Chapter 1
There is a lifelong saying that all that glimmers isn't gold, these words/lines uttered by the great English playwright, Shakespeare, that’s such a pompous sounding Thing to utter, like Really greatest playwright ever with a crazy
Sounding last name, such a thing of the times, anyway
my grandaddy gave me a shiny silver belt buckle with
a nugget of turquoise the size of a baby's
outstretched hand as it grasps for a
cookie the size of its head, that’s
what got me on the Shakespeare
rant btw, It's cool weight in my palm like
the rush of the cool stream running
behind my house when you stick your hands
in to try and get the mud off from throwing
mudballs at my younger brother, the scent of
rain fresh in the air from the far and few
rainstorms that turn the land into a giant
Mudslide, actually turquoise and silver does come out
of the ground, from mines actually, creatures of
the earth and rock like we as people are
creatures of habit, granddaddy was a creature of
habit, that is until he keeled over
From too much of grandmas cooking and
too much scotch on the rocks, now he’s sprinkled
all over the flower beds on the farm, and that belt buckle
with the engraving on the back spelling out
“Class of 2025, Congratulations Lacy,
Love Granddad” is buried deep like
all the pictures from my graduation under
layers of clothes that have gotten
too small in the deep recesses
of my dresser drawers, my graduation dress
deep in the back of my closet, forgotten like the
memory of those who have since wronged
me and the farm in the last 3 years since graduation, I miss
Grandad and that stupid turquoise
belt buckle somedays
like how I miss the man who
made it for me, my ex, Lucas Greystone of
Greystone Jewelry and Minery, the best-known
western jewelry and custom piece shop in
Texas, only problem was that the maker
himself knew me and my taste in western
wear a little too much, knowing him the
weasel probably had created the thing knowing
that I would fall madly in love with it, in an effort to
persuade me to get back with his lying arse,
Well, he was darn wrong,
even if it was the most beautiful buckle I had seen and held
in my hands in the last few years, pieces of art like this tend to
only be worn at special events and by the big wigs from Dallas when they
roll in trying to buy up land from the locals for
dirt cheap, the turquoise had little brownish
black veins running through it like logs floating down
a stream, the silver background shinning like stars in the sky, just how
Lucas use to say my blue eyes sparked like the
Lake we used to fish together on, good times, but
That’s a story for another day
