The Buck Stops Over There, Probably

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Act I – The First Arrow

The morning began like most in Sequatchie Crossing—slow, humid, and already slightly suspicious.

Clovis Strickland stood at the corner of Ridge Road and Main, holding a clipboard, a compass, and what appeared to be a laminated chart titled “Directional Accountability Tracking Log – v3 (Revised Again)”.

He squinted at a wooden sign planted near the ditch. It was freshly painted. A bold red arrow pointed east. Beneath it, in tidy block letters:

THE BUCK STOPS →

Clovis made a note.

“Eastbound again,” he muttered.

Behind him, Daisy the hound sat in the shade, uninterested.

Across the road, a donkey stood beside the sign, chewing in a slow, deliberate rhythm that suggested it had seen all of this before and had no intention of intervening.

Mabel Dean Ashcroft approached from her porch with a cup of coffee and a look that meant she had already formed an opinion.

“That sign didn’t used to move,” she said, not as a question.

Clovis nodded gravely. “I’ve got three confirmed rotations this week. Possibly four if you count the ambiguous northwest phase.”

Mabel sipped. “Ambiguous accountability is still accountability, Clovis.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Boot Barnes arrived next, carrying a folding chair like a man prepared to observe a situation until it resolved itself or someone else took charge.

“What’s the problem?” Boot asked, setting the chair down and sitting.

Clovis pointed to the sign. “The buck.”

Boot nodded slowly. “Right. Where’s it stopping now?”

“Over there,” Clovis said, gesturing east.

Boot followed the direction of the arrow. It pointed toward the diner.

“Well,” Boot said, settling in, “that figures.”

The donkey blinked once, unimpressed.

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Act II – The Diner Receives the Buck

Inside Maggie Sue Dillard’s diner, the morning crowd was already deep into coffee and speculation.

Maggie Sue stood behind the counter, pouring refills with the authority of someone who had seen enough mornings to know this one would be no different.

Trixie Jo Bartlett leaned across the counter. “They’re saying the buck’s pointing here.”

Maggie Sue didn’t look up. “The buck can point wherever it wants. It ain’t ordering breakfast.”

Shelley Fawn Wexler sat at a booth with a notebook labeled “Community Narratives – Drafts and Revisions.” She was already writing.

“This is fascinating,” Shelley said. “The symbolic relocation of responsibility suggests a collective discomfort with ownership.”

RT Mullins snorted from the corner. “Or it means nobody wants to deal with anything.”

Sonny Morales stirred his coffee. “Either way, it’s coming this direction.”

At that moment, the door opened. Clovis entered, followed by Boot and Mabel.

“It’s official,” Clovis announced. “The buck has been redirected to this establishment.”

Maggie Sue finally looked up. “Redirected by who?”

Clovis flipped through his notes. “Unclear. Possibly a committee. Possibly gravity.”

Trixie Jo gasped. “We don’t have a committee for that.”

“Not yet,” Shelley added, writing faster.

Sheriff Peeler entered next, removing his hat.

“I’ve had three calls about a sign,” he said. “One caller reported it as suspicious. Another reported it as philosophical.”

“And the third?” Boot asked.

Sheriff Peeler sighed. “The third just wanted to know if it meant taxes were changing.”

Maggie Sue set a plate down. “Sheriff, you gonna do something about it?”

He looked at the sign through the window.

“Well,” he said carefully, “that depends on where the buck is currently stopping.”

Clovis pointed east.

Sheriff Peeler nodded. “Then it ain’t my jurisdiction yet.”

The donkey outside did not react.

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Act III – Town Hall Interprets the Arrow

By mid-morning, the matter had reached Town Hall.

Lurleen Davenport presided over the meeting with a stack of papers labeled “Preliminary Directional Responsibility Framework (Draft 6).”

Evelyn Grace Tipton adjusted her glasses. “We need to establish whether the buck is static or migratory.”

Mister Wade Langston leaned back. “Seems migratory to me. Like geese, but less organized.”

Chester Ray Blevins held up a printed diagram. “I’ve mapped the arrow’s orientation over the past 72 hours. It forms a loose spiral.”

“Clockwise or counterclockwise?” Lurleen asked.

“Depends on your perspective,” Chester Ray said.

“That’s the problem,” Evelyn said. “Perspective.”

Clovis entered, breathless. “It’s moved again.”

The room went still.

“Where?” Lurleen asked.

“North,” Clovis said. “Toward the sheriff’s office.”

All eyes turned to Sheriff Peeler, who had just entered.

He paused. “Well.”

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter leaned forward. “Sheriff, does that mean we’re responsible now?”

Sheriff Peeler removed his hat again. “Temporarily.”

Doug “Doughboy” Teeter scribbled something down. “Temporary responsibility is still responsibility.”

