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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v096) (the July 2011 Issue) You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:						This writing also appears in this 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback “America the Lost” Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book:

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The Green Flannel Napkin

Rebecca L. Dupree

    The boys in the kitchen had taken Allison’s bread knife away from the bread station; unfortunately it wasn’t until it was too late that she noticed. For now she continued to hop contently from one foot to the other, enjoying the soft squeaking her pink converse sneakers were making on the cement floor. She tapped a slotted spoon against her leg in tune with the squeaking, a melody of boredom that annoyed the diners in front of her. When hopping lost the amusement it provided, she went on to hair and nail grooming, done mostly with her teeth. In the middle of chewing on a lengthy strand of her wheat colored hair, she spied one of the last people in the buffet line approach her. The bowl of bread placed on the table in front of her brimmed over with uneven lumps that had been rejected by the dinners. Not wanting to seem like a failure amongst the other volunteers, she had a flash of inspiration. She held the slotted spoon out in front of her, blocking anybody trying to go past without considering what she had to offer.
    “French bread sir?”
    The man gave Allison a distracted glance. He was already balancing a tray brimming with a Styrofoam plate heaped with lukewarm spaghetti, a melting ice cream sandwich and a can of no-brand cola. He grabbed a chunk of bread and dropped it in the dead center of his spaghetti sauce. Without a word of thanks, he lumbered off to find a seat at one of the VFW’s fold up tables that Allison had helped set up earlier that night.
    “Thank you for supporting troop 57!” she called out to him, but the words were lost in the busy noise that filled the air. She had been saying it all night in one form or another, letting people know that the troop appreciated the support of their neighbors. It seemed like the whole town had shown up for the privilege to buy mediocre spaghetti and sit at long tables to eat it. This turnout was to be expected. Whenever the Boy Scouts held a fundraiser to benefit one cause or another, the townspeople could be counted on to come in droves. The citizens of this town fancied themselves to be a helpful bunch. Besides, this was the Boy Scout’s annual spaghetti dinner. This dinner was a tradition. The only other fund raiser that drew a bigger crowd was the Fireman’s Auction, and that wouldn’t even happen until May. So on this Sunday night, everyone was here, eating pasta. The town was a homestead for farmers and laborers, thus making the room a sea of flannel shirts and trucker hats, hunting stories and NASCAR statistics. The scene was completed by several little snot nosed kids running around, and a handful of black clad teenagers clustered in groups, trying to look bored and cool at the same time.
    The only people in the entire place that looked sharp and halfway respectable were the Boy Scouts themselves. They must of taken special effort tonight, because every single last guy in the troop looked clean and pressed, as if they never had done anything in their uniforms except stand and serve food. Even the Cub Scouts, clad in their blue uniforms, looked especially neat tonight as they ran around handing out napkins and clearing away dirty dishes. But by far the most impressive had to be the Eagle Scouts. The town had a tradition of turning out an unusually high number of Eagle Scouts. The troop even won some kind of award for having the most scouts achieve that rank. They were all present tonight, six of the finest young men the town had to offer. They were surveying the scene in their uniforms complete with sashes, parading around like billboards for their many achievements, all marked by little colored circles on their chest.
    Perhaps the best looking one of them all was Allison’s own boyfriend, Kyle. Kyle was the reason she was helping out tonight. She let her eyes wander around until she saw him. He was standing over where Cub Scouts were handing out sodas, conversing with the local history teacher and gesturing wildly with his hands. Kyle looked so tall that he dwarfed the man, making the poor guy look more like the student than the instructor. Allison didn’t know if it was the uniform, the confident look on his face, or her own hopeless adoration of the guy, but at that point she felt thrilled just looking at him across the room. Sticking the spoon in the back pocket of her jeans, she spit out the lock of hair she was gnawing on and started to fix it back into place.
    Kyle finished his discussion and sauntered over to her, a smirk decorating his face. A flutter of emotion started in the middle of her chest and spread quickly to her brain. Allison felt a burning desire to kiss him right there. She wanted to jump on top of the folding tables and exclaim to all the members of the town what a wonderful, upstanding, perfect boyfriend she had.
    “Hello stranger,” she giggled. “May I offer you a piece of bread?”
    “Can I have a piece of you instead? You look delicious.” He seized a hunk of bread from the bowl and took a giant bite of it. He chewed with vigor, and then smiled. A thousand perfect white teeth showed through his smile.
    “I’m so glad that you let me help out tonight. I’m having fun.” Allison placed her hand on his chest, slightly moving his sash off his shoulder. “Anything with you is fun.”
