Savanah's Swan Song (Part 6A) (Patreon)

“Dr. Wagner, is there a way to watch footage from my…humanoid…on my phone?  Like, an app or something?”

Savanah had successfully buried her emotions in barbecue for several hours.  She’d laughed more at dinner than she had in years, reminiscing with her family over childhood antics and misadventures.  After all the takeout bags had been emptied, the women continued their conversation over a half-eaten banana cream pie languishing at the back of the fridge.  It wasn’t very good, and no one could remember exactly when or where it was purchased, but that only led to more laughter. 

Lying in the dark in her childhood bedroom, however, there was nothing for Savanah to do but rub her painfully distended stomach and think—something that proved equally painful.  Savanah considered sneaking back to the kitchen.  Not for anything else to eat (her taut tummy couldn’t handle another bite), but for a nip from one of the bottles Momma hid on the top shelf.  It was a dry county, but Momma always kept some contraband.

Instead, Savanah grabbed her phone off the nightstand.  She’d been instructed not to use it unless there was an emergency (apparently, it could be monitored or ‘pinged’--whatever that meant), but she’d just eaten expired pie and was contemplating a midnight raid of her mother’s hidden hooch.  This qualified.

Rather than calling her boyfriend or a crisis hotline; however, she called the man who held her life and livelihood in his husky hands.

“An app?” Came the weary scientist’s reply.

“Yeah, so I can keep track of things from here.”

A heavy sigh was followed by an even heavier German accent, “Ms. Georgia, I told you zat vud defeat the purpose.”

“Yeah, but—"

“Ms. Georgia, please try to relax.  Enjoy your family.  Rehearse for your movie.  We have every zing under control.”

“Ok, doctor.  I will.  Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”    

Savanah turned off her phone and placed it back on the nightstand.  Then she rose from her bed and tip-toed to the kitchen.

                                                                              ***

The next morning, Savanah felt like a jet was landing on her head.  The swigs from Momma’s unmarked jug were no doubt responsible for the cranium-crushing pressure, but it didn’t explain the roar of engines in her ears. 

Unless—

Savanah bolted up in bed.  She’d heard stories of people going blind on moonshine; maybe they could go deaf as well? 

Just as Savanah worried that her career was over, she realized the deafening noise was coming from the bathroom down the hall.

Savanah yanked off her covers and scurried, naked as a jaybird (as momma liked to say), to her suitcase.  Although she liked sleeping nude, she wasn’t planning to last night.  Not at her mother’s house.  However, she was drunk and miserably stuffed, and had passed out after peeling herself out of her dress.  The only thing protecting her from burglars or bedbugs was the crucifix around her neck.

She removed a blue sundress from her bag and draped it over her head.  The fabric cascaded over her bare curves like a waterfall—until it caught on her swollen belly.  Savanah sucked in, tugged it down the rest of the way, then stormed into the hall.

“Could you turn that thing down?”

Skeeter’s eyes shifted in the mirror to her angry older sister standing in the doorway.  “It’s a hairdryer. There’s no volume control.”

“Then turn it off!  You only ever wear your hair up anyway.”

“Geesh,” Skeeter muttered, powering down her Boeing-powered device.  “What’s up your ass?”

Savanah was about to march back to bed when she realized what was “up her ass” wasn’t going to stay there much longer.  “Are you almost done?” she asked, clutching her stomach.

“Just let me brush my teeth.” 

The sly smile on her sister’s face and the slow pace in which she snaked Crest over the bristles of her brush informed Savanah she intended to go the full two minutes recommended by the Dental Association. 

“Nice to see you’re still wearin’ that,” Skeeter said, spying Savanah’s crucifix in the mirror.  “You still a churchgoer, or is it to ward off the devil when he comes to collect?”

“I go to church,” Savanah said, defensively.  In her mind, twice in the past five years counted.

“Does that mean I’ll be seeing you in our pew come Sunday?”

“You’ll be seeing a pew right here if you don’t hurry.”

Skeeter smiled as she ran her toothbrush back and forth across her teeth.  “I’m jus’ teasin’.  When did you get so thin-skinned?”

“Speaking of thin skin,” Savanah said, eying her sister’s ass as she bent over the sink.  “I notice yours has gotten a bit thicker since I last saw you.”

Skeeter jolted upright, knocking the toothpaste off the edge of the sink.  Her face in the mirror was similarly crestfallen.  “It’s momma!  All she does is eat.”

As Skeeter grabbed the tube from the floor, Savanah patted her robust rump jutting in the air.  “So, you’re saying you got this through osmosis?”

Skeeter stood so fast she nearly hit her head on the sink.  The tiny bathroom was even tinier now that the sisters had grown.  “Yes!  Momma hardly ever cooks anymore.  She’s always makin’ me fetch McDonald's or Pizza Hut or The Pit.  I try not to eat it, but it’s hard.”

“It didn’t look like you were putting up much of a fight last night.”

Skeeter was literally foaming at the mouth.  She spat into the basin and clattered her toothbrush into a drinking glass beside the faucet.  “At least I have an ass,” she said, pushing past Savanah into the hall.  “Your butt’s in your brain!”  

Savanah smiled and closed the door behind her huffy little sis.  Her victory was short-lived, however, as war still waged in her stomach.  She shuffled to the toilet, hiked up her dress, and, over the next moan-filled minutes, proceeded to dump most of the previous night’s indulgences.

Just as her bowels, and the air, began to clear, there was a knock at the door accompanied by a whiff of bacon. 

“Gitcher britches up and come eat.  Breakfast is ready!”