Philology Phriday––Blunt

11 Jun
Hey there. How you been? Yeah, this summer’s been a warm one. I was just talkin to my wife about how the okra plants could use less uh that heat and more uh that rain. Been prayin for it now. Who you askin bout? Who? Oh, Blunt. Yeah, I knew Blunt. Shoot, I practically raised him since he, uh, since come here. You wanna know about him? Shoot, how much time you got? Aight, well sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll get Myrtle to fix us some lemonade.
Boy, that’s good stuff, ain’t it? Freshly squeezed. And the strawberry, that was my touch. Anyway, you didn’t come here for some lemonade. You came for somethin else. What was it now? Oh yeah, that’s right. Blunt.
Well you know my Blunt has many uses. It’s a noun:
Brosef, you mind passin that blunt?
It’s an adjective:
Brosef, you’s a blunt mothableeper.

And, just to spite all them modern, underusing naysayers, it can be a verb:
Brosiah, don’t blunt the axe. The Zombiocalypse is coming.
Yeah, me and Myrtle always knew Blunt was talented. He was a good kid, you know. Yeah, he was a good kid. Not too bright, but useful, you know? Yeah, we had our good times, and our bad. He was such a good kid when he was young. I try not to remember the bad ones, though. What’s that? You want me to talk about them? Aww, I don’t know. You really wanna know? Well, I guess I should start from the beginning, then.
First off, he wasn’t mine to begin with. Or Myrtle’s, for that matter. We just found him one day. Shoot, I remember that first day. Him all covered in mud, or soot, or Lord knows what. There was somethin, though. I don’t know. Reminded me kinda of somethin Norse-like, and old, too. You ever heard of blundr? No? Well, it’s an Old Norse word meaning to doze. Myrtle always told me that’s only what I wanted to see. She always said he reminded her of an Old English word, bleat. Means somethin like wretched, I reckon. Leave it to the woman to feel pity right off the bat.
Anyway, we took him to the shed after we found him, and gave him the best bath he probably ever had. Once we cleaned all the gunk and whatnot off him, I looked at Myrtle, and she looked at me. We both knew there’d be no way to know where this thing came from.
So for a while, we just let him be. And he’d go off and be with some friends he’d made around the ole drug store. Gaw, what were their names? Shoot, he had so many of them, I can’t really tell you all of ‘em. I do remember obtuse was one of them. Haha, blunt and obtuse. You should have seen them growin up. Like twins, almost. You could hardly tell them apart unless you’re looking right at the both of ‘em side by side.
But then there was that one day that kinda started the bad times. Down at the drug store, blunt and obtuse were gettin themselves a Coke and they run into this gang of bullies. Hoodlums, more like it. I never did like that group. What’d they call themselves? Oh, yeah. The Astute Troop. Anyways, they come up to my blunt and they ask him where he came from. Why I bet he just stared at ‘em, blank in the face, like a deer in the headlights. They jus laughed at him. Made him so mad he started to cry. He came runnin back here, bawlin. Myrtle asked him what was wrong.
“I AIN’T GOT NO HOME! DO I?” Them tears still in his eyes, streamin down his face.
We’d never told him anythin like that, so frank and abrupt-like. Why, we didn’t know what to do. We just sat there, dumbfounded. He was right. He didn’t have no home. He saw the look in me and Myrtle’s eyes and he walked right up to his room and slam the door. He started to beat his head against the wall of his room. I was all kindsa torn up inside.
He came out, though, after about 15 minutes. He had, and I still remember this, he had his backpack all packed with some clothes and his hands on his hips. Myrtle and I were still dumbfounded. He walked toward the front door, took one solid look back at us.
He said, “Bye” and it felt like a butter knife got lodged in my chest. And like that, he was gone.
We tried to keep up with where he’s been. But last we heard, he and obtuse started associatin with stupid, and insensitive. S’posedly, he’s even had dealins with certain kinds of weapons. Really? Them rumors are true, you say? Oh Lord, forgive me. Where did we go wrong? Our boy used to be so simple, so innocent. Now he’s this? Murderous weapons, you say? Oh, then that’s that. I’ve tried to contact him, but he won’t do it. He can’t, I guess.
What’s that? How do I deal with it? Yeah, I guess I’m tryin my best to deal with it all, you know. Remember the good times, the simple times when we had found him there, when he would help us around the house, doin a bit uh everythin. Yeah, that’s how I’m gunna get by. Rememberin.
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