“Not if it moves again,” Mister Wade said.

The room murmured.

Lurleen stood. “We need a resolution.”

Evelyn nodded. “Or at least a direction.”

Clovis raised his hand. “I recommend we track it.”

“Track it?” Lurleen asked.

“Yes,” Clovis said. “Like a migration pattern.”

Shelley, who had quietly entered, whispered, “This is excellent.”

The donkey outside shifted its weight slightly, then returned to stillness.

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Act IV – The Sheriff’s Office Holds the Buck Briefly

At the sheriff’s office, the sign now stood just outside the door.

The arrow pointed directly at the building.

Sheriff Peeler stared at it.

“Well,” he said, “that’s unfortunate.”

Officer Kenny Joe Teeter stood beside him. “What do we do?”

Sheriff Peeler thought for a long moment.

“We acknowledge it,” he said.

“And then?”

“We wait.”

Inside, Daisy lay on the floor, watching the doorway.

Boot and Clovis arrived shortly after.

“It’s here,” Clovis said unnecessarily.

Boot nodded. “Sure is.”

Sheriff Peeler sighed. “I’ve got paperwork for this, I think.”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a form labeled “Temporary Acceptance of Undefined Responsibility.”

“Do we sign that?” Kenny Joe asked.

Sheriff Peeler hesitated.

“Only if it stays,” he said.

They all watched the sign.

The donkey stood nearby, unchanged.

Minutes passed.

Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the sign rotated.

The arrow shifted.

It now pointed west.

Toward the church.

Sheriff Peeler closed the drawer.

“Well,” he said, “that settles that.”

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Act V – The Church Considers the Buck

At the church, Pastor Arnold Peeler stood at the pulpit, mid-sermon.

“…and in times of uncertainty, we must ask ourselves—”

The doors creaked open.

Clovis entered, followed by Mabel and Boot.

“It’s here,” Clovis whispered.

Pastor Peeler paused. “What is?”

“The buck,” Mabel said.

Congregation members turned.

Sister Lila Mae “Hallelujah” Pruitt stood. “Praise be, it has arrived.”

Pastor Peeler stepped outside.

He looked at the sign.

The arrow pointed directly at the church.

He adjusted his tie.

“Well,” he said, “this is symbolic.”

Sister Lila Mae joined him. “It means we are being called.”

“To do what?” Pastor Peeler asked.

She smiled. “To acknowledge.”

Inside, Dr. Neil Cowgill leaned toward Maggie Sue. “This could be psychosomatic.”

Maggie Sue shook her head. “No, it’s physical. I saw it move.”

Shelley scribbled furiously.

Outside, the donkey remained.

Pastor Peeler turned to Clovis. “How long does it stay?”

Clovis checked his chart. “Average duration is approximately 42 minutes.”

“Then we have time,” Pastor Peeler said.

“To do what?” Mabel asked.

He considered.

“To discuss.”

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Act VI – The Porch Debates the Direction

Back on Mabel’s porch, the town gathered.

Boot sat in his chair.

Clovis had set up a small table with maps.

Shelley recorded everything.

Trixie Jo fanned herself.

Tiffany Annette Roark arrived with a clipboard labeled “Public Sentiment Survey – Buck Edition.”

“People are confused,” Tiffany said.

“They always are,” Mabel replied.

RT leaned against the railing. “Why don’t we just pick a place and leave it there?”

Clovis shook his head. “That would imply ownership.”

“And?” RT asked.

“And no one has volunteered,” Clovis said.

Sonny nodded. “Responsibility requires consent.”

Maggie Sue crossed her arms. “Or enforcement.”

The group fell silent.

The donkey stood at the edge of the yard.

Unmoved.

Boot looked at it.

“You notice that donkey ain’t said a word?”

Clovis nodded. “It hasn’t reacted to any of this.”

Mabel sipped her coffee. “That’s because it knows better.”

Shelley looked up. “Better than what?”

Mabel smiled. “Better than us.”

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Act VII – The Committee Forms

At Town Hall, Lurleen convened an emergency session.

“We need a committee,” she said.

Evelyn nodded. “Of course.”

“What kind?” Mister Wade asked.

“A Directional Accountability Committee,” Lurleen said.

Chester Ray raised his hand. “Can I print badges?”

“Yes,” Lurleen said.

Clovis stood. “I volunteer to track.”

Boot raised his hand. “I volunteer to observe.”

Shelley raised hers. “I volunteer to document.”

Tiffany added, “I’ll survey.”

Sheriff Peeler sighed. “I’ll enforce, if necessary.”

Pastor Peeler said, “I’ll interpret.”

Maggie Sue said, “I’ll feed whoever shows up.”

RT muttered, “I’ll complain.”

