Posted on: September 4th, 2011 Sultanas in the Orphanage

by Tom Andrews

Daddy would mix the Manhattans and Momma would play “Take Five” on the accordion, and that was just how it was in our house in the 1970′s. If there wasn’t anything on the TV, the whole family would sit around and sculpt the busts of notable politicians and government figures out of fast food. I once crafted Spiro Agnew from a Burger King Whaler, and my brother Dave did four of the Supreme Court Justices out of a single Big Mac – all while watching an episode of “Welcome Back Kotter.”

Those Manhattans were strong, I should add. Daddy would lean heavily on the Bourbon, and the whole silver tray of cocktails would slosh back and forth as he carried them out to the dinner table. All of us, from Daddy and Momma on down to little baby Lily, would sip our Manhattans and smile a great, beaming, bourbon-y smile. Collectively, that is.

One day the doorbell rang at dinnertime and a man from the government came in. I was certain he wanted to see our artwork, so I tried to tug his sleeve and draw him closer to the Kissinger that I had carved from a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. It was no use. This man had no artistic interest whatsoever. Rather than examine our artwork, he busted up our happy home. I never did see Daddy and Momma again, and my brother Dave and I went to live with the crazy gardener with the lazy eye and the oily patch on his forearm.

I never knew what became of little baby Lily, until about three years ago when I was channel surfing during an electrical storm that was driving prairie dust into my nostrils. There on some local access station that was airing an amateur production of “Return to Gilligan’s Island,” I saw my sister.

She was cast as the Island.

Filed under: bad-ass, stories

2 Responses to “Sultanas in the Orphanage”

  1. Sandra M. Odell Says:
    September 4th, 2011 at 2:24 pm

    The joys of weird!

  2. Tom Andrews Says:
    September 4th, 2011 at 4:01 pm

    What? You think this is fiction? ;)