6813. THE GREAT CONGRUENCE

THE GREAT CONGRUENCE

(what else to pass the time?)

Flatly, and without swearing, that voice was

solid and soft  -  he stood near the barn doorway,

his pants unbuttoned, but nothing more. He was like

that, forgetful as a mole that never came up for light.

He'd just pee'd in the milk-stall corner. 'What's you do

that for, Michael, there's an outhouse at the toolshed."

He said, with a bald-face, "I, I couldn't no more wait,

I jest had to go." It was like that sometimes; he got away

with stuff, the retarded barn-hand. "Aw, it's okay; cow

piss, your piss, all the drain, what's it matter. Maybe next

time ask me, we can catch it early. It's better that way."

I smiled, and walked off. Too much to do, too bothered

to care. If it wasn't for his sister, he wouldn't be here.

-

He just stood there, staring. Or gaping; I never knew. Little

patience for kids like him, but I hold my tongue. She's fine

and she's nice, and what am I gonna' do? Everything else she

does does makes a man feel at home, her taking care, me

working  -  and the kid, her kid brother, the super-slow one.

The feeling's good though; I like them around.

-

There's an old Mercury out on the other side of the barn;

two of them, actually. They've been there, broken down

and sagging, for over ten years. That's what we call them,

actually  -  'Broken Down' and 'Sagging'. When me and the

kid are plunking cans and bottles off the roofs. We set 'em up,

and we have our 22-caliber pistols and just shoot. 'Green bottle

on Broken Down', BAM! 'Third can, left, on Sagging' BAM!

We shoot, we keep score. It's fun. A crazy retarded kid, and

me, with a gun. Each  -  can you maybe imagine a more

dangerous scene? She lets it go, but she's never happy.

-

I guess anything can go wrong. Ricochet, bad shot,

jammed gun, explosive misfire, whatever. Maybe

she's right, and I'm wrong for the kid, showing him

this stuff, but what else am I gonna' do? I ask you,

what else to pass the time?