Electro

by David Lisenby

  It seemed somewhat ironic that he would end up here. When he was growing up the creek served as an escape from all the hustle and bustle around the house. Everything was always so hectic, and everyone was always so busy running the rat race. Everyday life was always about staying one step ahead of everybody else. He was sure that the adage of “keeping up with the Joneses” had been based on his family. Geez he hated his last name.

  Now here he was; 40 years old, addicted to crystal methamphetamine, homeless and completely alone. Well, Dalton shared the canoe and the tent with him, but he still felt alone in the world. Just as well, though. When it came right down to it the only person he could count on was himself anyway.

  The hours flew by as the two homeless men made their way along the winding waters. Every once and a while they would stop on a sandbar for a swim or to hang out in the white sand. After the second or third stop they decided that they would build a fire pit and stock it with plenty of firewood.

  They were good at making campsites, especially safe fire pits, and they figured it would be their gift to some of the inexperienced canoers from out of town (and out of the country in some cases) who came to the area to canoe or kayak down the creek that was known worldwide for its biodiversity.

  Jerry and Dalton had built seven fire pits before they arrived at State Highway 327. They rowed over to the bank beneath the bridge and decided to take a break to stretch their legs. They had passed a young family on a sandbar just around the bend and a small group of teenagers were on the other side of the bridge splashing around in the water.

  Dalton looked over to his buddy and gave him a little wink as he turned and started walking toward the teens. Jerry knew that his friend was about to go and bum a couple of smokes from the young men. If they were lucky they might even talk them out of a Dr. Pepper apiece.

  Within a few short minutes Dalton returned to the canoe with a half-pack of smokes and two cold Dr. Peppers. He handed one of the drinks to Jerry and the vagabonds shoved their canoe back into the brownish waters of the creek. They knew it would be best to float on downstream just in case Hardin County’s finest decided to stop by the landing. They had done the last of their stash hours ago but didn’t want the cops sniffing around their stuff. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had between them.

  Paddling by the group of teenage boys Jerry couldn’t help by envision himself among them … young, carefree and without a care in the world. They were just like he was oh so many years ago; just like his circle of friends. He closed his eyes and shook his head because he could have sworn he saw his little brother, Josh, diving into the water. He opened them in time to see the skinny brown-haired kid surface feet away from his friend, splashing him with water as he broke through to the warm summer air. No. No. That wasn’t Josh.

  As they rounded the next bend the laughter and shouts from the playful teens faded away. Jerry didn’t really understand why, but his heart was suddenly heavy, and his mood became melancholy. He thought he had gotten over that pain. Guess not.

  The men leisurely floated around the next curve, being carried by the slow but steady currents beneath their canoe. Jerry was staring blankly toward a slough on the left when the silence was broken by a guttural groan coming from deep within Dalton. From the corner of his eye he could see his partner pointing toward the south. Jerry looked in the direction, through a break in the trees, to see the line of dark, ominous clouds.

  “Guess we better find a place to set up camp,” Jerry said.

  “Yep,” Dalton replied. “Soon.”

  The next few minutes were a flurry of activity. Knowing that it isn’t wise to sleep in a tent on a sandbar next to a creek when no-telling-how-much rain was about to fall, the men chose to tie their canoe to a cypress tree.

  Jerry took their machete and cut down two saplings. They cut one into four sections about three feet long. They secured those poles to the crossbeams of the canoe with zip ties. Then they cut the other pole into two pieces about eight feet long and attached them to the upright poles.

  Upon that structure they laid across several pieces of driftwood as slats. They then draped a tarp over the frame to use as a watertight roof. A few more zip ties through the metal eyes in the tarp ensured that those inside the canoe would remain virtually dry.

  The men laid back in their temporary shelter, admiring their handiwork by the dim light of a LED camp light. “That should work,” said Dalton as the first drops of rain began to thump onto their cover.

  Soon the two men and the canoe were swaying in the wind as the storm overtook them. Every passing moment seemed to see an intensity of the storm outside the floating shelter.

  As the canoe rocked beneath him, however, Jerry seemed to feel more and more at peace. He hadn’t slept for three days as he and Dalton went through an 8-ball of meth. They had gone hard together for all those hours, but the time had come to crash.

  Jerry laid his head on his backpack and closed his eyes. The last thing that crossed his mind before he drifted off into a deep sleep was how noisy everything was. It was so loud.

  Chapter 2

  Business as usual

  Harold worked his way through the first row of snap peas, hoping to pick enough to make a fresh pot to go with the okra and squash he had picked earlier. If there weren’t enough peas, he figured, he would just add a few new potatoes to the pot and complete the meal. Well, that and a pone of cornbread. They could heat up some of the pear cobbler in the fridge and top it with a scoop of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla for dessert.

  Oh. Emm. Gee.

  His stomach began growling even though he’d eaten breakfast just a short time ago. “Oh, the sacrifices of living the country life,” Harold thought to himself with a little smile. It was so satisfying to fill one’s belly with groceries grown in your own back yard.

  Last year was his first garden. That was a learning experience. This year he was actually reaping the rewards of all his hard work. The family was eating well and had plenty left over to can.

