Talia's Story

Just an idea that hit me today. (The photo is also my creation)

The sun is sinkin’ behind the horizon in a burst of oranges, reds and yellas. Looks like the heavens are paintin’ a picture and tellin’ me everythin’s gonna be okay. I’m sittin’ on my porch in my rockin’ chair tryin’ to keep cool. Fields of wheat and corn sway in a kind'a graceful dance, movin’ with the gentle, hot breeze. Sometimes it lulls me to sleep and I wake with a crick in my neck. This evenin’ the wheat is singin’ a song of sorrow for me.

It’s been long enough for people to start wonderin’. I can see Deputy Billy Rae Colin comin’ up the road. I reckon I should fill you in on the story before he gets here to take me away. 

###

Mamma told me not to marry him. “He’s a no good coward of a man, Talia. No woman with any sense would have nothin’ to do with that Wyatt Blane,” she said. “He’s just an ornery hound dog. You don’t see it, but it’s there, girl. You’re under a spell by those big eyes and muscles a’his.  You’ll see. One day he’s gonna turn on ya.” Somehow, even then, I knew she was right, but love has a way of blindin’ ya and makin’ your good sense dry up like the mud on Thompson Road in the August heat. 

We were married on a hot day in July, the bees buzzin’ and the smell of Junie’s barbeque ribs and apple pies in the air. We laughed and danced, and Skinner brought out the banjo and played with the boys. We danced and ate until the sun came up.  Ain't nobody had a single worry. If only things could’a stayed as good as they were on that day. 

Wyatt didn’t have no family. His Ma and Pa died when he was little. He was raised by his Grandpa who was mean and bitter ‘til the day he died. I guess a bit of that nastiness crept up into Wyatt little bits at a time. Not many people in these parts liked Wyatt much.  Even Deputy Billy Rae Colin said, after he seen my broken arm and the bruises on my face, “A man like Wyatt don’t deserve to be breathin’ life. He’d be doin’ the world a favor if he were pushin’ up daisies.” 

I tried growin’ daisies once, but they just withered an' died. Didn’t matter how much I tried to take care of ‘em. Mamma said it was ‘cause the ground was too sweet.  She said daisies need some bitter soil to grow. 

It was after we got married I found out about Wyatt’s mean side. Some mornin’s I’d wake up to a stranger instead of the man I thought I’d married.  He’d just roll on top of me and do his business and then he’d just slunk downstairs yellin’ for his breakfast. If the eggs were too runny or the bacon was overdone, I’d know by the side of his hand as it hit my face so hard I’d wind up on the floor. I didn’t dare cry, ‘cause that would set Wyatt to cussin’ and hittin’ more. 

I found out the hard way 'bout Wyatt not wantin’ to have no children. One evenin’ I got busy fixin’ Wyatt his favorite supper of fried chicken, butter beans, and corn on the cob. I was wearin’ my best dress and smilin’ big enough to make the sun jealous. 

“Girl, what in God’s name you smilin’ about?” Wyatt dropped himself into his seat at the table. I looked down at my belly and put my hand on the growin’ lump there, wonderin’ if it was a girl or a boy. “And why ain’t my dinner on the table?”

I put the plate of supper in front of him and walked back to the kitchen. “Where the hell are my biscuits, woman? You know I can’t eat without no biscuits.” 

I set the plate of steamin’ biscuits down and sat to eat my supper. “Ain’t you good for nothin’?  Where the hell’s my damn beer? And why you got that smile on your face? You look like a fool. Stupid woman; makes you look more ugly than you already are.”

I put the beer on the table and sat down.  “We’re gonna have us a baby, Wyatt.” I didn’t think anythin’ could take away the happiness I was feelin’.

He stared at me, his dark eyes cold as Bear Lake in the winter. He didn’t say a word all through supper, except to ask for a cold beer.

Later that night when we were goin’ upstairs to get ready for bed, I said, “I wonder if it’ll be a boy or a girl. If it’s a boy, we can name him Wyatt Jr. and if it’s a girl…” I felt the sting of the back of his hand against my cheek. I grabbed on to the railin’ so as not to fall down the stairs.

