ShortFiction3

The distant jagged patch of sunlight reached vainly for her face, stopping three feet short. The water swirled in black, muddy circles, gurgling her name. "Barbara, Barbara." She sank over her head in the last six inches of water again, holding her breath and resting her aching arms and legs. She was getting colder and lazier as the time passed, with no way for her to measure it.

   She had been on her way to Kansas City for the annual Blues Fest and to stop in at her parent�s house. She knew what to expect. Dad of the long suffering silences and no hugs, while Mom would machine-gun her with questions and her own sour recipe of answers. Mom, who thought her 30-year-old only daughter should be married and have two kids. Mom, who thought being a computer analyst was for male wimps. Mom, who said Barbara had to be a whore to be as old as she was and still dating. Barbara would stay at a hotel and just make a short, painful visit. It was expected. But, it always ended with sharp bites and sly snips, and recriminations.

   She had driven off the two-lane state highway and up a short drive to an abandoned farmhouse to make a stop for lunch. The front yard was choked with high grass and weeds. She got out and stretched her legs in the noon sun. She had been driving since 5:00 a.m. and she needed to get the prickles out of her ankles and toes. She sat on the weathered front porch of the farmhouse and ate the two guaranteed-fresh convenience store egg salad sandwiches. Every three mouthfuls got washed down with a sip of Absolut vodka from a half-pint silver flask. Her mood was improving with this combination.

   She watched the light wind blow clouds into fanciful shapes and topsoil into mini dust devils. She finished eating and stood up to contemplate the four more hours of driving ahead of her. The weather was beautiful and a comfortable 70 degrees, which was a plus when all you had to do was sit, steer and count cows and racing fence posts. Then, she saw the small patch of sunflowers about thirty feet to the left side of the front yard. The yellow, round fans of petals were too much to resist. She had to have one for her car.

   She waded through the grass and weeds and broke the fuzzy stem of the biggest flower. Something creaked under the sandy soil. She took a startled step backward and the ground fell out from under her with a sound of shattering wood. She plunged straight down a dark shaft and met a cold floor of water that engulfed her as her momentum carried her under. She choked on the dirt taste of clay as she struggled back to the surface and began treading water.

   An old well. She was trapped by the hard clay walls of an old well. She sank to the mucky bottom and raised her hand. Half her arm stuck up in the air as she stood on her toes. Not deep, but too deep to stand keep breathing. She rose up and swam across the well. The walls were about eight feet in diameter, so she couldn�t support herself by stretching out her arms, or reaching with her feet and arms. She tried, inch by inch, circling the well side, to grasp some protrusion in the clay, or find a root to hang from and rest. The sides were as hard as concrete and absolutely smooth and slick.

   She tread water and began to scream for help. Every thirty seconds, another scream. She wasn�t in great physical shape. She had been thinking about going to the gym for the last five years, but she kept a nice figure, so she had left that idea in the sometimes-think-about category. She could kick and paddle for about five minutes, then she sank below to hold her breath and rest. After what seemed like a half-hour, she was panting pretty heavily, between the swimming and screaming for help.

   It was odd what ran through her head. She kept thinking about the latest guy she was seeing. He was nice enough and knew how to show her a good time, but he had the single, late-night purpose of getting in her pants. She knew all men were built that way, yet he seemed to be uninterested in her goals, plans, opinions, her thoughts in general.

   She wanted a life with a man she could commune with, meet in the mind, as well as the body. She was still looking, after more than a decade. She wanted a real home, not just an apartment to live in part-time. And she was beginning to feel desperate for a child of her own.

   She made another circle of the well, bruising her fingers as she clawed and scraped at the well sides. What had the farmers ever used this well for, with its muddy clay waters?

   Her arms and legs were getting cold and she looked up at the ragged hole of light, trying to imagine the warmth into her bones. Mom would grill her about being late and worrying everybody. If she found out about the vodka, the stuff would really hit the fan,

   She screamed again, but only a hissing croak came out. Her throat was swollen now from the shouting, and felt raw, like it was bleeding. She couldn�t get enough air and she had to sink to the bottom every minute or so to rest. But, she couldn�t stay under very long. She thought about death without any discomfort, as her body�s blood felt like it was draining away into the dark water. She panicked with the thought and tried to scream while she thrashed the water wildly. She couldn�t die like this, in some God forsaken hole in the ground!

   Iced needles stuck into her arms and legs and she began to shudder from the cold. She was losing the feeling in her hands and feet, and the numbness was creeping in slowly. The light above her was turning grayer as time passed. She had to get out of here. She had to be to work Monday morning. She began to laugh in brittle gasps and choked on a mouthful of water.

   Suddenly, she heard the sound of car driving in and stopping. A man�s voice cut through the air, "Who�s car is this?" She tried to scream and got nothing but a dry hiss. "Who the devil is here at Pa�s old farm?" Another man�s voice. "I don�t know. Maybe a hunter. I�ll check the house." She began to thrash at the water, gasping with the sudden effort, to make some noise, any noise. She tried to whistle, but her numb lips couldn�t form the sound. "Well, ain�t nobody in the house, said the man. The other man said, �Let�s git on the git. If the car is still here tomorrow, we�ll call the sheriff." She drank some water, and tried to scream again, but got only a dry rasping sound. She couldn�t feel her legs or arms anymore. Car closed and the car drove away.

   She sank to the bottom to relax. But, she couldn�t hold her breath and sucked in water. Somehow, with one last effort, she jumped up to the surface and vomited. But, her legs wouldn�t kick and she couldn�t lift her arms anymore. She bounced again from the well bottom and looked up at the evening light shaped by the broken boards. It looked like an angel with arching wings and a trumpet to its lips. She drifted down to lay in the soft, gentle clay of the well bottom. She rested her head and opened her mouth in a smile. And slept.

� 2000 DPMcClellan