  As he came to the end of the row, Harold knew that there were probably enough peas to make a nice pot but decided to walk out to the tater shed and grab a few new potatoes anyway. After all, he never passed up the opportunity to enjoy a helping of potatoes with a meal.

  “You plannin’ on havin’ cornbread with those peas?” he heard Roxie yelling from the back door.

  “Duh,” Harold answered.

  “You better grab an egg on your way in or you’ll be doin’ without.” Harold nodded and waved as Roxie turned and walked back into the house.

  Roxie had become a part of the family. She had been hired as Kay’s provider over nine years ago and still showed up every morning, five days a week.

  From day one there was a connection between the two women that quickly blossomed into a close friendship and grew into much, much more over time. Although he gave her a hard time – all the time, Harold had grown to love her. She reminded him of his grandmother, even though she was a couple of years younger than he was. It was more her mannerisms and caring heart.

  Harold piddled around a few more minutes, grabbing the taters and the egg from the chicken coop. A light rain started to fall. He’d heard Greg Bostwick on the radio this morning talking about a disturbance that was headed toward the Gulf and a tropical storm out in the Atlantic that could enter the Gulf by the end of next week. He said that there would be scattered showers in the early part of the day and another round later this evening. Seemed he was right about it so far.

  Harold raised his head toward the heavens, smiled and said, “Thank you for the rain, Father. This little garden sure appreciates the nourishment from above and I appreciate the nourishment from the garden.”

  He talked to God a lot throughout each day. It wasn’t like he was overly religious. He just recognized the little miracles that were constantly happening around him and wanted to express his appreciation for them.

  As he opened the gate and entered the back-yard Jackson came running
up to him, jumping on his leg. “Down, boy,” he said but the little maltipoo mutt kept jumping. Harold kept walking with the little dog bouncing behind him. He walked up the steps, wiped his feet on the mat (Roxie would not appreciate it if he tracked mud in on the kitchen floor) and entered the house. Jackson scampered between his feet and into the house before him, leaving little muddy dog tracks through the room and into the kitchen.

  “11 O’clock,” he thought to himself. He could hear the familiar theme song of The Young and the Restless coming from the television in the living room. Kay was sitting at the table in the den, munching on a salad. Roxie was standing at the stove in the kitchen frying a couple of pork chops.

  “Move over, woman,” Harold said as he nudged his way by Roxie. He sat the veggies on the counter and reached for a bowl to snap the peas in. Roxie poked him in the ribs as he reached into the cabinet.

  “Sweetie,” he said. “tell her to leave me alone.”

  “You started it,” Kay replied with a chuckle.

  Harold stuck his tongue out at his lover as he retreated to the front room to check on his mom. He cracked open her bedroom door and looked in to make sure she was awake. She was. She lay there staring blankly toward the ceiling, listening to her book on tape.

  “You need anything, Mom?” he asked softly.

  “Not right now,” she replied. He gathered up the dishes from the breakfast they had shared a couple of hours ago and checked the settings on the O2 concentrator before leaving the room. “Love you,” he said as he exited. “Love you, too,” he heard as he softly closed the door.

  Returning to the kitchen, Harold made quick work of getting his things together and then retreated into his man cave as quickly as he could. He sat in his comfortable chair and pulled up I Heart Radio on his phone. Rush was talking about the various 911 Remembrances going on around the country. Seventeen years now and the world had become such a different place. Nothing was the same as it had been that fateful day.

  Looking through the crack in the partially open kitchen door Harold looked over at Kay, still sitting at the table eating a salad, playing poker on the computer, typing away on the keyboard (probably chatting with Uncle Tommy) and watching Jack and Victor and whoever else was on the soap opera playing on the tv. His heart was filled with adoration as he gazed upon the woman he loved. He could feel himself physically lose his breath as he watched her.

  He thought about what he was doing on this date, seventeen years ago. He vividly remembered the confusion, the concern, the anger. So many emotions had washed over him in the hours following the moment the news broke about an airplane crashing into the World Trade Center. As the events unfolded all sense of security had vanished for him. Harold, as well as everyone else in the country, had changed that day.

  Five years after the towers fell, he had met Kay. He had fallen in love with her before they even met. They “met” online and chatted with each other and talked on the phone together for a couple of weeks before they actually looked into each other’s eyes.

  She had told him about her accident that had left her in a wheelchair since she was 16-years-old and how she had learned to adjust to life as a quadriplegic. Her injury was an “incomplete” injury (which meant that her spinal cord wasn’t completely severed) and she had re-learned to do basic things that required only limited mobility of her arms.

  As he learned more about the woman on the other end of the phone, he realized that he had known very few people with the desire, determination and drive that she possessed. She was a strong, independent woman who also had a mischievous side. The minute he finally gazed upon her beautiful face his attention was drawn to her deep green eyes. He fell into those eyes and was lost in an instant. He was still lost in her eyes.

