Storymania - Sometimes The Wind.... by Matt MacUl

Sometimes The Wind....
Matt MacUl

Sometimes the wind blows hot and slow outside my window. Sometimes it kicks up the dry dirt in my backyard sending dust clouds through a patch of earth now overgrown with weeds. Used to be a garden there, but it long go dried up when Lydia went away. Used to be roses, Jasmine and other flowers with hard to remember names sprouting up and the wind that came wasn’t always hot and slow.

No, it once was so fast and full of sweetness and goodness that’d fill me up. It’d fill me up so much that I’d sit in my old leather chair all day drinking in Lydia’s creations, listening to her sing as if she were a bird flittering about the petals as she worked the dirt into a frenzy.

Now days I sit in the same crusty chair drinking liquor and reading books hoping to fill up that same hole now leaked out, gone in that spot Lydia used to be. The only thing left alive from our marriage is Eros, our old dog lying at my feet snoring loudly. "Apollo," Lydia used to yell. "Walk that damn dawg."
     At the sound of her voice, Eros’d lurch up on creaky bones and wag her crooked tail where a door caught her unexpecting. Then I’d stand on my old bones and off we’d go through the neighborhood waving to strangers and the postman grimacing at us.


Now days our walking is limited to the liquor store a mile away. The rest of the day is with Eros at my feet as I read and listen between the lulls in the wind to the old dog struggle for each breath. And it is in those sounds that I now hear my wife’s voice beckoning me to come to her. I hear you ladylove…I am coming.

There is something about the wind. An invisible thing so full of sensations that a man can let it blow around him and not have to lift a finger to feel alive and moved about by the whim of God. That’s why I like parking my chair by the back window: So I can stare at the sky until it melts into a dull gray dusk as drunkeness pushes the thoughts away. Thoughts of Lydia’s delicateness and the beauty of her eyes against her dark face as she smiled when bringing flowers for me. Their scent and her skin’s deep musk made me reach out for her with deepness in my voice. Sweet thing. You are mine and I am yours….

My hands find only one thing now. And as I sit in my chair and memories pierce my clouded mind, I realize I am out of booze. This makes me angry and sad as a strange dread sinks into my gut. I do not want to go, but there will be no sleep tonight without it. Eros suddenly raises her head and looks at me with the deepest eyes I have ever seen. She long ago resigned away the pain in her body to walk by my side. Her duty she thinks for the warm shelter and food she gets without having to hunt for it like she did when she roamed the streets before I found her chained to a trash bin in the back alley.

I remember when I first brought Eros home and Lydia took the shaking dog into her arms, gave her water and food, and patched up her hurts. I remember how I feared the dog’d dig up her garden. But Eros never did. Instead, she’d just sit in the hot sun watching Lydia plant and toil the dirt seemingly understanding the natural connection between her master and the soil. A thing I never took the time to do. Time. Time should disappear. Time should be like light and darkness. A thing I can see and feel so I know it is real and not just my imagination. This way, all there’d be to forgetting is simply closing my eyes and switching off the lamp next to my bed.

I have forgotten how old the dog is. I just remember our moments together since Lydia went away and measure my time with her through each walk to the corner store as the sun slowly fades away and the night appears out of the corner of my eyes like a shadow. A shadow of so many things. Then on the way home street lamps and lights inside the cozy homes of neighbors who long ago stopped talking to me flicker on like blinking eyes in smoky bars. Too many times they had to endure the screams and sudden smashing of furniture as the booze entered my bloodstream and the smell of flowers went away, replaced by an ugliness that came from somewhere deep in my heart. Oh yes, the heart. That thing pushing against my chest, wanting to burst out through my skin and bone. And once outside of me, where would you go my heart? Where?

I stand and Eros turns her head.
   "Time to go dawg." I whisper, stepping over her with a stiffness that permeates my soul. The room spins slightly and I hold onto the wall for support. I hear Eros stagger to her feet. I think I hear a whimper, but the sounds of my shoes on the hardwood floor drown it out. I feel the wind kick up and blow softly through the window teasing the drapes scarred brown from my cigarette smoke. I realize I need smokes to go along with the booze to keep my mind slowed. I move awkwardly toward the door gathering in my bearings and my hat from the nightstand next to the door. I notice the dust-covered books whose words long ago I’d forgotten lying there. Yet, I can still feel the luminous joy I got in reading them. The same feeling I used to get from the notes posted by Lydia on the fridge and TV. Notes telling me "I love you Big Bear." Or, "You rock my world Mr." One day, not long after Mama left, I’d taken all the notes—you see I was saving them. That means somethin’. Doesn’t it? And one by one, I placed them on the windowsill and sat back as the wind came and snatched them up into the sky. And they lifted into the clouds, disappearing over rooftops and landing in a flower-filled garden somewhere in the world. Each time this’d happen I’d laugh and Eros’d wag her crooked tail happy to see me happy.

