(no subject)
just a little story i started to write...it's not done though
Walter Reynolds the oldest man in Mayfield was sitting on his front porch, playing checkers with Randy Thompson, the six year old son of Mayfield’s only pharmacist. Walt had little hair left, and what was there was paler than white and as soft as the feathers of a baby bird. His hands were plagued by arthritis, and were liable to tremble from time to time. He was wrinkled and saggy. He wore dentures and orthopedic shoes. His eyes were deep brown, and they twinkled when he laughed.
Randy Thompson was missing both front teeth on the top. He had a face full of freckles and a head of unkempt hair. He always wore overalls with patches on the knees from when he’d fall and scrape them in the middle of some terribly wild game that his mother wished he wouldn’t play. But every Sunday afternoon, randy would go over to Walt’s and they would play a game of checkers.
Sometimes Randy would tell tall tales about the freat heroic things he’d done all week, and Walt would listen and laugh and applaud and cheer. Other times, walt would tell Randy about when he was a boy, or he’d give a lecture on how to catch worms or how to wistle with a piece of grass as Randy was used to hearing the old man. This time Walt was talking about the wind, and whati it had to say, and what you could learn from it if you only listened.
“You listen to me Randy. I’m ninety-nine years old, and next week I’ll turn one-houndred. I’ve been around long enough to learna few things, you see. The winds been howlin’ for the past three days, always changin’ direction. It’s angry, That’s what it is, angry as sin.”
“But walt,” randy chimed. ” Wind cant get mad! It’s justair. Momma said that Jesus made the wind.”
Walt glanced at the boy. “That’s what most folks think nowadays I know better. My mother was an Cherokee injun. She taught me a thing or two.”
The boys lip trembled. “What’s the wind mad about Walt?”
“People.” He paused thinking. “people and their new fangled ways o’ livin’ like ‘lectricity, plumbin’’; aint natural, all that.”
“What’s it gonna do, Walt? What’s the wind gonna do?”
“ I don’t rightly know if it’s just the wind. If it is, there isn’t much it can do. There othe pwers in the world randy- the water, the earh. Ti theyre all as mad as the wind, I don’t know what might happen.”
Frightened the boy returned to his previous argument. “Momma said Jesus made the wind. She said Jesus loves me.”
Walt didn’t want to scare the boy, but he’d only spoken the truth. He smiled gently. “then maybe ti’s God that’s angry. Or maybe it’s nothing,.” He took his trun at the game “Kingme.”
Before long Walt had won, as usual. Randy went home to eat supper and didn’t notice the ominous clouds gathered in the sky. No one in Mayfield did until it was too late.
Walter Reynolds the oldest man in Mayfield was sitting on his front porch, playing checkers with Randy Thompson, the six year old son of Mayfield’s only pharmacist. Walt had little hair left, and what was there was paler than white and as soft as the feathers of a baby bird. His hands were plagued by arthritis, and were liable to tremble from time to time. He was wrinkled and saggy. He wore dentures and orthopedic shoes. His eyes were deep brown, and they twinkled when he laughed.
Randy Thompson was missing both front teeth on the top. He had a face full of freckles and a head of unkempt hair. He always wore overalls with patches on the knees from when he’d fall and scrape them in the middle of some terribly wild game that his mother wished he wouldn’t play. But every Sunday afternoon, randy would go over to Walt’s and they would play a game of checkers.
Sometimes Randy would tell tall tales about the freat heroic things he’d done all week, and Walt would listen and laugh and applaud and cheer. Other times, walt would tell Randy about when he was a boy, or he’d give a lecture on how to catch worms or how to wistle with a piece of grass as Randy was used to hearing the old man. This time Walt was talking about the wind, and whati it had to say, and what you could learn from it if you only listened.
“You listen to me Randy. I’m ninety-nine years old, and next week I’ll turn one-houndred. I’ve been around long enough to learna few things, you see. The winds been howlin’ for the past three days, always changin’ direction. It’s angry, That’s what it is, angry as sin.”
“But walt,” randy chimed. ” Wind cant get mad! It’s justair. Momma said that Jesus made the wind.”
Walt glanced at the boy. “That’s what most folks think nowadays I know better. My mother was an Cherokee injun. She taught me a thing or two.”
The boys lip trembled. “What’s the wind mad about Walt?”
“People.” He paused thinking. “people and their new fangled ways o’ livin’ like ‘lectricity, plumbin’’; aint natural, all that.”
“What’s it gonna do, Walt? What’s the wind gonna do?”
“ I don’t rightly know if it’s just the wind. If it is, there isn’t much it can do. There othe pwers in the world randy- the water, the earh. Ti theyre all as mad as the wind, I don’t know what might happen.”
Frightened the boy returned to his previous argument. “Momma said Jesus made the wind. She said Jesus loves me.”
Walt didn’t want to scare the boy, but he’d only spoken the truth. He smiled gently. “then maybe ti’s God that’s angry. Or maybe it’s nothing,.” He took his trun at the game “Kingme.”
Before long Walt had won, as usual. Randy went home to eat supper and didn’t notice the ominous clouds gathered in the sky. No one in Mayfield did until it was too late.