“Oh my gosh, ain’t that the purtiest thing you ever saw?”

We all stood in the doorway of the small room, admiring the newest thing to come down the holler in years, our new toilet. I mean, it flushed and everything. After a lifetime of outhouses and really bad smells it was a blessing from heaven.

“Lemme see,” said Sam, my youngest brother. He gawked and grinned. Clapping his hands he turned and retreated into the hallway singing about taking a pee in the new inhouse.

“From the outhouse to the inhouse, yes ma’am!” He banged out the front door of the house running like an idiot out into the yard.

Daddy cleared his throat and said, “Alright now. This here’s something we been needing for a while. We gotta treat it right; if it breaks I ain’t gonna know how to fix it. So don’t be putting nothin’ in there that ain’t supposed to be like trash and stuff. Just, well, just whatever comes out when you go. Nothin’ else, ‘ya hear?”

“Yes Sir,” we all shouted cramming farther into the small room, elbow-to-elbow, just staring and trying hard to keep from shouting hallelujah.

You ever had to use an outhouse? I know lots of you probably still have ‘em and I ain’t meaning to sound all uppity nor nothing, but gee-whiz it’s about the awfullest thing I can recall.

First off, they smell really, really bad. In the summer, it’s badder than anything. Daddy keeps the lime right outside with a soup can in it for dippin’ out the lime and dumpin’ it into the holes. But, you can’t really get rid of it. It clings to the air and you can’t do a durn thing about it except to hold your breath and get finished quick and run.

Also, they have a gazillion flies buzzing around ‘em all year long. Heck, even the dead of winter don’t faze ‘em. I used to have nightmares about sitting on top, doing my business and a big ol’ green fly zooms up my butt. Them flies is another reason to hurry up and get done and then run. Seems like people are always running out of the outhouse. I ain’t never seen ‘em lollygagging around.

At night is worse than ever. There’s no lights strung up in ‘em and sure you have a flashlight if you’re lucky but you can’t be shining it down the hole looking for flies and stuff. Believe me, you don’t ever shine the light down the hole.  Plus, you have lots of time to think about scary things. In there, all you can think of is bad, gross things. Like, a snake jumping up and biting your butt or a spider biting you or maybe about you fallin’ in. That’s the worst, thinking about fallin’ in. I never have thought of a worser way to die.

And when it’s cold? Good golly let me tell you that in the winter you hold it forever and ever to keep from having to go out there in the cold and pee or whatever. I’d a give my eyeteeth for a good ol’ slopjar some nights. Sitting on that cold wood, feeling the wind blow in through the cracks of the flimsy walls shrivels your whole world. I just hate it worse than anything.

“We need one of them things you use when it gets clogged up,” said Daddy. “I’m gonna get one tomorrow when I go into town. ‘Til then, don’t use it too much. If the dang thing overflows well, that’d be bad.”

He stood up and stared at the toilet like he was wonderin’ what he’d brought into our house.

A knock at the door pulled Daddy out of his toilet stupor. “I’ll get it.”

Opening the front door Daddy saw the Turners.

“Hey George, here we are. Heard about the new toilet and decided to come have a look-see. Margaret brought a casserole.” Mr. Turner grinned and stepped inside.

“Howdy, howdy y’all. We’re so happy for ‘ya a new toilet and all, law, what’s next a TV? Here’s a little casserole I brung for y’all. It’s corn and beans and well, just a little old thing we make all the time. Hey Robert, gosh you look a foot taller than when I last laid eyes on ‘ya. Here, take this casserole I brung for your Mama.” said Mrs. Turner handing me a big pan covered with foil. I took it and almost dropped it. Geez, the thing musta weighed 10 pounds.

“Let me see that toilet,” Mrs. Turner sang out.

“Foller me,” Mommy said turning to go back down the hall.

“Here she is!” Mommy pushed the door all the way open and stood a pointin’ it out like they mighta missed it.

“I swear to my never! Look how white it is! Bill, come see! Now Louise, you gotta put somethin’ on the walls so it makes it lighter in here and gosh, George just has to put you a shelf or two in here for whatever. Did you’uns get the paper yet? The Johnsons got the purtiest pink paper with roses and ever’thing. Shoot, I’m just so jealous. Bill keeps a sayin’ he’s gonna get us one but he can’t seem to get it done.” Mrs. Turner’s eyes looked glazed over and I swear I thought she was gonna fall out.

“Well Margaret, maybe with the extra shift down at the mine Bill can get y’all one,” said Mommy.

I crowded in with ‘em to see it again. Yep, it was still there bolted to the floor like someone might steal it away while we slept.

“You’uns just has to get some paper right away. Can’t be using any old thing or you’ll make it overflow. Gosh, what a mess that’d be!” Mrs. Turner reached out and grabbed the toilet handle. “Can I?”

“Sure, flush ‘er all you want,” said Mommy grinning, holding her arms out like Jesus on the cross.

Mrs. Turner flushed the toilet, laughing as the water gurgled, swirling round and round and round and…. I had to get outta there.

“Robert, you alright? You look a little pale boy, quit staring into the water.” Mommy laughed, waving her hand in front of my face.

