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The Drifting Tumbleweed

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Chapter II: Larry Dowd

It should probably be mentioned at this point, that Tony Twomoons did not, in fact, wish anyone any harm. Ever. His personal mantra aligned with ‘live and let live’. But that was the problem in the area at the moment. Not all the people were being allowed to live, were they? Someone had taken it upon themselves and started robbing other people of the most precious gift – the gift of life. For whatever reason, the fact that the victims had all been up to this point Native American and not white like the stranger that walked into the bar did not factor into Tony’s quick succession of thoughts. He also couldn’t explain why he naturally assumed the stranger would be another victim and not the killer. All Tony knew is when the stranger walked into the bar, Tony thought the blond-well-coiffed man with the popped up collar would be a victim not a perpetrator.

The stranger didn’t exactly do anything to change Tony’s mind either.

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The Drifting Tumbleweed

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Chapter I: Tony Twomoons

            Tyee Twomoons stood behind the bar drying glasses.  His face expression hard as flint.  Newcomers often made the assumption that he didn’t notice anything.  That assumption was generally incorrect but typically lacked tangible proof.  The regular patrons had learned not to underestimate what Tyee observed.  Many a bar fight had been settled by Tyee recounting the events leading up to the brawl.  No one could dispute his word.  Tyee’s version was always accepted as fact and unruly patrons soon found themselves on the other side of the door if they attempted to argue.  In the Drifting Tumbleweed Bar, Tyee’s seldom heard voice was law.

Although when he wasn’t on the reservation and here at the bar he was known as Tony Twomoons. While he grew up in an orphanage on the reservation his school was in town and only hired white teachers. None of his teachers could pronounce his first name. Until one teacher didn’t even try to say it and just called him Tony. Everyone could pronounce Tony so he just accepted it. It saved him the repetition of pronouncing his name at every roll call. Now he was usually surprised when he heard his own name and sometimes forgot to answer to Tyee.

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Story Behind the Post: Two Halves

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Last month was a 5-Saturday month. If you have been a reader of this little blog for more than a minute, then you are aware that on 5-Saturday months I attempt to write a 5-part short story. The intent is to practice my writing skills. Lately, I’ve been a bit lazy. So, my effort in this endeavor is waning. a little bit. But last month, I followed through even though May – as you know – is as busy as December. It tends to fill itself up with activities. Still, I managed to give it a go.

Three things came together and provided the spark of the story.

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Two Halves: Chapter V

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Chapter V: Two: Fates

            Seaman Pete Romero died December 7, 1941. 

At least, that was what Amy figured. Since she wasn’t his family legally, no official telegram or notice was ever sent to her.  It took her a year to get some sort of confirmation even though when she never heard from him, she knew it had to be true.  She spent months rereading every letter Pete had sent to her and attempted to track down anyone he mentioned.  Finally, from a merciful clerk at Pete’s training base in California, she was able to locate the cook he mentioned in his last letter.  Lewey, or William Lewiston as she discovered, was discharged after he lost one of his legs during the attack.  He lived in Alabama. 

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Two Halves: Chapter IV

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Chapter IV: Two Wars

           

Amy shut her bedroom door and sighed.  It was the first Sunday in December and the house was quiet except for the winter storm howling outside.  The house tended to be fairly quiet most days since Ruth hardly was home during the day.  Her dad, however, had tried to be more present ever since their talk in October when Amy had told him she planned to go to California after graduation.  It was as if he was trying to show her how good of a parent he actually was by being more present physically.  All of his attempts were too little, too late for her though.  He might sit at the dinner table more often with her but they sat in silence.  Hardly any conversation beyond politeness passed between them.  She did appreciate the effort he was putting in but she had not changed her mind.  If anything, the increasing absence of Ruth made her want to leave sooner. The house inside was growing as cold in social interaction as the December storm was making it miserable outside.

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Two Halves: Chapter III

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Chapter III: Two Plans 

            Amy looked at the last sentence Pete wrote.  Apparently, he had felt so bad in how long it took him to return her first letter that he wrote her almost every day since.  The only days he missed was when he traveled to Hawaii.  Actually, he did manage to write on those travel days, he just mailed them all upon his arrival. But according to that last sentence she read, that was all about to end.  This was her third time reading his latest letter.

            “Amelia,” he wrote. When he called her by her birthname, she knew he was about to tell her something serious.  She had explained to him that she was actually named after her mother Amelia but it was too painful for her father to call her that.  So, she had become Amy. Everyone called her Amy ever since she could remember but she liked the name Amelia. Whenever Pete addressed her as Amelia, it helped her feel connected to her mom who died before she had any real memories of her. But Pete only used it on serious occasions and this occasion was no different.  “It looks like I am being shipped to the Philippines.  I won’t bother telling you what little I know about the place since you probably already know more about it than me.  If you don’t now, I am sure you will head to the library and will gather all the information you need.  Maybe you could send me places I should check out there like you did for here?”

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Two Halves: Chapter II

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Chapter II: Two Letters

July 10, 1941

Greetings Private Romero,

Oh, that sounds so formal, doesn’t it?  I’d rather just call you Pete.  It seems rather silly of me to be writing this so soon after we said goodbye on my front step but I want you to be among the first to get mail when you arrive at the base.  So, after we said our farewell, I ran up to my room and grabbed a pen and paper to write this note. 

            I don’t want you to think I am the kind of girl that does this often.  No sir, let me assure you, I will only write to one soldier at a time and that soldier is you.  I’m sure Ruth will have something to say about that but she isn’t home yet anyway.  Besides, considering her behavior lately, I’m not sure I give a flying fig what she thinks.  Sorry if that sounded a little harsh. Sometimes I get a little tired being the buffer between her and dad.  You know what happens to a buffer?  It gets worn out, that’s what!

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Two Halves: Chapter I

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Chapter I: Two Stories

            Amy sighed while sitting at the bar.  She rubbed her finger along the glass rim.  Even though she had just looked, she couldn’t help but looking at her watch again as if that would force her sister to come to her so they could go home. Deep down she knew she would go home alone.  Again. But still she played along to the game they had somehow fell into without ever discussing it. Her sister, Ruth, and her were so different yet Amy loved her.  Even though Ruth was older Amy felt like she needed to protect her.  Even if the person Ruth needed the most protection from was usually herself.

            That’s why Amy sat at a bar even though she would rather not be sitting there that particularly hot July day.  Of late, the bar had become somewhat of a military hangout spot.  Soldiers heading to basic training, soldiers on leave, and the women looking for a good but short time with a soldier congregated at this place. Ruth fell into that last category.  Amy was always a little uncomfortable but Ruth seemed to thrive in the atmosphere.

“Here again, Amy?” a voice asked.

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First Kiss

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Chapter V – First Kiss 2.0

            While Gus changed from his work clothes and got ready for bed, Kristina worked quickly to get what she needed for her plan.  It wasn’t that elaborate.  All she needed was a paper bag and a black marker.

            When he finished getting ready, he walked out to the living room to join her.  He was looking at his phone’s screen and sat down on the couch next to her.  “Sleepy punch?” He questioned teasingly.

            “That’s all she needs to know right now.”

            He looked at her.  “At some point, she’s going to figure out the truth.”

            Kristina thought about it and nodded.  “I know.  I’ll tell her the truth some day.  When she’s about 50.  Or maybe she can read about it in my journal when I’m dead.”

            “You don’t keep a journal,” he said.

            “Guess she’ll never hear it from me then,” Kristina replied.

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