I've been working on some short stories, back porch ramblings, for a sequel to "The Last Storyteller". (I have shamelessly provided a link to my favorite book at the end of this short) Hope you enjoy...
The front door was open when I arrived at Dad’s house. I don’t
remember that ever happening before, but then I can’t remember the last time he
had asked me to come over either. He isn’t here. There were three notes on the
dining room table; our names scribbled across the front in old-man font, one
for me and one each for my sisters. I wondered if he had called them too. I
walked through his house with the unread note in my hand looking again for my
father. Opening the back door, I walk out onto the porch, Dad’s favorite place.
He’s not here. I sat in the old bentwood rocker and began to read—
So, you came. I knew you would, you were always the one to
check up on me. I didn’t mind, but I didn’t need you to. After your Mom died, I
told you and your sisters I would be just fine; but you kept coming anyway,
making up some excuse. But son, I always knew why you came.
It’s kind of funny or as you would say, ironic. Today you have no idea why you are here. So, sit down, you
can use my favorite chair, I’m not going to need it anymore, and I will tell
you one last story while you wait. Like I did when you were still playing with
toys and watching purple dinosaurs on the TV. Boy, did you love story time. You sisters...not so much...but for you
and me it was special.
Every Friday night I would sit on the edge of your bed
and make up a new story or tell you an old one. All week long you would pester
me to tell you a bedtime story, but I always told you to wait until Friday. You
hated waiting back then. A good kid, but lacking patience, that was you, son.
Here I am making you wait again. I hope you’ve gotten better at it. I’s
important that you be here when it happens.
I remember how you always had to make up one more character,
so the story belonged to you. “It’s our story,” you would tell me with a sly
smile. Even the three bears became four bears. I laughed so hard when you told
me it was their long-lost cousin. You were a funny kid.
Listen, my neighbor killed my cat.
I know your thinking, what
cat. To be honest with you, and you deserve that for being the one to come
today, it wasn’t my cat. The damn
thing just started hanging around all the time. It was a tabby, the color of the morning sun. She had lost an eye
somewhere along the way and had a slight
hitch when she walked. One morning, I walked out on the porch and there she
was, just mewing like she knew me. When I tried to scoot her away, she looked
at me with that one good eye and curled up in front of your Mom's rocker. The
next morning, there she was again. She’s greeted me every morning since...that
is until my neighbor killed her.
You know, I never fed her a thing; table scrap, leftover or store-bought
kitty food. I think she was a hunter. I saw a bird’s feather peaking out of her
mouth one day, but she was wily, wouldn’t
let me get a good look to be sure.
I never gave her name, just called her “Cat”. She seemed to
like it.
Now she’s “Dead Cat”.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before now. You were
a little surprised when I called you and asked to come over on a Sunday; you
know that’s my day to be alone. No company, no Sunday dinners or church gossip.
Just a beer and a football game; you always respected that. But son, it had to
be today. I need you to wait here, and you will understand why soon enough. Let
me get back to my story.
I’ve told you about that son-of-a-bitch neighbor of mine
before. He’s just a mean man. I’ve heard the way he talks to his wife and that
boy of his. He treated that stupid dog of his better than he treated any human,
that’s for sure. I guess that’s why he got so mad at me for calling the dog
catcher. I’ve told him, politely mind you, he needed to keep his dog out of my
yard. I don’t think that mutt could take a shit unless he was doing it in my
front yard. You know how I care for my yard; it’s always the best in the
neighborhood, lean and green. I mow it before it needs it and water it every
day, just enough to keep it happy. And a
big old pile of stinking dog crap just doesn’t fit.
A couple of weeks ago, I walked out to get the morning paper
before sitting down with Cat and a cup of coffee. And you guessed it, that damn
dog had dumped right on top of the headlines. And... he was laying up under my
truck getting away from the morning sun as
if he belonged there. I was madder than a wet hen. I called the dog catcher right
away. Had to lie a little, told the lady that answered the phone the dog was
acting aggressively towards me. I can’t
even get to my own truck, I cried, and
I can’t miss my doctor’s appointment. Well, maybe it was more than a little
lie, but it worked. The catcher was there in less than fifteen minutes. About
the same time, that asshole neighbor walks out on his front door and sees the
catcher putting his dog into the truck. He starts cussing like a drunken sailor and plants his fat ass in front
of the catcher’s truck, refusing to move unless his dog is released. Turns out shit-dog
didn’t have a license or proof of any
shots. I think it must have cost him more than a few bucks to get that dog out
of the pound.
The next morning, I walk out to get the paper and there’s
the neighbor's boy standing in my front
yard with his fat little pecker in his hand pissing all over my crepe myrtles.
When he saw me, a look of fear crossed over his face like I’ve never seen before, son. His daddy was standing on his
porch with a big shit-eating grin on his face. I looked back at the boy and was
ready to say something to him when I saw tears running down his face and piss
running down his leg. I knew his old man had put him up to it.
I ain’t ever understood how a parent can mistreat a child,
and I sure hope I never treated you or sisters in such a way that would make
you go tinkle on someone’s property. I know I didn’t always give you kids
everything you wanted, but I sure tried to give you everything you needed.
I know you don’t need this, son. Waiting in your old man’s
house with more questions than answers. If you feel the need to leave, I guess
I wouldn’t blame you. But if my figuring was right, you won’t have to wait much
longer.
I didn’t say anything to the boy. I shot that asshole
neighbor my best kiss-my-ass look and
went back about my business. Everything has been quiet since that morning. I ain’t
even seen that dog of his, Lord only knows where he’s doing his stuff.
Yesterday morning I found Cat dead. She was hanging from the
fence with a piece of old rope wrapped around her neck. I could hear that dog
of his sniffing the ground on the other side of the fence as I unwrapped her
and took her down. I dug a hole over by the maple tree and planted that
one-eyed tabby in the ground. I thought about calling the police but digging
and sweating simulated my thoughts.
It was a year ago to the day we buried your Momma. Good
thing she isn’t here, she wouldn’t like my thoughts.
That’s my story son. You don’t need to add any characters to
it, I imagine if you’ve waited as I asked
you, more will be added before you know it,
Dad
I read his note three times, walking around the house after
each time hoping to find some clue as to what was going on. At one point, I
walked over to the neighbor’s fence and tried to look over, but I didn’t see or
hear anything. I wondered if my father had been over there today.
There is fresh dirt turned over by the maple tree, but I didn’t
get to close to that.
The sun is going to set soon and all I can do is sit here and wait for Dad’s story to come to an
end. I thought about calling my sisters but that would lead to questions I can’t
answer and three people waiting. A couple of minutes ago I heard sirens, but they
were gone as quickly as they had come.
I wait...
The sirens woke up the neighbor’s dog.
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