Date: Sun, 8 Jun 2008 22:26:56 -0500
From: fireflywatcher <fireflywatcher@gmail.com>
Subject: Desolation, chapters eight and nine

The usual disclaimers apply: if you are under eighteen or sexual content is
illegal where you live, read no furthrt.

All rights to this original fiction story are reserved by the author, Phil
Ford, and it may not be reproduced or published without my written
permission.I welcome and comments or suggestions. Please write

fireflywatcher@gmail.com

Please donate to nifty.

I thank you all for taking your time to read this story. I hope you enjoy
it.

My thanks goes out to Clark and Miguel Sanchez for their help editing and
improving this story.
*

DESOLATION

by fireflywatcher- Phil Ford

CHAPTER EIGHT
*

Miss Sally was up at four. After a quick shower and a brushing of her neatly
cut hair, she put on one of her wide long skirts and a light colored blouse.
She was off to the Gas'n'Go by four-thirty. She'd have her morning coffee
there. Ten blocks drive through Desolation and she was fumbling through her
keys to get the door open. A quick dash to cut off the alarm had her
breathless. Damn gadget, she thought, but break-ins during the night had
stopped since she had it put in. She put the coffee on to brew, and turned
on the sign and lights. It was still a little early, but someone might come
in any minute.

She ran to the restroom and did her simple makeup in a hurry. Mostly it was
just some lipstick and a little rouge to give her rosy cheeks. Vanity was a
worthless waste of time at her age. All the old men would flirt just to have
someone to talk to. Anyone else that flirted or flattered her wanted
something. She was in the unique position to know every single thing that
went on in Desolation. She was always ready to talk to anyone. She loved
conversation. She absolutely never gossiped though, it was bad for business.
She just listened to it. She might give a smile or a chuckle, even an 'oh
my', or 'that's awful', but she never commented further or repeated what she
heard. She would have been better at hearing confession than the old priest
at the Catholic Church had been. He drank and told what he heard to the
patrons of the bar he frequented in town. That made his parishioners wish
they were Baptists confessing to god in their own closets. A new young
priest held the position now. No one had ill to say of him.

When the coffee was done brewing and Sally poured her big mug full and added
an ice cube to cool it down a little. After a few sips, she noticed it was
five o'clock and the breakfast girl wasn't here yet. She got a bag of
biscuit mix and started it going in the mixer. It was a just add water mix
and took a while to get the dough even but if the mixer turned too long the
biscuits were tough. "Less is more," Sally would say. Mixed just right, the
biscuits fluffed up twice the size they got when overmixed where gluten was
allowed to form in the dough. Everything else could wait until she got there
or called in saying she couldn't make it. In a town with very few jobs it
was rare for someone to miss work. Headlights flashed on the front window
and the girl came in afterward, all apologies and downward glances. Five
minutes was no problem.

"I started the biscuit mix." Miss Sally had lightness to her voice this
morning. Everything was on track and it would be a good day. This morning
the bait man would come by. Miss Sally walked through the outside fruit
stand to the bait shed. She grabbed her minnow jar at the door. She had to
skim off the dead minnows or people wouldn't buy any. Six were floaters this
morning. Each one was dropped into the jar in turn. The bait man gave her
free replacement minnows. At ten, she would need to check the gasoline
levels and call for more gas. Right now the breakfast girl could handle
everything, so Sally went back into her office, turned on the TV and drank
her coffee.

Aunt Patti was sitting at her dressing table in the bathroom doing her hair.
It was already nearly seven-thirty. She would leave for work in twenty
minutes. Laura had been called to wake up three times now. They hadn't
talked much and last minute instructions were necessary. She held the can of
hairspray above her and misted in a circle above her. Her look would stay
about the same now, until the end of the day. She slipped on her shoes and
gave a sigh of relief. Today's choice was a more comfortable pair than she
had worn the day before.

