There is something eccentric afoot. Something in the air that sweetens my mouth. Maybe it’s the fireflies in there night dance for the moons muse, producing a sweet nectar that floats through the dense mug. The moon is but a patron at a gentleman’s club, shouting and hooting for the fireflies to caress the bewildered leaves of grass below, begging, yearning for more. In return the moon gives a sacrifice as the natives of this land once did to him, one of flesh. He gives the flies his warmth, his life, his light. The moon is what makes them fireflies.
I can taste it though. I can taste their musk. The pollen from the trees cry with envy, they get but Spanish moss to drape their unsightly woodworked sills. Their canopy offers partial relief, but nothing can protect man from the heat radiated from the ground up, nor a leaky roof.
No the taste is more of wild berry pie and sweet corn. It’s the taste of water savory banana peppers and dirty deep red tomatoes. It’s the taste of fresh picked raspberries. It has notes of children laughing and the scent of sulfur ridden sparklers. It is summer and it is berthing from the womb of the defrosting Mother Nature.
“You can find the weirdest things in this Sky Mall magazine.” Jerry set down a glass containing a sip of scotch as he read his magazine at the kitchen table.
“Yeah.” Nancy continued to clean what had become a filthy kitchen.
For twenty years the couple had been known as the Howell’s, they went through all the motions that society dictated a married couple should do, except having children.
Jerry looked up at his wife. “What’s wrong?”
“Noting,” Nancy blew some hair from her face, “this kitchen is just so damn messy.”
“It was worth it though. Don’t you think?” Jerry left his magazine and his scotch to help his wife clean.
“I guess.”
“You guess? Honey this party meant the world to Bobby, it’s not every day you turn three.”
“Jerry, he’s a sloth. And will you please stop cleaning, you just got home, you should be resting.”
“I don’t need to rest, I want to help. And I thought you cared about Bobby more than that.” He picked up a dish and began to wash it. “Bobby’s all we have. He’s the closest thing to a child we’ve got.”
Nancy tried to hide it, but the tears streaming down her face made it impossible.
“Nancy, what’s wrong honey?” Jerry embraced her as she dropped slowly until she was seated on the floor.
“There’s something that I need to tell you.” She escaped through sobs.
“What is it?” He moved the hair out of her face to reveal her watered eyes.
“I had an abortion last week, when you were working.”
“What?” He slid away from her on the tile floor.
“An abortion, I had an abortion.” She tilted her head to avert her eyes.
“Why?” Salty streams then began to flow down his face.
“Because I was pregnant-“
“I’m not a fool Nancy! I understand that. I want to know why, after twenty years of trying, you would do this now? Nancy, Why?”
“I didn’t want to have a child. I’m forty-two years old, what would people say?” She stood up and started to walk away from Jerry.
“Did you think about what I would say? Did you, for one second, stop and think of the consequences? What this might do to us?” He stood and directed his comments at the back of her head.
She stopped.
“Of course I did. I just though you loved me enough to understand.” She turned around to face him.
“Nancy, I love you more than anything on this earth. I love you more than life itself. But not even Jesus loves you enough to understand this.” Jerry numbly walked to the bedroom and packed a bag.
“Where are you going?” Nancy leaned against the doorway.
“I’m going to see if I can pick up someone's flights for a few days. I need to think.” He walked toward the front door.
“I love you!” Nancy yelled out of the house after him. She received nothing in return.
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