“Woman, I don’t want no damn children. Now you gone and got yourself knocked up.” He lifted his foot and kicked me square in the belly. I fell back and hit my head on the step so hard I blacked out. When I woke up, they tol' me I was lucky I didn’t die like my baby. I can’t have children no more on account of my insides bein’ all messed up.  More than just my baby died inside me in that hospital.

The night I got home, Wyatt was sittin’ in his chair in the livin’ room. The house smelled of rose perfume; the kind you could buy in big bottles down at the general store. When he heard the door close, Wyatt said, “I hope to hell you had a nice little vacation in that hospital.” Without even turnin’ to look at me, he said, “Well? What’a ya waitin’ for? Get me my supper.” 

I went into the kitchen and put the fryin’ pan on to heat. Lard has a kinda soothin’ sound when it hits a hot pan. Sounds like a million snakes all hissin’ at once.

“Talia!” Wyatt yelled from the livin’ room. “Don’t you know to get me my beer? Dang it to hell.” I reckoned he could get his own beer for once.  I heard the creak of the chair as Wyatt stood, heard the thumps of his big ol’ heavy boots bringin’ him into the kitchen. “Damnit, woman, ya’ can’t do nothin’ right. You’d best be takin’ lessons from Nellie. Now, there’s a woman knows how to take care of a man.” The bottles in the fridge tickled each other soundin’ like a wind-chime on a breezy day. “And I don’t need to be tellin’her to get me my damn beer. Cooks a damn fine meal, too.”

The pan was as red hot as the fire inside me. I hit him square in the face with that pan, and kept hittin’ until my anger was done. Under the light of the moon, I dug a hole, right there to the left of the porch, and Wyatt was laid to rest.

###

“Good evenin’, Talia. Sure is hot.” Billy Rae is standin’ on the steps of my porch.

“Evenin’, Billy Rae. Can I getcha some nice, cold lemonade?” I ask him.

“That would be mighty fine. I think I’ll take a seat if you don’t mind.”

When I come back to the porch, Billie Rae is sittin’ on the top step, leanin’ against the railin’. “Looks like rain.”  His hat's off and he’s fannin’ himself with it.

 

“Here you go.” I say as I hand him the glass of lemonade. 

 

“Thank you, Talia. Much obliged.” Billie Rae drinks a bit and relaxes. 

“The daisies are lookin' real good, Talia.  Shame you can't take 'em with ya." 

“I reckon.” I say.

He smiles and says, “I guess they just needed some bitter earth to get ‘em to grow right.” He finishes the rest of his lemonade in three swallahs. “Storm clouds are comin’. Hope it’ll cool down this heat some.” He stands up and hands me the glass. “Thank ya' honey.  I'll see ya after my shift.   We'll get everythin' moved to our new place t'night long as the rain holds out.”

Thinkin' back as I walk into the house, I realize I’ll never know why Billie Rae showed up at the house on that night, but it was a blessin’ for Wyatt, and for me I reckon. After the shot that put Wyatt out of his misery, Billie Rae took me in his arms, right here on this porch. He didn’t let go even after I stopped shakin’ and cried every tear I had. 

I walk into the house and  put the glass in the sink.  I get the scissors on the counter. I think I’ll cut me a bouquet of daisies.

Author's Note

Don't know if the ideas flow well, if some areas are too short in description, or if the dialogue is natural, etc. If you see anything that doesn't fit, or any errors at all, let me know. Thanks. :)

Reviews

[Corvus]

I think this was very well done. The 'm' rating didn't seem to suit this too much, but it was still a good story. The western theme and the accents really added to imagining Talia as a character. The ending is just as well done.

[Creepy Swine Guy]

I think that the story, that is the content, the idea, are excellent. It is very near perfect. What didn't work for me was to try to put the accent/dialect into your story. I read somewhere that this was to be avoided. It took a smidge away from a VERY solid story. My suggestion would be to skim the dialect out and end up with something near perfection.