Perceived Slight

What I go through. You wouldn't believe. Just as I set down to write it gets several stages darker, big winds, the leaves turn inside out, thunder, I start writing anyway, fuck it, I've lost more than a paragraph before, I can deal with it. I make some notes, actually write longhand, by candle, because I had thought far enough ahead to get supplies available. I'd written some replies earlier, I assume they're in storage, beyond this lightening bolt, saved somewhere. Coming a blow. Wait for the first drops to spatter before you close any windows, consider ventilation, changing stale house air for a batch of ozone. Hadn't worked with B's nephew, Bear, in a few years and it was good to be around his profane self. He drinks beer like it was water, is as strong as an ox, curses like a sailor. Bam, lightening close, catches me looking NW and blinds me for a minute. Fast moving cell, 30 mph, with winds to 60 mph, roaring over the ridges. I feel exposed, shit, I am exposed, the house shudders. A choice I made. Hate writing longhand, so laborious and you still have to transcribe. So, eight years ago Bear was helping me on my house, lending brute force when necessary, and I had bought a whole leg of lamb, for a dinner party. B likes lamb as much as I do, and his brother, too, so they were coming with significant others and we were grilling the rubbed leg slow, off the heat, then crisping the outside over high heat. I was relatively new to The Creek, not intending a family affair, but Bear's sister (the impossibly cute park ranger) was at her father's house and sure, she should come too, with current lover. Bear takes such offense that I don't ask him and his family that his anger is palpable, he calls during dinner, to ream me out. The perceived slight. The dynamic moment that charged and changed a relationship. I didn't ask them because I didn't have enough plates, food, and chairs. After eight years, he's mellowed somewhat, though still calls me by just my last name, as in -Bridwell, you mother-fucker, what's going on?- Back then I felt he was always on the edge of violence, he intimidated by his very presence, but since, he's survived a head-on car crash that would have killed anyone else, and then last year, you may have read about it, a Creek Guy shot a kid, at distance, through a pick-up truck, with a high-powered rifle, twice, for stealing a bale of hay (to use as a target base, honing his bow-hunting skills) and the kid bled out in Bear's arms, waiting for a misdirected 911 response, and he had known the shooter most of his life. Maybe we're most changed by events over which we have no control. Into town today to do the laundry and get a few things, stopped at B and Sarah's place on the way home (it is right on the way) to see if they had finished the roof, have a beer, and he had picked up the same vibes I had, me working with Bear again, the perceived slight. Deep background. This is like a one-page novel (a nod to Mr. McCord) because to really tell the story it would be, what, like a 100 pages, these people, this place, so interesting. Think of me as Jack Webb or Nick Adams, just the facts. Oh, wait, they're both fiction. Reality is like molasses, you get bogged down in it, and sometimes that's a good thing, you can't pay enough attention to detail. I've solved the computer problem, the over-heating-mid-summer thing, after that talk with B, because heat rises and cold sinks, and if I place a saucer on top of the black Dell and put a frozen 2 pound yogurt container of ice on the saucer it seems I can cool my mainframe. Excellent, I'm already paying for the fridge and there's no added incurred cost, hidden expenses. Coming home, there is no one at the lake, odd for this time of year, and I can see a book on the picnic table down near the water, I'm curious enough to stop, walk down and check the title, it's one of those self-help things for lost Christians, I throw it in the trash and feed the ducks bread I salvaged from the dumpster behind Kroger. God, I feel good, I'm still alive, bless the little children, I'm sure they contribute something, nothing holds a candle to the way I feel about you. An owl, there is hooting in the distance, any country road, you stop to neck, there they are:

Three crows...