On His Porch

A short story about an old farmer. I apologize, I'm not very good at synopsis.

                It was dry and warm. That was normal this time of year, even after the sun had set. The hot days would dull into uncomfortably warm night. Having grown up here, though, there was something comforting about the fact that certain things didn’t change. He sat on the porch that he had always sat on, and stared out at the field his family had always owned. There had always a dog at his feet, and though he would sometimes spend this time alone, often times he was burdened with good beer and good friends.

                It seemed more and more often than not he was spending his time alone. He was old, he’d gathered this fact the day he looked in the mirror and, instead of seeing his own face, saw his father staring back. Fewer of his friends were alive, and most of them had sold off their farms and moved away years ago. The work on the farm seemed harder every day. It had always been hard, mind you, but never to the point that his bones would cry out with audible cracks of pain. He wore glasses now, something he’d never needed in his youth.

                Waving a mosquito from his face, he reached down, pet his dog, and picked up his glass of scotch. Well, you could hardly call it scotch at this point. The warmth of the night had long melted his ice to a couple of lingering dots. He swirled the glass, and began to nurse his drink. He was never one to waste a drink, and his scotch was a good year. He’d opened the bottle only twice before. Once on his wedding night, and when Annie died.

                Oh, Annie, how he missed her so. They had grown up going to church together, his Annie had been the daughter of the grocer and his family had one of the largest farms. She’d grown up working just like he had. Their work had been different, but she’d caught on quick to how farms worked. She’d had dark brown curls when they were kids, always in perfect ringlets at church, but had been wild and frizzy any other day. Her dark blue eyes were always bright, and a smile always graced her lips. She’d, of course, grown into a beautiful woman. Men all over town had wanted her. He was blessed he’d had her for as long as he had. He never figured out what she’d seen in his hick a*s, but he was certainly glad she had. With a sigh he looked down at his whiskey, swirling it absentmindedly before taking another gulp.

                Forty years he’d had her, her hair fading to a bright white, her skin darkening from the sun and slowly showing wrinkles. That smile and her eyes never changed though. He missed her laugh, how she’d put her hands on her hips when she scolded him. He hoped he’d see her again soon. He was in his seventies, long past his prime. He knew he didn’t have much longer.

                A siren whispered in the distance on the dry breeze. Glancing in the direction of the siren he noted it was likely coming from what used to be the McCall’s. Some boy named Evans owned it now though. The town was dying, hardly the bustling farm town it had been in his youth. He sighed again, and finished his glass.

He looked up at the sky, two bright lights overshadowing the stars so often visible from his porch. One was familiar to him, having been there long before himself, and likely would continue to be there long after him. The other light was new, a comet. The television had said it would miss the earth. He’d never heard of it, apparently neither had the scientists until it entered the system. Something about it having a large orbit and that it likely only passed every thousand years.  Then, they had charted its path, they’d been wrong.

                Slowly he took his bottle off the chair near him, poured the last glass, and drank it straight. Looking up again, he held up his empty glass, and whispered, “See you soon, Darlin.”

                Not much time left at all.

Author's Note

Thank you for taking your time to read this. I appreciate any advice given. - Evelyn