Old Man Peters: Constrained Writing Contest 17

This is my entry for the #constrainedwriting contest hosted by @svashta

Rules:
-Write a story about learning (something new) without using a school setting, church setting, or parent/child interactions.
-The story must be at least 250 words long and in English

Old Man Peters

---

“Listen, boy, if you want to plant weed, do it right. Plant it in a wheelbarrow so when police comes you can quickly roll it away.”

I looked at him with a smile. Old man Peters may not be beautiful to look at with his wart-filled face and folded skin, but he has knowing eyes and a beautiful mind.

He also has a way of speaking his thoughts out loud.

He heard from the radio that his neighbor Dave got arrested for planting marijuana.

“I only smoke them,” I quipped.

“Good. It’s nice to learn things at an early age. Even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones. You have to learn them young.”

“This is why nan wouldn’t let me talk to you,” I said with a grin.

“Ah, why are you here then, boy?”

I have been coming back to old man Peters cabin for the past few days. Every afternoon, just when he’s about to drag his chair to the wooden jetty in front, I’d be there by the porch stairs waiting.

“I still haven’t perfected my reeling,” I said.

“I’m not going out to fish today. The cold is hurting my knees,” he said with a somber tone.

I figured that when I saw he brought the radio and a quilt out to the porch with him.

“That’s alright. I can just hang here if you don’t mind,” I said.

He nodded so I picked the other chair from the corner of the porch and placed it beside his.

I’ve asked old man Peters to teach me how to fish when I saw he was always by the lake with his rod and reel. He just looked at me deadpanned when I first approached him. I have to explain lm visiting nan two houses down and would only be staying for a month and that I'd be thrilled to learn something new while I’m out here in country. He just nodded.

“Let me finish with the radio program,” he said.

We sat quietly for a few minutes with nothing but the sound of the radio and the occasional swishing of the trees to break the silence. He looked so peaceful in his chair with his eyes closed, quilt covering his lower body. I thought he fell asleep.

The radio program ended. Old man Peters opened his eyes, rubbed his left knee and pulled the quilt closer to his chest.

“Radio commentators these days are a bunch of wussies - too afraid to offend they talk like they walk on eggshells.”

“Listen, boy, learn to call a shit, a shit. No sugarcoating.”

I smiled. Nan would wince hearing this.

"I still can't pull the fish in smoothly," I started.

He pulled down the quilt, rubbed his knee again and looked at me with knowing eyes.

“You live in a big city, the only fish you’ll catch is in a fish tank. You don’t need to learn how to fish, do you? Why are you here, boy?”

That caught me offguard. Does he know?

"Your nan told you, didn't she?"

I nodded.

“You must learn to let go of your hatred. Cast the line once and leave it there. You shouldn't reel it back like you would a fish.”

“I can’t.”

From the corner of the room, I saw my father pick up the suitcase, my mother hugging his knees begging him not to go. He pulled free from her, kicked her, and dragged the suitcase towards the door. Mother ran to the dresser, rummaged through its drawers, and took something out. She pointed it at my father.

“How old are you now? Twenty?” old man Peters asked.

I was nine years old then, crying in the corner of the room, begging mom not to cry and begging my father not to go. He just looked at my mother, then at me, and walked out of the room.

“I’m twenty two next week,” I answered.

My mother was hysterically flailing the gun as she ran after my father and I ran out of the room after her. My father was turning the frontdoor knob when we caught up. Mother grabbed his shoulder and, with the strength of a mad woman, turned and flung him around. It took my father by surprise so he staggered and fell down on his side. My mother pointed down the gun at him.

Things happened so fast I just stood there in shock.

With fury in his eyes my father lunged at my mother, aiming for her hands. My mother shrieked, kicked and clawed at my father without loosening the grip on the gun. My father's hand wrapped over my mothers', they were both holding the gun now.

I heard a loud crack and when I saw my mother fell to the floor like a broken twig I knew instantly she was shot.

Old man Peters looked at me with knowing eyes, "It may not happen now, but you will have to."

Looking at old man Peters now, with his busted knee, I wished he would share the hatred I carried for my father all these years. After all, it was his wife my father was having an affair with. Didn't he bust his knee fighting my father when he caught the lovers doing God-knows-what in his garage?

"Time always has a way of untangling the mess,” he said with the wisdom of an old man.

~o0o~

---

Thanks for reading!

Details of the contest here | Photo Source