    “If you think this is a blast, you should see what is coming up.” Kyle removed her hand and then straightened his sash back into military-like perfection. “I’m going to make a speech.”
    “You’re going to announce new candidates for Eagle Scout!”
    “Nope. You’re never going to guess.”
    Allison cocked her head to the side. “You’re going to announce another dinner, aren’t you?”
    He laughed. “In a way.” Behind Kyle, two other scouts started setting up a microphone. The rest of the group shuffled around, gathering behind the microphone stand. The Cub Scouts that had been interrupted from helping stood in front, holding out stacks of napkins and dishes. Older scouts came out of the kitchen, holding the pots and pans and knifes that they had been washing.
    “It looks like you’re on,” Allison pointed to the front of the room where the scouts were waiting.
     “Perfect. Oh, and by the way, I would like to see you right after I finish my speech.” He winked at her. “Wish me luck.”
    Allison clasped her hands together gleefully. Screaming out in joy was not an option in this crowded room, so instead she broke into a wide grin and bit down on her tongue.
    Kyle swaggered up to the front. Taking the microphone from one of the other scouts, he stepped up on a folding chair. He let out a sharp whistle and then started.
    “Everybody, may I have your attention for the moment!” People politely stopped talking and put down their plastic forks. When the room was silent, he started again.
     “I would like to start by thanking the VFW for letting us use their place tonight. Without their kindness, there would be no spaghetti dinner because none of us have a dinning room big enough to hold the whole town.” Kyle tossed the microphone from one hand to the other. “Thank you, VFW.”
     People, enamored by his boyish charm, chuckled. He went on, doing the usual thanks to grocery stores that had donated produce, mothers who had prepared and cooked, and parents that were a constant source of support to the scouts. Allison sighed. She cracked her knuckles, but did so very softly. She didn’t want to interrupt Kyle, but she did want him to finish soon.
    “Now, I want to do something special here tonight.” He paused. “Because everyone from this town is so supportive and wonderful, I want to share a story with you all. One of our Boy Scout campfire stories. This one is about food, much like the food you have on your plates in front of you. Think of it as a thank you gift.”
    Kyle shut his eyes and began his story. “Once, there was a great civilization. They were brave people and they had many gifts to offer others. But in the place that they lived, they lacked one important object. They lacked food. Due to wars and disasters beyond their control, their food supply was dangerously low. So they moved on. They moved to a place that had lots of food. The people who were in control of the food had no idea that they were now splitting it up with persons unknown. For a time, this arrangement worked. But then one day, a person from the great civilization got hungry. And he ate something he wasn’t supposed to.”
    Kyle paused for dramatic effect. When he started talking again, he was whispering.
    “But the strange thing was, nobody noticed. Nobody noticed at all. So what did these people from the great civilization do? They kept it up. They kept eating what they weren’t supposed to. And nobody noticed.”
    All of a sudden, a loud noise rang out in the VFW hall. It took a second for Allison to realize what it was. Turning away from Kyle’s speech, she noticed for the first time that all the other Scouts were in the back of the room. They looked much the same as they had before, except one minor difference. Each scout held in his hand a sharp kitchen knife. The sound, Allison realized, was from all the doors locking simultaneously. The scouts started to lick their lips with long pointy tongues.
    One of the townspeople stood up. He was a large man, about forty years old, wearing a flannel shirt as green as the John Deere tractor he spent his days on. His hair stuck out in little puffs from underneath his trucker hat. His size would have been intimidating in any setting, yet at this moment he resembled a frightened sixth grader.
    “What the hell is going on here?” The man shouted out, his eyes darting like small fish in a bowl.
    The man didn’t get any answers. A dead silence sat heavy in the air. One of the older scouts strolled over to the man. The scout was carrying something hidden from view. In the back of the room a baby started to cry. The scout causally approached the man, who seemed strangely quiet and subdued. The scout revealed what he was holding. A salt shaker. A smile crept along his face as he slowly sprinkled grains of salt on the man’s head.
    “Do you know, great townspeople, what these people, my people, ate that they weren’t supposed to?”
    A panic rose up in the crowd. Allison reached for her bread knife. A sob caught in her throat when all she found was the slotted spoon. Terrified, she plowed through the bread station scrambling for the absent knife. Finally realizing that it wasn’t there, she grasped for a weapon, any weapon, as she tried to make her way to the kitchen and the back entrance. But it was too late. Kyle was on her back. She felt his sharp teeth bury their way into her spine.
    “This is the surprise, my love. I know it hurts, but soon it will be over. You’ll never have to feel this pain again. Oh, you taste good. I knew you would be delicious.”
    The last thing Allison saw before she lost consciousness was a Cub Scout, covered in blood, daintily wiping his mouth with the green flannel shirt of his victim.

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