near-constant warfare with no goal but forgetfulness?
Major showered him with his usual over-zealous welcome, then suddenly slowed. He continued to wag his tail, but it was tentative. His head cocked to the side.
Crow took an ear in each hand and tugged gently. He said, “You know the red trouble tried to grab me again, don’t you, buddy? You think you should be there when it happens, but I’m fine.” He started the engine. “We’re out of here tomorrow morning. You ought to see the clocks that old boy Herman makes. Bunch of characters around here. At least Herman knows he's weird. First thing tomorrow, though, we fish the lake. Old Smitty‘d never forgive me if I didn’t wet a memorial line there for him. Then we’re gone.”
By the time they reached the campsite, it was dark. Crow was restless, as if he'd left something important undone. Trying to establish his routine, he settled into the Airstream, turning on the heater and the coffee machine. While the place warmed and the fresh brew livened the air, he turned on a Randy Travis disc and settled in his chair. Major took his usual position on the floor beside him. Soon, cup in hand, Crow picked up his latest book. For a few minutes he forced himself to plow through the reading. The word scattered, creating no images or insights.
Heaving to his feet, he put the book down and swallowed the last of his coffee. From the drawer of the end table he drew a box of stationery and a pen. Major, already at the trailer door, followed him outside. It took a while for Crow to get the small fire started at the camp’s cook site; when the flames gave enough light and warmth he took a sheet of paper from the box and, using it as his desk, wrote.
* * * * *
Dear Patricia,
I think you’d like this town. I’m outside by a campfire. Stars are thick as seeds in blackberry jam. If you were here, you’d be scolding me for staying up when I mean to be on the lake at first light. I know, I know - you don’t scold; it’s your way of worrying about my health. It's fine, incidentally. I haven’t had so much as an aspirin in months. I’m better; I really am. The red dreams hardly ever come anymore. I’m beating them. You always said they’d pass. I wish I could tell you they’re gone, because I know it bothers you. I've told you before how sorry I am they got worse after you had to leave. I’m on top of it now. though.
Missing you’s another thing. I hope the letters help you as much as they help me. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't talk to you. Maybe that’s the most important thing about loving someone. I mean, the best happiness is quiet. It’s when things get rough we need someone. Like, I never wanted you to know about my dreams, but inside I was glad you were there when they happened.
Why did you always help me so much and why couldn’t I help you more? I’m not angry about it. Honest, I’m not. I was. I won’t deny that. But it was like being angry with you. I couldn’t do that. The blame was never yours.
Why am I rambling? I started out to tell you what a nice place this is and the next thing I know, I’m babbling. We sure had our times, though, didn’t we? I guess we were the only two people in the world who believed we’d stay married, as different as we were. What folks never understood is how strong you are.
Crow fiddled with the pen, looking deep into the coals, watching red and black creep in unending design. Searching beyond that, he could barely make out the nearest trees. Further away, starlight picked at the black, still surface of the lake.
He crossed out the word a re in how strong you are and replaced it with were . He looked at the correction for a long time before he wrote again.
Anyhow, I’m leaving here tomorrow. I might come back some day. Really good fishing. I believe you’d like the people here. There’s one woman, in particular. Funny, she
Major showered him with his usual over-zealous welcome, then suddenly slowed. He continued to wag his tail, but it was tentative. His head cocked to the side.
Crow took an ear in each hand and tugged gently. He said, “You know the red trouble tried to grab me again, don’t you, buddy? You think you should be there when it happens, but I’m fine.” He started the engine. “We’re out of here tomorrow morning. You ought to see the clocks that old boy Herman makes. Bunch of characters around here. At least Herman knows he's weird. First thing tomorrow, though, we fish the lake. Old Smitty‘d never forgive me if I didn’t wet a memorial line there for him. Then we’re gone.”
By the time they reached the campsite, it was dark. Crow was restless, as if he'd left something important undone. Trying to establish his routine, he settled into the Airstream, turning on the heater and the coffee machine. While the place warmed and the fresh brew livened the air, he turned on a Randy Travis disc and settled in his chair. Major took his usual position on the floor beside him. Soon, cup in hand, Crow picked up his latest book. For a few minutes he forced himself to plow through the reading. The word scattered, creating no images or insights.
Heaving to his feet, he put the book down and swallowed the last of his coffee. From the drawer of the end table he drew a box of stationery and a pen. Major, already at the trailer door, followed him outside. It took a while for Crow to get the small fire started at the camp’s cook site; when the flames gave enough light and warmth he took a sheet of paper from the box and, using it as his desk, wrote.
* * * * *
Dear Patricia,
I think you’d like this town. I’m outside by a campfire. Stars are thick as seeds in blackberry jam. If you were here, you’d be scolding me for staying up when I mean to be on the lake at first light. I know, I know - you don’t scold; it’s your way of worrying about my health. It's fine, incidentally. I haven’t had so much as an aspirin in months. I’m better; I really am. The red dreams hardly ever come anymore. I’m beating them. You always said they’d pass. I wish I could tell you they’re gone, because I know it bothers you. I've told you before how sorry I am they got worse after you had to leave. I’m on top of it now. though.
Missing you’s another thing. I hope the letters help you as much as they help me. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't talk to you. Maybe that’s the most important thing about loving someone. I mean, the best happiness is quiet. It’s when things get rough we need someone. Like, I never wanted you to know about my dreams, but inside I was glad you were there when they happened.
Why did you always help me so much and why couldn’t I help you more? I’m not angry about it. Honest, I’m not. I was. I won’t deny that. But it was like being angry with you. I couldn’t do that. The blame was never yours.
Why am I rambling? I started out to tell you what a nice place this is and the next thing I know, I’m babbling. We sure had our times, though, didn’t we? I guess we were the only two people in the world who believed we’d stay married, as different as we were. What folks never understood is how strong you are.
Crow fiddled with the pen, looking deep into the coals, watching red and black creep in unending design. Searching beyond that, he could barely make out the nearest trees. Further away, starlight picked at the black, still surface of the lake.
He crossed out the word a re in how strong you are and replaced it with were . He looked at the correction for a long time before he wrote again.
Anyhow, I’m leaving here tomorrow. I might come back some day. Really good fishing. I believe you’d like the people here. There’s one woman, in particular. Funny, she
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