Sir Oxnard

by Jeffrey Hunt

About the Author: Jeffrey Hunt is a high school teacher and tennis coach. He blogs at https://batchandnarrative.com with his wife, a dietitian, where they write about writing, cooking, and being transplants to North Carolina.

Excerpt

Though he quickly became the talk of the town. Or countryside, really, as only plebeians live within city limits. You’re a commoner if you can see another house from your own, and a lout if you share a street—or at least that was the view in Cheshire County, where Sir Oxnard was born and raised. And after twelve years away, he was back.

The family had said Sir Oxnard was “temporarily absent,” “momentarily away,” or was “taking an extended holiday.” Though truth be told, Sir Oxnard was run off. His speech never fit with those around him, and his decorum was not up to standard. Sir Oxnard cussed and spit. His hygiene, at best, was just adequate. He loved the type of sports that got one dirty and caused people to yell. But worst of all, he lived for jokes.

Clean humor, dirty humor, horrible puns, and Sir Oxnard wasn’t above religious jabs, either. “Have you heard the one about the pregnant nun?” he asked the priest, loudly, during a holy moment of silence, which was the second-to-the-last straw. The last came when Sir Oxnard set his uncle’s summer house on fire, making his aunt think her husband had perished. Though truly, the Baron was passed out safe and sound in the outbuilding, the victim of laxative-laced cake his nephew had gifted him the night before. It was double demonstration of Sir Oxnard’s favorite type of joke—the practical one.

And for his family that incident was a bridge too far.

“He has to go,” said Sir Oxnard’s mother. She was emphatic, though somewhat hard to take seriously, as her wig was pink.

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