Goin' South

Dedicated to "Pops"

Mark was never the type to be anything less than arrogant, snobby, egotistical, and a hundred other adjectives, none of them flattering. Granted he was a very handsome man who came from a very prominent Newport, Rhode Island family vested with so much old money that it would take several lifetimes to spend, but in no fashion would that ever excuse his behavior. His viewpoint, the only one that mattered to him of course, would be that no one was quite like him.

There was no denying that dressed totally in black leather that only accentuated his muscular body and dashing good looks that he was the epitome of every woman’s ideal and every man’s wet dream. Add to that mix his hot black motorcycle and voila he was a true force of nature.

 On a whim he decided to take a road trip on his motorcycle. He had no planned destination in mind, only that he wanted to get away for a while and see what adventures he might have someplace different. He had no worries because if anything happened Daddy would be there to bail him out, so it was a win-win no matter how he looked at it. A stop in New York saw him bedding a few women, much to the dismay of their husbands and boyfriends. And some asses got promptly kicked when some Pennsylvania boys thought they could jump him from behind. West Virginia, Kentucky, and Tennessee, well, those could be tales unto themselves. Heartbreak and mischief followed in his wake wherever he went. He was having the time of his life. Until he came to North Carolina.

The highway was clear, so he was doing about 110 on his bike. It wasn’t long before he heard sirens and saw flashing lights coming up behind him. Mark chuckled to himself. Did that yokel sheriff really think he was going to slow down or stop for him? Idiot redneck! He could outrace the sheriff with one hand tied behind his back. He was so smug with himself that he didn’t notice the tractor up ahead blocking the road. There was a loud crash and the once arrogant Yankee boy found himself flying through the air, bike mangled beyond recognition. His last thought: “I hope I don’t ruin my face.”

He awoke sometime later to find himself alive and, miraculously, unharmed. “Where am I?”

“You’re in jail, boy. Even a dumb Yankee like you should be able to tell that.”

“Jail? What for?”

“Let’s see… speeding, evading an officer of the law, scratching a John Deere tractor. Any other dumb questions?”

“Do you know who I am? Who my father is? I want to talk to my lawyer. Get my father on the phone.”

“You ain’t talkin’ to no high falutin’ city slicker lawyer. And as far as your father goes, it don’t matter if he is the President of these here United States. No one knows you’re here and no one is gonna know you’re here. Got that boy?”

“I know my rights! I demand….”

“You’re in no position to demand anything. You’re not going anywhere for a while so just you settle down and be a good Yankee. Behave and I’ll have Cletus make you something special for dinner. You ain’t gonna be needin’ that fancy gear neither. Strip and put these on.”

He had no intention of changing his clothes or going bare-assed in front of the sheriff nor did he particularly want to put on clothes that weren’t his to begin with.

“Put em on, boy. Or I’ll do it for you.” Mark reluctantly took the pile the sheriff pushed through the bars: black tee, jeans, boots, and a belt with a very big buckle but no underwear. He was going to look very silly dressed like some country boy with his junk bouncing around but what choice did he have?

“Can you turn around, please?”

“You ain’t got nothin’ I haven’t seen before Yankee.”

Once stripped down, Mark held the clothing up. Not tailored like he was used to but at least it was clean and looked like it might fit okay. Slowly he donned the clothing. Once done he found it was actually quite comfortable but he certainly wasn’t going to give the sheriff the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Now you look like a proper person and not some God awful terminator. Hand over the gear.” Mark reluctantly passed his gear to the sheriff, wondering if he would ever see it again.

“I better get that back when I get out of here.” The sheriff just walked away, a smug smirk on his face.

Mark sat back down on the very uncomfortable cot in the cell, brooding. No one ever talked to him that way. These yokels would get theirs when he got back home and told his father about all this. They would pay, alright, and Mark would enjoy watching it happen. He sat there just staring at the old analog clock just above the sheriff’s desk. With no cell phone and nothing to do he was getting bored quickly. He tried to remember everything that had led up to this situation but the last thing he could recall was his night in Tennessee when he had bedded some very bodacious Southern belles. Ah, that had been quite the night. But for some reason even that didn’t seem quite real and everything after that was a blank, like somehow he had just woken up here in this cell. Time slowly ticked by…

Mark awoke with a start, disoriented and confused for a minute until he got his head back together. He was still in the cell and now hungry as hell. He amused himself thinking back to the old Andy Griffith show he had seen in reruns. This place reminded him of that jailhouse and he half expected to see Andy and Barney stroll in. As if on cue, the office door opened and a lanky young man in a cop uniform entered carrying a tray loaded with food. Must be Cletus.

Old sheriff Andy, he couldn’t think of anything else to call him, by comparison was a big bear of a man with a deep booming voice that could peel paint off a wall and probably always in a foul mood . Andy’s uniform could barely contain the beer gut that shook like jelly every time the man moved. Unlike the sheriff, Cletus seemed like he might be an affable man. He, at least, was smiling and when he spoke he had a soft Southern drawl that the girls back home would swoon over.

“Now y’all behave and I’ll let you out of the cell to eat. Okay, mister?”

“Call me Mark. Sure, I’ll behave.” Country dweeb, Mark thought to himself, He might be as tall as me but I can overpower him no problem. I need to eat first though.

“Hello Mark. I’m Deputy Cletus. Nice to meet you. Now you stand back and I’ll open the cell. No funny stuff, okay?”

“I promise, Cletus.”

The aroma of the food was intoxicating and Mark’s mouth watered as it tickled his nose. Quite a big meal for one person.

“We got you some grits, cornpone bread, some fried chicken, and biscuits and gravy. This here wine is something special you’ll enjoy. Guarantee. Come on over and eat. And remember no funny stuff.  You promised.”

