The Tale of Brandon Milan (Slighty Exaggerated)

Let me tell you about a man who used to walk on the red hills of this fair land. Now these events happ’n’d long ago, afore you was a twinkle in ya daddy’s eye. When I was a young man, I knew a fella named Brandon. Some folks say he come across the ocean from It’ly on account o’ his last name bein’ Milan. Them people all is fools with no skills o’ pronunciation. Ev’one has good sense knows that the “I” in Milan is said like ya eye that ya see with, an’ the “lan” ain’t all drawed out.

No, Brandon came from out o’ the woods in North Caralina. He was raised by a would-be momma possum who had none to call her own. That’s why he could always sleep a-hangin’ upside down by his legs. When I knew him, we was livin’ in South Caralina’s upstate, goin’ to school at the same place I was. Brandon always had a beard. He started growin’ it when he was around five or six years old, an’ got tired o’ shaving. He also foun’ out that it had its benefits, havin’ a beard. Kep’ him warm in the wintertime—why I once saw him nurse a chipmunk back to health in that beard. Poor thing got separated from his family an’ like to froze to death. Brandon bein’ the kind-hearted soul that he was took that chipmunk and snuggled him in that beard like a momma cradles her little baby. That chipmunk lived in Brandon’s beard a month, with us all feedin’ him almon’s and peanuts and finally scampered off just as happy as a lark.

Brandon and I, we was pals, ya see. We used cart off inta the woods to go explorin’. There wasn’t too much to find out in the woods those days, most ever’thing had already been discovered. Ever’ now an’ again our expeditions would pay off. Once, we came upon an old bridge, we had heard of it in a rumor that floated around the school. It was supposed to be hawnted by some Indian braves or something’. Well, we couldn’t find nothin’ hawnted about it, so we decided to sit aroun’ have a pipe an’ wait till dark to see if anything happ’n’d. ‘Round about ‘leven there came up a rain storm like I haven’t seen since. The crick under the bridge rose up so high that a dog coulda passed under it without getting’ his back wet. We didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t get under the bridge, or we’d be washed out to China or California, but we was gettin’ soaked to the skin a-standin’ out there in all that rain. Brandon says to me, “Well, I reckon we’s already perty well soaked, might as well just set here an’ wait for it to pass.” So we plopped down in a mud puddle and commenced to discussin’ the doctrine o’ justification an’ imputation o’ righteousness an’ what was that ole boy from Englan’ sayin’ the ‘Postle Paul said differnt.

All o’ a-sudden the rain stopped. We thought that was a-sight strange, but we figgered ever’thing was alright an’ started to head on back. Well, right about then I let out a whoop, cuz I was standin’ face-to-face with a man wearin’ warpaint an’ a feather head-dress. He was sayin’ somethin’ I couldn’t understand, but I got smarts enough to know it weren’t nothin’ too frien’ly. Brandon started sayin’ somethin’ back to the man, I tried to get him to shut up: we didn’t need no more trouble than we was already in. But the man an’ Brandon seemed to get on right nice after a minute, an’ before I knew it, the Indian chief had a few more o’ his friends around, and they was tellin’ jokes like old cronies at a bar after work. Turns out Brandon had been on the translation committee for the New Cherokee Standard Version of the Bible, an’ he spoke Cherokee just fine. I couldn’t understand a word of what was goin’ on, but soon Brandon told me it would be alright an’ the Indians was gonna show us a short cut out o’ the woods back to the school. We made it back alright, though we was still perty wet an’ muddy from the rainstorm. We turned to thank our new friends, but they was gone without a trace. We don’t know if they was that good at disappearin’ in the woods or if they was somethin’ else completely, but we never did run into them again.

You’ve probably also heard that Brandon married the princess of Cold Mountain, and that is true. I know ‘cause I was there when that happ’n’d too. Leastways, the princess was named Leah, an’ she come from a good fam’ly that was also from North Caralina. They didn’t do no nonsense, though. In fact, her daddy once threw a black bear half a mile on account that the bear had been rude an’ wouldn’t tell him the time. Brandon married Leah on a temperate day in October o’ Oh-Six. Well, ‘twas to been a temperate day, but it lead into a cold, cold night. The weddin’ was to happ’n in an outdoor chapel on the side of a mountain, with the vows bein’ said right at sunset. But the bridal parade to the chapel took so long, the sun was long gone before Leah could walk the aisle. Now Brandon’s men was fine on account o’ we all had on jackets for our formal attire, but Leah’s ladies was a different story. It got so cold that the bottom of the thermometer had to break out in order to continya to be accurate, and the girls all had icicles hangin’ off their noses an’ out o’ their hair. The preachers (yes, there was two) made it quick an’ after some singin’ we made our way out o’ there just after midnight. It’s a good thing they got used to the cold, ‘cause it weren’t too long before they up and moved to Canada.

Ya can still find some folks who ‘member Brandon and Leah when they was here. ‘Course I suppose some o’ us is getting’ in a fix to move too. Yep, last I heard from Brandon, he was a musk ox rancher. He raises ‘em, breaks ‘em, and sells ‘em off to be work animals for other folks livin’ up there on the tundra. Leah was learnin’ ice skatin’. I heard she can practice in her backyard, whenever she wants ‘cause the ground’s froze all the time. Brandon said she could do a double front flip and land on her feet, an’ if she could master a triple, she might qualify for the Canadian National Ice Stunt League. I wish you’d been around to know ‘em, Brandon and Leah. They’s good people, and they just don’t make folk like that anymore.