Raggéd lay in the hay in Styx’s stall. He missed his dog and Styx the most during the months in the hospital. Micah was a private person. He was happy alone. He struggled interacting with strangers, and he had little desire to expand his circle of friends. The Cowboy Clan, Tom Dorsey, Greg and Poppi were all the family that he really needed. He loved his mom, and she loved him; she did not like him, however. She admitted that once, and it bothered him. His sisters and oldest brother were basically non-entities. They were so much into themselves that they never made time available to build a relationship with him.
He was content and wanted nothing more than what he had. Anything added would just bring surplus complications. Life should be simple, and possessions make it complex, whether too many belongings or too many people. His grandmother taught him that, and the stories he learned as a child about Coyote, his spirit animal, reinforced it.
Coyote is a trickster, but he used his mischief to teach that life should not be taken too seriously. Micah took that to heart, at least he tried to. Poppi said that Coyote was sort of a strange animal to have as a spirit guide, but his son told him, “It is what it is,” and “Coyote chose me, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
Greg watched his little brother from the barn door. Micah was in one of his reveries. His body was sitting on a horse, but his spirit was somewhere else. This was one of those things that made him unique. He asked Micah once about his daydreams.
Micah had looked at him, and Greg sensed that he was deciding whether or not to answer the question. “I don’t daydream often. A daydream is something that is not real.” Micah studied his brother before he continued. “There is ‘A Somewhere’ that is more encompassing and more genuine than anything you can experience in this world. That’s where I go. I go home. Life is a fantasy; life’s imaginary. The place of dreams is home. This,” Micah pointed to his surroundings, “This is a nightmare. This is an illusion.”
It was a typical Micah response—cerebral and clear as mud. His answers usually required a dozen more questions, and even then you still may not fully understand what he said. He lived an off-the-wall paradigm and needed to twist English around to get close to what he wanted to say about it. Micah made you think, and people are much too lazy to spend the time interpreting his words; his thoughts just never fit well into the box called language.
He walked further into the barn. “Monkey,” he shouted. “Are you home or should I come back?”
Micah jumped in surprise and leapt down from the horse smiling. “Where we going?” he asked excitedly, “The commissary?”
“Not today, thought we’d go to Sutphens,” Greg patted his baby brother on the back. “You like barbeque don’t you?”
“Sure, but it doesn’t matter to me. Go where you want.” Micah was happy.
The boys went to the busy restaurant and waited almost an hour for a table, and then they were taken to a spot in the center of the big dining room. They ordered and ate and talked about baseball, boxing and Micah’s trip to Dallas. On the way home, they drove through Thompson Park. Greg stopped and walked over to the giant slide that Micah had loved as a child. Brother-and-brother climbed the ladder. Its surface was slightly wet, and it was a slow trip down. Micah ran over to the pit and grabbed a handful of sand. The boys went back up the ladder, and the young boy tossed the sand down the metal slide then pushed off and flew down.
Greg walked over and sat on the cement wall that surrounded the large sand pit. Micah followed and sat in the gritty soil recollecting back to his days as a toddler when his mother would bring him to this spot to play in the afternoon sunshine. They were sweet memories.
The 10 year old stared at his brother, who had something important to tell him. But Greg was upset and hesitant. “I’ve waited all evening for you to tell me what’s up,” Micah stated.
Greg smiled. It was difficult to keep a secret from Micah, who always knew when something was going on; he may not know exactly what, but he always knew. “Monkey, my reserve unit has been called up, and I’ll be leaving for Vietnam in a couple of weeks. I got the notification last Monday, but I didn’t want to tell you.”
Micah felt Greg’s dread and fear. He stood and hugged his brother. “I hate that,” and they huddled together without words for a long time.
“But I have good news too,” Greg smiled. “I married Isabella yesterday. Me, Isabella and Sissy drove to Anadarko and got married. And you’ll be an uncle in November or December. Isn’t that exciting?”
