Desolation

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

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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)