Front Porch Rambles

The man had his eyes open, but nobody was home. He lie on the tile, black and white and red all over. His swollen face cast about in wild terror and he spasmed as if he could only control some of his muscles at one time. Everyone could see that it was done, but Homer liked to make a point about these things.   "I can't help but notice that you're not talking anymore, Timmy. Do you mind if I call you Timmy? You look like a Timmy to me. I have to tell you, Timmy. You were pretty rude back there." His voice was astonishingly gentle after the sudden and ferocious display of violence. Every person in the cafe was frozen in place, wide eyes locked on the huge man with bloody fists. His words were quietly conversational, but no one missed them. These had been the first words Homer had said since he'd walked up and punched the man in the throat. The man had been in the face of a server with an entitled tirade about one thing or another, it didn't matter.  The server w...

She watched the lifeless face slip beneath the lapping waves, but she no longer saw the man. She could only think of Anne. This one act couldn't bridge the chasm that had split the ground between them, but it made her feel steady and sure.  Truthfully, her body had been shaking for the last hour. The mist that sprayed from the bow of the small boat rose in clouds that she drifted through.  Everything was damp in the predawn air.  She found an old towel the owners must have used for wiping droplets off the smooth blue sides of the vessel.  It was thin and had holes, but it felt good to have something to wrap around herself.  The gaping mouth of the real world waited to swallow her at the edge of the water, and she hesitated.  Had she been careful enough? In the back of her mind she knew that Anne would realize the truth, at least the important part of it.  Even if they never spoke again, it would have been worth it.  For a moment, she considered po...