RDP Wednesday: MELODY

When I used to go for walks with my Grandfather and his dog Darwin my Grandfather would point out the mushrooms that you could pick and eat and he would point out plants whose roots were so deadly and so poisonous that you’d be convinced that brain or not, these particular plants were capable of being homicidal maniacs too.

Something that deadly, I came to think, were that deadly for a reason.

Just like people.

Sometimes we would go to the back part of his property where we have an honest to goodness family cemetery- most of the markings on the gravestones had been almost wiped clean by the elements.

That patch had been very old and had been neglected for a very long time, it should have been dead but it wasn’t.

One of my Great Uncles had a little dog perched on top of his headstone and it still looked like a dog, it had a sad face and it’s ears dropped down against the side of it’s head.

If I could have, I would have pried  that little dog lose and taken it away – maybe put it in a garden where you didn’t have to be careful of which mushroom you picked or which berries you could eat without fear eating the wrong one and having  them turning your guts to mush.

In my mind, that little  stone dog was still alive- unlike it’s neighbors that were dead or waiting for their chance to do you in.

It was on one of our walks where Grandfather was a little more quiet then usual and I wasn’t as chatty when I first noticed this odd little melody that Grandfather was humming. The tune reminded me of a bat chasing bugs at dusk- it was all over the place but it  moved with purpose.

” That’s a funny song, ” I said ” what is it called?”

I thought I had heard him humming something like it before, but it wasn’t the same exact song.

We stopped in front of the Caretaker’s Cottage, a decrepit  stone cottage that we called the Witch’s House. The Witch’s Houset was missing most of it’s roof and it’s side door, but not it’s front door.

That door was chained shut.

” It’s not a song. ”

” What is it then? Because it sounds like a song to me. Kind of. ”

” Lillis, shh, listen. ”

I heard creaking and sighing, I heard dry leaves rustling over little stones.

I looked from the cottage to my Grandfather. ” I’m humming the sound the wind makes when it goes through the Witch’s House. ” he told me.

” You really are. ” I was pleasantly surprised. ” So it never sounds like the same song. I get it. Very clever. ”

Grandfather smiled at me and I saw his eyes slide to the left, towards the cottage and when he looked back at me I was smiling too.

” Of course, there isn’t a breeze and there hasn’t been a breath of wind all day. Not a single breath. ”

” Oh you can always hear a breath or two  coming from the Witch’s House, Lillis. Always.”

RDP Tuesday: Neuron

It was one of those conversations you listened to because you were in line and it was taking forever to move- I should probably mention this was before Cell Phones were around but Walkmans were.

However, if you were in a library and the Librarian was one of those prissy librarians who wrinkled up their noses in disapproval at your books and she took her time showing you how little she thought of your books then you can probably guess that if you had your music up just a tad bit too loud she would throw you out of the library.

That’s the position I was in, I was waiting to check out some tapes ( VHS of course ) and this tightly run ship was my local  library and I did know the rules.

Our librarian was named  Lindy Hodge and she made sure your visit to her library was as unpleasant as possible.  If she had her way those old fashioned heavy doors would always be locked an if you wanted anything Lindy Hodge would might and I mean might shove it through the return book slot to you.

So on this day- it was late October and the sky was already dark and it was cold and frosty- it was stay in an watch a movie night and I wanted to get home as fast as possible.

There  was  a gallon of egg nog and a bottle of brandy in my kitchen that literally had my name written on them.

Of course it was taking forever- not only because the woman in front of me had a stack of books, by Lindy Hodge- who was the head of the Arts Commissions and considered herself a skilled poet and photographer let the lady in front of me know she disapproved of each and every book she was scanning ( yeah, we did have those at the time ) out.

I heard Lindy Hodge snap the last book closed and the woman who was checking the books out of Lindy Hodge’s Library shifted comfortably from one foot to the next and as she gathered them up I heard her saying to Lindy Hodge, ” I’m writing a cookbook- research your know. What a chore!”

Then she leaned over the counter and whispered something to Lindy Hodge. Then turned around and smiled at me.

I smiled back and looked down at her books and the top book was called, ” A Quick History of Grave Robbing. ”

I could have pretended to not notice her book, I could have simply just stepped forward but I couldn’t.

My brain was in the process of leaving my body- or that’s what it felt like.

” Have a nice evening. Stay warm. ” I added.

I took a peek at the rest of her books and saw one about funeral practices and another about tombstones.

” Thank you. ” she said and I could see she was trying not to laugh. ”

Then the  lady sort of swept down the aisle and out the door and I didn’t move an inch until she was gone. I mean, I could have I just couldn’t get my brain to talk to my body. It was busy trying to connect all of these little moment together and it was struggling.

I put my tape on the counter and pushed it forward just a little, towards Lindy Hodge because Lindy was sort of staring off into space and her thin lips were pale.  She was not with us, if you know what I mean.

Lindy looked at my tape and then she looked at me and said, ” That woman, that woman said she’d love to have me for tea sometime.”

I tried not to smile.

Finally my brain got into gear and I  heard a little voice whisper in my ear, ” I hope she goes. ”