THE SWING

The old fella quietly sat on the old double swing that was on the old porch that surrounded the old house….their house. He fidgeted with a delegate handkerchief with the letter ‘D’ embroidered on it…..one of Della’s. He sat motionless…..not really thinking, just staring at the old hankie. It was the middle of October with slight morning chills and warm afternoons. It was the time of year Della loved most….they loved most.

His two daughters were inside the house fixing something. Sandwiches or sliced ham or maybe one of Della’s good casseroles, he didn’t know for sure. The house was full of family and old friends reminiscing and sharing quiet conversations. The kids were all herded out to the large backyard with instructions to keep the noise down and to stay away from the large front porch. His youngest daughter stepped out on the old wooden porch and walked over and stood behind her father. He smiled to himself as she laid her slender hands on his shoulders. She lean down and kissed his balding head and as she did, he felt one of her tear drops. She squeezed his shoulders and then walked back into the house where she had grown up.

He sat and stared out at the rose bushes Della had planted many years ago and remembered all the fragrant bouquets that always filled their home. Memories. Years of memories. Coming home from Vietnam and marrying his high school sweetheart. The long hair, acid, weed and the music! Wonderful music that fed on your emotions and took you on spectacular trips of color and vibrations. There was also the music of conscience…..Joan Baez, Hendrix, Peter, Paul and Mary and if you were high enough, weird Bob Dylan. The marches, sit-ins, love-ins and Della getting pregnant and him getting a job.

The children…..watching them grow and learn and finally go off on their own until they needed Dad’s charity from time to time. Wonderful kids. Then one day, Della’s sitting on their swing holding their first grandchild, then soon the second and third and in time they’re running around the old porch on Sundays after church. Good memories. Warm October memories.

He reaches up and loosens his tie. He slowly raises her hankie and smells the familiar scents and soon a tear finds it’s way down his cheek. He looks to his left, where she normally sat and then, after a few moments, he sees her. Not very clear, but it’s her. She sits in silence and looks at him with her devoted smile and wise eyes. “We did good, hon,“ he tells her in a dry rasping voice. “We did good.” Then, she was gone. He continues to stare for a few more moments and then finally closes his eyes and turns away. “We did good,” he whispers.

We are given but one lifetime to accomplish good things and to leave a cherished legacy. After years of love and devotion, there can be no greater epitaph than, “We did good.”

CHARLIE  

    You sit alone in your stalled car on a desolate country road. Long past midnight, a damp night mist begins to surround your vehicle. It’s becoming chilly and the darkness becomes oppressive and thick. There are no distant sounds and you find yourself in a strange shroud of absolute silence, except for the rapid pumping heart deep inside your chest.

 Silence. The cold and torturous solitude of your disabled car that now entombs you here in this desolate place on a forgotten dirt road. Silence. You strain to see through the crawling mist that now covers the road and blocks out all the stars. Silence.

 The hours pass, minute by agonizing minute. The dormant car battery denies you any light or comforting sound from the radio and you’ve abandoned all hope for a cell phone signal. The 21st century has abandoned you. You do gain some comfort from the minor light of your iPhone but soon that battery begins to diminish. You talk to yourself for a moment and then quickly stop as if you’re afraid of drawing attention to yourself from some unseen thing. You’re becoming terrified.

 You need to pee. Bad. You wait until the physical strain becomes unbearable and the fear of wetting yourself drives you to open the door. You take your keys out of the ignition and then look around the misty perimeter of your engulfed car before finally stepping out. After you relieve yourself next to the car you remember the powerful flashlight in the trunk. You turn and quickly close the car door and hurry to the rear of the car and begin to feel your way over the damp surface of the trunk until your fingers touch the lock. With fidgeting hands, you insert the key and spring open the trunk. You then lean over and feel your way around the dark interior until your hand finally brushes against the flashlight.

 You turn the device on and you’re overwhelmed by the satisfaction of the protective light that gushes out of it. You now slam down the trunk lid with a new sense of self preservation and start to walk back to the car door when you stop….the door is open! Silence. Yes, you did close the door. You remembered doing so. Now, what? You hold up the flashlight and direct the luminous bean at the car windows. The windows are steamed and covered with condensation from the dampness. You cannot see inside your car! You stand there frozen in silent confusion. The moments are tearing your mind to shreds! Then…..you slowly walk towards the open door as if it beckons you. All is silent.

The rising sun begins to filter through the mass of trees that line the deserted road. The mist is now fading and morning shadows are falling across the dirt road. Discarded on the road, next to an abandoned car, is a flashlight that’s now bleeding the last of it’s candescent glow. All is silent.