Blackberries
Dustin
Vick
2009/
Revised 9/2010
The South still holds many secrets. There
are woods that are vacant of man here. The old homesteads are overgrown and
history slumbers beneath the red Alabama clay. It lies covered by the pine
dross and dry sands, forgotten. Beneath the thickets of briar bushes and the
hollows lay the ghosts of lost seasons. They moan, scarred by misappropriated
pride, it fuels restless sleep. Unsettled transgressions remain, due to the
fallacies of man. The ground cries out for retribution, for blood, a penance
for the hate and the apathy. Ignorant greed leaves behind the destruction of so
many human souls. The earth rumbles for the pain and the guns, the whips and
man-made salvation. These blend into a deadly concoction of emotion and pride
that has left the forests bruised and grieving. The screams flow in the slow
undercurrent of winds passing over the fields and filters away into nothing.
The humidity seems like a wet blanket of sorrow, and my breath is hot and
shallow. I had never been one for deep imaginings, or conflicts of the past but
still I find myself sitting alone in this forest, alone, but flooded with these
impressions of the sadness and the loss. I close my eyes trying to hear the
echoes of fleeting happy memories, but they escape my understanding, the stillness
brings no comfort, only apprehension and fear. In the end we all have to pay
the band, face the music, or any other generic term you can insert to mean the
past always catches up with you. Where do I find solace for my sins, whatever
they may be? The tire swing sways empty by the large oak, and strands of golden
hair caught in the rope are now bleached brown by the summer sun. Are my hands
stained with uncaring, or scarred with the prints of my ears from refusing to
listen to the painful truth? Am I just looking for an excuse to cry?
I saw death outside of the gas station
five summers ago. I had to use the bathroom and daddy was inside getting me a
grape soda. I ran around the back of the store because the bathroom was out
back. The dust would kick up in little wisps with my foot fall in the dry heat.
I always hated going to that bathroom. It smelled of old urine that had stewed
in a hot dark oven. That cinderblock room with all the writing on the wall and
the door that never really shut was a source of nightmares and semi-wet panties
because I was in such a hurry to get done. I remember having to lean up to hold
the door while I went and there was always a roach or cricket scurrying by.
Through the cracks of crumbling mortar, I saw death. The man crept around back
in his old beat up car with the cracked windshield. I could not tell what the
man was doing, but I saw him throw a body into the trash pit and cover it up
with leaves and branches. I saw the arm fall out of the linens, and then he tossed
a couple of cardboard boxes on top. In the country we have to burn our trash
because there is no pick up for it. Most people use an old 55 gallon drum, but
the store had a deep pit and when it filled up, it got burned.
Death was a big sweaty man in a tank-top
and a tattoo on his neck. He could not have known I saw him. But I did not know
that, so I was terrified he would be coming for me. I waited until he was gone
and then I slowly opened the door. I crept out to the fire pit, but I could not
see the body, he had covered it up good. I looked down the dirt road in the
direction he went and the dust was still swirling. I imagined I heard him
laughing. I ran back around to the front of the store. I wanted to tell daddy
but I was scared. He asked me what was wrong. I told him there was a spider in
the bathroom. He chuckled and tossed my hair back and forth. Fear set in on the
drive home, I never told anyone. The pit was burned the next day and nothing
was ever said about the body, I guess the bones settled into the deep ashes, so
I just tried to forget.
The blackberries are especially sweet
this time of year. The big bulbs of knotted squishy goodness were entangled
with the thorny vines. The little golden hairs would sparkle in the sunlight if
you held them up just right. You have to be careful picking them though, there
are rattlesnakes hiding under the leaves. They wait for me to reach for the
sweet fruit, the tempting taste that stains my lips and teeth. Tastes so good,
but the possibility of painful death is under every leaf and flower, behind the
beauty; waiting. Life is funny that way, things look so good, so safe, so
desirable, yet unseen death is always somewhere close by.
The nightmares were a constant. I could
not forget what I had seen behind the gas station. The man’s hulking sweaty
arms tossing the body into the pit haunted me. His deep acne scars on his chest
and neck were reddish and angry. The colors were overly bright in my dreams. In
the end, he would turn to me and smile with his blackened grin of rotted teeth
and sliced up gums. I would awake with my heart pounding through my chest, and
my sheets dripping with sweat, and tears. I wanted to tell someone so bad, but
who would believe a little girl?
Sleeping with the windows open was
something we had to do in the summer. We put big steel fans in the windows to
either pull the hot air out, or push the night air in. I liked the air pushing
in so that I could feel the dew in the early morning hours. It sprinkled my
face with cool drops that felt like angel kisses.
At the end of summer, it was especially
humid and even with the fan; it was hard to sleep sound. It was at least past
midnight when the dogs started barking and woke me. I leaned up and put my
sweaty face against the fan. All of a sudden the hair stood up on my neck! I
looked up and he was staring at me. The stars had framed his face and the
horror charged from my deepest dreams to reality. Death had found me. His
yellow eyes, blackened teeth, and black greasy hair were illuminated clear in
the moonlight. I could feel and smell his breath. It was hot and smelled like
tar and garbage. He seethed out the words “I know, and when you are alone, if
you ever tell, I will not kill you first, I will kill you last.”
I
felt the hot urine trickle down my thigh and settle onto the sheets. He slowly
backed away. I was too scared to scream, and would not sleep for two days
after.
My dad was visibly worried, but if I told
him, I knew death would come for him. I just wanted to forget. I wanted to
live, and forget.
Two years passed, and the thick summer
heat once again was beating down on the tin roofs of our small community. I was
swinging on the porch with my dad. We were not talking, just enjoying the
slight breeze. With a breeze, the sweat became cool and was almost like having
air conditioning. The cicadas were starting to sing and I started to remember
that day behind the store. Daddy was very concerned and insisted on knowing
what was wrong. I debated in my mind if I could tell. Was it safe after all
this time? I felt like death had surely moved on. This town was small, and it
had been quiet for a few seasons. With apprehension, I took a deep breath and
told my dad what I had seen all those summers ago. I also told him about the
night death came to my window. My dad sat there with a straight face. I don’t
think he believed me. He listened very intently, and when I was finished he
hugged me close and kissed my forehead. He did not say anything. He just got up
and walked into the house. I thought it would bring relief or peace to me, but
it didn’t. I wanted to know what he was thinking. The screen door slammed shut
behind him. The next morning he was gone before I woke up.
Looking back I wish I had told someone else
about that hot summer day when I saw death, when I had the chance to stop it
from killing again. Life is full of choices, some easy and some hard. I guess
it is only fitting that this finds me sitting in the woods, bound and gagged.
Death found me earlier this afternoon, same car, same tattoo, and I suppose I
will find myself face down in the fire pit. He will be coming for me. In this
old shack that is deep in the woods, how many have sat here before me, how many
will be here after? The kudzu is thick, and the sunlight strains to press
through the old rotting boards. The floor is sticky with clotted blood and
fecal matter. Oh, I see that he found dad. He is slumped over in the corner. I
want to cry, but the fear will not allow my eyes to release any tears. It’s so
hot, so very thick and hot.
Beware of the blackberries, there are
snakes hiding there. Maybe when I leave this world someone will be watching
death from the dirty old bathroom, and maybe they will be brave. Choices come
around. I hear him coming. I wish I was bathing in morning dew in front of the
big steel fan. I wish I had some blackberries.
No comments:
Post a Comment