Growler

“It was kinda like I became a bird, one of them big ones, but powerful, an eagle or somethin’,” he said, settling himself on the cut section of log he used as a smoking bench, “and everything dropped away under me. I could see absolutely everything, right there, I could feel that wind as I flexed. I know I wasn’t no damn bird but it felt like maybe I was one, with her. It only lasted months, but there I was, I was riding a thermal on the edge of her storm.” He chuffs on his cigarette and I wait while he coughs and coughs, “Damn, I wish it would just make it quick, because this coughing s**t sucks. You know what a storm smells like, son, one of them big growlers, coming out of the south? You know, right ‘bout that time the thunder starts callin’ and everyone starts going inside? That smell, just before the rain comes spittin’ down. I always smelled that, ‘round her. But that’s a young man dream, son, I’m too old for that s**t now. Others? Well now.” Coughed more and stubbed out his smoke, chuckled as he slid the butt into the long neck of an empty wine bottle waiting just within reach. “I never told nobody this, boy, but I’ll tell you since you asked. Sure, there’s been plenty of others. Over the years. Well, a few, you know a real gent don’t kiss and tell. You do know one of ‘em real good, and she’d beat my a*s if she knew I was telling you this, but you asked, and it don’t matter none now anyway. With that woman, it was different than all the rest. When I was with her, boy, that woman, it was like we was lightening. We was lighting, and we was always seeking out the ground.” Looked at me with his yellow eye. “But I’m just too old for that s**t no more.”