After the last note faded into the sky, I crawled into the books for words that’d remind me of my lady. Every once in a while I’d read somethin’ that’d strike my heart like a match and set it aflame. To put the fire out my eyes’d let go. In those moments I came to understand why tears are made from water and exactly why the garden dried up and disappeared into the wind. I remember reaching out and wiping a tear from your face sweet lady promising never to hurt you again. You smiled when I placed the wetness in my mouth. This was a good thing. Wasn’t it good? Sorry is such a strange word. Such a lousy word. As bad as goodbye. And you said you could go on crying forever as long as I was there. That you had enough tears for the both of us….

As I open the door a gust of hot wind almost knocks my hat off. I grab it in time and settle it atop my head. Then I step out into the dry evening air. Eros follows behind me and begins panting instantly. I pat my back pocket to make sure my wallet’s there and head towards the sidewalk. When I reach the end of my driveway, I notice Eros still on the porch staring at the ground.
   "Come on dawg!" I say.
    Eros looks up at me with those eyes again.
   "Come on…" I pat my pants legs.
   She moves awkwardly down the steps and hobbles up next to me. I pat her head and whisper, "Good ol’ girl." A sudden guilt stabs at me. I almost go back in the house, but a mechanism propels me forward. Another gust of wind rushes past us with the scent of flowers riding on its crest. I lift my head and take a deep breath. For some reason the desire to buy wine comes to mind. Lydia loved red wine. She wasn’t much of a drinker. But a glass or two and she’d be off on her delirious storytelling tinged with high-pitched laughter that’d drive me to the next room. She’d stay in the kitchen laughing while watering her potted plants. Then later, she’d come into the living room and get up next to me on the couch to watch whatever I’d be watching. Depending on my mood, I’d either hold her or stare straight ahead without a word. We’d stay like this ‘till she fell asleep. This was our love.

A block from the house I round the corner on the main road leading up to the store. I see how’s traffic’s light cause most folks are home from work already. I feel an emptiness come about me then. I look around for a face or place that I can recognize, but things have changed so much lately that now lost are those familiar scenes that ground a man to his environment. Even empty beer cans tossed in a weed-filled vacant lot seen everyday used to remind me of where I belong. But the lot now cleaned free of trash and weeds reminds me every night that I need a cleansing. That I need to get rid of things dead and ugly growing inside of me.

I stop walking, noticing that Eros is lagging further behind. As I turn, she lifts her head at me with drool falling from her snout.
   "What?" I yell…
   Eros just stares.
  "Quit looking at me like that!"
    Eros wags her tail and lumbers up to me. I notice she is limping. I do not say a thing. I pet her head and scratch her ear. We start walking and I look to see if she is still limping. She isn’t, but there is a shift in her walk and her breathing is shallow. We are half way to the store so I ignore it. A thing I perfected long ago. The wind blows slowly around. It lifts up dust and dried leaves fallen from the large oaks growing in the yards of old houses built here during World War II for the defense department. They remind me of thirty years ago when I was an airplane mechanic and the calluses on my hand matched those on Lydia’s hands. We’d sit in our enclosed porch listening to approaching thunder storms drinking punch and rum waiting for the cleansing rain that’d bring rainbows and fresh air that’d seduce the flowers into spreading their petals in the next day’s sun. And the sound of the rain on the roof would lull us into sleeping in each other’s sweaty arms as the humid air’d cover us like a blanket. And in those moments I wondered how God had made me such a man. A man whose hands kept thousands safe in the air with each bolt turned, but yet, whose same hands would sometimes lay across Lydia’s cheek leaving it red and swollen as rage open up inside me like the massive clouds passing overhead.

God never spoke to me though. And that was ok. It’s still ok, I think stepping onto the warm asphalt of the liquor store parking lot. We do not have much to say to each other anymore.

I head inside the store, grab a pack of Camels, two bottles of red wine and a large bottle of malt liquor. I pay for them and head back outside. Eros is lying on her side next to the door panting heavily. "Come on girl," I say slightly irritated. I want to get home before it is dark. Before the wind dies down like it does every night once the sun goes away. Eros doesn’t move. I walk over and swiftly kick her in the backside. She struggles to her feet and looks up at me with her tail between her legs. For a moment, looking into her eyes, I’m reminded of many things. Dark things. Things that go buzz in my mind and heart.

