Authors Note: Hey friends! This is my third fan fiction that I've been working on. I'm having a lot of fun with this one. Growing up in New York I've always wanted to include the south in some aspect of my writing. Mark Calaway is a Texas man, so I figured it'd be fun to incorporate that in this story (even though it mostly takes place in Alabama). Enjoy this one! Its fun, crazy, sexy, cute, and romantic all in one! Please R&R as all of your reviews always put a big ol' smile on my face (here comes the southern' accent already!) :)
Southern Sweetness.
Chapter One.
"You know it's like my daddy always said, "Character is what you are, reputation is what you try to make people think you are". He was right about that, and my reputation is anything but your typical 'Southern Belle'. I'm proud of my heritage, where I came from. I live in the most beautiful place in the world. Sure, maybe to most people there ain't much to it. But to me, it's my beginning, my future, and my end. And that is whether I like it or not. My mama used to tell me that if you can't act like a Southern Belle, then fake it. After all, what can be more Southern than to obsess about being Southern?
The reason I say that, is because sometimes my town takes their pride overboard. See I was born and raised in Crossville, Alabama- as Southern as Southern gets. Like I said, I love my home town- but there is a certain stigma that has been bestowed upon us down here. We're rednecks, hicks, pedophiles and we sleep with our own brothers and sisters. We're suppose to be knocked up by the time we're eighteen, and our husbands are suppose to be riding us on the back of their tractors into the sunset. But hell, that ain't me. That ain't half of the people I know, either. The girls here, ha, we ain't fragile little flowers. We're about as fragile as a coal truck.
In the South, the breeze blows softer. Neighbors are friendlier, nosier, and more talkative. This is a different place. Our way of thinking is different, as are our ways of seeing, laughing, singing, eating, meeting and parting. Our walk is different, as the old song goes, our talk and our names. Nothing about us is quite the same as in the country to the north and west. What we carry in our memories is different too, and that may explain everything else.
But even with all that said, sometimes I wonder what else is out there. What is it like to not have everyone in your business? What is it like to not know every single person who walks down the street? I feel trapped here at times. Bound by chains to a reputation that isn't me. And hell, I seem to be the only damn one who cares about it around here. Everyone else, my mama, daddy, sisters and acquaintances, they all seem to live up to that reputation.
Both of my sisters are married mothers, stay at home mothers at that. And sometimes I wonder why it is I didn't fit into that mold. Why am I not married with babies, living in my small house down by the lake with my cooking apron on? I'm twenty-five years old and I don't even have a boyfriend. Is it so bad that I don't want one, either? Round here it is. My mama is constantly freaking out, thinking that I'm gonna be alone for the rest of my life just because I'm not rushing into a marriage. But I'm a free spirit, an independent kinda girl. Hopefully my family can accept that, until next time."
With that, Farrah closed her journal and the rant for the day was over. She chuckled to herself as she placed the small book underneath her pillow case. She got up off her bed and checked herself in the mirror before heading out to the kitchen to help her mother with dinner. She shook her head as she looked at the image in the reflection, "You're such a child still," she mumbled to herself as she fixed her long blond curls. "Farrah! Get your behind out here and help me! We have guests coming over!" Farrah sighed and brushed her hands over the front of her yellow sun-dress as she turned on her heel and headed to the kitchen.
"Christ almighty mama, how many people are coming over tonight the whole town?" Farrah asked as she grabbed an apron and looked at the wide spread of ingredients and groceries on the counter. Farrah's mother, Ava, laughed at her daughter. "Well honey you know us country folk can't eat alone. If we're going to cook a mess of greens we want to eat them with a mess of people!" Farrah rolled her eyes, "Well you know you're going to be stuck with a mess of leftovers too, don't ya?" Ava glared at the girl, "Don't give me any lip and sass missy. Go take these out to your father so he can throw them on the grill." Ava demanded as she passed a huge tray of ribs to her daughter. Farrah struggled as she carried the huge tray out the sliding glass doors and over to her father who was already cooking burgers on the back porch.
Farrah gingerly placed the tray on a near by picnic table, noting how the rest of the tables and chairs were scattered across the yard carelessly- begging to be put in some sort of structured order. "Ribs already huh? That mother of yours, always over preparing." Farrah's dad, Bruce, reached his long arm around and grabbed a huge tub of BBQ Sauce from behind the grill. Farrah's eyes widened, "Daddy, you really gonna use all that? I'm thinkin' people are going to want to be able to taste their food and not just Jack Daniels homestyle BBQ sauce." She stated as she folded her arms across her chest, her big blue eyes piercing through him. Bruce laughed, "When the taste changes with every bite and the last bite tastes as good as the first, that's BBQ darlin'." Farrah shook her head, "Yeah yeah. I'm going to get this yard in order. These chairs and tables are all over the damn place and it's driving me insane." Farrah said as she made her way down the wood steps and began re-arranging the yard. Bruce shook his head and smiled as he threw some ribs on the grill, "Just like her mama."