Post by jeannerené on Oct 2, 2009 16:40:47 GMT -8
Second Step Down from the Porch - Part 6
Synopsis: ... a family story of tragic consequence continued
Part 1
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3076
Part 2
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3106
Part 3
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3208
Part 4
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3240
Part 5
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=modifypost&thread=3282&post=14557
Callie had stopped crying and Kenny had fallen asleep, his fat little fingers loosening their grip on his sister’s hair. When his thumb finally found its ways to his mouth, Callie gently set her little brother down in the play pen, and turned off the light. She cautiously closed the his bedroom door. Downstairs the fight was over.
Going into her own room, Callie changed into her yellow nightie. She lay down on her bed cuddled up in her comforter and stared out the window, watching the old oak being slapped around. Maybe the weather outside had been too loud, but she knew she hadn’t heard the usual sound of the pickup squealing off down the road. Normally the obedient young girl wouldn't dare to, but tonight Callie felt like she had to go down and see what Mama was doing and if Daddy was still around, despite the fact no one had given her a holler to come down.
Callie descended the stairs. The kitchen was quiet, but not silent. Reaching the bottom step, she leaned over the rickety banister. It creaked as she put her full weight on it, bending forward as far as possible in order to see her mother. Mama shoulders were shaking, and she was standing with hands braced against the kitchen counter. Babe was eating the food thrown on the floor. Thank goodness Mama had not heard her come downstairs. Tiptoeing, Callie made her way past the kitchen door into the living room. Spotting her doll on the couch, she picked it up and brought it to her lips, holding it there, moving her mouth, questioning. Where was her daddy?
Callie continued on, still on tiptoes, to the front window. Peering out she found him ... there he stood under the porch light, drinking another beer. The bulb was swinging wildly over head, the light dancing about her father’s figure. The bouncing light and shadows reminded Callie of the Haunted House ride at Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. She had clung so tight to her dad’s arm the whole ride, he swore he was going to be bruised. She watched him now, standing on the porch, and she kept casting looks back her mother. He was going to leave, pull out of the driveway crazy fast and the trouble would be over at least for tonight. That was usually what it came to ... the way every fight ended ... and it meant her daddy'd come back when they were all in bed, or maybe not at all.
Callie moved closer to the window and rested her forehead on the cold glass. She watched her father intently. Something was different this time… something was making him stay … waiting there looking out into the field across the road. He was thinking.
Jamie heaved the beer bottle into the front yard and it bounced off the gate. He’s leaving, Callie gave a sigh, a combination of both relief and disappointment, as her father walked to the bottom of the steps. But he stopped and the daughter watched, holding her breath, as he turned around and looked up at the house. He looked up at Kenny’s window. She bit down on her lip hard as Jamie started to walk back up to the house. When he got to the second step down from the porch, he spat over the side. He paused, digging his hands in and out of his pockets. Callie brought Barbie doll up to her lips once more. Catching the movement on the other side of the living room window, Jamie looked at his daughter. There eyes met. “I’m sorry,“ he mouthed.
Looking into her father’s eyes was painful but Callie did not break away. Finally, Jamie did and he lowered his head into his hands. It appeared as if he was going to change his mind again and finally leave. Instead, he spat for a second time, bounded up onto the porch, catching the banging screen and threw open the front door. He neglected to close the old peg-door, the cold and the wind rushing in and through the house.
Callie ran to peer inside the kitchen and saw her mother stiffen when she realized her husband had returned. Lurching round toward the sound of her daughter’s hurried footsteps, Callie recognized that look, that far-off frightened stare in her mother’s eyes. It was that look, one that saw through her and her brother, Kenny, one that looked past them, but never at them. It always frightened Callie. Then Callie watched her mother do something very odd. Putting both her hands on her stomach, she pressed down deeply, and tilting her head back, with one slow deliberation motion twisted it side to side. As her father entered the kitchen, Evelyn turned back to the counter.
Jamie walked up behind his wife, “Evelyn?”
There was no answer. “damn it, Evelyn, look at me,” Jamie put his hand on her shoulder as he spoke.
At his touch Evelyn spun around, arms thrown up and thrashing above her head. Jamie screamed, “God, Evie, What are you doing? God Evie, are you crazy? No... no!”
Jamie‘s shock left him defenseless. He merely stumbled back a few steps gaping at his wife, paralyzed with disbelief. Her husband’s combined look of horror and disbelief, empowered Evelyn as she lunged insanely toward him, attempting to plunge the long butcher knife into his chest. Jamie had managed to jump back and the stab was superficial. She pulled out the tip of the knife. Jamie’s arms flailed, lost in hysteria, he tried to fight off his wife. She came at him, slicing at his hands and arms. Jamie faltered and she drove the 10” blade down hard just below his collar bone and pulled it out, poised to come at him again. Jamie crossed his arms over chest, his voice stammering pitifully as he begged her to stop. Evie hesitated and for one infinitesimal moment thought about the piecing blue of her husband’s eyes.