Micah grinned. “What, you never heard of condoms? Knew I should’ve talked to you about the ‘Oh my God no,’ subject.” They laughed together, though in reality both wanted to cry.
“I have to use your old room. I need the space for Isabella’s stuff. Her parents told her not to come home; they didn’t want to see her or the baby—ever.” Greg was looking toward the ground and Micah ached for Isabella and his brother.
“You know I love Isabella. You know that don’t you?” Micah said.
“How could I not know, the way your eyes get droopy-like when she’s around?” Greg smiled and punched him.
“Don’t move into that room. It’s not healthy. I’m afraid you’ll get hurt. Store her stuff but don’t sleep in there. Promise me.” Micah was verging on panic.
“I’m not planning on sleeping in there, just storage. No one likes that room”
Micah was relieved. “Thank God!”
Micah’s bedroom was some kind of opening. The ‘hole,’ that’s what everyone called the central utility room, was the heart and soul of an obscurity, a multiple sentience that was concentrated there. But sometimes the cancer would spill out into other areas of the house. The ‘hole’ was accessed through the bedroom’s large walk-in closet. Micah bought a lock for it, and only he and Poppi knew the combination to access the room. The lock was meant to keep folks out and the monsters in. But it was ineffectual. People couldn’t get in, but the obscenities easily got out.
Micah and Cory understood the nature of the ‘hole.’ While everyone at Willow Wood loathed the bedroom, the two friends were the only ones who knew why. They, however, discerned its secret in an abstract and occult way. The boys were only starting to grasp its reality when Micah became sick.
The horses and Raggéd greeted Micah as he entered the barn. It was a little after 9:00 and the temperature outside was falling into the upper 30°s. Greg’s news made a shadow fall across his mood, and he walked into his bedroom then through the door that led to the path along the creek. He had not been on a nightly excursion since his sickness in December, but the doctor said to have fun. So he took off on a run—destination, the flint hill two miles away.
Micah saw the coyote family come toward him as he passed by the pipeline. There were only five animals; one of the yearlings was missing. He lowered himself down onto his knees as the matron of the pack approached. She pranced as she first circled the boy, but then she nudged his hand wanting his attention.
Micah gently began petting her and then nuzzled her head-to-head. The lonely pup, her brother gone, started pulling on his pants leg playfully. After a while, he started his interval running once again.
He remained cognizant of his heart rate and rhythm. He smiled. All of his life his heart sometimes danced to a quirky beat. He thought it was normal. And how would he know otherwise? A cut in the chest, a few stitches in a valve and a lethal problem was resolved. “Remarkable!”
His heart speeded up, but he was not out of breath. The only thing bothering him was his muscles screaming about how out-of-shape they were. But in a month, he would regain his strength and run even further and faster. The coyotes were keeping pace with him. “God, I missed these nighttime jaunts.
He stopped at the flint hill. The breeze was cold, and a fine drizzle was gently falling. A few degrees lower and the mist would become sleet. But Micah was not cold. He wanted to strip and dance and celebrate with the coyotes and the ancient Elders: Earth, Sky and Wind; the immortals who always s
urrounded him, never abandoning him. He was alive and thankful.
Micah would never tell you that there was no God; just that God was unknowable and incomprehensible. Yet he celebrated and worshipped nature. “Was this a conflict?” He picked-up a piece of sandstone as he pondered the question. “It’s not a contradiction,” he answered himself. “The wind touches me. I can see the prairies and feel the drops of water fall on my skin.” He ran his fingers through his damp hair. “This hair is Micah, but it is not all of Micah. Nature is God, but God is more. You can sense something greater without knowing what that grander thing is.” This felt right, and his concept of God expanded and became more encompassing.
He turned to run back home, but at the pipeline, he diverted across the creek and toward Bluebonnet Road through the prairie. Soon he was standing at the back fence and next to Cory’s barn, staring up at a bedroom window whose light shimmered through the misty night. Micah didn’t know the time, so he wouldn’t knock at the door for fear of rustling Mr. and Mrs. Krigsman out of bed. He was lost in the moment as he peered through the dark, his mind blank.
