Something Wicked This Way Comes

Listening to Rossini, she was brought back to what Beethoven had said about his works, and even though she loved Beethoven, she liked Rossini also, and didn’t in the least think of his work as “fluff. At times, she did however feel like invading Poland herself when she listened to the ninth symphony of Beethoven’s, and never understood why that was never played at chess tournaments or battlefields.

She brushed her long hair, in one stroke of the brush, first one side and then the other, flipping it over her face, bending her head and getting the back just like her gran always made her do. She was pensive today for some reason. It was hot, and although it had rained a little a while ago, wasn’t humid as it usually gets on the last day of May. The sun was out, and setting in the west in a fireball of oranges and reds. Even the sky took on a pinkish hue of iridescent color. It was pretty out, but she new it wasn’t going to last. A storm was going to brew before sun rise. She could feel it. The moon was in the darkness right now, and would be full in a few days. Energy was building, not only in the atmosphere, but inside her as well.

She couldn’t put a finger on her mood today. It wasn’t a bad one. It wasn’t a really great one like it had been. It wasn’t a calm one, because she felt so jittery inside. But she wasn’t nervous either. It irked her that she felt this way. When she couldn’t put a name to her emotions, she walked the floors, cleaned the place, plucked the garden dry of every weed there was. It was good to get things done, that was no argument, but she didn’t like this feeling of expectancy that she got.  Like, something was going to happen, but she didn’t know what. That was it. Something was going to happen. And it bothered her greatly that she just couldn’t figure out for the life of her as to what it was going to be. She didn’t like surprises. Well, Christmas and anytime she got a gift was an exception to the rule. It was that kind of…unknown dark surprise that scared her. But what could it be?

She shooed it off, it’s just the weather. It always does this to me. It’s the electricity in the air is all. She finished her hair, and braided it in one long braid down her back. As hot as it was, it just felt better off her neck. Her brown hair was thick; she took that back after her gran who was Cherokee.

I know what I need, she thought a mint julep. She got up and went through the house into the library where the bar was kept.

She found the bourbon and poured some in the tall glass. Then just a little more, knowing that it was just a bit much, but she didn’t care. She fixed to suit her tastes’ and a bit more always suited her at these times. She got the sugar out, and poured a teaspoon in the amber liquid. Next came the mint, and the crushed ice from the small freezer hid neatly behind a mahogany door.

She stirred good, and got a little more mint for garnish. Rossini had quit playing and now it was Wagners’ turn to enchant her with his Das Reingold.

She never checked to see what was next, always wanting to let it just flow with who would pop up next. She loved guessing the music, just to see if she could get it right. She loved classical, ballet, opera, and the musicals. No one else in her family remotely was interested in those things. But, she was always wanting to learn new and different things, new and different languages. She loved listening to French and even took it in school. She did good, and learned a few of the less desirable words to go along with it, but now..it was a distant memory. She could still tell someone to go to hell, and quite possibly suck something, although after she thought about it..that word probably meant butter instead of dick.

She sat in the big old blue recliner that was next to the large windows looking out amoung the orchard. Soon, it would be time for the apples and peaches to be picked. The blooms had already fallen off and she could tell there was little hard nubs growing on the trees forming the fruit that would make the pies and the cobblers for the winter ahead.

Winter. Too far off to think of that right now. The sky was getting darker, and yes, she thought she heard a vague rumbling in the east. Storm is going to be bad; it’s coming from the east instead of west this time. The window was open, and a breeze began to blow, warm at first, then turning cooler as the moments progressed. She shivered. Not because of the drink or the wind. No, the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Something. Something is coming…

She got up and lit a candle. She had electrical of course. She just loved the way the candles would throw off shadows that danced on the walls like two lost lovers in an embrace. The wind blew the long white tapers out. She walked over to the window to close it, and shutter them for the night. Something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Was that someone under the tree at the far side? She looked intently again to see if she could see anything, but saw nothing this time. She giggled nervously. Just her imagination. Just a trick of the lightening and limbs of the trees hanging down. Moss. It was the moss in the big tree out there. That’s all it was.

She turned, relit the candles and walked to the big double doors to shut them. She loved to keep them open during the day and into the evening hours letting the breeze flow through the big plantation house. It had begun to spatter the rain big dabs intermittingly at first, then the heavens opened up and the tears of the Creator fell as if out of a broken heart.

A chill went down her back. The air wasn’t cold enough to do that, and the rain was not that bad either. She hated this, and checked herself to put a lot more jack in the julep next time, which was right in a few seconds.

As she turned again, she thought she saw something. Looking both ways now, nothing.

She turned to go in and ran right into him. Wet, soaking was his leather duster. Rain was dripping from his blond hair and he had that big grin on his face. She instinctively punched him in the gut. He loved doing that to her. And he knew she hated being done that way. His hair was longer than she remembered from the last time, reaching down to his shoulders. Still blond as ever, she didn’t think he would ever go back to brown. “peroxide..not just for Marylin..” he would tell her as she would apply the dye to it, almost being over come by it’s smell.

He grimaced as his hands went to his bruised stomach. “What the bloody hell was that for? I thought you’d be pleased to see me, not knock the wind outta me!” he straightened up and gave her that grin again. He knew she couldn’t resist it, and she knew she couldn’t either.

She hid her excitement at him being there. It had been a long time. Too long. She had dreamed of him, loved him in those dreams as she used to. But the dreams got less and less till there were none, and his memory just another faded photograph she kept on her nightstand.

Crossing her arms in front of her all she could do was look at him. He still had that effect on her, as she was sure he did every woman. What was there not to love and or potentially lust after? Tall, chiseled features, hollow cheek bones, hazel eyes. Those eyes and that smile, all she had to do was look into them and before she knew it, she was damp in places that shouldn’t be.

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything? Or are you just going to stand there with those arms crossed over those..bosoms of yours.” He laughed that deep throaty laugh of his.

“Why yes, ah thank ah will say something..” she said in that fake southern drawl she used to express herself when pissed.

She batted her eyelids like she had a bug stuck in the corner of one, and fanned herself with one hand while the other went to her left hip. “Mistah Pratt, quiet frankly, ah don’t give a good damn!”