FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #7

"She's a local.”  The old guy in overalls observed this with a gesture of his head then spat from his wad into the brick-paved alley that ran next to the hardware store.  A slick, brown spot on the red clay surface convicted him of prior offences.  He wouldn’t have spat on the sidewalk; but no container was near the bench under the store’s window, so the alley became the polite choice.  He aimed for the area under the downspout from the roof.  He saw no offence in this since every hard rain cleared evidence of his crime and the end of Spring would see plenty of that.

His friend, a man in his seventies, removed his hat to fan himself as he watched her flow along on the other side of the street.  His spot on the bench was well worn and it was a rare morning other than Sunday that he didn’t arrive to polish it before nine.  The two men were fixtures under the deep canopies along Main Street, so he wondered how any local girl could have escaped his notice.  “Is she one of the Landers’ girls?”

 “No.  That’s Garth Edward’s niece.”

“Niece…Barry Edward’s girl?  Why, she hasn’t been local since her daddy died.  My god…she’s grown, ain’t she?”  He paused to draw on his pipe, watching the length of her stride and the sway of her hair as she eased by her reflection in the glass across the street.  “She visitin’?”

“No,” he said, standing to cool the interior space of his overalls with a shake of the worn denim.  “Moved back to live with Garth now that he’s alone out there.”

“Lord, I hate to think of Garth having to spend on her given his situation.  It’ll be awhile before his bank account heaves a sigh of relief.”

“Well, from what I hear she’ll be carrying her own weight.  Does things somehow on computer and works from home.  It’ll be good for him to hear the kitchen door slam, I’m thinkin’.  Not good out there by hisself.”

“Hmmm…” They watched as she moved along the sidewalk, toward the end of the street where it met Sojourner Avenue near the bridge. 

There had been a railroad spur into the west end of the town at one time, and Sojourner paralleled the natural chasm it passed through at the base of a hill.  The old iron bridge that helped traffic off of Main and across the dead rails was seldom traveled, and a narrow road wound upward from town level on the other side.  Most of the property up the hills west of town was privately owned buy a few families, so demand for access was low. 

She liked the romance of the riveted iron structure against the bedrock worn through the hill and the wildflowers in the sunken area below.  It was a favorite walking trail for her and she knew just where to place her feet for sure footing as she made her way down the embankment beside the concrete supports.

At the bottom, the trees leaned down from the banks alongside, creating a quiet, dim passageway elegantly draped in vines and hanging moss.  Protected from anything more than dappled sunshine and delicate movements of air, wisps of fragrance wafted about.  Silently pushed along in currents that alternately warmed and cooled her skin, the scent rose from moist pockets of deep shade or swept ahead of waves of sunshine. 

The dark green smells from the kudzu canopy; the olive gray odor of aging Spanish moss; the candy sweetness dripping from bunches of wisteria hanging from the branches - the tangle of aromas blended into perfume that only the mind can bottle.  Grass had grown tall in the sunken areas on either side.  The sound of it brushing against her jeans as she moved blended with the flitting sounds of disturbed dragonflies and the hum of bees in the blossoms overhead…music to accompany her on the way.

The cold steel of the rail felt hard under the soft rubber of her sneakers when she stepped up.  Her balanced tread became ballet movements, circus acrobatics, daring tight-wire acts – there were no rules here.  The world of deadlines, responsibilities and subtle, persistent stress was only background noise in this place, this moment.  There was nothing else.

Ahead another downward slope appeared where the rails were supported from underneath; on the right, the hills fell away toward the river.  She kept to the right of the tracks and watched for snakes in the grass.  The buzz of a pickup on the bridge behind attracted her attention when it slowed; she laughed as she swung back around.  She’d been away too long to recognize anyone from a distance.

There was a narrow path down to the water, the work of deer and the occasional boy with a fishing pole.  The smooth rocks at the water’s edge were overgrown with a grass that liked waving in the flow of the stream.  She knew better than to trust any rock to hold her weight unless it was huge, and most of them were smaller than her head.  She found a large, flat one sticking out of the flow close enough to stand on and made it her stage.  The water flowed past her on either side, surrounding her with a tinkle of subtle applause.  She tossed a stone to the other side and listened for the percussion of first the water and then the rock underneath. 

Standing there in the shadow of giant sycamores, she could feel the goose flesh form on her upper arms.  Cool, moist air slid under the hair that covered her neck and hung on her shoulders.  The translucent undulations of the water reflected the blue and green and white above her while it magnified the polished, variegated slickness of the rock below.  Babbling, sucking water sounds compressed the air in her ears…it was a sanctuary.

She picked her way along the river, following the current from a path a couple of feet above.  In places the trees gave way on the other side, letting the sunshine bounce off the moving water.  Sand bars spilled out into the waterway from the bank here and there, allowing for time in the sun.  She sat on a marooned tree in one of these, half in the shade and perfectly perched over a pooled area that featured crayfish cleaning the gravel in the bottom.  The movements of the crayfish amused her.  They took everything so seriously and somehow knew when their territory was violated. 

Where the sand disappeared, she climbed back up and followed the flow.  The current moved faster and deeper: the only way to continue was in the shade above the river.  It was a rolling landscape covered in trees to her right that fell to a mossy, leaf-strewn path along the water.  The atmosphere here had a misty quality and the water in the air made the walkway slick in spots. 

The sounds of birds and breezes were beginning to be overcome by the volume of the river, heightening her anticipation and hastening her step.  The rolling landscape was a challenge in spots.  Her breathing came faster, both from expectation and exertion.  Soon her ears and lungs were vibrating to the cadence of the rumble that enveloped her surroundings.  Her heart beat faster as she ran down a small slope to an outcropping of rock where the sunlight beat back the moss.  

The power of the surge of water was evident here as it leaped past her into the air.  The sound of the waterfall hit her with force, nearly a wall of safety to protect from the thirty-foot drop.  As always, the river demanded acknowledgement of its superiority.  There was relief in giving in to its ascendancy; yielding to its authority; accepting its inevitability.  She stepped down onto one of the small ledges that hung out at the drop-off’s edge and sat on the smooth, cool surface, giving in to the urge to be small and quiet.  She hugged her knees and tilted her face to catch the warmth of the sun. 

The water was falling over a sharp, rocky elevation in the river at a point in its decent from the hills that gave it both mass and velocity.  She loved to see the clear depths surging past just inches away, translucent beauty that defied gravity with brute force.  Closing her eyes, she let herself be part of the glow, the pulse and the serenity.

How long had it been, she thought, since life had allowed for bliss?  Her longing for this very spot had been so real but so ignored.  Was it reality that made it impossible – impractical – to make time to be here?  It was out of the realm of propriety… not compatible with the plan for success.  She watched as an ant made its way past her toe with a seed from a pinecone.  It didn’t allow the mountain of her toe to become an impediment.  Even insects have priorities, she thought.  She perched her chin on her hand and followed its progress with her eyes.  It headed toward the base of the rock at the moss-covered slope, carrying its prize with pride. 

Just before it reached the edge of the rock, it encountered a jagged area that caused an alteration in its route.  She leaned forward and brushed away the debris from around the spot to see what caused the irregularity.  The narrow gouges in the rock were obviously manmade, the only secular marks in this terrestrial paradise.  She traced the shapes with her finger then caught her breath as she realized what it was.

back to Contest #7