walkin' dusty roads part 4  

sparkee58 59M
606 posts
6/30/2006 1:59 am

Last Read:
8/23/2006 8:24 am

walkin' dusty roads part 4

Most of the time, Honey saw Dusty without flaws. In her mind he was her cowboy, her hero, her ideal. He wasn't the weekend cowboy, not the kind that kicked up his ostrich- skinned heels at the country music beer joints but the real deal. Strong, mostly silent, courageous. Virtuous. Whatever that meant. Sometimes that word can be twisted like ivy. Slowly at first, and then like a speeding train roaring past, love totally overwhelmed her senses.
He was different than the small town losers that she had gone to high school with and who still roamed around the county in their beat up pickups, drinking beer and shooting holes in speed limit signs. You could claim youthful indiscretion, but they were still doing it at thirty. And conversation with them was like work. A lot of her crew was local.
Honey didn't consider herself a bad 'bossman'. But just like everywhere else a lot of inexperienced world class pricks had been given authority. The cost overruns from incompetence were staggering. Some things never change.
She sat on her swing, drinking a mango dacquiri. They had mangoes at the flea market last weekend and she had picked up a couple. She had read about the drink somewhere, she told Dusty. The drink was cool and sweet, the glass slick with condensation. She was alone, Dusty had stopped at Jethro's for a few beers and some pool with Spike.
It was about twilight, darkness creeping in on quiet cat's paws, the deep woods growing silent around her. Ducks flapped overhead, dark as small clouds and dropped to the pond out back.
She finished the dregs of her drink, turning it up so some ran down Dusty's big tshirt that she wore. Getting up from the swing, she went to the kitchen and emptied the contents of the clear blender into the glass.

Dusty and Spike sat at the crude wooden bar drinking beer. The pool tables were full. Men stood around in dirty workclothes, clutching warm beer in grimy hands, discussing the job, the weather, old times and new hopes. Dusty watched out of the corner of his eye as Stan stood behind Angel and helped her with a shot.
Spike used a ruler edge and made boxes on a piece of white paper, concentrating hard. When he was done he scribbled initials in all the boxes but one, using several different pens and his thick carpenter's pencil. He showed it to Dusty, who nodded his head.
"Winner gets a fishing trip," said Spike.
"Okay. I'm going to the bathroom."
Dusty walked out back. The tall kid from Honey's crew staggered out and smiled drunkenly when he saw Dusty.
"How's Puss in boots, man?" he asked, standing in front of the doorway. He puffed away on an unlit joint.
Dusty silently stood there looking at him.
"I bet that's some good stuff," he continued. He held a red bic lighter to his face
Dusty grabbed him by the loose folds of his dirty tshirt and slammed his back against the cinderblock wall. His head wobbled and struck it hard. The joint fell to the ground. Dusty continued to hold his shirt, waiting for his eyes to focus.
"If I ever hear you say anything about her again, I will carry your sorry ass up to the top of the cooling tower and throw you off."
He released him and walked past into the bathroom.
When he returned a few minutes later, he sat down again beside Spike. A fresh beer was on the bar before him. The paper lay there, also. The last square was filled in.

It was dark when Dusty drove his jeep down the winding path home. He turned the last corner and was surprised to see that every light in the house was on and the front door was wide open. He sped up, stopped hard, killed the engine and ran up the steps onto the porch.
A mason jar lay overturned on the table by the swing. A peach colored liquid seeped out and puddled on the wooden planks below it. He set it upright. Walking inside, he shut the door behind him.
"Honey," he said loudly. He looked around the big open, cedar walled room and saw her sprawled out on the plush sofa. He stood over her. She was dressed in black jeans and a dark tshirt. His Marlin 22 caliber rifle lay on the floor beside her, the pink rod used to load bullets out of the gun and to the side. A box of shells lay open and brass and silver bullets lay on the floor like shiny tossed stones. The keys to her jeep were on the table closeby.
He bent down and gently shook her. She stirred.
"Honey," he whispered.
"Ummmmmm," she moaned and turned over. She opened her mouth and started snoring. He could smell the rum. He got up the rifle and the ammunition and locked it in his jeep. He went into the kitchen and washed out the blender and threw away the slick mango rinds. Then he turned out the lights and went out back to sit by the pond.
It was a warm night but a gentle breeze blew across the dark water. The sky was almost clear; a few dark clouds floated by like hags on broomsticks. Stars twinkled, a glass chandelier, and the half moon was reflected on the lake's mirror surface. Dusty sat in one of the heavy wooden chairs and looked out, his mind a wildfire of thoughts.
An hour later he heard Honey walking down the path and soon she stood over him, holding her nightgown together. She smiled at him wistfully. Then she bent over and they kissed. She sat down beside him.
"Going hunting, were you?"
"Season's over."
"Never over for this game."
"That's pretty fucking stupid."
Honey was silent. They stared out across the lake. Her hand crept over and took his and squeezed.
"I know. I was drunk."
"Looks like it."
"I couldn't get it loaded, anyway."
"Sure did had a lot of bullets, there killer. What were you gonna do, swiss cheese somebody?"
"It just drives me crazy that he's walking around.
And I've tried to talk to Angel. She just tunes me out. But that's her prerogative. I'm not her mother..."
"Hey," said Dusty, stopping her slurry monolog.
"I brought you something. A gift from one of your crew."
"Don't worry. They dropped it."
"They dropped it. It could be a trick. It could be spiked with angel dust or pcp or something."
"Fine. I'll just throw it away.
"Don't be rash. Let me smell it."
He held it out before her and Honey smiled. She held it to her nose and inhaled. Dusty handed her the lighter and she sat back in the chair and happily puffed away.

Nina_Dee 62F

6/30/2006 9:57 am

I was sent by Cats - Came upon her by chance. She recommended you, so here I am.. I can see why she did.
I'm here (Japan) on business and will return to the UK in a couple of weeks - I hope that we can interact through blogging? But then again, that is you prerogative, you may not like what I post! I have been away for quite a while and rejoined this week.

sparkee58 replies on 7/1/2006 2:08 am:
any friend of Cats....
thanks for stopping by.
you have an interesting blog; i hope you don't mind if i bookmark it.
can i call you Nina?

rm_lust2u2 53M

6/30/2006 8:57 pm

Do write a book!

sparkee58 replies on 7/1/2006 2:50 am:
it is before you
most of it, anyway

rm_lust2u2 53M

6/30/2006 9:04 pm

Have you ever consider to write a book?

sparkee58 replies on 7/1/2006 2:10 am:
i've been writing the same novel for thirty years


7/3/2006 12:10 pm

picturing Huny I mean Honey high

just a squirrel trying to get a nut

sparkee58 replies on 7/3/2006 1:13 pm:
look at that angelic smile above and see if you want to rephrase that

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