Mark wasn’t too sure about the food regardless of the aroma. He was more of a steak and potatoes kind of guy but he was hungry and he had to eat something. He started with the familiar stuff, biscuits and chicken, a bit of wine, and then attempted the grits and pone. Surprisingly he found them quite to his taste. A little more wine and they were positively delicious. It didn’t take him long before he had scoffed down all the food and wine. Just about the time he finished, good ol’ sheriff Andy strolled in with quite the satisfied grin on his face.

“Good Yankee. You ate all your dinner.” That smile was rather disarming to Mark, but he was feeling warm and content, so he really didn’t care.

“Y’all outdone….” Mark gasped. Did he just say that? He tried again. “Ah mean, y’all.…” Try as he might, nothing would come out the way he intended and to top it off he was finding himself slipping into a smooth Southern drawl and out of his usual upper-crust Newport accent. What the hell did they do to me? His mind was on fire. He couldn’t think straight, his thoughts becoming jumbled and confused as strange new memories settled into his brain. Memories of farming and fishing rivers and… This is crazy. I not a hick farm boy. I’m Mark… I’m… I ain’t no damn Yankee. I’m Bo, short for Beauregard. Just then sheriff Andy spoke up.

“You alright Bo? You been out in the sun too long boy?”

“Huh? Sher sheriff. I’m feelin; fine. A little funny maybe and my clothes feel off but other than that I’m okay. Don’t know what came over me. Strangest thing. Do you know some Yankee named Mark?”

“Nope. Never heard of no Yankee Mark.”

Cletus watched from the sidelines as the new Bo and the sheriff exchanged small talk. Cletus wondered if any of the old Mark was left. The changes were not quite complete just yet. He watched in awe as the former Yankee’s physical appearance altered. He had never seen the actual transformation process take place, only what the end products had been like. Mark, or rather Bo now, continued chatting away like a magpie, obviously lost in some sort of blissful reverie and quite unaware as the last of his old life faded forever. Cletus saw just how much Bo’s body relaxed and could see the arrogance erased, to be replaced by a friendly easy-going attitude. His age regressed a few years until he had quite a youthful visage as his jaw squared, gaining scruff, and his face became slightly thinner. The muscles were still there but rather than from years of working out in a gym they had been obtained by hard labor working. An inch or two taller, he filled out the jeans and tee to complete the transition to hot Southern boy perfection.

“I gotta be goin’ now, sheriff. Gonna stop at my favorite fishin’ river for a spell before I head to the fields.” The lazy drawl coming naturally from Bo now.

“Good seein’ ya, boy. Y’all stop by next time you’re in town. Don’t forget your hat. You left it last time you were here.”

“Thanks, sheriff.” Bo stopped to put his hat on as he left the office. “See ya soon.” They listened to Bo whistlin’ “Dixie” all the way out. It wasn’t long before they heard his pickup roar to life. Cletus smiled to himself. That was one Yankee the world would never miss.

“Let’s celebrate, Cletus, to another job well done.” The sheriff said as he brought a filled glass over to his deputy. The two clinked glasses and Cletus downed the liquid quickly.

“Funny tastin’, sheriff. What was it?”

“Just something to help you with your next mission.”

“Mission? What mission? You didn’t say nothin’ bout any mission before.” Cletus asked, perplexed.

“You’re gonna become a Yankee so you can blend in and get us some more Yankees. Bring the South back to glory so we can take our rightful place as the leaders of the U.S. of A.”

“I don’t wanna… want to be a Yankee, sir.” Cletus just about jumped out of his skin when he heard himself. He had lost his beloved drawl, replaced by… a Yankee accent!

“You’re gonna be fine, Cletus. You’ll fit right in and it will only be for somewhere bout a year or so. Think of all the fun you can have foolin’ them Yankee boys.”

Cletus didn’t want to think about being a Yankee, but he could already feel alien memories invading his mind as his body transformed. His clothes started to stretch to their limit as his muscles bulged. The feeling was so pleasurable that he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the office door open and close again, but he was too lost in his euphoria to care much. He just felt so damn good!

“Cletus! Cletus boy… open your eyes.” The sheriff prodded Cletus to bring him out of his bliss. Cletus slowly opened his eyes.

“What do you have there, sheriff?” Damn it is going to be hard getting used to this new voice. Sounds so familiar somehow though.

“Your new gear, Mark.” Cletus’ mouth dropped a mile. When he looked down at himself, he could see Mark’s muscles peeking through the tattered rags of his old uniform. He was so much heavier now than he had ever been in his life and he had a full head of hair instead of his usual buzz-cut. Not only that, he had started to feel somewhat cocky. It took all his will not to give into the personality traits trying to overwhelm him.

“I’m not Mark. I’m… Cletus…” But he didn’t sound like himself and he was somehow sure if he looked in the mirror he would see Mark’s face staring back. Sure enough when he gazed into the small mirror on the wall it was Mark’s Yankee visage he saw. Okay, Mark is… I am hot and rich but he is… I am a Yankee. Conflict raced through his brain until finally he was able to subdue Mark’s memories and personality.

“Get dressed, boy. You gotta head back home so daddy won’t be too worried. Cletus… draw on Mark when you need to. No one will ever know you aren’t the real Mark.”

The new Mark took off the remnants of his old clothes and with it, his life as Cletus. He had to admit the leather gear felt awesome stretched across his new body. I think I can get used to this!

“Get yerself outside and onto that black beast waiting for you. Remember… send as many Yankees as you can. Bye now, boy.”

Mark stepped outside, feeling the warm air against his face. Somehow Mark’s mangled bike had been repaired and sat there waiting for its master to kick start it into life. He donned his helmet and shades, mounted the bike, and roared off into his future. The South was going to rise again. One Yankee at a time!