She walked to the back porch and emptied a little cat food in the bowl on
the table. The dog loved cat food and would gobble it down first, leaving
the cat to go hungry. She couldn't jump up on the table to get at it though.
Patti popped open a can for the dog and shook it into her dish on the floor.
The little dog stared up at her all the while. She never made a sound. With
the dog dish filled, the little dog, Scooter, took a sniff and returned to
her spot on a rug in the corner. Laura was pouring a cup of coffee as Patti
came back into the house.

"The car keys are hanging on the hook by the door, dear. Be at Miss Sally's
at three, and bring in the clothes from the line after the dew has dried
off. I never leave them out overnight, myself." Patti checked through her
purse to see that everything she would need for the day was inside. "A
redheaded boy is coming by at lunch to check the dryer and see if it can be
fixed. Don't bother to lock up when you leave. Nobody bothers things here.
I'll see you when you come in tonight." She gave Laura a peck on the cheek
and headed to the door.

"Bye Aunt Patti. I hope you have a good day and I'll see you tonight." She
heard the car start and the sound of it fade as it drove away. The house was
familiar to her. Only the furniture had changed. It had been her
grandparent's home. Patti divorced fifteen years earlier and with her
children grown, had moved there to care for her mother. One followed the
other to the grave within a year after Patti's arrival. The house was old
when Laura's grandparents bought it. It changed colors, got new windows, and
trees died with new ones replacing them, but the house stayed the same.

Laura poured another cup of coffee for herself. Scooter heard the noise
inside and scratched on the door to be let inside. Another scratching on the
door and Laura opened the door to the porch. Scooter just looked up at her
and as the gap widened she shook her self like a shiver and came inside.
Laura shut the door behind the dog and sat back down. The little dog flung
itself into the air and landed in Laura's lap. It nuzzled her leg with its
ear and curled up as if it had been there many times before. Laura just
drank her coffee. She hoped the cat wouldn't join in.

Everything that surrounded her was comfortable. The light filtered in form
front and back. Laura opened the doors to let more air in while it was still
cool. Aunt Patti had opened all the windows the night before, just before
going to bed.

Opening the front door, Laura saw the old car. The paint was faded and a few
rusty spots hit her eyes. With the keys from the hook, she made a circle
around it to get a good look. Blue, just like her car had been, but a little
lighter shade still shone evenly over the body. Brand new white walls with
the mark of the labels and the little bumps that told you they were new were
on each wheel. She'd always had to buy one tire at a time as they wore out.
It gave Laura a safe feeling inside.

The button on the door hesitated a little but with the second push, the door
opened. The car was very clean inside. All the dust that had collected over
the years had disappeared. Laura sat and adjusted the seat to fit her.
Whoever had driven it last was tall. It couldn't have been Aunt Patti.

Putting the key in the slot and turning, it started on the first click. More
of a comfortable easiness filled her. Thick white smoke came from the
tailpipe at first, but in a minute it was minimal and the engine gained a
steady rhythm. The radio was original. It only had AM and she turned it on.
Only three stations came in and all three were country music. Laura thought
of Dean for a second and put it out of her mind. It was getting easier to
forget. The A/C was an add-on type below the dashboard. It just couldn't
work, she thought, it's older than I am. Within a minute cold air blew out
of the vents in front. Even on her car, the A/C was busted. It would have
cost too much to fix, so she had rolled down the windows and suffered. A
peak in the glove box revealed a box of Kleenex and the papers for the car.
An insurance card with her name on it was on top. "You damned old ugly car,
I love you" Laura said with tears running down her cheeks.

There was a rap on the window and Johnny Mac was standing there. "Take me
for a test ride in your new car" he asked. He didn't remember the car and
the cousin who owned it died before Johnny was born. He walked around to the
other side and got in without a word from Laura. "Come on girl, I'll show
you the way around town in ten minutes." All her apprehensions about him
faded in the moment.

