Violet

A very short story. A young girl and an old man help each other move on

Violet

Joe Brown looked out the window across the path at the little girl.  She sat huddled on the stairs, hugging her knees to her too frail body, as if she were cold, even though the air remained stagnant with the remembered heat of yesterday. A tattered white rag, that was meant to be a dress, hung from her tiny frame.  

A wave of dizziness forced him to grab hold of the window sill. As he stepped away from the window, his heart seemed to curl into a tight ball in his chest, making his knees weak with the pain that ran through his body. He had a moment to wonder if he would ever breathe again, before air filled his lungs, and he slid back into the recliner that sat beside the window.

As soon as he was able, Joe shuffled onto the porch clutching a crumpled box of cereal in one hand, and a small pitcher of milk in the other.  He reached into the deep pockets of the thin robe that did its best to cover his wasted body, and withdrew two wooden bowls, placing them side by side on the table, before sinking into his chair to wait for her. 

As she approached the porch, he sang Old McDonald, as he rocked back and forth in the rickety old chair. Her feet didn’t make any noise as she climbed the few steps to stand in front of him, but he knew she was there all the same.

“Good Morning Mr. Joe,” she said, as the last words of the song died in the stifling morning air. 

“Well, if it isn’t an angel fell right from heaven,” he said, smiling and opening his arms to her. 

The girl ran to him, throwing herself onto his lap, unknowingly forcing the air from his lungs, sending another sharp blast of pain into his heart. Closing his eyes, he forced a smile, as he pushed her gently away to take a closer look at her.

Joe Brown had lived on his little piece of land for more than 60 years.  Once he had had a wife, his beautiful Violet, kids, and even some friends, but they were all gone now, dead, one by one.  Once upon a time his wife’s people had stayed on the piece of land where the girl now lived, but hard times and ambition for a better life, had lured them up north years ago. 

Ever since, one raggedy family after another had come to stay.  Sometimes they stayed for a couple of years, sometimes a couple of months, once for only a couple of days.  He had watched them come and go never bothering them, and hoping that they would do the same for him.  That was until the woman and the girl had come. 

One day an old beat up station wagon had come roaring up the dirt rode.  A tall woman, the color of butter, had flung herself out the car, stomping towards the sagging old house, a string of curses following behind her.  He had stood to retreat inside his own house, when the woman had stopped.  Marching back to the car, the woman yanked open the door, and pulled out a small silent girl. Joe watched as she dragged the girl the short distance between the car and the house, and thrust her inside.

That same night Joe had wandered onto the porch, in search of a cool breeze and the calming song of summer crickets. He was surprised by a small form sitting hunched over on the stairs across the path.  She was so quiet and still, that at first, he had thought that she had fallen asleep.

“Little Miss,” he called, across the small patch of dirt that separated them, “this ain’t no place to sleep, a mountain lion is apt to get you, if you ain’t careful.”

            “There’s no lions here mister, we’re in Alabama,” she said. 

They had laughed together and from then on they had been friends.  Soon he had learned that her mother often worked late. While her mother worked, she expected the little girl to stay outside.  Sometimes she worked for a few minutes. Oftentimes she worked all night and forgot about the girl.  On those nights the girl and Joe would sit together talking, playing checkers, or reading by the light of the moon.

Every morning he would share whatever little food he had, since he knew, that even though she never complained, food was scarce at her house. Today as he stared down into her upturned face, he felt himself growing angry as he noticed the small, but frightening changes that she could not hide.

 Skin that should have been radiant from the sun’s warmth mixed with hours of play was dull and stretched taunt against too easily visible bones. Beautiful thick hair that should have been a showcase for a mother’s pride was dry and unattended coated in the red dirt that seemed to be trapped in the heavy air.  Her lips were withered and pinched covered in painful looking cracks filled with dried blood.

“Time to eat angel,” Old Joe said, fighting a grimace as he stood to help her into the one remaining chair on the porch.

 A touch of panic skittered through him, as he reached towards the girl, and another pain, sharper than any he had felt before, pierced his heart, sucking the breath from his lungs. 

             “You’re going to be okay Mr. Joe,” the girl said.

            “Is that right?” he asked, allowing his eyes to close as he lowered himself into his chair and leaned his head back, sucking in slow deep breaths, in an attempt to push away the pain. 

“We better eat for it gets too hot,” he said, sighing as he thought about the heat the already rising sun would bring with it. 

“She’s coming sir,” the girl said, looking down the dusty road, a brilliant smile suddenly making her face seem like the 5-year-old she was. 

“Who…who’s that?” he asked, following her outstretched hand with his tired eyes.  “I don’t see nobody,” he said. Worry furrowed his brow as he looked from the empty road back to the girl, who had risen to stand at the edge of the porch. 

“Come on its time to go, look she’s waiting for us,” she said.

            Suddenly the world around Joe exploded with sound.  Crickets, birds, and frogs, all sang as one.  A cool gust of air rushed up the road raising clouds of dust into whirlpools that danced down the path.  As suddenly as it had begun, all the noise drained from the day and clear pale light filled the gray morning. Joe could make out a tall figure moving slowly down the road towards them and his heart lifted with joy. Years of unshed tears flowed down his withered cheeks as the figure came closer. 

            “It’s time to go Joe,” she said, extending her arms to him. 

 Holding tightly onto the girl’s hand, Joe stepped off the porch into the waiting arms of his Violet.