“You coming in or what?” A voice echoed from the small one stall stable. Micah hopped the fence and entered the dark structure. Cory was sitting on Drack. “Miss me already?”
Cory and Micah shared many things in common, the least of which was their sleep patterns; they didn’t sleep much and did not seem to need much. Micah discovered that breathing in a controlled way relaxed and rested him. A few hours in that meditative state revitalized him as much as eight hours of sleep. He had taught Cory the practice, and now the night world had become an active and integral part of their life. But this was all very secretive, and no parent had caught them roaming through the prairies in the dark time, yet.
“I guess. I went running and decided to come over. Not sure why.” Micah studied his friend in the night darkness. The boy dismounted. Micah could see Cory’s maroon animal eyes reflect the faint moonlight. The boys absorbed each other’s presence, sizing up each other’s mood and temperament.
Micah thought about going home.
“Let me get my stuff and then we can go,” Cory spoke as if answering a question, but no words ever parted Micah’s lips. He ran into the big old Victorian house, and a few minutes later Cory reappeared carrying a rucksack.
The boys walked into the prairie. “Want to go hunting?” Cory asked.
“Hunting what?” Micah smiled.
“Jellyfish, what else?”
“Don’t need to,” Micah responded. “Look over yonder toward the creek. They’re heading our way.” Two dark blobs maybe an eighth of a mile away scurried toward them through the grasslands. Once they terrified Cory, especially when they came up to his back fence seemingly to study the house with him in it. Micah said not to fear them, which would only make it worse. And he was right. A boy could outrun one with just a normal walk, so they weren’t much of a threat.
Last December, Cory had asked what they were, and Micah reached into the void of their being and gained an insight into their existence. “They are ancient fragments of personalities and feed on strong emotions, which make them more potent,” Micah had told him. “They nourish off the energy from everyone, but they are drawn to us because they know we see them. They are becoming self-aware. They are parasites, but they are becoming something else.
“I’m not afraid of them; I don’t hate them anymore.” Cory leaned against a fence post as he spoke to Micah. “You’re right, fear makes it worse.”
“Yeah, fear can cripple, but so can hate.” It surprised Micah when the word, hate, slipped out of his mouth. It was not his thought. “Let’s go.”
To get home, the boys had to walk past the blobs. As they approached, they could see the red ember-like glow of the creature’s eyes. They had the general shape of men, but they were towering, at least 8” tall with a very earthy smell, not unpleasant. The things stopped, and as the boys passed, they did not follow.
The coyote family was stationed next to the outside door of Micah’s bedroom. Once the boys entered the building, the canines took off into the prairie.
Micah heard the old clock ticking; its metal fingers pointed at midnight. He showered and dove under the covers. Soon Cory joined him. Then they slept soundly until the clock alarm announced 5:00 a.m.
Tom had breakfast cooking. This was normally a large meal, the biggest of the day. Since Micah moved in, Mr. Dorsey always had to plan the meal for more than two, because he never knew how many boys would end-up at the morning table. He discovered that if he planned for four, he would be right a good portion of the time. Anything left over would usually become part of lunch. He stood over the sink as he watched two boys walk toward the kitchen door from the barn. He had the medicine meted out and ready for swallowing. Micah came in, went up to the old man and squeezed him around the shoulders; this was his custom and he did it without thinking.
“Deer this morning thanks to your dad,” Tom announced. “He loaded up the freezer with sausage and butterfly steaks yesterday evening while you were out with Greg.” Tom served up three portions and went to the table. Cory had poured coffee for everyone.
The old man looked at the two boys. “How was your excursion last night?” He smiled.
“Greg took me to Sutphen’s. It was good.” Micah continued eating.
“No, I’m talking about your little stroll along the creek.” Tom leaned back in his chair watching the boy’s response.
“Caught!” The boy exclaimed then grinned.
“Good enough, it felt great running, but my muscles don’t feel too happy. I figure it will take a couple of weeks to get ‘em back in shape.” Micah could see the smile in Mr. Dorsey’s eyes.