"OK" was all she said. She put it in reverse and backed out of the drive.
She already knew all the streets in Desolation, but followed his
instructions and turned each time he directed her to turn. All the while
Johnny recounted all the repairs that had been done to fix old "Bessie" up
for her. Old Charlie had done all the work fast. Aunt Pattie worked a deal
with him. Instead of sitting around when there was no work, he went to work
on Bessie. Not many old Nova's were still around. It was a matter of pride
for Charlie.

When the circuit of town was complete, Johnny Mac suggested a drive to the
lake and back. It was the only town attraction. The chance to get up some
speed convinced her. The old car ran like a charm. When she hit pot holes or
bumps it bounced a little, but other than that it ran great. Back in the
driveway the little test drive was over. Laura had a smile of satisfaction.

"I've got a sack if you want to burn one" Johnny Mac said. She thought it
was a bad idea but said all right anyway. He pulled a rolled one from his
pocket and as soon as it was done, he was gone. She had the thought that he
was a very considerate guy. Maybe her impressions of Johnny Mac had been all
wrong. It seemed like her world had improved a little, or at least her view
of it. The clothes on the line out back were brought inside. Now it was a
drug induced nap time. The couch was out, so she settled into her bed, in
her house, with her car outside. She would be awake by noon as instructed
and slept peacefully stretched out on the big bed. Dreams made he toss and
turn as she slept. Maybe it was the weed. She would see Dean hitting her and
it got mixed up with Johnny Mac's face on Dean's Body. She would see her
face in the mirror with black eyes and feel the pain. She felt herself being
strangled and woke up with a start, but she was only tangled in the bed
covers. After a full night's sleep the dreaming wasn't worth it to take a
nap.

Johnny Mac reached for his stash box beneath the bed and pulled it out to
put his sackinside when he returned to his bedroom. He kept several Hustlers
under there too, assuring his mom wouldn't violate the space nosing around.
A guy had to have his porn collection, after all. He grabbed the two on top
and left the box behind. Just then the phone rang. It was Old Charlie asking
if he could do some work at his place. They agreed on a day and time to meet
and Johnny Mac hung up the phone. Johnny worked his boots off his feet using
his toes of one foot for leverage to slip out the opposite foot and his
hands grasping the heel. He stepped out of his worn jeans and draped them
across the dresser. Then he pulled on some old athletic shorts of the cut
that was too short and too tight to be in style and hooked the elastic band
beneath his balls.

He had an old overstuffed chair of the art deco style with a fan shaped back
and arms a foot wide on each side. It sat on the opposite side of his night
stand from the bed and faced his television. Johnny twisted the cap off of a
long neck Bud and thumbed through the two magazines, selecting his favorite
shot in each one and bent the mag in half. He placed one magazine on each
arm of the chair. He could have put a tape in the VCR or a porn in the DVD
player, but he wanted to make quick work of getting off. A good porn flick
might keep him going longer than he intended. Johnny Mac stuck two fingers
in his mouth, saturating them with spit. He circled the head of his dick a
few times and was already hard. He worked up a good mouthful more and
drizzled it from his tongue across his left palm. Twice more, Johnny Mac
added spit and then began stroking with a loud accompanying slapping sound
familiar to all men. Within two minutes he reached his orgasm.

The images on the magazine pages went unnoticed. Johnny's own imagination
was more powerful than any image or scene placed on paper or viewed on a
screen. He became completely absorbed. Images flashed through his creative
mind containing the smells, the sounds, the sensation of skin on skin, and
the tastes he knew only in his fantasies and from his own body made whole in
the eye of his mind. All of them were men. Men on the athletic field or on
the ball court became men in the locker room or in the showers. Men
ascending a cliff face or hiking down a trail became men splashing in the
cool water of a skinny-dipping hole.

Men on horseback or challenging the strength of a bull, riding on his back
for eight seconds became men lounging in a hayloft in a circle jerk on a hot
summer night. To Johnny Mac, these images just held the essence of his own
excitement that brought him to orgasm. It wasn't sex, but in reality it was
intense raw sexual energy and he only felt that in the company of men.

