William had the heebie-jeebies. William always had the heebie-jeebies. Even when he looked like he was standing still, he was humming inside. You could feel it like a current running inside him, if you were up next to him and paying attention.
It’s not a big long story how I found out what his name was. I just asked him the first time I drove my crappy car down to his stilt house that stood between the stands of tall trees on the river bottom road outside of Lexington, a few hours after I arrived there, when I was still underneath him, and he was still inside of me.
When it was getting harder to take a breath with his long bony body resting down, and his breathing coming deep and spent and him with a light sweat on top of me, before he decided he’d better roll off me so I could take my own deep breath, I figured his first name wasn’t too much to ask of him, all things considered.
He pushed himself up on his bony elbows and looked at me still underneath him, his legs wrapped inside mine, like he valued the contact, and I could feel the buzz as his voltage ran through me, and he answered, "William," still out of breath, "but call me Bill; only my mother calls me William."
"That I do," his mother said from her hiding place in the shadows, and I pulled myself away and hid beneath the scrappy blanket, and her rocker creaked against the old floorboards of that stilt house by the river. "But after that pathetic show," she added, "we can just call him Wee Willie Winkie," and then she cackled, and it was enough to give anyone the heebie-jeebies.
Opening: Robin S......Continuation: ril