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Writing.Com Item ID: #638736
Title: April's Garden - 1
Item Type: Static Item
Brief: This is the first written draft of the first chapter/section
of a story in progress.
Last Modified: 10-26-2003 @ 4:32pm
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April's Garden - 1
The midmorning sun was just reaching over the top of the roof, shining down into the back garden. Charlie trudged from the back porch to the edge of the small lawn, with a bucket in hand. There he dropped the bucket and surveyed the garden before him, holding his large, square hands up to his woolly brow. The lawn continued in paths between several beds where late spring flowers bloomed amidst the debris of last summer's vegetation and unharvested vegetables.
The lines that crossed his forehead deepened even with the shade of his hand. He dropped his hand as he turned his back to the sun. His shoulders slumped in his blue plaid flannel shirt and he looked less than his six foot frame as dismay overtook him.
He had ignored the garden since Margaret's death. None of the end-of-summer, fall or early spring chores had been done. The weeds and some unwanted vegetable volunteers had had a chance to gain a foothold. Now it would take a great deal of effort to get it cleaned up in time for Karen's arrival. The last thing he wanted was for her to be nagging him about the garden and all its work. She had made it clear that she wanted no part of the work in the garden when she agreed to bring April and come live with him. She had never shared his and Margaret's love of the garden.
Charlie reached into the bucket and pulled out a pair of kneepads and strapped them on over his worn jeans. He let himself fall to his knees before reaching in again to pull out a small garden fork and began raking at the weeds, tossing them into the bucket as he released them from the soil. Occasionally, he'd drop the fork and gather a pile of last year's dried foliage and add it to the bucket as well.
The sun on his back was warm and it wasn't long before dark, damp patches grew under his arms and down his spine, and drops of sweat covered his face. He scowled when a drop reached the tip of his nose and he wiped his face against his arm, irritated that he hadn't chosen a more suitable shirt for the weather, but determined to finish this bed before going inside. He'd sat alone inside long enough -- all through fall, winter and most of spring. The indoors could hold him no longer.
He continued to work into the afternoon. He was focused on his task, not paying close attention to the flowers that Margaret had so loved. Not wanting to add tears to the moisture that already bathed his face uncomfortably. He neither saw nor heard the sounds of the garden birds and insects. Their songs faded as afternoon overtook the day.
As Charlie worked somewhat feverishly and mindlessly, he became aware of a slight buzzing about his ears. He waved his hand about his head, but the buzzing kept returning. Thoughts of Margaret kept trying to take over his thoughts and he focused harder on getting rid of the weeds and debris that had taken over the beds.
Charlie was hot and sweaty, in no mood to put up with petty annoyances. Each time he waved away whatever it was that was buzzing about him, his irritation grew.
A butterfly or dragonfly, or, more likely, a large bee hovered in his peripheral vision. With all the accumulated anger and frustration, he turned to better be able to swat it. But when he looked, it was gone. Puzzlement added to his irritability. He waved his dirty hand anyway, sending dirt flying about his face where bits and pieces stuck to the sweaty dampness.
"What is it with the bees today?" he wondered as he turned back to his weeding, grunting as he pulled out some deeper rooted weeds.
Latep laughed, rolling on the ground, holding his sides.
"I hardly think it's that funny," Asor said.
"He got dirt all over his face. Did you see?"
Asor grimaced.
"Yes, he did."
Latep sat up and brushed himself off.
"You have no sense of humor, Asor."
"I don't see anything funny about annoying the man. It does him no good and if you're not careful, you'll find yourself swatted into the ground."
Latep stood up and did a cartwheel. He turned to look up at Asor and grinned.
"Unlikely. He's too slow. I'd left before he even had his hand up."
He laughed again and fluttered away.
Asor sighed and went back to tossing aphids.
"He's right, you know."
"Fael! Your sneaking up on me is just as annoying as Latep's constant teasing of Charlie."
Fael crossed his arms across his chest, and tapped his foot against a leaf.
"I don't intend to 'sneak up' on you. I can't help it if your back is always turned when I come."
"Humph."
Fael jumped from the rosebud into the iris patch and slid down a long tapering leaf to the ground.
"You have to admit," he called back up to Asor, "it's pretty dull around here. Not just since Margaret went beyond, either. He hasn't planted anything new in years. Everything got to be nothing but routine, routine. And now he has no heart at all, any more."
He scowled at Asor.
"You're not any better, either!"
Asor ignored him and grabbed an aphid by the knees and flung it out beyond the garden bed, all the while muttering to himself.
"'Routine, routine,' he says. What does he think keeps the garden going? Playing around like Latep? Humph!"
Fael waited a few moments for an answer. He noted Asor's excellent distance in tossing the aphids. When he received no clear response, he sighed and turned to watch Charlie.
The sun was still high and it was hot and going to get hotter before the day was over. Charlie continued to work in the bed nearest the patio. Fael wondered why he bothered. He had not been in the garden for ten long months. Now, he clearly wasn't enjoying the flowers. He doubted Charlie even saw them. Garden chores should be pleasant to do, even the weeding and cleaning. Charlie did them like an automaton, but with grunts and groans and even an occasional curse or two. As he continued to work, he had become redder than the roses where Asor was working and his face oozed moisture much like the drip hoses he'd installed in the azalea bed.
Latep had enlisted Ainniz and Rewolf to buzz Charlie again. Charlie batted at them absently while he tried to get more weeds out. After a few minutes of this he just sat there with his hands on his knees. After receiving no reaction for several flybys, the trio drifted over to Fael.
"Something's wrong!" Ainniz declared.
Asor responded from behind Fael.
"Why, because he doesn't play your game? 'Bout time he wised up to you!"
"It's not like him not to respond when we buzz. It's like he can't hear us anymore."
Latep sounded disappointed.
Rewolf looked at Fael with concern on his face.
"Come look, Fael. Ainniz and Latep complain only because of the game, but something really is wrong."
Rewolf and Fael fluttered over to Charlie, who had started to pull weeds again. But Fael noticed that the grunts were no longer only for the effort of pulling deep roots. Charlie's every breath had become an effort for him. Rewolf and Fael had seen this before and they turned to stare at each other for a moment before sounding the alarm.
Charlie was beyond hearing, but had he been able, and had he cared, he would have heard the squirrels begin chucking loudly at one another as they ran through the garden. Then the jays joined in with their screeching and swooping. Crows, not generally welcome in the garden, filled the treetops with their cawing. Sparrows and all manner of small birds chittered and cheeped. Even the insects, particularly the crickets and early cicadas, seemed to intensify their songs.
In the general day sounds of the whole neighborhood, this increased noise would go unnoticed by anyone not paying attention. But in the vicinity of Charlie's garden, the increasing fervor reached up from the unconscious awareness of his neighbor as a rabbit screamed. Although he never could have said what made him look out his window at that moment, he chose to do so just as Charlie keeled over.