Flight Peter Bean

A cloudless slate colored sky hovers along the valley, with long awaited expectations of impending rain subtly permeating thick, hot air. Judy closes the worn, paint-chipped door, and slowly shuffles down the narrow, graveled dirt road. Each small step puffs tiny clouds of dust around her thin ankles. The long, hot, dry summer finally comes to an end.

Judy’s large hazel eyes drift past the crooked rail fence which lines the edge of the road and fades into the distant, barren pasture. Nearby, the lean sorrel mare nods toward Judy, throws a quick glance at her colt beside her. With a swift snort and jerk she lowers her head, and stretches her long neck to nibble at sparse patches of green around the water trough. Turning left at the end of the road, Judy rests her small suitcase in the gravel dirt and gazes across the empty field, past the old weathered barn, where the run-down farmhouse, home for seven years, sits like an empty shell. To the right of the house - it’s more like a shack with slanted floors, holes in the window and door screens, not the best plumbing in town - to the right behind the well, Judy eyes the large weeping willow with Jimmy’s frayed rope still dangling from one of its lower branches. She recalls how Paul was always going to replace that old rope with a new one; how he would build a swing fit for a prince; how he was going to replace the missing rails in the old fence; how he was always going to fix so many other things in need of repair around the old, run down farm; and, most assuredly, he’d promise, how he was always going to change his ways - as if someone could become who they are not. With a fading glimmer in her eyes, Judy lowers her weary head, and as she bends to pick up the little suitcase and carry her load down to the highway at the end of the dusty gravel road, a distant smile breaks from the corner of her soft lips. After six long weeks it will only be a few more moments, yet still a seeming eternity, before she sees Jimmy again. Judy reflects on last night’s phone call, Jimmy’s excitement when she told him that mom is coming to join him at grandma’s house. Jimmy always loves spending the summer with Gramma and Grampa every year; but, he always looks forward to coming home. This time, however, Jimmy will not be coming home. As Judy’s smile fades, a tepid breeze flickers in the heated late noon air. Jimmy will really miss it here, she grieves. Judy’s thoughts coalesce in random strings of quickening trepidation. What will she tell Jimmy? How do you tell a young child that he won’t be living with daddy anymore? An array of unanswered questions race through Judy’s head. How do you explain to a five year old boy about leaving a marriage because his father never … She interrupts her thoughts. No, she silently confesses that she, too, is also to blame. Absentmindedly, Judy sets her suitcase down and pauses along the graveled-over side of the road. She raises her supple neck, which had slumped, with each dim

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thought, closer to her breast. Her eyes follow the crooked rail fence, with its occasional missing boards along the way, past the old horse barn, and notice, through a watery film, the blurry house. A gust of wind sweeps a sudden chill across Judy’s cheeks, and swirls a miniature cyclone down the dusty dirt road behind her. With a quick sniffle, Judy picks up the suitcase, confidently perks her head into slowly cooling air, turns, and with quickened pace heads toward the highway. Into a cloud covered sunset, facing sparse on-coming traffic, Judy ambles in the gravel along the asphalt shoulder. Any minute now, she hopes, she’ll see her father’s unmistakable ‘39 Studebaker pickup motoring up the road. Just off the highway two black birds, perched on separate fence posts a short distance apart from one another, spy Judy in unison as she approaches. Sharp-cast crooked shadow-crosses obliquely stretch from nearby telephone poles across the asphalt onto the dusty gravel, and soften in the sinking sunlight. Avoiding stepping on the subtly changing crosses, Judy recalls a particular day early this summer, just before Jimmy left for Gramma’s, how, while washing dishes, she watches Jimmy through the kitchen window, try repeatedly, to step in the middle of his own shadow which, of course, continually eludes his confounded, yet earnest, attempts. Once, he asked dad why he could never catch it; why it would always escape him? Paul, as usual, never granting Jimmy a child’s innocence, impatiently explains how Jimmy wouldn’t understand about light and shadow, motion and relativity, and perception. That’s Paul, always in another world; unable to relate, nor even make an effort to relate, to his young son. And, as always, just about half way through Paul’s nebulous dissertation - fingers fumble with shirt buttons, head slouched low in isolation, feeling lost - Jimmy, sheepishly wanders off to see what mommy is doing. Small, piercing, black bird eyes seem to follow Judy’s tread path, and silently threaten her passing glance. Instantly, the four sharp black dots, atop opposing fence posts, stream toward the center and, fixed with Judy’s vision, merge into one. Into the darkening horizon, two birds fly out of sight, like one streaming thought in flight. Judy smiles as she relates to the escaping birds. She, too, desires a clean sweep. She does not want a confrontation with Paul. She knows it is close - Paul returns from two weeks of camping this evening, and soon - all too soon, she fears, he will come driving down this same road. She knows for certain she will not be at home; just as certainly she knows that she has tried to live a happy life with Paul. Oh, how many times she tried to talk to him, to communicate. She tried to tell him how unhappy she is, especially with the way Jimmy is treated; and, how often she tried to tell him how serious she is by saying that, someday, she would leave him. She recalls how often she’s warned this ... so many times; but, of course, Paul never hears a word. He never hears anything, Judy assures. For a brief, inflamed moment she almost sides with Paul. He hears; but ...