Johnny caught the blast in his fist except for a few drops that fell on his
gym shorts and a little more that splattered across his chest. He licked his
palm clean and scooped up the jism on his chest with his fingers, plunging
them into his mouth and slurping them dry. He rubbed the drops into his
shorts and sniffed his hand. A smile of satisfaction blossomed across his
face. He folded the magazines shut and slipped them back to the top of the
pile, and then draped a t-shirt over his shoulder. He headed out back to his
shed where all his weights were kept. Johnny liked the firm feel of his
muscles and he intended to keep them that way.

There was the rumble of a souped up motor from the driveway followed by
silence and then a face appeared in the shed door. It was a guy from the
team, a year older than Johnny. He couldn't remember the name that went with
the face, but thought it was Luke, so he called out, "Hey man, come on in.
What have you been up to?"

"Just finished my sophomore year at Sul Ross," came the reply. "I'm off to
Corpus for a summer job in the morning and thought I'd stop by." Luke and
Johnny weren't friends. They played sports together and they partied with
the same group, sometimes. Sul Ross was an hours drive away and finished the
year earlier than most colleges in Texas. Johnny knew that. He knew that
Luke was only visiting because none of his friends had returned from college
yet. Luke hung around and they worked out on the weights until both had a
heavy layer of sweat from head to toe. "You want a drink?" Luke asked
Johnny. "I've got a bottle of rum and some cokes in the Camaro."

"Sure," Johnny replied. "I've got a sack and we can burn a couple, too."
They went into Johnny Mac's room and plopped down on the bed, passing the
bottle and joints back and forth between them. The bottle was Bacardi 151.
Johnny only noticed it was rum. Luke would take a small sip of the rum and a
big gulp of Coke. Johnny took big gulps of the rum and small sips of Coke.

"I'm horney as hell man," Luke confessed. "You want to have a jerk off
together like we did in high school?"

Johnny reached into the night stand drawer and handed Luke a bottle of
lotion and a towel from inside. Johnny's eyes were narrowed to a slit and
his speech was slurred, but he seemed to be functioning. He was in a walking
blackout and he'd been in that condition before. Johnny wouldn't remember
anything tomorrow. Luke had considered getting fucked. He'd even fanaticized
about it. The reality of taking Johnny's big dick up his ass came as a
sudden surprise though. Luke couldn't escape Johnny's grip or eject the
monster from his hole. He endured it until Johnny fell into a stupor with
his mouth gaping open and Luke scrambled out the door to his truck to drive
away.


*

CHAPTER NINE
*

Mrs. Miller wasn't feeling well this morning. She lay in bed and didn't get
up to make coffee or breakfast as usual. Miller rose and went to the
kitchen. Is it two scoops or three for a full pot, he wondered. He went with
two. Returning to the bed, he lay beside her and stroked her forehead. He
snuggled close and held her as she lay silently beside him. He couldn't
remember her ever being sick. Her forehead and her belly where his hand
touched her, felt hot. Bill Miller was shaken.

For over fifty years he and Ellen had their own roles in life. She was a
small, frail woman. You would never think she wasn't in control of
everything if you heard her speak. Managing a household, raising children,
and keeping your husbands life in order took a lot of skill and a
controlling voice that far outweighed her size and strength. Bill knew who
the boss was and it wasn't the damn railroad. She sighed like pain had
struck home and he rose to find some way he could bring comfort to the love
of his life.

All Miller could think of was milk toast or potato soup. It was morning, so
milk toast was in order. He heated some milk in sauce pan and popped a slice
of bread into the toaster. How in the hell had his momma and grandma made
it? It was too many years since he knew. While they heated and toasted, he
found the aspirin to drop her fever. He took the toast and buttered it on
both sides, placed it in a shallow bowl, and moderately poured the hot milk
over the top. A tiny sprinkle of sugar finished it. He poured her a cup of
coffee with a little milk and a spoonful of sugar like she liked it.

