1st Class Exercise - Wendy Uzzell

Walla Walla He sat in his chair located next to the front door and smoked, the red glow of the tip was the only light in the living room. After the playing of the national anthem reduced television viewing to staring at a broadcast symbol, he lifted himself from the chair and hit the off button, grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge and sat down to wait. In the gloom no one could see his bald head and rumpled shorts, his sagging old man belly, or the sharp look in his faded blue eyes. The rest of the house was silent and dark on this hot night in Eastern Washington where others slept dreamlessly and unaware of his vigil. Every warped window and sagging door in the old house was wide open, screened from the nightly insect assault that came from living in this quiet, backwater farming town. Nighttime was the only respite from the searing heat of high summer and every evening after sunset he would tug and shimmy the windows open and prop them with small boards. The doors were easier, hinges squealing he would pull them open until they stuck on the scuffed oak floors. After the late news, Vera would pad off to their room knowing he would come to bed later. Dressed in her faded nightgown she would uncoil her silvery hair and let it lie over her plump shoulders in thinning strands. Adjusting the lamp just so, she would read her romance novels until her eyes closed and her chin dropped. He drew in hot smoke once more and irritably tapped the ashes onto the mounded saucer. Tonight, pausing at the bedroom door, she had said something that made his thoughts go back almost thirty five years. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to avoid remembering, but he didn’t like to. He pictured how Vera had looked when he first met her, young and naïve at eighteen, from good family. Her hair had been black as night and thickly braided, full of ripples that reflected the moonlight when he loosened it and pulled it around her bare shoulders. He had dreamed for years about how it had felt when he wrapped it around his hands and pulled her to him. It had been a wild time for him, drunk with the passion of first love, full of being a man - of being invincible. He would have taken any risk to have her. Pausing, he stubbed out the cigarette and lit another with a flick of his lighter. The flare of light only revealed deep shadows on his face. He sipped at his warming beer. He lifted his face to the dark ceiling and grimaced. He wasn’t sure if he was punishing himself by thinking back to that time of his life, or enjoying prodding the wound. The truth was, Vera had been beautiful, he wanted her, and he had nothing to offer. He had taken risks to get things for her, and hadn’t given a thought to what it might cost him. In the darkness of the night there was the faint glow of an approaching vehicle’s headlights. The hum of the tires swelled against the quiet. He listened to the noise fade as the vehicle slowed and saw darkness return as the headlights shut off. The quiet crunch of gravel revealed the stealthy approach of the vehicle up the driveway. He put the cigarette in his mouth and quietly reached into the drawer of the table next to his chair with practiced ease. He removed his pistol and efficiently checked that it was loaded. Releasing the safety he settled back into his chair, held the pistol in his lap and waited. The tip of his cigarette continued to brighten and dim. The car was invisible against the backdrop of the night as it pulled in front of the deeply shadowed porch, engine quietly idling. He heard the cranking of the window as it lowered. He waited in tense silence. After a few moments, the car was shifted into gear and left as quietly as it had come. He didn’t know who drove up that quiet country road and looked at their house, but it had happened before and he was resigned to it happening again, so he continued to keep watch. He had made enemies while serving time in the pen, and they had long memories. When confronted with his present fears, he remembered his past successes. His finger tips sensed the faint clicking of the dial, he saw the narrow guarded beam of the flashlight, and tensed muscles felt the stealthy movements as he entered and left, with the owners sleeping just feet away. The thrill of the tension brought his aging body back to life, and he was young for that moment. After, he remembered, he had gone to Vera and they had loved. He had promised her a beautiful life and she had looked at him with trusting eyes, and believed. The memories took control from him and then he also remembered the last time, the weight of the gun in his pocket and the cops surprising him at the bottom of the stairwell. He had been stupid, he knew, to carry a gun; it meant the difference between a few years and a few decades.