“I’m going outside,” I said running out the door into the hallway.

Careening around the corner of the kitchen, I ran smack into Hateful Mary.

“Boy, look where you goin’.” She swiped her cane at me and I ducked.

“What’cha doing Mrs. Browning?”

“T’ain’t none of your business now is it? Where’s your Mam Mr. Big Britches?”

“In the bathroom with Mrs. Turner ma’am.”

“Now, how’d I know that already? Come here and take my arm. We got some new toilet to look at,” she said shoving her elbow at me. I took it and we shuffled down the hallway to the bathroom.

Hateful Mary (or Mrs. Browning whenever I was talking around adults) lived up the holler ’bout midways from our house and the tipple. She was about a hundred year old and mean as a copperhead.

One time I watched her kill an old tomcat that had been messin’ with her chickens. She picked it clean up off the ground by its head, holding it in both hands as she snapped it back toward the ground breaking its neck. I swear she never even blinked, grinning the whole dang time.

“Now, by God, that’s the last of you,” she said. “Robert, bury this damn thing ‘fore sundown.” She flung the cat at my feet; I stood looking down at its tongue hanging out in the coal dust.

“Yes ma’am.”

That was last year; maybe she’d gotten nicer since then.

“Louise, I come to see you’uns new toilet.” Hatful Mary elbowed her way into the small bathroom and stood, hands clasping her cane, eyes squintin’ like there was a glare off  it.

She sucked her gums, drawing in a breath.

“This it?”

“Yes Mary, this’s it,” Mommy said nervously. The next words outta Hateful Mary’s mouth could make or break the new toilet and all its glory.

“Hmmm, a bit smaller’n I reckoned.” She banged her cane against it. It sounded cold and hard.

Turning, she plopped down on it and near about fell in. My heart jumped like a rabbit.

“Jesus! Help me up boy,” she said offering me her two bird stick arms.

I looked out of the corner of my eye at Mommy, waiting for her head to explode from the way Hateful Mary just took the Lord’s name I vain. She’d knock me into next week for that on more’n one occasion. Mommy just stood there looking down at Hateful Mary hanging in the toilet.

I helped her up, reaching around her to close the lid. It fell with a crash.

“Robert! Mind the lid. Don’t bang it, close it slowly. You break it your Daddy’s gonna die!” shouted Mommy. “You like it Mrs. Browning?”

“Ain’t fer sure. Hold on to your horses.”  She sat back down on the lid this time.

I watched her looking around the small room. She looked tiny and scared but I knew how mean she was and I wasn’t fallin’ for that act.

“Well now,” she said. “This here’s real nice.”

She stood and I imagined a creaky sound in her back, horrified by the thought that she might just break apart into a dusty old pile and I’d have to sweep her up.

“You like it?” Mommy asked.

“Mrs. Browning, what’cha think?” pleaded Mrs. Turner.

It was quiet as a graveyard. Hateful Mary turned around, looking down at the toilet.

“What’cha do with it after you’re finished?” she asked.

Mommy looked at her like she was speaking in tongues. “What do you do with it after you’re finished?”

“Yes, when you’uns is finished with your business, what do ‘ya do then?” hateful Mary looked mad. She couldn’t rightly explain her meaning in a ladylike way.

“Oh, uh, well, this handle back here, you push it down like this,” explained Mommy flushing the toilet. “And it all goes away. Like magic you see?”

Mommy was grinning. Mrs. Turner was grinning like a possum not to be outdone by Mommy. Happiness was all around.

“Well, I never. Mighty snappy, yes siree Bob. But, it’s sorta hard. I like the old wood better. It’s a might softer’n this.”

Mommy frowned. Mrs. Turner turned to Mommy, frowning right along. Mommy wrung her hands nervously and looked pleadingly at me.

I shrugged.

Whadda ya want me to do? I thought. She’s old. What’s she know?

“Well, Mrs. Browning, at least you don’t have to worry ’bout some big green fly buzzing up your butt,” I said.

Mommy whirled around, looking at me like I had just took the Lord’s name in vain or something just as bad. She opened her mouth getting ready to scald the hair off me with her words.

“You’re right boy. Damn sure are,” Hateful Mary threw back her head, cacklin’ as she reached out for my arm.

“Won’t be running out of this outhouse now will we? Have to give her a new name. Out of the outhouse, into the inhouse. Inhouse, I like it. You’uns sure moving up in this old world. Let’s go scrounge up some food.”

“I brought the nicest casserole Mrs. Browning. It’s corn and beans…”

“Corn’d you say? Why now, that’ll be a nice to look at later on when you’uns christen this here new inhouse.” Hateful Mary said as I took her arm, turning to the hallway, making our way to the kitchen.

Mommy looked at Mrs. Turner who shrugged, saying, “I think she liked it.”

Walking down the hallway, Mrs. Turner yelled like a general.

“Now Robert, I’ll reheat this casserole real quick like and you see to the drinks. Where’s Bill? Bill! Get in here you and George and where’s Sam? I ain’t seen him in a coon’s age…..”

–The End (finally)