The street lamps flicker on, I head out of the parking lot and Eros struggles to follow. I stop to wait for her. I reach into my bag, pull out the malt and unscrew the cap. I take a long deliberate drink, swallowing the liquid as if it is my last. Eros reaches my side and slinks up next to me. I scratch her head and her tail frees itself into a wag. I drink again and look up to the sky. I see a single star in the universe brightly shining against the blackness. There comes a slow numbing in my body and mind as the alcohol seeps into my system. "That’s right sweet lady," I say to the star. "You keep watch over us. Make sure all is right." You always had those eyes. Those eyes that’d expose me for who I am….

Eros thumps her tail against my knee looking up to where my voice trails off. I drink deeply again. Then again. Suddenly, I throw the empty bottle against the brick wall lining the parking lot. The shattering glass echoes through the quiet night. Eros jumps at the sound and limps off ahead of me. Wind whistles through the telephone wires above my head. Oh sweet lady, that’s how it comes. How it rises to the surface and goes out before I can stop it. Those damn eyes….

I round the corner onto the sidewalk and see Eros lying on her side again in a driveway. I walk quickly up to her and see the foamy discharge from her mouth falling to the ground. Her eyes are wide. As wide as the day I unchained her from the trash bin. There is a slight whimper emitting from her throat. I touch her but my hand sinks deeply into her warm fur where a rib should be. She cries to my touch and her tail moves slightly.
     "What’s wrong dawg?" I say quietly.
     She moves her eyes up to me.
     "Come on lady love. We got to git home—you know." Oh, those eyes….
      I stand and Eros tries to move her legs under herself. She struggles for a moment, reaches her feet, lets out a grunt but falls to the ground again.
     "God Damn it! I kick her again. "Lets go girl!" There is nothing but blackness in the world. The night has come and it is here looming over us, covering us in its death. I want to go. To be released from the hell that is now upon us. Eros doesn’t move. There is no sound from her. I kneel and the wind blows up my shirt and through my hair sending shivers through my body. It is a slow wind. A bitter wind that embraces my whole self. I see that Eros eyes are dark and cloudy. They are no longer staring at anything. I know she is no longer here on Earth. It is a feeling like a knife placed in the heart. Things grow even darker then as shadows claw at the light. I use all that is left of my strength to take her in my arms and carry her home sweating the sweat of a murderer whose drops reek all that is ugly and mean and brutal. I lay her in the place where the garden used to be and start digging a hole next to where Lydia is buried. When finished, I lay Eros to rest under the starlight.

Now that the calluses have returned to my hands I remember how the old dog gained her name. Lydia named her, saying that a beast that teaches us about treating somethin’ the same as you’d want to be treated is what love is really about. And the first word for love is Eros, never mind how I know that she declared, but it just is and that animals are the true angels on Earth because they teach us this.

As she says this she gives me that look. Then she says to me that when I unchained the ol’ dog, I’d set it free and that was the most loving thing she had ever known any one to do. And that when it’d came to it she’d expect me to do the same for her. Love, oh yes love. What a man must do for love….

I pat the last of the soil on top of the grave and then sit down on the upturned dirt. Wind cools my sweat and I realize that I left the wine back in the driveway and that I will leave it there and never go back. I look up to see the single star has moved to another place in the universe and there are more stars clinging to the sky. I move to my knees and begin to pull the weeds from the garden. I do this till I can no longer see. When finished, I wipe the sweat from my face leaving scars of mud across my cheeks. I am numb to the pain. I can only feel the breeze blow through me, moving me to a place I have never been before. I make my way to the side of the house where the hose is coiled next to the spigot. I shake loose the cobwebs and turn it on. A rush of wind spurts out first, then water squirts to the ground turning into a small stream at my feet. I douse the whole backyard first, soaking the cracked earth till it turns loose and liquidy. Then I concentrate on the garden area I’d squared off with a raised mound of dirt, filling it as if a pool.

I then turn the hose on myself. The cold water frees the sweat and mud soaking my clothes till they cling to my skin like a second layer. Then I drink. The water gushing down my throat fills me with a newness and an awakening shudders through me as the smell of wet dirt on skin rises up. Lydia use’d to smell this way I think, inhaling deeply the scent of purity, of existence, of all that is human. And there you are sweet lady. Tomorrow will bring forth flowers and smells and sweet love growing all around. That same love that is us. That will always be us. Like the wind.