Silence Read online

SILENCE

  By Jeff Munnis

  © 2014 Jeff Munnis

  www.jeffmunnis.com

  www.rockethouse.co

  To Stelli

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHARACTERS

  (where to begin)

  (the glisten of the waves)

  (crushed fruit)

  (the hide of elephants)

  (a metal drawer)

  (confession)

  (smell)

  (all wind brushed away)

  (parallel)

  (papers)

  (plans)

  (a midnight visit)

  (silence)

  (citrus and lumber)

  (24 hour)

  (the empty seat)

  (dead eyes)

  (dare)

  (Christmas morning)

  (not being)

  (fish oil)

  (bone rattling sharp)

  (white sand traps)

  (the last detail)

  (bottom mud)

  (the scar)

  (tied perfectly)

  (my eyes my ears)

  (two boys)

  (glass)

  (dreams of his mother)

  (cut feet)

  (a dead bird dream)

  (something real)

  (a place in the world)

  (inside out)

  (a dry soft wind)

  (curious progression)

  (damn polite)

  (being social)

  (something sour)

  (bottom of the trunk)

  (stretching skin)

  (numb hands)

  (into the mud)

  (the island mud)

  (until now)

  CHARACTERS

  Brian Simmons - the narrator

  Alan Simmons - Brian’s father

  Sarah - Julia’s mother

  Julia - Brian’s illegitimate half-sister

  Claire Simmons - Brian’s mother

  Henry - Julia’s stepfather

  Frank Simmons - Brian’s brother

  William Simmons - Brian’s paternal grandfather

  Harriet - midwife who delivered Brian and Julia

  Mary Lee Simmons - Brian’s paternal grandmother

  Donna - Alan’s assistant

  Michael & Eddie - Donna’s friends

  Note: To keep the line breaks intended by the author, adjust the font size on your e-book reader so the entire sentence below fits one one line:

  I feared one lapse of judgment for him would create a life with only foolish choices

  (where to begin)

  There is always the question of where to begin a story

  even one’s own story

  In dreams we find ourselves in situations without knowing how we arrived

  In our waking life we know we had a beginning called birth

  but who can recall those moments in the womb and immediately after

  We know we will have death

  With the passage of time

  I have come to realize my memory is distorted

  What was eye level to my senses

  I now see was below me

  I simply remember in ways to protect the memory I have

  to protect my understanding of myself

  And there are parts of the story that have been given to me

  by other people

  They remember something different

  always something different

  I turn away from them

  I know there are undisputed facts but I cannot provide them

  I can only give you my interior memory

  with all of its faults and fantasy intertwined

  There is the world outside my skin and the world inside of me

  that longs to come out

  (the glisten of the waves)

  I cannot remember how old I was

  when I first saw the Indian River at night

  just the ride in the car coming home from Titusville Beach

  late in the summer

  We stayed late to build a fire and cook

  The only time I remember being at the beach with Alan

  The skin on his legs was so white it hurt to look at him

  In the dark I had been afraid

  that something would come out of the water after me

  I leaned out of the window and closed my eyes

  wanted to keep my eyes closed until we were home

  but the air changed and I opened them

  just as we came to the River

  The long silver glistening patch of water lit by the moon

  I floated out over the water

  looked up at a million stars

  When the tires hit the bridge the water disappeared

  the air became cool

  and the stars suddenly came into focus

  distant and clear

  From that moment I wanted to get lost in the blur of light

  return to the river at night

  to see the glisten of the waves

  (crushed fruit)

