R J Hembree - Writers' Village University

Recommendations

Info

44 glanced at her hands. The shiny tips of her scars were silverfish hiding from the light. They came to an old restaurant at the corner of Common Street and River Road. The sign hanging out front read, “Stocker’s Inn.” Olive drapes in the windows pressed heavily against the glass panes. On the porch, a pair of rocking chairs sat empty. A yellow dog napped on the welcome mat, blocking the way to the front door. “Isn’t this where your brother sold his catfish?” “I didn’t mean to do it.” He glanced at her, seeing that her eyes flowed like the river, calm on the surface with a hint of turbulence running throughout her dove-colored irises. She buried her hands between her thighs as he turned off River Road and left the Delaware behind them. Bill drove past Wally’s Plaza, which was a strip mall with a laundry, pizza shop, and dollar store. Rachel sat up straighter as they approached a steep hill topped with a wooden bridge. He slowed and edged the jeep past two fishermen who stood against the railing. They’d pushed their tackle boxes aside and out of the way of traffic. The tips of their poles pointed out over the milky waters of the canal. “Catfish,” Bill said. They stopped at the traffic light where Common met Main. He peered across the intersection at the pharmacy on the corner. The roof sagged, the gutter facing the street hung slightly askew from the eaves, but the sign on the door said, “OPEN.” Along the side of the building two ducks, one, a speckled fledgling, huddled together as though chilled. Annie’s head appeared between the two front seats. The earphones swung from her neck. She stared at the corner store. “I bet people die after getting medicine there.” Turning to look at Bill, she said, “Can we feed the ducks?” “Ask your mother.” “Like, that’s an answer.” Annie retreated back into the rear of the jeep. The light turned green. He drove through the intersection, past the pharmacy. A flimsy hedge lined the road, a poor barrier to stem the water that lay beyond it. His wife’s shoulders curled forward “I didn’t want to feed the stupid ducks, anyway,” Annie said. Bill saw his wife’s lips part as if she were about to speak, but they arrived at the entrance to the churchyard, and her focus shifted from Annie to the small red sign, “United Methodist Church.” He forced himself not to look at his wife as he made a right turn into the gravel parking lot. Cruising past a copse of young willow trees, he pulled up to a log placed there to keep a vehicle from rolling into the pond. Bill turned the ignition key with a snap. The engine stopped. No matter how many times Bill saw it, the pitch-black water still took him by surprise. The water at the center of the pond shone like a newly mopped floor, but
the lacquer finish dulled as the water approached the soft, sandy banks. A coating of pollen, avian dander, and leaf debris discolored the water around the shoreline, so that the water took on a milky sheen like the cornea of an old man. Although the windows were up, the sweat of the pond crept through the vents like a pungent gas. He leaned forward and closed the plastic slats over the vent in the dashboard. A series of clicks filled the silence as the engine cooled. He settled himself deeper into the seat. He knew the pond terrified Rachel—the pond, which beneath its placid camouflage, glistened like black oil in the sunlight and clung with leech-like tenacity to the rear foundation of the old Methodist Church. He chased that image out of his head, unsure what part of him had drawn it. Annie fumbled with the door handle. Bill tilted his chin up and peered into the rearview mirror. seat. “Let your mother take a look around.” He heard a long sigh and the squeak of vinyl as Annie settled back into her Peeking at Rachel, he found her staring, trance-like, through the windshield. “I can’t believe they haven’t drained it and paved it over,” he said. “They did. The parking lot sank within a few months and the water came back.” She drew a deep breath, got out of the car and stood with her body shielded from the pond by the jeep door. “There’s an underground stream that feeds it.” Bill got out. He waved his hand in front of his face. “This place stinks like rotten garbage.” Soft cumulus clouds drifted in the sky above the pond. A hazy reflection, marred by the dirtied water, mimicked their progress across the pond’s surface. Around the shores thick-trunk willows sprouted out of the ground at various angles. Some leaned toward the water and dragged the tips of their whip-like branches through the brown water. Others grew away from the pond and draped their long branches across the tops of cars parked at the traffic light on Main Street. Near the center of the pond, leaves and small twigs drifted in lazy circles hinting at mysterious currents beneath the water. Bill spied something floating in the water a few feet from where they stood on the shore. He heard Rachel gasp. Just beneath the water’s surface, a duck carcass spun as though caught in a circular flight pattern. The bird’s neck bent back at an odd angle. Its head disappeared into the layer of sludge that coated the bottom of the pond. One wing had been stripped of its feathers. The other wing folded over the bird’s white breast; the tip of its flight feathers stuck out of the water like a child’s fingers. Rachel stepped back, as if to reenter the jeep. “Why don’t we go and visit the monastery?” he said. Rachel glanced past him at the structure that sat at the edge of the pond 45
Page 2 and 3: RJ Hembree - Publisher & Editor-In-
Page 4 and 5: 4 She glides slowly at first, this
Page 7 and 8: I am trying to write, to work. I dr
Page 9 and 10: Chicano at a private school in New
Page 11 and 12: give a damn what anyone else thinks
Page 13 and 14: them to some internal revelation wh
Page 15 and 16: Sergio Troncoso, philosopher, econo
Page 17 and 18: ties years ago. It was a scandal, a
Page 19 and 20: disciplines. Do you feel it's a nat
Page 21 and 22: up.” “I’m cleaning! It’s sp
Page 23 and 24: “Have you been taking your medica
Page 25 and 26: was there? “You can’t live a no
Page 27 and 28: In his modest wooden stall Pir Gul
Page 29 and 30: When he was done with the vest, he
Page 31 and 32: On the outskirts of the farming vil
Page 33 and 34: down at him as he walked through th
Page 35 and 36: ight on you.” She still held his
Page 37 and 38: Dear M, I wanted to let you know I
Page 39 and 40: I hope you’re doing well. --K Dea
Page 41 and 42: Dad cried. He sat at his desk, crie
Page 43: of her jeans. She glanced at the be
Page 47 and 48: “Do you think it just gave up and
Page 49 and 50: “Unlock the doors,” Bill ordere
Page 51 and 52: When I was asked to write an articl
Page 53 and 54: are important. You’ve only got to
Page 55: If you want to earn some serious mo

R J Hembree - Writers' Village University

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?