Afternoons on the reading Porch
There are things in life a person
just cannot resist, sex, money, Food, drugs, alcohol, fame and a million other
things I will not even try to illuminate. One of those things for me is an old
single bed out on the front screened in porch of our house. It really is not
the front porch anymore because what used to be the front of the house is now
the side. What once was the side of the house is now the front. The bed too is
not really a single bed because we bought it extra long for our oldest son who
grew beyond our wildest expectations ultimately reaching six feet and four and
a half inches tall. He never liked to have his feet sticking past the end of
his childhood single bed, for some reason he thought he looked like Jethro from
the Beverly Hillbillies, way over grown and not fitting into his now miniature
bed. Not that any of this matters at all because really it has nothing to do
with anything I am planning to write down in this story. In fact I am pretty
sure this is not even a story. Random thoughts do not necessarily combine and
become a story. In fact the bed itself may not even be the thing I am addicted
to. The space the bed occupies may be the thing that appeals to me even before
the bed. The porch it rests on is about eight feet wide and thirty five feet
long; I know, nothing particularly unusual about that. It may also be the fact
that just beyond the screen of the porch is a large overgrown bottle brush
buckeye shrub, maybe a small tree. In the middle of July the tree is attacked
by every manner of nectar eating creature for miles around seeking the tall
nectar filled inflorescence the tree produces each July. The honey bees, the
yellow jackets, the wasp, the hornets and many other insects as well as a
rainbow of humming birds swarm the air surrounding this large shrub/tree
working it from daylight to dark. Even after dark if you turn the spotlight on
there are hundreds of night flying moths working the tree busily. Beyond the
tree is a bevy of assorted trees and shrubs as the land slips downward to a
small creek.
A year or so ago I lay in this very spot almost asleep with the breeze from the
ceiling fan washing over me. In a somewhat sedated state I listened to the
quiet sounds coming from just beyond the porch. The lulling sound of the
rustling creek lured me ever closer to sleep. It was just at the edge of our
property, briskly rushing down the mountain towards the Toccoa River, Lake Blue Ridge and then to Tennesee.
The soft clicking of the poplar leaves in the adjacent trees added to the
softness of the afternoon. Nothing could have been more bucolic and perfectly
tranquil, lying on the napping bed on the front screened in porch reading my
latest book. Sleep would over take me as surely as the marauding squirrels
would steal the sunflower seed from the bird feeder hanging just outside the
screen wire. I noticed the silent hornets dodging around the hummingbird feeder
as my eyes slowly closed. Sleep claimed me in its dark arms and unconsciousness
enveloped me. I slept.
After some time of sleeping soundly I dreamed I was in heavy traffic coming through Atlanta on I-75 in my Jeep and someone behind me was insistently blowing the horn of their car. It was very regular and extremely annoying, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. The sound slowly roused me from a sleep that felt almost drug induced. Coming to I realized the horn being blown so regularly was not a car horn at all but an insistently barking dog. It was Jesse, my Dalmatian and he was hysterically barking as he usually did when a timber rattlesnake or a copperhead was in the vicinity. Groggily I rolled myself off the bed and started for the door. The book I was reading fell onto the small table by the bed and continued on its way to the floor overturning a half finished glass of sweet iced tea on its way. Looking through the screen and dense foliage I could see Jesse’s white spotted body dodging and lunging through the bushes, definitely in the pursuit of something. I saw no snake as the intermittent foliage was in the full flush of spring. I knew I had to go investigate anyway. Having no direct exit from the screened porch I walked through the house to the front door (which used to be the side door) and went down to the front yard, grabbing a hoe propped against the railing on my way just in case it was a poisonous snake that was causing all the commotion.
Rounding the vegetation filled space just beyond the porch I saw Jesse jerkily attacking something. It took me a minute to realize that it was no snake but a fawn with spots covering his small body. Bambi! It was somehow hung in the fence surrounding the vegetable garden. The lumps on his head where antlers would eventually grow had been pushed with such force as he struggled to escape the dog that they had become wedged between two of the stiff rectangular parallel wires in the fence. Grabbing a handful of dirt I threw it into Jesse’s face. He briefly ceased his barking and retreated a few steps shaking his head. I looked at the small deer hung in the fence and tried to understand just what had happened. The bony humps had spread the rectangular wire opening with such force that they briefly allowed the apex of his head to slip through the small opening. They sprang back after that portion of his head passed through and held him fast in the grip of the fence, within Jesse’s reach. Moving to the head area of the now hysterical deer I carefully grasp his neck and pulled gently trying not to frighten him any more than he already was. He could not be extricated from the fence’s unexpected embrace by my hands no matter how hard I pulled. He would certainly be killed by the dogs or by shock if I could not remove him. Finally in desperation I moved to the back end of the small animal’s body and grabbed him by his spotted rump and began to pull. As it turned out this was not such a wise position to occupy on an animal with hooves, no matter how small he was. What followed is somewhat of a blurry conjecture to me but piecing it together following the incident this is what I assume happened. Suddenly and without warning the small apparently defenseless animal kicked me in the middle of the chest with such force that it propelled me backward into the adjacent bushes. This I assume because of the two perfectly round purple bruises I found in the middle of my chest later that afternoon, one on each side of my sternum.
Not knowing just how long I had been lying in the bushes I looked over at the place where the deer had been hung in the fence. He was gone and Jesse was sitting there looking at me intently. There was no sign of the deer, unless you count the dark purple stained places in the middle of my chest. Returning to the front porch I had visions of the Road runner and Wile E. Coyote and had a great deal more sympathy for him than I had ever felt before. Also that Walt Disney “Bambi” movie took on a whole different meaning for me and should be re-titled…."Bambi, the beast from Hell" or ”Bambizilla” or something more appropriate and not so misleading.
Many afternoons when I nap o n the
porch I dream. Sometimes these dreams make perfect sense to me and even foretell
hints about things pertinent to my life. Sometimes not!
During one afternoon’s dream I was standing in the middle of a large group of
singers (most of them very attractive women with their breasts pushed way up to
an unreasonable high position) elaborately dressed in highly unusual costumes,
sequins, tassels, lots of makeup etc. Their clothing was plastic, shiny, stiff and brightly colored with wide
collars and stripped pants. The group standing around me was on what appeared
to be a revolving stage, carousel like. The music was from a calliope and very
loud. The people in the chorus and I danced, sang, jumped and gesticulated in
unison. We sang the following song.
“In school I met a
girl whose name was Nina and everybody said she came from Louisiana. She sang
like a bird and she played the piano. Art was her major and French was her minor.
She really used to love it when I licked her vagina. How I really loved that
girl but she up and moved to China.”
Nina was pronounced like the number nine with an ‘uh’ on the end. Louisiana was
pronounced distinctly with five syllables. At the end of the words Nina,
Louisiana, piano, minor and China the entire choral group and I stamped our
foot twice, quite loud and it rocked the moving stage. This pattern continued
and repeated until I was exhausted and sweating in my sleep. I woke up,
startled for some reason, got up and wrote the song down before I forgot it.
There were many strange words and misspellings when I looked at it later that afternoon. The rest of the
afternoon the song ran through my head and would not stop. The dream almost
started up again last night but I made myself get out of the bed and wake up so
I wouldn’t have to do all that dancing and singing again. I was still tired from the previous
afternoon. Besides I thought I smelled smoke.
What can this mean?
tbd