  I was five years old when Sarah found me with Julia

  under her wood-frame house naked

  Floor joists hovered over the sand

  floated next to waves of tall grass

  Julia and I were coated with soil

  the creases of our elbows black with grit

  Julia’s skin like copper paint

  My body dead skin with white and gray bruises

  We crawled out and stood together holding hands

  defiant

  scared

  My father asked me to get my clothes

  but I stood stared back

  my lips trembled

  tears filled my eyes

  He got down on his hands and knees

  reached under the house brought out my clothes

  One shoe was missing

  Cobwebs covered his neck and the back of his shirt

  He took me by the hand and started to walk away

  but Julia would not let go until he yanked our hands apart

  White eyes black faces

  women with folded arms

  men leaning over backs bent

  white t-shirts

  suspenders

  old green army uniforms

  the best shoes in boxes in the closet

  shined with thin leather laces stiff and hard to tie

  They had let me inside their home

  I started crying and he put my pants on over the dirt

  Then he walked me to the car

  put me in the back seat

  and drove down a dirt road deeper into the orange groves

  Smudge pots filled with diesel fuel

  stacks of old tires ready to light

  Everything waited for the temperature to reach dew point

  He stopped

  the dust from the road floated by the car window in a cloud

  I stared at the back of the front seat

  He pulled me out and walked me over to an orange tree

  Diesel fumes and insecticide mingled with the smell of crushed fruit

  He told me to raise my arms and hold on

  His jaws shut tight

  cheeks bulged

  He pulled my pants down just enough

  I mumbled

  started to cry when he took off his belt

  The biting slap of the lashes surprised me

  I lunged forward into the branches to hold on

  Oil on the tree leaves glistened in the heat and light

  My hands slipped off and I fell into the sand

  In each fist a few crumpled leaves

  Pungent odors of the orange trees filled my nose

  (the hide of elephants)

  In stillness a blanket of cold air hovers over the orange trees

  after a cloudless day

  I could feel it slide under the warm air at the surface

  the canopy of leaves holding down the heat released by the soil

  I watched from the car as someone shot a flare

  truck lights flashed

  Black arms gray from sand and smoke

  like the hide of elephants

  Torches made with rags soaked in diesel fuel

  were carried deep into the groves

  The tires and the smudge pots lit to save the fruit from freezing

  Some trees heavy with insecticide and oil caught fire

  Against the light in the sky we saw the charred skeletons of branches

  the ground covered with hollow dried out oranges

  We drove east of Mims to the river

  Red-tailed hawks circled

  confused by the orange firelight

  the plumes of smoke in the dark

  The car lights exposed Kingfishers crowded into the branches of scrub oaks

  Field rats ran from under the trees into ditches

  and the carcasses of last summer’s orange and black banana spiders dropped

  from webs heavy with soot and dust

  their egg sacs scattered over the ground

  almost hidden by the extraordinary work of darkness

  The musky smell of humid air

  alternate waves of green

  silver leaves above brown filaments of grass

  a blend of wet and warm

  The weight of our car pushed black organic liquid out from under grass

  into tire tracks

  We traveled just fast enough to slide into a green parking space

  Behind us a wood building tha
t appeared like a train station

  Gray slat benches and long wide tables

  evenly spaced boards

  chipped

  worn

  cut by oyster shells steamed and dumped out of wire baskets

  We sat down in the long rows

  knives gloves tin plates horseradish ketchup tartar sauce forks lemons

  to a cornucopia of river food

  oysters shrimp mullet crab tangled in sea grass and weed

  burned barnacles catfish bits of wood scooped out of the fire

  ears of corn in aluminum foil tassels singed black

  I sat full of liquid

  tears and pee

  waited for something

  to tell me

  someone to explain the fish eyes

  the cooked odor of the river’s insides

  poured out and dripping

  through rusted nail holes onto my pants and shoes

  (a metal drawer)

  I stood on the couch between Alan and Claire

  and pulled their faces toward mine

  to make all our lips touch

  Claire and I always fell toward Alan to make it work

  He would sit with his shoulders square to the back of the couch

  and push me back into Claire’s arms

  I stopped

  and then I began to circle him

  I walked behind his chairs

  outside his reach

  not to find my way in

  but to imagine his discomfort

  to defend myself against his movement

  to suck the security out of everyone around him

  He made fools of people that wanted his money

  they were children