lose their charms. She had just gotten out of three months in the Cocke county jail for tumbling her vehicle off the side of the mountain after a high speed chase with the local sheriff's department. Her daddy had left her in there this past time, though he had bailed her out many times before. The consensus was that having the county take care of her for a bit would give the rest of the family a bit of time to catch their breath.

You see, it wasn't the first time Peggy had driven off the mountain. It was the eleventh. By some mysterious protection given to alcoholics and drug addicts, Peggy had been too boneless at the time of her accidents to actually break anything while plummeting down a 60 foot cliff. These accidents are separate from the 20 plus times she had driven into the creek at various parts of Big Creek Road.

Peggy was a massive woman. She stood 6 feet in her hunting socks and had a bit of a weight problem. But her height allowed her to carry her 400 pounds much better than a shorter woman could. She had considerable trouble finding shoes that would fit her size 13 feet, so she usually just wore men's hiking boots. Today she was wearing those as well as a denim mini skirt that was stretched like paint onto her massive thighs. Her orange top had little spaghetti straps that kept slipping to reveal a black and buff leopard print bra. Where she had found that neon green banana clip holding her mass of frizzy black hair was anyone's guess.

Everyone said Peggy was a really sweet girl when she wasn't drunk or stoned...or both. Really she was. But those days were few and far between. It wasn't that Peggy was a mean or angry drunk. Peggy was a slutty drunk. A hyper-sexualized drunk can get in a world of trouble here.

Scott, Buddy, Mitch and Shelly looked out the window as Peggy groped around in the dirt, seeking purchase to lift herself off the ground.

"Shit, man, what's she doin' here?" Buddy said.

Peggy leveraged herself onto all unsteady fours and lurched up. She picked up the vodka bottle and looked at it. Then she reached into her beat-up Taurus and pulled out what looked like a prescription bottle. She chugged the pills and downed them with the last slug of vodka.

"It don't look good." Shelly fumed. "I've about stood all I can take from her. Let's not answer the door. If we're real quiet she'll just go on."

The good women of the mountain had, in outrage, turned their back on Peggy after the last time she had driven her car in the creek. That time she was tanked out on painkillers and xanax. She had her six year old son with her and he had broken his jaw in the accident.

Scott looked out, ducking his head to see out the low window.

"We can't let her get back in that car. You know we can't." He said.

Outside, Peggy had dropped the vodka bottle again. She turned her back to them and bent over from the hips to unsteadily pick the bottle up. Her skirt hiked up to reveal that she had misplaced her underpants. Everyone got a real good look at her private parts.

"Oh! Oh! Oh, my sweet Jesus!" Scott cried and pulled away from the window, clapping a hand to his eyes and stumbling away from the window as if wounded.

Buddy deadpanned, "Yep. That's not somethin' you see every day."

Mitch looked at Scott, then took in Shelly's angry expression. He wisely said nothing. Buddy clammed up.

"Fine." Shelly snapped. "You three deal with her. I'm done. Done, I tell you. Flat, slap, out DONE. I'll be at my Momma's."

With this Shelly stormed out into the kitchen and made her escape out the back door. She was tearing out of the driveway past the confused Peggy as the three men stepped out into the yard to deal with their unwelcome and very drunk cousin.

Peggy's eyes lit up when she saw them.

"Hey! You'uns want to have a little party?" She slurred, cupping her breasts and giving them a little bounce. The leopard print bra burst free from the tight orange top then coyly disappeared from view again.

The three men came down the porch steps and squared off in a line facing Peggy. Mitch's eyes mournfully followed the dust trail made by his wife's pickup truck.

"She could'a stayed and helped." He said.

The three cut their eyes at each other, much as they had done previously in the calf pen. They seemed to share silent communication in the way that hunters and cattlemen do. They slowly approached the drunken cousin.

Buddy took "point". "Hey, Peggy," he said quietly, so as not to spook her, "What ch'ou up to?" He slowly advanced towards her.

Scott closed in on the left flank.

Mitch was on the right flank, but he was still following Shelly's dust trail with his eyes.

Peggy took a few stumbling steps toward Buddy, who was staring her down like a she was a skittish steer.

She smiled widely at Buddy, approaching him. Buddy backed up so she would need to move further from the vehicle.

"Awww, you know, well...atchually, I just finished off my last Somas and was wondering if you'un's had any?"

Scott saw his chance and loped in on his long shanks into the space between Peggy and the Taurus. He reached in and grabbed the keys from the ignition, shouting "Got'em!"

Peggy turned and gave them all a confused look.

"Awwwww!" Her face crumpled and she began to cry sloppily. "You'uns are takin' my car keys! You give them back! Bwaaaaah!"

Scott retreated with the keys to stand behind Buddy.

This is not the first time such a scene has been acted out. Given the nature of Peggy's self-destructive nature, anyone who had her best interests at heart, or who merely respected her family, felt obligated to take Peggy's keys when she showed up like this. The resulting scene was almost always the same.

Peggy bolted off running towards the cow pasture. Mitch tried to head her off, but his flying tackle left him grasping air and spitting dust.

If she made it, she would wander around the mountain stoned out of her mind. She had gotten lost in the Gulf for two days once, tripping on acid. So, part of the ritual of taking Peggy's keys also included an attempt to keep her from running off, followed by taking her back home, if possible.

She was not an easy 6 foot tall, 400 pound drunk woman to deal with.

Peggy was running blindly. She ran right into the stout and thorny Mr. Lincoln rose bush, straddling it, then coming down hard on the other side of it screaming like a bawling heifer.

There was more blood than the three men had seen since last deer season.

"Shit, man, she's hurt herself!" Mitch said. "Peggy, what's wrong?"

Peggy lay on the ground rocking herself. She had hit that rose bush at full tilt, practically knocking the tree-like stem off its onion.

Scott's face blanched at all the blood that seemed to be blooming down her legs.

Peggy sputtered out between broken attempts to breathe, "It...it..uh-uh-uh-uh...it's my cooter!"

Buddy looked at Mitch, "Did she just say what I think she just said?"

Mitch looked grimly down at Peggy. "Fuckin' Shelly. We need Shelly."

Scott clapped his hands to his head and shook it like a dog. He stamped around in a circle.

"Look, man, we have to get her in the house. She's got to get herself cleaned up. We gotta get her home." Buddy said, trying to be reasonable.

It took the three of them to get her back on her feet and to slowly help her to the house.

"Oh, my cooter!" she moaned, "My cooter, it hurts!"