For You

 

His now nimble fingers barely allow him to play anymore but his need to hear the song one more time keeps him playing .He remembered writing it with her in mind as the melody sprang to life with each little thing he loved her for. She cried the first time he played it for her and every time after that as far as he remembered. He stopped for a moment looking back to their youth and the love they shared for so many years. He remembered getting the piano he now sat at on a whim and teaching himself to play while she stood and listened to what she called music of the angles.

He never learned how to read music, he played from his heart somehow just knowing what notes to play making beautiful sometimes haunting pieces that often brought him to tears. It was as if each song was a part of him that came out of the deepest parts of his being and shot through his fingertips onto the keys. When he wrote her song all his emotions were awaken and softly glided across the keyboard in a soft and soothing melody he named, “For you” When she passed, he found great solace while playing. He stopped writing music awhile back, but he remembered those that brought him the most pleasure and he would spend ours playing them again and again each one stirring up emotions and memories of time gone by.

Now it seems her song is the only one he can remember. It flows from his tired hands like honey down a jar, each beautiful note a testament of his love. He knows the day is coming when he wont play anymore. The old piano will sit gathering dust and he will join her where the angles do sing songs and some of them will be his own.

Mike

Strike three your out

 

The winds are relentless lashing at my small dwelling with such force I’m waiting to be blown across the county. I ask myself now if I should have gone to a shelter but the virus is there I know it and id rather be blown away and enjoy the ride rather than be put on a respirator and die alone. My faithful dog is lying at my feet shaking and scared. I gave him a huge handful of treats to take his mind off this, but he only managed to eat one and that’s worrisome. The creaking of the walls tells me the wind will eventually come in and the windows will break all at once leaving us momentarily sitting on the slab as everything explodes around us. I will hold onto his collar the best I can as we are lifted and begin either a fast death or one hell of a ride to who knows where?

I believe we are in the eye of a tornado as everything is dead quiet and it feels like the gravity ride at the state fair. It is just black air around us my dog whimpering and wondering why I brought him here. Now I feel myself falling not very fast and I believe I can handle a landing although I don’t know where that will be. The air is cleaner now as I’m beginning to see below me. There’s farmland which means I’ve traveled about ten miles or so and it's approaching me rather quickly. There’s a field of hay bales and if I’m lucky, BAM We landed. My dog ran off as I tried to catch my breath that was knocked out of me upon landing. I don’t feel like I broke anything, so I slowly got up and looked around.

My dog came back and tried to talk which he sometimes does, glad to see me I suppose but also yelling for me to never do that again. As I looked around, I saw a farmhouse and walked towards it hoping somebody was there and all right. The farmer came to the door and just stood there shaking his head. Never saw the likes of that before, he began. I’ve seen cars and trucks fly by but never saw a man and a dog-free fall onto a bale of hay. You aren’t hurt he asked? All good I answered. Where exactly are we? You’re in Pasco county friend. I did some quick math and shook my head in disbelief. That’s seventeen miles from my house I said out loud. Holy crap.

After resting up for a bit the farmer drove us back to whatever was left of my house. A slab was what we found. Damn, he said it’s all gone son. I got out of the truck and looked around for anything that might be mine, but the place was picked clean, the winds had carried everything including us to the four corners of the county. Fema came in with a brand new trailer and set it up on the slab. I had to start fresh again going to thrift stores for just about everything you’d need to live. It took some time but eventually, we were settled in and going on with life. Family and friends read about us in the papers and a lady from the local news came around to interview me about the experience of living through such a violent storm. Guess we were heroes for a while.

If you think that was the end of it, think again. Three years later almost to the date another superstorm was predicted. And it was heading my way. I didn’t want to test faith again so me and my dog headed for the shelter and joined the others who didn’t want to be victims’I heard the winds outside and the pounding rain that sounded like a barrage of bullets hitting the walls. Like most storms like these, it didn’t last long and soon the siren went off saying it was gone. I made my way back to my place and what I saw stays with me even today. The entire park was gone, blown away to who knows where, Everything but one lonely house, my house. It hadn’t been touched. I went inside and everything was just like I left it. No broken dishes or broken glass, nothing.

That lady from the news came around again and asked me what I thought about my house being the only one that wasn’t destroyed. I thought about that for a bit then told her I think you only go around once in this life and no matter what happens if it's your time then it is and if it’s not it's not. I told her I had been swallowed up by the monster and spit out, wasn’t my time. And I let God decide my fate this time too. Guess he figured Id had enough excitement for now and spared my house. Who can say really? So, for the next twelve years, the skies were quiet. No big storms or lashing winds, just a peaceful life in the park until one day in late August a supercell formed and headed my way. My dog was up in years as was I and riding out a monster like this one wasn’t something we wanted to do. We headed for the shelter but the roads were blocked with fallen trees and we couldn’t get there in time so, we drove through the back roads for quite a few miles until coming upon a huge hay field that looked familiar. I parked my truck in the field and held onto my old friend for what could be our final ride.

I felt the truck beginning to lift, first the back and then teetering like a kid’s see-saw. Slowly at first then WOOSH we were sucked into the storm and the quiet. My dog sat next to me seemingly ok with all this, I think he was just glad he was in the truck and not free falling like before. My gut told me not to expect a soft landing onto a bale of hay. It wasn’t very long until I felt us dropping at a pretty good clip. This is it I said to my dog, so long fella we’ve had a good run. He looked at me with his old eyes then laid his head on my lap ok with it. The next thing I remember is a loud thumping sound and an abrupt stop. It got quiet and the sun came out as I looked through the truck window and saw we weren’t on the ground but somewhere fairly high up.

