Heights That Aren't High

This is just a start; the title I gave it is not permanent. Enjoy:

Jack drove on a curvy road in Georgia and wet, green branches swayed on either side of him and he hummed Here Comes the Sun by the Beatles with the radio. He stared and he worried. Thoughts danced in his mind and crisscrossed and jumped until he abandoned them all. I will act naturally, he thought.

Jack eased his station wagon up his uncle's driveway. He walked to the door and rang the bell. Two stone owls perched high above Jack's head on the balcony and stared down at him. A cloud floated in front of the sun; the light dimmed. Three neatly stacked bundles of wood leaned against the right side of the house. Jack sighed. The door swung open and a short, fat man hopped out.

“Jack my boy; I've waited for you all morning! Come in and stay a while.”

“It's nice to see you Earl, but I really can't stay—Jim is dead,” said Jack.

Earl's brow sunk and the wrinkles on the edges of his eyes loosened.

“Your brother was—you know Jack, I'm really sorry.”

Jack looked past Earl into the brown eyes of a Moose's head mounted on the wall inside.

“You're right,” said Jack.

He took a step into the house. Earl pulled the coat off Jack's shoulders and hung it in a small closet and shut the door.

“You won't need that for a good while. I've got many things to tell and the ale will warm your bones,” said Earl. Jack smiled sadly.

Earl led Jack through a long hallway with seven doors on either side and up a coiled stair and out a door onto the balcony with the stone owls. They both sat down. Between the two chairs was a small table with two mugs of beer on it. Jack reached over and picked up a mug and took a large drink.

“This stuff is damn sweet Earl. Where'd you buy it?”

“Buy it? I brewed it myself! Tapped from a fresh keg this morning. I was low on hops and hadn't the time for a run into town. Augusta must be nearly fifty miles out.”

“I didn't mean to offend you. It's a delightful sweetness. Sweetness with an explanation—it tells a story.”

“Don't worry about it Jack. Beer is the least of our worries. It just helps us through.”
“Cheers to that. Say Earl, how's your wife doing up in South Carolina?”

Jack raised his mug to clang it against Earl's. Earl responded only with a frown.

“Jack my boy, when I told you that Carla had gone up to South Carolina I didn't mention she'd traveled in a coffin.”

“I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. Let's speak of something good. How's Clyde been?”

“My brother was well.” Earl frowned again. “He was playing guitar at a café in Augusta and the place burnt down. He was helping everyone to get out and a big, wooden beam fell on him.”

“I think we're going to need another beer.”

“I'll go prepare two more each,” said Earl.

“That sounds fine. I’m very hungry. Do you have anything to eat?”

“Tomorrow I’ll prepare a good breakfast. A good breakfast and a good match of table tennis. Do you play much table tennis Jack?”

“I’ve played a few times. I’m not much of a player though.”

“You’re the vigorous type, Jack. You’ll play well enough.”

They drank through the day until they were full of bliss. They discussed the happy and the sad and the large and the small. Night came and they slept outside, near a pond full of Narrowmouth toads, in two hammocks. The air was warm.

Jack awoke with a thought. He turned his neck and looked over to the other hammock and saw Earl sleeping. The grass was cool, filled with dew. He walked through the grass and into the house and through a room filled with Gold Flames and Butcher’s Brooms and Lavender Cottons and into the main hallway with seven doors on either side. He thought. The wooden trim that bordered each door was either elegant or brutish or simple or complex or rugged or smooth. Each door told a story. Jack was curious and entered the first door on the left. A suit of armor towered over him, stacked on a large wooden block in the center of the room. The rest of the room was bare. Jack walked up to the block and read the description.

B a b a N o b u f u s a
1 5 1 4 – 1 5 7 5
K a w a n a k a j i m a

“Good morning Jack,” said Earl.

Jack turned around and saw Earl wearing only his under garments, smiling and holding a bar of soap.

“This is an interesting piece of history you have here, Earl. Why didn’t you say anything about it before? And what happened to your clothes?”

“Keep your small talk. Come in the pond with me Jack!”

“What about breakfast?”

“After we bathe we’ll eat a good breakfast of ham and eggs and have a good match of table tennis.”

Jack bit his tongue and let some air out through his nose and slowly formed a smile.
“This water is filth!” said Jack.

“You must get used to it, boy. The plumbing to the bathroom is all broken. I haven’t an idea of how it happened. I didn’t bother to fix it because it’s only me here now and I can stand bathing in the pond.”

“Fair enough.”

Jack knew exactly how it had been broken. Good wives like Clara break things in their houses on purpose to keep their husbands busy, he thought. They both walked out into the water and used the bar of soap to scrub themselves clean and wash their hair. Jack came out and then Earl came out.

“I’ll fetch two towels for us,” said Earl.

Jack nodded. They dried off and walked into the kitchen where Earl opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs and two chunks of ham.

“Go down to the basement and bring back a fresh gallon of milk while I start the eggs,” said Earl.

“Where’s the basement?”

“Go down the hall and at the end, on the left, there is the door.”

“Right.”

Jack walked down the hall and opened the door. He looked down into a dark room. The stair was steeper and longer than he had ever seen and he held the rail while he stepped down. In the center of the room he saw a string hanging down from the ceiling. He tugged it and a dim bulb brightened above him. The refrigerator was in the corner standing on a small rug surrounded by concrete. He opened the refrigerator and saw that nothing was inside. He groaned, tugged the string again to turn the light off, and walked back up the stair and down the hall into the kitchen.

“Damn little eggs! I’ll show you how it is to burn!” said Earl.

Jack tapped Earl on the shoulder and Earl spun around.

“There wasn’t any milk left in the basement.”

“You startled me Jack. Don’t worry about the milk. These eggs are scoundrels; I cooked them with water.”

“What’s there to drink?”

“I’ve got bourbon and wine and beer.”

“Do you have anything besides alcohol? It’s a bit too early for me.”

“That’s fine. I have some cranberry juice in the refrigerator up here.”

“That’s fine.”

Earl sprinkled the eggs with grated cheese and dumped in the diced ham. They ate the eggs and ham and cheese. The eggs had a dark brown crisp on the surface. Earl explained to Jack that he’d burnt them just enough to tame them and bring out the best flavor they had to offer. They sat in silence; the good breakfast sat in their bellies well.