Chill Waters

EXCERPT FROM CHILL WATERS
By
Joan Hall Hovey

http://www.joanhallhovey.com

CHILL WATERS
By
Joan Hall Hovey

It's like a lion at the door;
And when
the door begins to crack,
It's
like a stick across your back;
And
when your back begins to smart,

It's like a penknife in your heart;

And when your heart begins to bleed

You're dead, and dead, and dead, indeed.

Anonymous; Nursery Rhyme
One
He
stood near the ancient gnarled apple tree that for years now
had produced only sour, wizened apples, waiting for her.
The hot thick air hummed with the chirping of crickets.
Behind him, an occasional fat June bug bumped against the
screen door, drawn by the night-light. Now and then a car
passed by, seeming only to emphasize his sense of aloneness.
Not much traffic on Elder Avenue since they built the
thruway.
Three houses down, Nealey's old
black lab set to barking excitedly at something - a raccoon
scavenging in a garbage can, most likely, but it could just
as well be shadows. The mutt had a game leg and was as deaf
as his mother's turquoise plastic crucifix that hung on the
wall above the TV. The old man oughta have him done away
with, put the damn thing out of its misery. Maybe I'll do it
for him one of these days, he thought, a grin playing at one
corner of his cruel mouth. As he retrieved the pack of
cigarettes from his jacket pocket, he heard Nealey's door
open, heard the old man's low, gravelly voice call the dog
inside.
He gazed up at the starry sky, grin
fading as he envisioned Marie and that hotshot kid in the
fruity white blazer slow dancing under these very stars.
Bodies molded together, the kid's hands moving over her,
groping... his breath hot in her ear...
With a
muttered curse, he shook his head as if to banish the image,
checked an impulse to crush the pack of cigarettes in his
hand. Instead, he struck a match against the tree, but his
hand was unsteady and it took a few tries before he managed
to get it lit. Leaning his back against the tree he closed
his eyes. The rough bark of the tree stabbed like jagged
stone through his thin nylon jacket. He sucked smoke into
his lungs, exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself.

He wasn't usually a heavy smoker, but four
hours later, when he finally heard the car drive up, a small
mound of butts had accumulated beside him on the ground.
With slow deliberation, he mashed this latest one out too,
and rose to his feet. Although stiff from sitting, at the
same time a power born of rage surged through his veins like
electricity.
Music drifted through the
open, car window - a soppy Manilou ballad about a girl named
Mandy. Above the music, her laugh floated to him, high and
lilting as wind chimes. Mocking him. The flirtatious note
in her laugh made his throat tighten, his hands curl into
fists at his sides. But it was the maddeningly long silence
that followed, while the music went on playing, that made
him want to fly at them, yank them both out of the car and
beat that scummy kid with her until he had to crawl home
through his own blood. He wanted to do it. He saw himself
doing it.
It took all his will to remain where
h