Suckin' Eggs

Suckin' Eggs

The only time that living in the bayou was really bearable was at night, and even then, the humidity lay in the air like an oppressive fog. Jess looked through the curtain of Spanish moss in the trees, hanging silver against the darkness of the old, gnarled oak trees. He could see his mama coming back from the old general store, carrying the sack of whatever they would be having for supper. He hoped it would be a slab of bacon or maybe some eggs. He hadn’t had any eggs since he had stolen those from Tibedeau’s hen house three weeks ago.
Living in the bayou had its ups and downs, but ever since his pappy had been dragged into the bayou by that big gator, it had been especially rough. Pap hadn’t had much money, and he’d drunk up a lot of it, but they’d never gone hungry. They couldn’t really say that now.
Jess looked on as his mama climbed the rickety steps.
“Boys down to the store done’n kilt ‘em a gator tonight”, she said as she lay the sack down.
Jess didn’t respond, instead sneaking an egg from the sack.
“Pontnieux said it was nigh on seven foot long. Said it coulda well been the varmint what et yer pappy”, mama went on.
“I don’t care nothing ‘bout no gator, mama. Asides, the gator what et pap was a big ol’ cuss, nigh on twenty foot” Jess replied.
“Twasn’t no twenty footer, boy, no sich thang, not in these parts, anyhow” mama scolded. “He’d as likely a had tentacles like a ockapus as to’a been twenty foot. Anyhow, the boys sended you sumpin’ in der sack.”
“What’s that?” asked Jess, as he sucked the raw egg from the hole he’d just made.
“Gator eggs,” grinned mama.