Eventually, the fire department arrived below us. A fireman climbed a ladder to reach us and when he spoke what I heard blew my mind. Seems my truck landed on the steeple of a church. Somehow the needle of the steeple pierced the bed of my truck sparing us inside. It was like we were parked there way up high. The news lady came around again and just shook her head, again. She said I know it wasn’t your time, right? Just goes to show you I said, life is one hell of a ride and it will take you where you are meant to be. I really wanted to believe that but deep inside I was already making plans to move. We’re getting way too old for all this excitement.

Mike

Too young for such sorrow

 

The old house had been closed for years now. The old man passed away and all his children couldn’t care less about the run-down farmhouse that sat on bank-owned land. The oldest son recently received a letter from the bank stating the property was scheduled for demolition at the end of the month and if the family wanted anything from inside the buildings they had until then to do so. He and his dad were not ever close, well they were when he was just a kid. He decided to make the three-hour drive tomorrow just because.

It was crisp and sunny when he headed out for what was called the North country. where Fertile land and generations of farmers claimed to have the best fruits and vegetables anywhere else in the state. He grew up here eating as many apples as he wanted or roaming through rows and rows of corn snapping off a stalk and enjoying its sweetness that people drove for miles to purchase. His dad sold most of his crops to local restaurants and grocery stores while some were destined for the roadside stand, he built years ago. Every end of summer he would put on a fresh coat of paint and lay down a colored mat where he would display his produce. On a good weekend, he would make enough money to cover expenses and put some away for those frequent rainy days.

As he got closer to the homestead his childhood memories filled his head and the drive became less enjoyable. He arrived to find quite a few vehicles parked in the field next to the old barn that once was filled to the rafters with equipment and other needed farming tools. A couple of neighboring farmers were looking over a combine that had seen better days, he remembered his dad working on that thing late into the night cussing every nut and bolt as he fixed something else all too often. He saw people roaming around the house where the bank's employees kept them out until he had a chance to have a look around.

Walking inside the house he was slammed back to his youth before mom died and his dad became the town drunk. For a few good years, they were a family with a respectfully run farm who went to church on Sundays and had dinner together every night. Being the oldest he was expected to help

and help he did. He couldn’t count the times he missed school because his dad was passed out in the barn, an empty bottle next to him. He never did know why his old man took to the bottle, some said because he never left the war behind him, others said he was just like his own father who drank himself to an early death. He tried to keep the farm going but when mom passed, his dad got really bad and just gave up. Being the oldest he tried keeping everyone together but after a year or so the state stepped in and put the younger kids in the system. He packed a bag and never looked back. He was sixteen years old.

He roamed around the old house for awhile looking at pictures from happier times but not wanting any of them as old memories can sting. He stopped at the door going into the kitchen where mom in happier days spent a lot of her time cooking, baking bread and cookie, and always there to listen to us. The smells swirling through his head, he took in a deep breath then walked out of the house. Nothing he wanted he told the bank rep who stepped up to the portable podium and yelled over a bull horn the auction was about to begin. He stood next to his car and watched as items large and small went to the highest bidders, some hiding their eyes from him as if they had stolen something from his past. Little did they know, he could care less. By the end of the day, anything worth anything was sold and the bank guy shut it down.

Heading back home and to his life, he couldn’t help but remember his first sixteen years. Running through cornfields, playing hide and seek with his sisters, getting to drive the tractor all the way to the end of the dirt rod and back, sitting up straight telling himself this farm would be his someday. He could smell the clean clothes hanging on the line softly blowing dry on a summer day. He remembered going fishing with his dad on the pond next to his land. He clearly remembered county fairs and cookouts, how neighbors came from miles around when the barn caught fire helping dad rebuild it just because that’s what neighbors did. He remembered cutting the perfect Christmas tree and singing carols while they decorated it with their own hand made ornaments. He smiled as he remembered easter egg hunts that lasted for hours because there was a lot of hiding places on the farm. Birthday parties and fourth of July, baseball games, and wheelbarrow races. He can still smell the paint as he helped paint the roadside stand and how big he felt helping folks fill their baskets. Then he remembered the darkness and loss, the past due bills, and being cut off by suppliers. He remembered the girls needing shoes but there was no money for that. So, one night he broke into the dress shop in town and stole two pairs he hoped would fit. He never got caught but later he learned the store owner knew it was him but never said a word.

Things only got worse as time passed. The VA came when he was about fifteen and had a long talk with dad saying they would help him if he’d let them but by then he was too far into the bottle and that was that. Wasn’t long after and the girls were takin away leaving him to do what? Run the farm on his own? That’s when he packed a bag and as he was leaving, he looked into the barn and saw him hanging from a beam. He didn’t leave a note he just ended it and he walked away leaving him to swing. Sixteen years of happiness his only reminder of youth. Thanksgiving is coming soon, and he will have a gathering of friends at the table. He invites his sisters every year, but they never have come. Guess he is a part of their past that does not bring many good memories.  He nodded his head and understood.

Mike