Fallen Fledgling

The dog days' sun parched the ground and caused vegetation to droop. Supplied water kept lawns and gardens verdant in spite of the heat. Stately oaks and other species of trees spread their leafy limbs to break the bright rays. Those sprawling shadows resulted in areas of shade; less sultry, favored respites from the searing sun. Facing southwest, the old man's front porch ran parallel to one of the major arteries through a large rural housing development. He was settled into his favorite rocker, prepared to watch the world whirl past. He saw the eleven-year old approach. The way her lips were clenched between her teeth indicated that a simple smile was all he should communicate.

Marlee stepped up to the top porch step without saying a word. Her pale blue eyes briefly connected with the gray eyes of the old man before she softly walked toward a wooden rocker near his. She checked the seat and brushed away unseen dust before she curled a leg beneath her and sat back in the creaking chair.

The old man did not say anything. That was not her way. He slowly rocked and waited.

Without looking directly at her, the old man saw her brush a long wisp of brown hair away from her eyes. She rocked for awhile. The old mortise and tenon joints accounted for the squeaks and creaks of the chairs. A breeze whipped up and pushed the oak leaves that hung heavy on an ancient tree in the front yard. The shade did not quite reach the old man's rocker. Marlee's chair was fully shaded. Out of sync, they rocked and watched the leaves flutter.

The breeze stopped. Heat built in the direct sunlight. The old man felt sweat slip from beneath the straw hat that shaded his eyes and cheeks. He thought about moving to another rocking chair on the shady side of the porch. Had he been sitting alone, he would have done so without reservation. He knew better. The action, as simple and easily understood as it would have been to most people, would likely cause the girl to leave. He rocked and sweated ... and waited.

Abruptly, Marlee spoke, her words edged with pain. "He doesn't like me."

"He's wrong." The old man was unsure what the words meant, or who they represented. Marlee was not always easy to understand. She simply spoke her mind as if the listener already knew what she was thinking. But, she deserved a response; so he responded as succinctly and supportively as he could.

Marlee's rocking chair stopped swaying. The old man did not allow his to stop. The change might cause the girl to leave. Something was bothering her; she was there for a reason known only to her. He rocked and waited for her reply. He would help if he could.

A bluebird swirled down from a thin oak limb in a blue and orange flash. Strong wings flapped urgently as the bird demonstrated its tremendous aerial skills and keen focus during its downward plunge. It landed on its feet in the freshly cut grass and jabbed vigorously at a flying insect that it had successfully nabbed and subdued during its acrobatic, somersaulting dive. Suddenly aware that it was being watched, the bluebird clutched its quarry firmly in its beak and fluttered away to a bush. Within the bush's leafy sanctuary, the bird could consume the morsel in privacy and safety.

A large gathering of coal black crows descended on an oak tree in the front yard of a house farther down the curved street. The noises they made were intentionally irritating, meant to inform other food competitors that they were claiming the area. The old man watched the crows. He knew that his seeming inattention to the young girl would embolden her to continue.

"I don't like him back," she stated. Marlee's rocker began moving again. "He does mean things."

"I don't blame you. I don't like him either." The old man rocked, never looking directly at the smooth, brooding face of the eleven-year old.

Marlee was special. Her mind raced with thoughts and ideas. Those racing thoughts caused her to be pensively withdrawn at times and energetically outspoken at others. She did not always fit in with her peers and their childish ways. At times, she seemed more mature than chronology would indicate. The old man sometimes wondered if the youngster had inherited an old soul when she was born. She lived in her own world most of the time, only venturing out when the mood struck. The rocker stopped again. Marlee's face registered concern as her brows pulled together above the bridge of her nose. She gripped the chair arms and leaned toward the old man. In a scolding tone, she said, "You shouldn't not like someone."

The old man knew then that he was deeply embroiled in the conversation with the girl. That happened from time to time. He did not know if it was because her mother was too busy to talk or if the girl actually liked to talk with him. He accepted his role without reservation. The girl apparently used him as a sounding board for some life lesson that she needed to internalize. "That's very wise, Marlee. Where did you learn that?"

The girl's eyes blinked with puzzlement for a few seconds, and then she slowly said, "You told me that, Chester. When I was a little girl, you told me "You shouldn't not like someone, because everyone is good inside." Don't you remember?"

Chester Luttrell fought back a smile. He allowed his eyes to connect with Marlee's for the first time and nodded his head contritely. "You are right, Marlee. I should remember my own words. Thank you for reminding me." He held her gaze until she slid back in her rocking chair and began rocking again, faster than before.

"I'm still angry with him," Marlee stated tersely. "He's mean." Her eyes fixed on a cardinal that had perched itself on a small oak limb that drooped low over the shaded lawn. The redbird called its territorial warning to any other male cardinal within hearing range.

Chester rocked in silence for a moment. He heard the returned challenge of another male cardinal. The resident cardinal fluttered angrily and repeated its challenge to the potential interloper. Chester needed to resolve what Marlee's expectation of him was in the conversation. Finally confident that she expected him to offer something, he replied, "Sometimes, if I'm really sore with someone, I work in my garden, dig in the dirt. I try to transfer my mental soreness to my muscles."

"That makes no sense," Marlee said, not as a challenge to the statement but as an audit of how it fit into helping her with her problem.

Chester grinned without looking directly at the youngster. "I like to dig in the dirt. I like to dig a hole when I'm upset with someone. It's kind of like I bury my problems in that hole."

Marlee continued rocking silently.

Chester checked her reaction....