Oh, that Memphis rain,\u201d Mama said.<\/p>\n
\u201cDays like this, you can feel it in the brick,\u201d said Papa.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet your fingers out your mouth!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGhosts in the ancient bricks. I feel them under my feet in the morning. Watching me at night.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere\u2019s ghosts in Memphis, I believe that,\u201d Mama nodded.<\/p>\n
Papa sat on a hanging bench listening to the rain. It rattled the glossy banana leaves in the garden. It was dark for a July afternoon. Wall lamps lit the floor of the porch in yellow and white but left shadows in the corners. Swinging, swinging with his feet planted on the floor, the old man looked dusty.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll ruin your damn socks,\u201d Mama said.<\/p>\n
Papa hunched over with effort and eyed the pad of his left foot.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet your fingers out your mouth!\u201d<\/p>\n
Papa rocked in the muted din of the summer storm. The old brick porch was cool. Over the long years that garden crawled up the porch wall. Now it reached up and over knocking the gutter with a tinny rap. Papa spit a finger nail in a long arc.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did I ever see in you?\u201d Mama asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou loved me once, Mama, am I wrong to know that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, I loved you,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMud Island, you remember? I know you do. You remember what I promised?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat I promise?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said, \u2018Baby, I love you and I will love you until this river runs out. Until Tennessee and Arkansas kiss across the mud.\u2019 Don\u2019t you remember what I said, Papa?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said: Baby, I\u2019ll be with you until the birds fall out the sky.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, yes, I remember.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou loved me then.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Papa, I did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKids out there playing in the heat. Drunk daddies and the cook out smell. And grass in patches up past your knees,\u201d Papa said to no one.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn the car, you picked the prickers off my socks, I remember.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMosquitos like nothing I\u2019ve ever seen.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, they chewed up my legs. A poor excuse for you to get handsy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe had a wet love then, Mama,\u201d Papa looked down. \u201cYou know that river\u2019s still running.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThose birds are still flying, Papa, and I\u2019m still with you. Don\u2019t think you\u2019ll ever be able to really get rid of me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBeen trying half my life, Mama. How long has it been?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t count like that anymore. It\u2019s an anniversary, though.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlmost to the hour. Can\u2019t you feel it coming on?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were sitting here where I am, just rocking.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was sunny that day\u2014damn hot. The kind of heat that kills dogs and drives people wild,\u201d Mama said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI walked right up those steps into the shade of those banana leaves and see you, Mama, looking pretty. Pretty like the old pictures. Pretty as us out on those low bluffs kissing like mosquitos.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m still pretty now, Papa. Only different.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was in your eyes, Mama, that\u2019s what made you pretty\u2014the wildness. Curl of your smile made me sick, like in the way you used to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were handsome when you were scared,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was surely scared then,\u201d Papa laughed. \u201cWhen I saw what you had there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou remember what I said, Papa?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said, \u201cMannnn, I\u2019m gonna gut you like a fish.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAn effing fish!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d Papa laughed. \u201cAnd when you came at me I almost spit!\u201d<\/p>\n
Mama laughed now. In the warm pocket of that porch, no one could hear her but Papa.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour legs, Mama,\u201d he started. \u201cI still think about those legs.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause. A police car rolled through the pools of water on the narrow streets. Papa fell quiet. With the croak of the chair, the soft buzz of the electric light, fat pattering rain, Papa sighed.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy legs, Papa, you were saying something about my legs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThose legs, you had them spread out like in a sort of football stance. I remember, you forgot your pantyhose that day.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPapa, maybe a woman forgets a little on the day she decides to kill her husband.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Mama, I\u2019m sure glad you forgot. I still think about those legs\u2014dimples in the fat and they way they moved when you stepped like that. One-two-three, lunging at me with a knife like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI almost got you, too!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlmost, almost,\u201d Papa nodded, chewed the corner of a fingernail.<\/p>\n
\u201cI tripped on a damn flower pot!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou tumbled like cut grass, that\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow\u2019d I look when you blew away my head?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou looked pretty as a bird, Mama. Before I brought that flower pot down.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne, two, three times.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the damn thing didn\u2019t break!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t believe it,\u201d said Mama.<\/p>\n
\u201cI swear by them, Mama. I\u2019ve got to write in a review.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve got to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut no,\u201d Papa started. \u201cYou weren\u2019t so pretty after I drove in your face, Mama. You weren\u2019t so wild there dead on the brick.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m still pretty, only different.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI chucked up a chicken dog, baby, and fell flat on my ass. That\u2019s the God\u2019s truth.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know it. I was watching,\u201d Mama said.<\/p>\n
\u201cBroad daylight, in the summer heat, Mama. Shirt covered in blood and spit, just waiting for Mrs. Hutchinson and that rat beagle of hers to come around the corner and ask after you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought it was funnier than hell,\u201d said Mama.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know, on the drive home\u2014I was coming to see you, you know that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, papa, but where from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBaby, that wasn\u2019t important. What\u2019s important was the drive home thinking about you. How we could leave and go back when we were so young. We could\u2019ve gone to Louisville, Little Rock. Pick a name off the map. We could have gone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s important to me where you were coming from.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou aren\u2019t still mad, Mama, are you? About all that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, I guess not.\u201d<\/p>\n
As the rain slowed, heat crept back into the air. A muggy blanket settled on the surface of everything, but the old brick was cool.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou weren\u2019t smiling either when I planted you way out there,\u201d Papa added.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was a nice thing to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThought maybe you\u2019d grow into a tree.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou couldn\u2019t have known I was already here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope you\u2019re staying dry in there, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPapa, you know I\u2019m dry.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was a pause. Papa spit a fingernail. It landed by a pile of old papers\u2014yellow and half-dry-half-fat from the humidity. But the swinging chair, there wasn\u2019t much on the porch.<\/p>\n
\u201cI watch the birds when I can, you know,\u201d Papa said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Papa, what kind do you see?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t know all that. I just like watching them fly. Never once seen one drop out of the sky.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you never will.\u201d<\/p>\n
Papa was still for a while. Water dripped an unsteady rhythm from the roof\u2019s edge to the wide leaves of the garden. He stood up with his hands on his knees and stepped, one-two-three, to the iron-gate door. He knelt by the empty flower pot. He touched the brick, braced himself against it and lowered his chest to the floor. His ear felt the cool touch of the brick. His lips close enough to kiss:<\/p>\n
\u201cI keep wishing for the river to run dry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPapa, it never will.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cYou remember what I promised?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat I promise?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said, \u2018Baby, I love you and I will love you until this river runs out. Until Tennessee and Arkansas kiss across the mud.\u2019 Don\u2019t you remember what I said, Papa?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said: Baby, I\u2019ll be with you until the birds fall out the sky.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":15429,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[1995,1994,319,140],"class_list":["post-15368","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-american-south","tag-ghost-story","tag-haunting","tag-love","writer-karl-walters"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15368","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15368"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15368\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15431,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15368\/revisions\/15431"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15429"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15368"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15368"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15368"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}