You can tell a lot about a man by the kind of britches he wears.<\/p>\n
Me? I prefer the workingman\u2019s blues. All-American denim. Hell, the only time I ever wore trousers was on my wedding day. I even wear jeans to church. And why not? Pastor\u2019s always having us sing \u201cCome As You Are\u201d and I don\u2019t think the Lord will mind if I take Him up on that. I get a few looks from the high-\u2018n\u2019-mighties, but that doesn\u2019t bother me. Besides, Lara dresses smart enough for the both of us.<\/span><\/p>\n A farmer doesn\u2019t need snazzy clothes, anyway.<\/span><\/p>\n Which I why I was puzzled that day when I went down to check on my hives and found those pants. Looked up there and there they were, wedged in the branches of the old oak tree. I stared at them awhile \u2013 then put my gloves and smokier down and went over for a closer look.<\/span><\/p>\n Those pants looked brand new. I reached up and felt the material. These were no farmer pants. These trousers had a \u201cbusinessman\u201d look in every stitch. They were gray, with a sheen on them that reminded me of the salesman at Halsey Ford. Lara, who teaches English at the local college, had a word for him: oleaginous. I had two words for him: slick bastard.<\/span><\/p>\n I started to pull the pants free when the sound of a female voice startled me so badly I nearly had an accident in my white beekeeper suit.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat tastes so good! How\u2019d you get at it with all those bees?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI charmed the honey right our from under \u2018em,\u201d a man replied.<\/span><\/p>\n The voices came from beyond some trees growing close to the creek. I walked along, listening. I wanted to know who the hell was trespassing and apparently stealing my honey!<\/span><\/p>\n As if a thorn of my last thought pierced the man\u2019s conscience, I heard him ask:<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cDo you think the old man will miss that bit of comb?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I directed my feet toward his voice.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNah, you didn\u2019t take that much.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I reached the edge of the woods and peered out cautiously from behind a tree.<\/span><\/p>\n I recognized the girl as my neighbor\u2019s sixteen-year-old, Tessie Harris. But I wasn\u2019t prepared for the sight of her, nor her honey-thieving boyfriend.<\/span><\/p>\n They were naked, spread out on the grass like pharaohs. They each had a piece of honeycomb, licking them like ice cream cones. I tried not to look, but I couldn\u2019t help myself.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHope your daddy doesn\u2019t catch us,\u201d the man said. I recognized him, too. Thought I hadn\u2019t seen the preacher\u2019s son, Oren, since he went to college.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHe won\u2019t,\u201d Tessie said. \u201cHe won\u2019t come onto Carver\u2019s property. They don\u2019t get along that well.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not worried about the farmer?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHe checks his bees on Wednesdays. I\u2019ve been coming here awhile. That\u2019s the only time I\u2019ve seen him.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m not that predictable, girlie<\/span><\/em>, I thought.<\/span><\/p>\n I turned back then; afraid the Good Lord would strike me dead for watching them. Or Lara would, if she happened by on one of her walks and caught me at this peep show.<\/span><\/p>\n I took a souvenir before I left, though.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhere on earth did you get those pants?\u201d Lara asked as I entered the kitchen.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cLong story. Is there fresh coffee made?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n When she\u2019d brought us two steaming mugs, I told her. I didn\u2019t leave anything out. After twenty-five years of marriage, it\u2019s impossible to lie or keep secrets from your wife.<\/span><\/p>\n Lara was quiet when I spoke and when I finished she sat her cup down, leaned back in her chair, and howled with laughter.<\/span><\/p>\n I know what you\u2019re thinking. But just because we attend a Sunday service once in awhile doesn\u2019t mean we\u2019re saints. And Lara works at a college, so there\u2019s not much she hasn\u2019t heard.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWish I could see the look on their faces when they find out his pants are gone!\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n About an hour later, someone knocked on the kitchen door.<\/span><\/p>\n It was Tessie. She was alone.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMr. Carver, you left your smoker at the hives. I brought it to you. I was taking a walk by the creek. Hope you don\u2019t mind.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n She sounded so innocent it was difficult for us not to bust out laughing.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t go near there, you might get stung.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Lara turned away, making a sound like she was coughing, but I knew better.<\/span><\/p>\n Tessie stood with her head down, studying our ancient and fading linoleum.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cDid you happen to find anything while you were out there?\u201d Her eyes strayed to the kitchen chair where I\u2019d draped the pants.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s the damnedest thing! I found that pair of pants in a tree.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n She looked at me, blushing. \u201cThose are my daddy\u2019s. I planned to go swimming and wanted something dry to wear home. He\u2019ll tan my hide if he finds out I took them.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Lara and I smiled at each other. I wondered how long it took the two them to cook up that story.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYour daddy will tan your hide anyway when he finds out you\u2019re messing around with Oren Thatcher,\u201d Lara said.<\/span><\/p>\n Tessie burst into tears. \u201cPlease give them back! Oren will get mad at me!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n In the end, we sent Tessie home and I went to have a little talk with the minister\u2019s son. I sent him walking back to town wearing a pair of my wife\u2019s flowered summer shorts and with the warning that if I ever saw him on my property again, Mr. Harris would get a visit from me.<\/span><\/p>\n I don\u2019t think Oren and Tessie saw each other again after that and to this day Lara and I get a kick out of recalling my little blackmail.<\/span><\/p>\n Especially when I wear my shiny new pants.<\/span><\/p>\n Maria Kelly<\/span><\/strong> <\/span><\/span>is a published author and poet. She will earn her AA degree from SPC in December and transfer to a baccalaureate program in English Literature. Maria mostly writes science fiction, fantasy, and horror. She is editor of the online magazine, The Were-Traveler. <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n Originally published in Ember Skies, a site supporting the arts at SPC.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" You can tell a lot about a man by the kind of britches he wears. Me? I prefer the workingman\u2019s blues. All-American denim. Hell, the only time I ever wore trousers was on my wedding day. I even wear jeans to church. And why not? Pastor\u2019s always having us sing \u201cCome As You Are\u201d and … Continue reading Composition – Shiny New Pants – Student Work<\/span>