"How's the homework coming, Scout?" Uncle Pat says leaning into the room Ted shared with his cousin, Jimmy. Pat calls him 'Scout' and it drives him crazy; sometimes he can physically feel his eye twitch at the sound.
"S'goin'," Teddy muttered, shuffling papers; a Penthouse is almost like math homework.

Uncle Pat taps the door frame and smiles, "Good, you finish with it and then you can help Jim set the table.
"There's some motivation," Teddy muttered under his breath and when his uncle asked what he'd said he just gave it a faux smile and a 'sho'nuff'.

Later that night Jimmy and Teddy were sitting on the couch with their feet on the coffee table watching television; Winter Olympics in Japan. They were catcalling at the figure skaters, and Uncle Pat and Aunt Pauline told them to knock it off.

"Why don't you two go out for some sodas or somethin'…kids still do that right? Good ol' fashioned soda fountains?" By the time Pat had finished talking Jimmy and Teddy were already in the car, gassing it down the street.

They rolled down the windows and punched the cassette into the player. It was nearly April, so Alabama was getting ready for her summer-time activities. The personal favorite of the Bagwell teens was driving up to the lake with a keg, taking turns doing drunken dives off the hood of the car. Inevitably, someone would come home with a concussion, but they'd just blame the beer.

Uncle Pat wasn't the first of his relatives Theodore had lived with, but he was the nicest. First he and Mama lived with Mammy and Grandpa Bagwell, but the high school was too far away from the farm, so when he turned 14 they shipped him closer to town. Then Teddy lived with his other uncle, David, but when Theodore's paternity test came back positive he'd called him a 'sick freak', smashed a couple of plates over his head and decided it was time to move out.

By comparison, Uncle Pat and his wife were much nicer, even if they were somewhat humble. And they already had a son a year older than Teddy. James and Theodore were inseparable by '72; whenever anyone saw the beat up sky-blue Pinto driving down the street with the music blasting they knew it was the Bagwell boys.

"Bet'cha can't ride fifteen minutes in the dryer without blowing chunks," Jimmy said looking at the Laundromat up the street.

"Sho'nuff I can," Theodore replied, sounding almost offended, "And if I can…your settin' the goddamn table for a month. And you'll let me borrow the Pinto this weekend."
James pulled a sharp turn, stopping in the parking lot of the Wash-N-Dry, "One or the other, fifteen minutes ain't worth both."
"Just jealous cause you can't even fit in one."
"Sure, shorty."

Theodore didn't have to set the table that month. And since he'd found a pair of lace panties while he was in the dryer, he got the car that weekend. Those were some of the best years of his life.