“When I was your age, I would be out in that prairie at all hours of the night. You don’t have to hide it from me. Don’t hide anything from me. But you got to be careful because there are critters out there. We may not have lions, tigers or bears, but a bobcat can do some damage, and so can a frightened coyote or a surprised rattler. And that’s not even mentioning a fall and a broken leg or skull.” Tom Dorsey tried to look serious, but he was too much of a child himself to pull that off successfully. “I’m not going to tell you to stop, because I already know how that conversation will go. You just need to leave me a note letting me know the direction you head in case there is a problem.” The old man thought for a few moments. “Some people will say that I’m being a very poor guardian by not reining you in, that children need boundaries. But you’re not a typical boy, and neither is Cory. Both of you are smart and have common sense, and I just don’t see that changing.”
“But you tell me if you have any chest pain or if you can’t breathe. We’ve got to watch for any medical problems.” He pointed at the pills lying on the table, “Take your medicine. After the chores, I need to go to the new house. I want you boys to come.”
The house where Tom and Micah lived was the old homestead. Mr. Dorsey could not bring himself to leave it when the new house was built ten years earlier. Micah had never been to the new place, and he was not too sure where it was other than it was close by.
The boys went back to the barn and took the horses out to the big pasture, and then spent two hours sweeping and hauling and cleaning. The boys climbed into the pick-up and waited for their mentor. “Hey Tom, I need a haircut or Mr. Terry will throw me out of school. We have time for that today?”
“A Mohawk again?” he asked. Micah shook his head in the affirmative. “You’ve already made a point, is there a need to keep doing it?”
“I wasn’t making a point.” Micah pulled out his wallet and showed him a picture of Poppi with a Mohawk when he was in the 101st Airborne, the Screaming Eagles, during the war. “I did it for Poppi, and I did it for my Osage grandfathers. They wore their hair in a type of Mohawk. It is part of who I am, and it’s who Cory is, too.”
“I see. Why did you let me believe that it was a protest?”
“It seemed to make you happy, and I
didn’t want to get into the real reasons.” Micah responded.
“Because the ‘real reasons’ were none of my business, right?” The old man ruffled the boy’s head.”
He smiled. Every day that passed Micah gained another reason to respect Tom Dorsey, and another cause to love him.
They pulled out to Hillcrest Road and headed east. The terrain elevated over a 150” between the ranch house and the railroad tracks a mile away. It increased another 200” by the time you got to Eastern which was another two miles further. As the truck approached Eastern, it swerved north onto a dirt road. There were new houses under construction on the right side of the truck. To the west was farm land sown with winter wheat. There was no mesquite or yucca or sagebrush. And on a slight knoll perhaps a quarter mile from Hillcrest was a large red brick two story house, a veranda circled the entire structure.
To Micah, it looked naked because there were no shrubs, no trees, no landscaping except for the fields of wheat that served as the house’s lawn. There were no fences in the front of the house except the stretch along the road, but the fields in back were fenced off into separate pastures. There sat a huge white barn a hundred yards from the house. It was at least three times the size of the old barn near the creek. Micah counted a dozen horses and perhaps a hundred Herefords roaming in the distance.
“I didn’t realize this was your house. I always wondered who lived here out in the middle of nothing. I understand why you stay at the old house. This looks sort of sterile.” Micah was known for his honesty, something he inherited from Granny Garrett.
“You hit it right on the head,” Tom responded. “This was Nancy’s idea.” Nancy was Dorsey’s youngest daughter, a spinster. The few times that Micah had met her, she seemed forced friendly.
The boys followed the old man into the large home. It was richly built. It had chiseled crystal windows that made rainbows on the walls and floors from the sun. At the top of the staircase was a stained glass window full of flowers and sort of girlish. The floors were wood. The furnishings looked expensive. They walked through a formal dining room and then into a large country kitchen.
Willow Wood Road: Lavender and Sage Page 3
