The following is the first, original, creative work to be posted on patrickjdobson.com. It was written specifically for this post. If you would like to have something posted here, send it via the mailbag or get in touch with me via the mailbag and send your email address. If I like what you send, I'll post it.
Marla Jenkins.
I love Marla Jenkins.
Marla Jenkins is one of those ladies that you could meet up with once and never realize that she was the finest human being this side of the world.
That is, of course, until she looks you in the eye and says those magical words:
"I have flaring hemorroids."
Yes, Marla Jenkins has a way with the English language that I've never been able to put my finger on.
We met for the first time just north of Biloxi, Mississippi. I would say she was probably the ugliest woman I can remember setting eyes upon. She stood 6'7" if she was an inch. I would peg her weight between 240 and 260 lbs, and she was completely averse to the notions of "shaving" or "waxing". Yes, she had a stubborn nature about her. Her body hair was distinct, but the loony thing about Marla was how she cared for it. Every strand was washed and rewashed and then conditioned and reconditioned. Yes, she had quite a coat of hair on her, but when you got up close enough to touch it, you had a comfortable urge to run your hands through it - to bury your face in it.
Marla was really more sasquatch than human.
Now, I said she weighed about 250 lbs. This was no soft deuce and change. Marla was a rock. The first day I met her, she was waitin' tables at the Sugarfoot diner on Popps Ferry Road. She walked out of the kitchen carryin' 4 catfish dinners, 2 orders of fried chicken, 3 plates of popcorn shrimp, 3 pots of coffee and a whole apple pie. All of this was balanced on 4 trays spread across her sizeable wingspan.
I think it's fair to say I started to fallin' in love with Marla Jenkins at around that time.
"Alright youngins, y'all need to eat up all yer food now, lest you grow up and catch the E.D."
Yes, Marla Jenkins has a way with the English language that I've never been able to put my finger on.
I waited outside of the diner until she got off. I'm not one to make big romantic gestures. I'm not even one to make gestures, but I really needed to talk to this goliath of a woman.
She walked out, still dressed in her waitressin' clothes, and she stared right at me as she lit a cigarrette. I stared right back, but was unable to say a word. She moved in my direction.
Now, I don't dare call how Marla Jenkins moves 'walkin'. No, Marla moves with a grace and dignity that women half her size aspire to. That woman saunters somethin' poetic across every room and down every road. I think I could watch Marla glide for hours and never lose fascination.
"I've got tampons bigger then you."
Yes, Marla Jenkins has a way with the English language that I've never been able to put my finger on.
She floated right on by me, and went off into the darkness.
I returned the following day and waited for her again and I achieved the same results. When Marla spoke, it wasn't the words you listened to. You were frozen by her voice - her intonation. Marla's words seem to float on the air; they bathe your head in some intoxicating fragrance before resting on the tips of your ears and entering your head in a kind of elegegant osmosis.
For one week I met Marla infront of the Sugarfoot.
Monday:
"They all want to devour your dreams"
Tuesday:
"My forearms taste like Poland in the spring"
Wednesday:
"I have inhaled big blue blankets before going to the cave"
Thursday:
"My house is painted with the fear of young children"
Friday:
"Dinner and Dugongs are my idea of a good date"
Saturday:
"Nights with me are like ocular surgery: you'll want to cry after, but you won't be able to"
Yes, Marla Jenkins has a way with the English language that I've never been able to put my finger on.
After the last two nights, it occured to me that I was being propositioned. So it was incumbent upon me to go ahead and follow Marla home.
Some 15 minutes into the walk, it occured to me that I might be stalking Marla. At this, I had a powerful urge to strike poor Marla with a stone. I found a nice smooth one on the side of the road, wound back, and let it fly. It struck her in the head, and she instantly blurted out one of her Marlaisms and continued walking as if she was unbothered.
Now, I don't recall if I've said this, but Marla was a rock-solid gargantuan. Through the duration of the 45 minute walk, I must have thrown about 25 stones at Marla. And right after each throw, she went and said somethin' as if on cue. She was like a Chatty Cathy doll, and me throwin' the stones was like pullin' the string.
She walked up to a motel door, opened it, and stood there patient-like as I approached.
I wanted to introduce myself.
"Hi Marla, my name is..."
But this seemed to interfere with the plan that Marla had in her head all along. She put her hand over my mouth, and lifted me up in her exceedingly strong arms. I felt incredibly safe as well as warm in her fleecy embrace. She took me over the threshold of that little hotel room, and that was it.
I don't recall a great many of the details of that evening. An' as a man of honor, I reckon I wouldn' tell you if I did. But I am certain of one thing. That evening I became a man.
It's been 15 years, and I haven't seen Marla Jenkins since. All that I have left of her is a note she left in the motel room:
"Some birds are meant to violated after you swallow them."
I got married 5 years ago this August. My wife and one child know nothing of Marla, and it's likely they never will. But I do know one thing for sure:
I love Marla Jenkins.
Marla Jenkins.
I hope you liked Marla Jenkins. It was just something I threw together off the cuff. Let me know what you think!
Tschüs!