Judy fishes in vain for a defending thought ... he hears, she thinks; and, if he does, he doesn’t take it to heart; always side-steps the important issues; placating and consoling that things will get better. Never addressing how, nor when; just, that life will be better in some vague and distant future. And, why shouldn’t it? After all, his buddies assuredly tell him that “she” will come around; that “it’s just a matter of time” – she’ll see things his way. Yes, most definitely, she agrees, Paul listens, and hears; hears everything his buddies tell him. Judy clenches her jaws, for she knows he follows their advice certainly much more than hers. Yes, she grudgingly admits, Paul’s priorities are his drinking and carousing buddies – his hunting, fishing, camping, pool shooting, football watching, motorcycle riding, pot smoking, and always-want-to-party buddies. Judy relaxes angry, clenched teeth; a sliver of ice, cold as a new razor blade, courses through her veins. This time he will know she means what she says. He will see that it is for real. He will see. For the past two weeks, while Paul ventured with his buddies on their annual Labor Day - opening of trout season - fishing trip in the Tehama wilderness, Judy uses this time sorting sterile, necrotic virtues, and barren vaults, of their faded relationship. With Paul not there to interfere with his usual prescriptive intimidation, and his typical placating, consoling advisories, Judy’s task - to steal into the night like a bird in flight - is so much less painful. With convincing eyes, and a sensual touch, Paul always managed to change Judy’s mind, have her give in; always manage to talk her into staying when she mentions leaving; and, always swearing how he will change, how things will be better between them. Judy scorns herself for her weakness; for her myopia; for continually believing false promises and sugar coated lies; for lack of fortitude and failure of action, to do what she, in her heart, has always known - that which is best for her and Jimmy. Judy juts her chin forward; this time, she confirms, she finally sees clearly, now that she’s armed with new found courage to stick to her plan. Judy hardly notices the sundown, and the pink-stained sky blotched with large, gray clouds which ominously billow overhead; their dark shadows dance down the hillside and skip along the valley. A damp zephyr abruptly cools the evening air, raising goose pimples on Judy’s lean arms. She squints her hazel eyes and focuses on the darkening slate colored sky which, quite suddenly it seems, lurks overhead, covering the entire Sonoma valley. Judy smiles as she internally celebrates the end of the drought, and welcomes the long, overdue rain. Judy’s hazel eyes squint again, and flash with excited recognition of dad’s ‘39 Studebaker pick-up truck. Judy’s body quickens excitedly; heels and toes bounce up and down on the blacktop; long, fragile arms, almost undulating frantically, wave in the dampening, cooling air. The old, gray Studebaker pulls onto the gravel, vibrates to a halt at Judy’s slender feet. Passenger door swings open. As she climbs inside,

Judy is immediately welcomed by two small, outstretched arms, and four much larger arms. After several loving, tender embraces, Judy roosts next to her mother, while Jimmy settles in mom’s lap; his head against her breast, she strokes his cinnamon hair. Gramps swerves the old truck off the gravel and sputters up the highway into an unmistakably precipitous late summer storm. Comfortably at home on mother’s lap, Jimmy enthusiastically shares all his wonderful adventures from Gram’s and Gramp’s farm. Without words, Jimmy lets mom know how much he loves her, and how much he misses her when they are apart. Almost as suddenly as zig-zags of lightning flash above the near horizon, Jimmy asks where dad is. A chilly silence creeps about, and pervades the entire cab of the truck. Judy holds Jimmy tight against her breast; maybe, a little too tight. Judy blankly stares at the large, sporadic drops of rain splatter triumphant against the weathered windshield; and, which now quicken in staccato rhythm. Some of the drops must have found their way to a weak spot along the window seam, Judy hazily dismisses, and fallen on her arms. Judy blinks, feels liquid pearls wash the haze from her eyes; and, then she clearly sees the windows are tightly shut, and that no rain water leaks in. Random memories drift through her mind, as Judy’s tears wash away antiquated sadness, and embrace this new found happiness. Judy, in rhythmic unison to the slapping windshield wipers, methodically rocks Jimmy back and forth; and, through tear-stained eyes watches the angry rain, relentlessly splatter illusory visions - memories of a distant, now seeming, other life - across the slanted glass. As she wearily allows dreamy lids to close, a bright flash of a bird in flight shimmers briefly within her hazel-green eyes. Judy holds Jimmy very close to her heart. The purr of the old engine, the methodical slaps of wiper blades, the hypnotic splashing of rain; and now, as murmurs of thunder fade into a quiet distance - all together as one, nature’s harmony lulls them both into a perfect, peaceful sleep. The long, hot, dry summer has finally come to an end.