Kyle’s kids were in the living room when I came home from work. Didn’t even look at me when I asked them why they weren’t home watching their own TV.
My wife took me out on the porch. Her hands were shaking. She told me what happened: Sandy was in the hospital and he just left. My brother.
I have to catch him, I said.
And do what?
Do what. That son-of-a-bitch is always pulling this shit. I don’t even want to know what he did to her.
It ain’t good.
And he’s took off for that internet woman in Saskatchewan?
Yeah. Green Lake.
I’m going.
Why?
I’m just going.
My motorcycle was still in the driveway. I’d cranked her open before, so I knew what she could do: damn near fast as a bullet. And Highway 55 runs like a dragstrip cross the border. Sun on my back, I knew I’d catch him. But then what?
I saw myself alongside him like a cop. He’d get out and lean against his fender with his arms crossed and I’d walk right up and punch him. He wouldn’t expect it. I was the quiet one. Worked in one place for ten years. He’d go down and I’d put my knee on his neck. A car would idle by, looking at us, but I wouldn’t care. I was doing what needed doing.
Where’re you going? I’d say.
I’m leaving.
No, you’re not.
He’d be crying. I can’t do it no more.
Be a man, I’d yell right into his ear, BE A MAN.
Then I saw Kyle’s truck a half-mile ahead. I flashed him, but he wasn’t looking back. I tucked down and found more speed, engine roaring, bugs like rocks in my face. I’d almost caught up when a stag climbed out of the ditch between us. Just like that. Looking right at me. I was going too fast for brakes, so I leaned left, around the deer and back. Less than a foot between us. His eyes were like oil and his musk filled my nose with the smell of dirt and sweat. I don’t know how I didn’t hit him.
I pulled to the side and looked back; the deer was gone. I turned towards my brother, saw his brake lights for a second, and then he disappeared too.
And for no reason, I thought about the time we hiked to the dump to shoot stuff with Dad’s .22. Heading home, we had to cross a frozen creek. He made it and I broke through. Up to my neck in cold grey water. Tasted like gas. He reached down and pulled me out like I didn’t weigh nothing, and then he got me home, shivering. I had a hot bath and Mom and Dad never knew a thing.
I looked down at my motorcycle and thought about what I said to his kids watching my TV. I checked my watch. It was time to go home.
Time to look around, Michael John Burrows says after a lingering journey into the depths of his self. It was a strenuous trip with a hieroglyphic map, but the universe offered him wise teachers who talked about a Way. They all pointed to the same truth. Now, he feels like a gardener with a watering can full of blue sky. [Concrete: BFA 1988, MSLP 2000; Published in Alberta Anthology and soon in Motorcycle Mojo]
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21 Responses to “LESS THAN A FOOT • by Michael John Burrows”
Comments
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May 3rd, 2009 at 12:55 am
A nice little spooky tale. Clever use of dialogue, too.
May 3rd, 2009 at 2:39 am
Loved this tightly told tale with its arcing range of emotions. Thanks!
May 3rd, 2009 at 4:25 am
Good one, Michael.
May 3rd, 2009 at 5:35 am
Well done. How quickly all those emotions run high, and then one critical decision. Thanks for sharing this.
May 3rd, 2009 at 7:01 am
Wow, very powerful. I love your style of writing, it conveys such a sense of urgency.
May 3rd, 2009 at 7:21 am
Tough story of a very cold, unsympathetic family. Except for some minor difficulties such as the placement of the words, “My brother” and “Worked in one place for ten years” and some other lacks of clarity here-and-there which are confusing at first, a basically well-contructed and interesting story.
May 3rd, 2009 at 7:46 am
Like the voice in this one.
May 3rd, 2009 at 9:53 am
I thought the voice fit the story very well–liked the quick maturation of the biker.
–dj
May 3rd, 2009 at 11:13 am
Excellent story, Michael.
May 3rd, 2009 at 11:24 am
Good story. I like your gritty, straight-forward style.
May 3rd, 2009 at 12:43 pm
“Sandy was in the hospital and he just left. My brother.”
This line was too confusing. Sandy can be a boy’s or girl’s name so I read this to mean that his brother had just left for the hospital. When I realized it was the wife, I almost stopped reading.
May 3rd, 2009 at 5:36 pm
Had some some trouble with this: “I’d almost caught up when a stag climbed out of the ditch between us.” I spent a few moments trying to picture the ditch that was between them – I had thought them on the same road. Then I realized that it was the stag that was between them, and then I realized that I didn’t really care any more.
May 3rd, 2009 at 6:22 pm
I enjoyed this. I want to know more…
May 3rd, 2009 at 10:35 pm
I’ve read it twice and still don’t know what happened.
May 4th, 2009 at 2:31 am
I like your writing style.
May 4th, 2009 at 6:27 am
I enjoyed this very much. Nice appeal to the senses.
May 4th, 2009 at 7:19 am
Although the sentence structure is awkward, what I do like about the story is the development of its concept through the basic structure of the story, the characterization of the harsh unconcern of this whole family and the beginning of awareness by the protaganist of his own part in it.
May 4th, 2009 at 6:36 pm
Very well done. Intense like a E. Leonard tale. I especially enjoyed the unpredictability of the story and the resolution was like a splash of that cold water the MC fell into. One of the more enjoyable stories I’ve read here.
–John
May 6th, 2009 at 4:36 am
Thanks for all this great feedback. It’s like an instant writing group. MJB
May 12th, 2009 at 4:37 am
Entertaining and action packed, pleasure.
May 13th, 2009 at 8:11 am
Good job Michael. Interesting feedback…