In his wife's momentary hesitation, Jamie took a step toward his wife, his arms stretched out beseeching. He stopped, turned his arms over and over again, examining them, trying to comprehend the sight of his own blood gushing out of his wounds. He looked at Evelyn for an explanation and saw nothing in her expression as he held out a hand in supplication, sobbing as he called her. She stabbed him as he cried out her name. She stabbed him as he said he loved her. She stabbed him as he told her he was sorry.
Callie stood frozen at the kitchen door, transfixed at the sight of the knife and the woman who plunged it in and out of her father, who still stood on his feet. She wanted to run, but couldn’t move. Each time the knife was pulled out of her father, she managed an imperceptible “stop” until he shrieked her name with all the life that was left in him.
“Callie! Callie! Callie!”
Her mother raised the blade above her head.
“No, mama! Please, mama, stop! Stop!” No. . . no. . . not again and she rushed to her father, leaping up and throwing her own arms around his neck to protect him.
Callie clung to her father’s neck as the steal blade came down, piercing the back of her own soft neck all the way through to her father’s. Evelyn stood there holding the knife lodged in both her daughter and husband and as she pulled it out, her daughter fell to the kitchen floor. Jamie swayed, his cry now a whimper as he looked down at his daughter lying at his feet. God gave him a final breath and he collapsed over Callie’s tiny body.
Babe had ceased barking and lay whining piteously under the kitchen table. Upstairs was still. Evelyn stood mute …vacant, knife clenched in her bloody palm, surveying what she had done. A pool of red was inching toward her feet, her husband's and her daughter’s blood indistinguishable, slowly encircling her once white terry slippers. She could feel the warm liquid saturating the slipper’s soles. Its warmth soothed her tired feet and she closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling stingily. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, the knife now gripped lightly in her right hand. Her blood-spattered face stoic, she methodically raised the arm holding the knife. Lowering the tip of the blade to her stomach, she traced a line across its middle, right to left. And as if no other thought possessed her, again with slow precise intent, Evelyn MacFarlane elevated the blade high above her head. Her chest expanded with a long and deliberate intake of air, and she held it … one … two … three seconds maybe. The air exploded from her lungs, the arm dropped down with calculated force and the cold steel impaled her rounded tummy.
Evelyn gasped, wailed in utter anguish. With the knife protruding from her stomach, she dropped to her knees. Quavering, struggling for her balance, the horrified mother reached out for her lifeless daughter and screamed over and over again, screams of unfathomable pain and sorrow. One final cry and then Evie relented. Her fight was over . . . it was finally done with forever. She held her stomach with both hands, sucked in air and then gathered all her strength Gripping the handle of the butcher knife, Evelyn sliced her stomach open from one side to the other in short spastic jerks.
~~~~~~~~
... to be continued with conclusion ...
Synopsis: ... a family story of tragic consequence continued
Part 1
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3076
Part 2
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3106
Part 3
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3208
Part 4
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3240
Part 5
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=modifypost&thread=3282&post=14557
Callie had stopped crying and Kenny had fallen asleep, his fat little fingers loosening their grip on his sister’s hair. When his thumb finally found its ways to his mouth, Callie gently set her little brother down in the play pen, and turned off the light. She cautiously closed the his bedroom door. Downstairs the fight was over.
Going into her own room, Callie changed into her yellow nightie. She lay down on her bed cuddled up in her comforter and stared out the window, watching the old oak being slapped around. Maybe the weather outside had been too loud, but she knew she hadn’t heard the usual sound of the pickup squealing off down the road. Normally the obedient young girl wouldn't dare to, but tonight Callie felt like she had to go down and see what Mama was doing and if Daddy was still around, despite the fact no one had given her a holler to come down.
Callie descended the stairs. The kitchen was quiet, but not silent. Reaching the bottom step, she leaned over the rickety banister. It creaked as she put her full weight on it, bending forward as far as possible in order to see her mother. Mama shoulders were shaking, and she was standing with hands braced against the kitchen counter. Babe was eating the food thrown on the floor. Thank goodness Mama had not heard her come downstairs. Tiptoeing, Callie made her way past the kitchen door into the living room. Spotting her doll on the couch, she picked it up and brought it to her lips, holding it there, moving her mouth, questioning. Where was her daddy?
Callie continued on, still on tiptoes, to the front window. Peering out she found him ... there he stood under the porch light, drinking another beer. The bulb was swinging wildly over head, the light dancing about her father’s figure. The bouncing light and shadows reminded Callie of the Haunted House ride at Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. She had clung so tight to her dad’s arm the whole ride, he swore he was going to be bruised. She watched him now, standing on the porch, and she kept casting looks back her mother. He was going to leave, pull out of the driveway crazy fast and the trouble would be over at least for tonight. That was usually what it came to ... the way every fight ended ... and it meant her daddy'd come back when they were all in bed, or maybe not at all.
Callie moved closer to the window and rested her forehead on the cold glass. She watched her father intently. Something was different this time… something was making him stay … waiting there looking out into the field across the road. He was thinking.
