The Wake

It was do or die for us. The air was cold and naughty. We felt like that feeling you get when you walk outside on winter days—cold and depressed. I don’t know why but there was this thing that was standing solid on the side of the passage—idle, like the mind of a dumb person. It was frozen, probably from the cold—because winters here are known for not being liked by many people. As luck would have it, a car drove towards us at a snails pace and finally picked us up. The man had a darkness to him, like a sandwich left out overnight. I didn’t know how to show my friend how the cow at the cabbage so I remained still and silent hoping my friend would see the figures’ cud for himself. He turned around to the back seat and said “Hello” to me. He then looked to my cohort and gave a grin from ear to ear. His face twitching like the beat of a drum. “I don’t mean to make a mountain out of a molehill, but did you two rabble-rousers introduce that edifice to my land?” Mike looks over to me concerned. I know what he is thinking. His worried face said to me, let’s make like a tree Jim. Let’s leave. “We didn’t leave that on your property. Our car hit the bucket down the road a ways. Could you give us a ride to the nearest petroleum depot? We are tired and cold from walking.” The man, looking at us, not paying attention to the road, stopped and asked us to get out. “You darn kids and your punk rock music. Get the Sam Hill out of my car.”

Our hell became frozen over. Craving the warmth, our screams fail to break the clouds. And so we stood still, like a person meditating, hoping we donn’t kick the bucket in the bleak cold.