Where the Blackbird Sings – 6

FICTION

I found a letter from a woman named Wilmela Turnbull. By the way, the letter was written she was my father’s mother. She made it clear that she disapproved of the relationship between my father and mother. I couldn’t understand why she was so against two people who loved each other. So I decided to ask her. I began writing the letter that would change my life forever.

I woke up the following day before Butchy. I went to fix breakfast and put on the coffee. Then I heard Butchy come into the room. He took a few steps and reared back, stretching. Then took a few more and leaned forward, stretching the back legs. If I didn’t know better, I couldn’t swear it, but I believed Butchy was part human. He made his way to the front door. He looked at me as if to wonder why I hadn’t the door open already for him. Like I said, part human. I poured myself a cup of coffee and headed to the door, shaking my head.

Butchy went outside and came right back in and went back out. This signaled that someone was on the porch, someone he knew. If it had been someone else, it wouldn’t have been pretty. I grabbed the scattergun all the same. I headed out on the porch to find Sherriff Roscoe Doyle sitting in the swing, smoking a cigarette and sipping coffee.

“Sherm, ain’t you caused enough trouble that there scattergun?”

I laughed as I propped it against the door and sat on the steps. I had known Sheriff Doyle since I was a young boy. I was best friends with his son, Tommy. Tommy died last spring down by the creek. The dam had flooded due to the rain, and the creek was rapid. So, of course, Tommy and I were down there having ourselves a ball. Tommy left his footing and got caught in the rapid. He hit his head on some rocks, and that was the end of it. I never knew what to say to the Sheriff after that, but he didn’t hold a grudge or be upset about anything other than losing his son. Just like any father would be.

“I spect… you know why I am here?”

“No sir, Sheriff, I haven’t a clue,”

“So you know nothing about Franklin Sharpe getting his windows shot out,”
I sat there quiet
“You might as well fess up, Sherman … Trixie Sutherland was in the backseat and saw the whole thing,”

“No, she wasn’t!”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about it,”

“I didn’t say that,”

“No, that’s right, you just don’t know why I am here,”

“Franklin Sharpe is a snake and a bit of an asshole,”

“Can’t say I disagree with you on either account, but you can’t go around shooting the man’s windows out,”

“Yes sir, he disrespected my mother,”

“I didn’t hear about that,”

“I don’t spect the snake is going to come clean, the nerve of him running and telling you,”

“He didn’t right off; I saw his car in town and asked what happened,”

I sat there quietly, getting mad all over again.

“You know what is crazy, Sherman?”

“What’s that?”

“If Tommy was still here, he would have been on the other side shooting out the rest,”

We both started laughing. He got up and began walking down the steps. As he headed to his car, he paused momentarily and looked back at me.

“Are you going to call me next time he slides around here?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I don’t believe that shit, just save me some… ya hear?”

“I’ll try, Sheriff,”

Sheriff Doyle shook his head, laughing as he opened the car door. He looked at me hard as he drove off. I watched his car until it was out of sight. Then I walked back into the house.