*DISCLAIMER* I wrote this before I read anything in the thread so as to keep it untainted. However, the dead son theme is also in Tecoyah's writing. Purely coincidental, but not unlikely given the tone of the photo.
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Bill looked out from his ramshackle porch at the cloud of dust moving up the road. In his lonesome chunk of Texas he had had three unexpected visitors in twenty five years. One teenage boy on a silly spiritual drive by of his state and another had been an Army Colonel, come to bring news of his sons death in an African nation.
The third had been a social worker from Bowie, looking to see if Bill and his wife were still alive. After all, Bill hadn't been in town for nearly three years at that point. A young boy from Forestburg brought Bill groceries every month though. He didn't like going into town much. Too many people and too many faces he didn't know or recognize. Besides, ever since Mary's mind had started to fade he didn't like to leave her alone or give her any stress. The social worker had left a month before and the agony of meeting an unknown entity still frustrated him.
Well. Time to face another one. The sedan pulled up in front of the porch, kicking up dust and grit. A young man stepped out, tightly gripping a leather case and looking nervous. Bill just stared while Mary listlessly looked into nothing. The young man fidgeted for a few seconds, debating on just getting back in the car and driving away. He knew Bill wouldn't mind a bit. Of course, then he would have to deal with the unholy anger of one Mrs. Cooper. Fine. He could talk.
"Mr. Martin?"
More staring. He didn't think that Bill, a worn out old seventy five on the coach, would stand six foot five. It was a little intimidating.
"My name's Douglas Kemp. Uhm, Mrs. Cooper sent me here, you know the lady from the Bowie social service center...and uh she asked me to check on your wife. She was, well you see, your wife has Alzheimer's and we...well Mrs. Cooper thought she would use a doctor. You know?"
"So she sent you?". Bill felt a little more at ease seeing the young man so flummozed.
"Yes sir..."
"Son. I think you better leave."
The young doctor shuffled his feet and looked at the sky. Then back to Bill who was standing two feet taller than him, thanks to the porch. He started to get in the sedan, feeling more than a little humiliated.
"Is that Charlie?"
Both men whipped their heads around to look at Mary.
"Charlie! It's you! Bless my heart! Your father and I have missed you so!"
Bill staggered over to the porch's couch and kneeled down next to Mary.
"Its' not Charlie, Mary. It's just a man from Bowie. He come to try and look at you..."
"Bill! Can't you recognize your own son? Charlie, come over here!"
Mary pushed herself off the couch with her cane. Kemp stood still while the sedan merrily dinged to let him know the door was open. She shuffled down the porch stairs while Bill stayed bent down by the couch.
"I always knew you'd come back Charlie. They said you was dead, but don't a Mother know? Don't she now?"
Mary wrapped her arms around Kemp's waist, her head just barely resting on his chest.
"Well doc. Can you help her?" Bill's voice rolled low and sorrowful across the porch. He was still kneeling, looking at the dusty porch floor.
"I can try and do something for her.."
"Well, go ahead then and try."
"Bill...She needs real medical care. What will she do when you die?"
Kemp looked down at the small woman grasping him tightly. She was so endearing and pitiful.
"Mom, I need to talk to you about something."
That evening Bill watched the sedan float back up the road in twilight dust. He sat back down on the coach and watched till it was gone. He opened the door and walked through the house. Past the kitchen, past the parlor, past his own bedroom. At the end of the hall he opened a dust coated doorknob. In his son's dark, unused room, Bill sat staring at the floor.
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- people who have fallen into solitary, half-mad grooves of life and given up trying to be normal or decent.
George Orwell
Last edited by Mbwuto; 04-06-2005 at 01:52 PM..
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