Carrying it all to her bedside, the separation of their lives melted
together. He lifted her head gently from the pillow and said "Here's some
aspirin, coffee, and milk toast for you baby." This time, she followed his
instructions. There would be no fishing today. If she wasn't better by noon,
a trip to town and the doctor would be the day's business. Life and love
have many forms. The most enduring are not all consuming, but leave enough
breathing room for partners to thrive.

Nobody in Desolation, or anywhere else for that matter, really understands
love. You can love a song, or love your dog, or love a place, but to love a
person is a mystery. Too much of loving yourself gets confused in the
process of loving someone else. Love is a forever kind of thing. Even when
you stop loving and start hating, you still have the love. Bill Miller knew
he could not imagine life without Ellen. The day before, he couldn't really
like life with Ellen. That is the mystery.

Bill sat and thought of everything he would miss if he lost Ellen as he
stroked her hair. She tried to smile. He wasn't gentle often. Mostly they
were just together doing the best they could do to get along after all these
years. The young woman he had fallen in love with was still there, just in
an older body. He kissed her forehead and left her to rest carrying the
finished tray back to the kitchen.

Dan didn't know it yet, but he was having a hard day. The boss was gone. He
had to do his work and find things for everyone else to do as well. If he
didn't, they would all just watch him work. Then the boss would be mad at
him because nothing got done. Today he was working on a tractor. He could do
any repair needed, but with people watching him he got nervous. His
attention would be directed away from his hands and the task he was
performing. The wrench would slip and his knuckles would collide with metal.
Blood mixed with hydraulic fluid and motor oil showed the number of times
the wrench had slipped already. Finally he was done, except for a check of
his repair.

He dipped his hands into a bucket with gasoline in it, to wash away the oil
and dirt. It stung where the cuts were open. His hands came up from the
bucket a murky grey. Water poured from the faucet and a liberal amount of
dish soap brought back the color of his flesh. The soap stung, too.

He turned his attention to the Mexicans watching his actions. Just then the
boss drove up. Bad timing always made Dan's life harder. There was the usual
butt chewing he was now enduring with a solemn face. No boss likes it if
they feel they are paying people to stand around. No words would set the
picture right either. He passed the next ten minutes translating
instructions from the boss to each man in turn.

The blood on his hands now gave an even color of red from knuckles to wrist.
"You can't work with your hands messed up boy, go home and get healed up
some" was all his boss had to say to him. The punishment the metal had done
reached into his pocket and took away a little of the money he never could
spare. He didn't pick up the tools. He didn't say a word. He pulled off his
shirt, flung it over his shoulder and walked straight to his pick-up. He ran
his thumbs around the waist band of his jeans and they came up dripping with
sweat. A minute later he was down the road headed home. It was only eleven.
Four hours of pay was lost because of a slipping wrench. Why would the
asshole think his hands would heal overnight?

He slammed on the brakes as he pulled into his dirt driveway. As he got out
the dust from his sudden stop hung in the air. He slammed the pick-up door
shut, too. The poor old truck couldn't take too much abuse or he would be
using wrenches to fix it. One more slam as he closed the front door behind
him and he felt better. He just sat there with one leg over the arm of the
chair in the dark room. Even his dog had just raised its head and laid down
again, knowing this was not the time to seek attention.

The dog's name was Dog. He'd been named that by accident. As a pup, Dan had
trouble deciding on a name, a little too long as it turned out. By the time
he decided on a name the dog was so accustomed to being called Dog, it
wouldn't answer to any other name. Dan tried several names, but none worked.