Jamie heaved the beer bottle into the front yard and it bounced off the gate. He’s leaving, Callie gave a sigh, a combination of both relief and disappointment, as her father walked to the bottom of the steps. But he stopped and the daughter watched, holding her breath, as he turned around and looked up at the house. He looked up at Kenny’s window. She bit down on her lip hard as Jamie started to walk back up to the house. When he got to the second step down from the porch, he spat over the side. He paused, digging his hands in and out of his pockets. Callie brought Barbie doll up to her lips once more. Catching the movement on the other side of the living room window, Jamie looked at his daughter. There eyes met. “I’m sorry,“ he mouthed.
Looking into her father’s eyes was painful but Callie did not break away. Finally, Jamie did and he lowered his head into his hands. It appeared as if he was going to change his mind again and finally leave. Instead, he spat for a second time, bounded up onto the porch, catching the banging screen and threw open the front door. He neglected to close the old peg-door, the cold and the wind rushing in and through the house.
Callie ran to peer inside the kitchen and saw her mother stiffen when she realized her husband had returned. Lurching round toward the sound of her daughter’s hurried footsteps, Callie recognized that look, that far-off frightened stare in her mother’s eyes. It was that look, one that saw through her and her brother, Kenny, one that looked past them, but never at them. It always frightened Callie. Then Callie watched her mother do something very odd. Putting both her hands on her stomach, she pressed down deeply, and tilting her head back, with one slow deliberation motion twisted it side to side. As her father entered the kitchen, Evelyn turned back to the counter.
Jamie walked up behind his wife, “Evelyn?”
There was no answer. “damn it, Evelyn, look at me,” Jamie put his hand on her shoulder as he spoke.
At his touch Evelyn spun around, arms thrown up and thrashing above her head. Jamie screamed, “God, Evie, What are you doing? God Evie, are you crazy? No... no!”
Jamie‘s shock left him defenseless. He merely stumbled back a few steps gaping at his wife, paralyzed with disbelief. Her husband’s combined look of horror and disbelief, empowered Evelyn as she lunged insanely toward him, attempting to plunge the long butcher knife into his chest. Jamie had managed to jump back and the stab was superficial. She pulled out the tip of the knife. Jamie’s arms flailed, lost in hysteria, he tried to fight off his wife. She came at him, slicing at his hands and arms. Jamie faltered and she drove the 10” blade down hard just below his collar bone and pulled it out, poised to come at him again. Jamie crossed his arms over chest, his voice stammering pitifully as he begged her to stop. Evie hesitated and for one infinitesimal moment thought about the piecing blue of her husband’s eyes.
In his wife's momentary hesitation, Jamie took a step toward his wife, his arms stretched out beseeching. He stopped, turned his arms over and over again, examining them, trying to comprehend the sight of his own blood gushing out of his wounds. He looked at Evelyn for an explanation and saw nothing in her expression as he held out a hand in supplication, sobbing as he called her. She stabbed him as he cried out her name. She stabbed him as he said he loved her. She stabbed him as he told her he was sorry.
Callie stood frozen at the kitchen door, transfixed at the sight of the knife and the woman who plunged it in and out of her father, who still stood on his feet. She wanted to run, but couldn’t move. Each time the knife was pulled out of her father, she managed an imperceptible “stop” until he shrieked her name with all the life that was left in him.
“Callie! Callie! Callie!”
Her mother raised the blade above her head.
“No, mama! Please, mama, stop! Stop!” No. . . no. . . not again and she rushed to her father, leaping up and throwing her own arms around his neck to protect him.
Callie clung to her father’s neck as the steal blade came down, piercing the back of her own soft neck all the way through to her father’s. Evelyn stood there holding the knife lodged in both her daughter and husband and as she pulled it out, her daughter fell to the kitchen floor. Jamie swayed, his cry now a whimper as he looked down at his daughter lying at his feet. God gave him a final breath and he collapsed over Callie’s tiny body.
Babe had ceased barking and lay whining piteously under the kitchen table. Upstairs was still. Evelyn stood mute …vacant, knife clenched in her bloody palm, surveying what she had done. A pool of red was inching toward her feet, her husband's and her daughter’s blood indistinguishable, slowly encircling her once white terry slippers. She could feel the warm liquid saturating the slipper’s soles. Its warmth soothed her tired feet and she closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling stingily. Her arms hung loosely at her sides, the knife now gripped lightly in her right hand. Her blood-spattered face stoic, she methodically raised the arm holding the knife. Lowering the tip of the blade to her stomach, she traced a line across its middle, right to left. And as if no other thought possessed her, again with slow precise intent, Evelyn MacFarlane elevated the blade high above her head. Her chest expanded with a long and deliberate intake of air, and she held it … one … two … three seconds maybe. The air exploded from her lungs, the arm dropped down with calculated force and the cold steel impaled her rounded tummy.
Evelyn gasped, wailed in utter anguish. With the knife protruding from her stomach, she dropped to her knees. Quavering, struggling for her balance, the horrified mother reached out for her lifeless daughter and screamed over and over again, screams of unfathomable pain and sorrow. One final cry and then Evie relented. Her fight was over . . . it was finally done with forever. She held her stomach with both hands, sucked in air and then gathered all her strength Gripping the handle of the butcher knife, Evelyn sliced her stomach open from one side to the other in short spastic jerks.
~~~~~~~~
... to be continued with conclusion ...