  It wasn’t but about three months after he met Kay that tragedy struck. Harold’s niece; a girl that he had raised since she was 8-years-old and her mother (Harold’s sister) had succumbed to ovarian cancer, had been brutally murdered by the man she loved. Harold had been devastated. Kay’s strength and understanding had helped him through that tragedy.

  Time passed and their bond grew even stronger. They weathered many storms together (both figuratively and literally). They had had their arguments and made up from each of them. They had evacuated for hurricanes Gustav and Ike … and survived. They didn’t evacuate for Harvey and, like thousands of others, waited out the flood waters for days until they were able to get fresh bread and more gasoline.

  Together they had started a newspaper in Lumberton. Harold had no experience in the industry and neither of them had ever started a business before. However, they shared in the dream and put in the long hours to make the paper successful. They ran the paper with a staff of two for six years before they decided to sell out, so Harold could stay home and take care of his mom, Alice. They moved her into their home and she had been there almost two years now. Hospice had taken over her in-home health care about three weeks ago.

  Kay’s mother had passed away the previous year and Harold was the strong one. The relationship was give-and-take, and both were more apt to give than to take. So much had happened to them and with them, and they made it through it all. Together.

  “Today,” he said to himself, “we’ll get through this pot of peas together.”

  - - -

  “The trees are calling me near; I’ve got to find out why.” Harold could hear the lyrics of the Moody Blues song in his head as he walked out back after finishing lunch. He knew exactly why the trees were calling him near and he wasn’t going to deny the temptation. He walked a few steps into the cluster of trees, just beyond the wall of shrubs at the edge of the patch of woods. He took a seat on a log and reached into his chest pocket, pulling out his little pipe. With a flick of the Bic he ignited the bowl and took a long, deep hit.

  Tuesday afternoon.

  As he slowly exhaled the pungent smoke into the damp air Harold thought that one of the best perks of being unemployed was smoking pot. He stopped getting high when his first child was born. You’ve got to have a clear head when you’re parenting.

  Both kids were grown now and living out in the world on their own. He didn’t have to worry about passing any random drug tests because he didn’t have an employer. The house was paid for, as was the CRV. The only bills he really had other than the monthly utilities were taxes and insurance. There were still enough funds left over from the sale of the paper to cover them for a while. Why not enjoy a little herb every now and then?

  He took his one hit, left the woods and headed to the garden. He’d noticed a few weeds among the purple hull peas earlier and knew that there was no time like the present to do a little weeding. There was a break in the rain and the moist soil would help him pull the roots up with the weeds, so they wouldn’t return any time soon. The garden wouldn’t take care of his family if he didn’t take care of the garden. Give and take.

  After finishing their lunch, Kay and Roxie joined Alice in her room. She had been asleep when they carried her plate in, so they figured they would let her sleep a little while longer before waking her. Now they returned with her food and placed it in front of her.

  Although Alice was blind as a bat she could still feed herself. She ate off a plate divided into three sections. When someone brought her food in they would describe the layout (i. e. pork chop at 12 o’clock, peas at 4 o’clock, corn 8 o’clock).

  Drinks were served in bottles with a hole drilled in the lid and a straw inserted. It was a bit crude, but it worked well for everyone involved.

  “Lunch is ready, Mom,” Kay said.

  “Who cooked it?” asked Alice.

  “Roxie did,” Kay answered. “Why? You don’t like my cooking?”

  “Not really,” Alice said with a slight smile on her face. “Roxie cooks much better than you do.”

  “You didn’t just say that,” Kay said with a surprised tone in her voice. Roxie busted out laughing.

  “Well,” Alice said as she broke into a wide smile.
“Sometimes the truth hurts.”

  All three women laughed.

  For the next hour or so the women chatted away about things that women chat about. They talked about everything from what Harold had gathered from the garden today to some of the “nasty” books Alice was listening to.

  There was a steady stream of books on tape from the Texas State Library Talking Book program that Alice listened to during the long hours while she was confined to the bed. Years of being a workaholic and not taking care of herself, along with being overweight and diabetic, had taken its toll on her. She was 78 years old and had developed COPD and neuropathy on top of all her other ailments. Not a good position for an avid reader to be in after spending a lifetime caring for others while raising seven children.

  Nonetheless, there were three women; a quadriplegic confined to a wheelchair, a bed-ridden blind woman and a provider that knew how to cook well, all sitting in a room giggling like a bunch of teenage girls. Laughter truly is the best medicine.

  Roxie looked at her watch and saw that it was almost 2:30. “Girl, I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’ve got to go see Mama and then stop by WalMarts to pick up some Dr. Peppers and some ribs for supper.”

  “You better grab a bag of sugar to bring with you in the morning,” Kay said, knowing that Roxie had used the last of the sugar out of the bowl this morning for her breakfast cereal.

  “Yea,” Roxie conceded. “Harold will be a bear if he doesn’t have a little sugar for his coffee in the morning. Send me a text in an hour and remind me, will ya?”

  Roxie gathered Alice’s dishes and took them to the kitchen to wash as Kay stayed in the room chatting with her mother-in-law. It didn’t take but a couple of minutes to complete the chore and put everything in its place. She clocked out and shouted “love ya’ll” as she hustled out the door.