An hour later Tim passed Dan's house on the way to check Patti's dryer. He
saw the truck, but didn't stop. He knocked three times on Patti's door.
Finally Laura opened it rubbing her eyes. "I'm here to check Patti's dryer,"
he said to her as he walked past to find the dryer. She just nodded. He
turned it on and waited to see what happened. "I'm Tim. Patti said you moved
in with her. Welcome to hell." His usual grin said everything else
necessary. The dryer did everything a dryer was supposed to do except put
out hot air. "I'll tell Patti to order the part she needs." He wrote down
the numbers from the tag on the back and headed out the door. "Nice to meet
you, Tim," were the only words Laura managed to get out before he was gone.

He walked right in Dan's door, flipping on the light as he came in. Dan
hadn't moved at all. "What you got to eat man, I'm hungry," he said as he
passed Dan and walked straight for the refrigerator. Coming back with a
sandwich and a glass of milk, he sat down in the chair beside Dan. Dan kind
of growled and Tim moved to the couch across the room. "Fucking bloody
knuckles again, I know what you've been up to. Wear some gloves sometime,
will you?"

"Double punishment today buddy, the asshole sent me home." Dan didn't feel
like conversation. Tim didn't need an instruction book. He could finish
Dan's sentences for him anyway.

Tim rinsed out the glass and set it in the drainer. On his way out the door
he said "Thanks for lunch; I'll see you after work." Tim knew his mood would
be better in the few hours he had left before he saw Dan again.

Dan stirred from his spot. The power of suggestion reminded him of his lunch
sitting in the truck. It was on ice, but would taste better eaten at home
and warmed up. He brought it in, being a little gentler with the doors this
time.

In the bathroom he washed the now dried blood from his hands and poured
peroxide over them. It wasn't supposed to sting, but it did. He took a towel
and patted the cuts dry, then reapplied the peroxide several times followed
by drying with the towel until no more blood came up from the cuts. A dab of
ointment and his first aid was finished. His spirit might require a bit more
work to heal.

The leftover lasagna was micro waved and a salad added that he hadn't packed
in his cooler. No milk for Dan though, he was off work, it was time for a
beer. Throwing a few beers into the cooler to replace the now eaten lunch,
he needed to heal his spirit. A long slow drive down dirt roads with no
destination was how he managed that.

Every turn, every tree, every rock brought something new to his attention
that was somehow overlooked before. Three or four times he stopped and
walked through the pasture, when he saw something of interest to him. It was
more effective that the ointment and peroxide he used on his hands. He found
the calm feeling in this solitary journey that gave him what he needed. No
one passed by him. No one was out in his view; the world was his alone for
the moment. Even Tim knew nothing of his personal way of getting centered,
because it was a solitary exercise.

After an hour of driving and walking, Dan found himself on a hill
overlooking the town and the lake. Along one side the bed of one of the
creeks flowed downward to the lake. It was mostly dry now. A trickle of
water made its way to the lake. In spots it formed a puddle as it attempted
to travel beyond obstacles in its path. Old arrowheads were in his thoughts.
He remembered finding some near here before. The habit of always keeping
your eyes aware of the ground in front of you was instilled in him as a
child. Rattlesnakes were everywhere. The habit came in useful looking for
arrowheads, too. The darker stone would stick out in the sandy and red tones
of the earth and dry grasses all around him. A glint of something shiny
caught his eye and he reached down toward it. A wider focus would have been
better. The sound followed the strike of the snake. It grazed his arm as it
struck, but missed the mark. He jumped back and grabbed a large stone. It
took three more rocks, but one rattler wouldn't trouble anyone again. He
forgot about the shiny stone and began his trip back home.

The drive, the walks, and especially his meeting with the snake cleared all
thoughts of the morning from his mind. He was himself and at peace again. At
home his dog knew the difference. He came running up to Dan as soon as he
got out of the truck. "Where's your ball boy? Go get your ball." The dog
played fetch for twenty or so chases of the ball and went back up on the
porch again. The ball was near the tree in the front yard left abandoned by
the dog. Dan retrieved it and put it down on the porch as he went inside.
The water cooler began its usual hum and Dan fell back on the couch in its
breeze.

(to be continued)