The Island CH 3

[The Galiant Fuck]

These are not in order. You figure it out. I finally did. Took decades. A drink helps. Maybe for you, but most certainly four: me. Pour me.



THE ISLAND CH. THREE: DESERT – ION



The door blew open and the wind blew the rain in. I wriggled out of my little sleeping bag and ran to close it. Kimmer awoke on the couch and said, “Why did you do that?!”


I said, “I think a ghost came in.”


She looked at me like I was an idiot. Then she collected the two little ones, one in each arm, and hauled them off to their nests. She whispered back, loud. She said, “Load up the stove and turn the dampers down.”


Smolder. I knew how to make a stove last all night. Especially when there was a strong wind. No need to cause a chimney fire again. Aged oak un-split all-nighter. Dampers down. Not trying to steam a train.


TV set, black and white something or other showing on the screen. I had to choose: Soft, saggy couch for Kimmer or the honeyed floorboards? I preferred the hard floor. Damp sleeping bag form the rain blowing in, hot stove. Sometimes, you hibernate. You steam. It makes you a better person. Either you know this, or you don’t. It is ok if you don’t know.


Deep sleep, like the sleep of being out in the cold and then warming up.


The door blew open again in the middle of the night. Two shouting ghosts stomped in and even the mice in the walls got quiet.



Stumbling, loud whispers, and then more shouting. Things got broken. Other things got crashed. Then there were other things that splintered like crystal goblets and fine china, but we didn’t own those.


No need to replay the words; that’s personal shit.


For now, let’s pause and take a chug.




* * * * * * *


One went to cool down at his buddy’s house next door, and the other collected her little birds. All of us. What clothes we had: into rez luggage. Garbage bags.


Blankets and sleeping bags in the bed of the truck. Under the tarp. We went in there as well, all of us hatchlings. Then hidden, covered back up.


Possession is nine tenths of the escape.


Wind and rain on the tarp, it sounded like a rock band with only one chord to explore, but one hell of a drummer.


We slowed down and vehicles zoomed past us at high rates of speed. More shouting: a chorus to angry rock band. Then the tarp, the trap, got untied and a corner flapped. Rain blew in.
You see, he caught up to her on the highway, his buddy driving. They argued in the wild wind rain on the side of the road, and then she yanked the tarp open in the back of the pickup truck and we kids had to make a decision. We had to choose. Who do you want to live with form here on in?


It was a much deeper question.


You know what question this really meant.


We made our choices. Kimmer, older, would go with The Man.


Them little ones wanted to be with The Woman.


Me?


I would never bail on those little ones.


Eventually, we all ended up in the desert.


At that moment, we little three headed to the rez on the coast with the momma bird.


Time to drink now. I’m certain you will join me here.



*chug8




See you next Tuesday.






Fuck.



.

[oettinger]

Twisted stuff