The room nodded.

Lurleen wrote it down.

“Motion to form the committee,” she said.

“All in favor?”

Everyone raised their hand.

“Opposed?”

The donkey, visible through the window, did not react.

“Motion passes,” Lurleen said.

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Act VIII – The Buck Refuses to Settle

Over the next two days, the sign continued to move.

Clovis tracked every shift.

“Northwest at 9:12 AM.”

“South at 11:47.”

“East again at 2:03.”

The committee met daily.

They discussed.

They interpreted.

They documented.

But the buck never stayed.

At the diner, Maggie Sue shook her head. “It’s like it don’t want to be held.”

At the sheriff’s office, Kenny Joe said, “Maybe it’s avoiding us.”

At the church, Sister Lila Mae said, “It’s testing us.”

On the porch, Mabel said, “It’s showing us.”

Clovis added, “It’s migrating.”

Boot leaned back. “Or maybe it’s just spinning.”

The donkey stood beside the sign, unchanged.

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Act IX – The Realization

On the third day, the sign stopped.

It pointed nowhere.

The arrow had been removed.

In its place, a blank board.

The town gathered.

Clovis stared. “It’s… gone.”

Mabel nodded. “No direction.”

Sheriff Peeler looked around. “No jurisdiction.”

Pastor Peeler folded his hands. “No interpretation.”

Lurleen frowned. “No framework.”

Shelley whispered, “No narrative.”

RT shrugged. “No excuse.”

Boot stood slowly.

“Well,” he said, “now what?”

They all looked at each other.

Silence.

Then, quietly, the donkey took a step forward.

It stood where the sign had been.

Still.

Unmoving.

Present.

Mabel watched it.

“That,” she said, “is the only thing that hasn’t changed.”

Clovis wrote it down.

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Epilogue – The Direction Remains

The sign never returned.

The committee continued to meet.

They produced reports.

They debated frameworks.

They tracked nothing.

The town resumed its rhythms.

The diner served breakfast.

The church held sermons.

The sheriff’s office filed forms.

The porch hosted discussions.

And the donkey remained.

Always in the same place.

Unmoved by arrows.

Unaffected by direction.

A quiet reminder that while responsibility may shift, rotate, and migrate—

Reality does not.

And in Sequatchie Crossing, that was considered both comforting and deeply inconvenient.

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Disclaimer – On the Direction of the Buck and Other Misplaced Certainties

The events described in The Buck Stops Over There, Probably are entirely fictional, though they may bear an uncanny resemblance to real patterns observed anywhere people gather long enough to form opinions but not long enough to accept responsibility.

All characters appearing in this story—including Eugene “Boot” Barnes, Clovis Strickland, Mabel Dean Ashcroft, Sheriff Peeler, Daisy the hound, Trixie Jo Bartlett, Tiffany Annette Roark, Sister Lila Mae “Hallelujah” Pruitt, Shelley Fawn Wexler, Santiago “Sonny” Morales, Ricky Travis “RT” Mullins, Pastor Arnold Peeler, Officer Kenny Joe Teeter, Mister Wade Langston, Maggie Sue Dillard, Lurleen Davenport, Evelyn Grace Tipton, Dr. Neil Cowgill, Doug “Doughboy” Teeter, Coach Freddie Stubblefield, Brett and Alyssa Crenshaw, and Chester Ray Blevins—are fictional residents of the equally fictional town of Sequatchie Crossing. Any resemblance to real individuals, living or otherwise, is purely coincidental, directional, and subject to reinterpretation.

The rotating sign, the migratory buck, and the formation of committees tasked with tracking, discussing, or otherwise avoiding ownership of said buck are narrative devices intended to explore a broader and well-documented human tendency: the belief that responsibility exists, is important, and should absolutely be handled—preferably by someone else, somewhere else, at a slightly later time.

The donkey, as depicted, is not symbolic by declaration but has been widely interpreted as such by readers, characters, and at least one informal subcommittee. Its lack of reaction should not be construed as apathy, wisdom, resistance, or endorsement. It is simply present, which, in certain contexts, has proven to be more than enough.

No official policies, municipal procedures, or legal frameworks should be derived from the Directional Accountability Committee’s actions, findings, or lack thereof. Any attempt to implement similar systems in real-world settings may result in prolonged meetings, unclear outcomes, and an increase in laminated charts.

Readers are encouraged to reflect on the themes presented, though not necessarily to act on them immediately. If responsibility appears to be pointing in your direction, it is recommended that you verify its orientation, consult at least two unrelated parties, and allow sufficient time for potential rotation.

In the unlikely event that the buck appears to stop with you, please remain calm. Historical data suggests this condition is often temporary.

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At Sequatchie Crossing, we tell the stories of Sequatchie Crossing.

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