Big Sandy

NPR does a Three-Minute Fiction contest where they ask writers to come up with a story that can be read in 3 minutes (which comes to 600 words exactly.) The task was: write a story where a character comes into town and where a character leaves town.  I took a crack at it..."Big Sandy" and "I'd Like You to Meet Someone" (ugh could've had a better title with more time) are what I came up with.

I saw Big Sandy outside of the Raymond’s place two days after Leon had left town following the new railroad west. This afternoon I found Big Sandy at the chestnut tree that marked the westernmost point in the Raymond’s property. He was walking right along the road, his back bare, his coffee-colored haunches and legs dusty, his reigns draping off to one side. I approached him cautiously and when I took his reigns his neck drooped, relieving the tension with one bow, his saucer-like nostrils flaring to let out a big breath of relief. Like he was collapsing into a loved-one’s arms.

Back at our stable, he drank at our trough so long I wondered if that water would be coming out his other end before he stopped gulping. I found my father inspecting an infected hoof, and I told him where I had found Big Sandy without Leon and he rubbed his neck while he thought. I told him it was on Tuesday morning when we saw Leon, headed toward Sierra Blanca and then El Paso beyond.

“You could get to Sierra Blanca and back before dusk if you hustled. Check in town there. Take your brother with you. And put Big Sandy into the last stall there.”

It took me only a few minutes to prepare, as fast as I had imagined the Rangers would mount their horses when pursuing scoundrels. My brother gladly left his rasp and saddled his horse, instructing me in his know-it-all way that we’d need to watch out for criminals on the road, maybe even Indians.

The road was dusty and the wind was at our face, making it hard to see. I was on Birdie, who drew to a halt after a large gust obscured our view. My brother turned around and smirked at my difficulty.

“You know, once we find Leon I’m going to tell him how Birdie almost bucked you off.”

I thought about Leon, imagining when we’d find him, where we’d run into him, at the saloon in Sierra Blanca maybe. Perhaps Big Sandy had been taken from Leon by bandits and had escaped, deciding to return to our stables to alert us of the misdeed. I looked around us, to the brushy patches of mesquite and bushes around us, and then I imagined Leon laying beyond, just out of sight, bloody and forgotten.

“Think he’s around here?”

My brother turned around, and let his eyes survey the land around us, the sky and the trail ahead. He shivered. “No, more like Indians.”

We continued down the road and the brush grew thick around our path, so we watched the mountains on the horizon as they rose before us.

“Why was he named Big Sandy?” I asked.

“He was named after a river near his home in Tennessee. You didn’t know that?” I shook my head. He had spent more time in the stables with Leon and father than I had. “I don’t know why father sent you along, he should’ve come himself. He knows how to track.”

The road continued and up ahead I saw a crumpled pile blocking our path. The wind died, the brush was still but I couldn’t tell what lay up ahead. Maybe a traveler had lost a pack, or a coyote had killed a calf. My brother sped up, leaving a gap between us, which closed when he stopped short when he could see what laid in our path.

“Its Leon’s saddle.”

I’d Like You To Meet Someone

The turkey was golden, oozing with buttery juices, and Dawn was admiring it sitting in the roaster. Looks like we wouldn’t have a dry turkey this year now that Dawn was in charge of Thanksgiving.

“You’re carving it this year,” she said, sliding the knife to me. Just then, the garage door slid open knocking the draft dodger into the hallway.

“Hi Hank,” I said seeing that Dawn’s dad had arrived first. He was wearing his blaze orange hunting cap and his Mossy Oak coat. Only the best for special occasions, I thought to myself.

“Smells like Mother’s dressing in here,” Hank said as he gave his daughter a pat on the back. The door shut, and in the dark the hallway I saw a figure standing behind him.

“Pete, Dawn, I’d like you to meet someone,” he said, gesturing behind him with a jerk of his thumb. “This is Faye.”

Faye stepped out of the hallway into the kitchen, a small woman with tightly permed brown hair. It was probably her natural hair color circa 1985 but some old ladies were like that. Like their hair was the only thing about them that wasn’t getting old.

“Hello, thanks for having us,” Faye said, her voice breathless like an old time actress. She offered up a saran-wrapped pecan pie, Dawn’s mother’s specialty.

I extended my hand and gave hers a shake in welcome but Dawn hadn’t moved at all. The bit of chest right at her throat was speckled with pink spots and her lips were drawn into a thin line. It was the face she made when she was just about to cry or right before she started to yell at me. Those two things often happened simultaneously.

She moved suddenly. The spoon she was holding was thrown down with a clatter and she walked out of the kitchen. Then we heard the front door slam.

I ran after her. She was standing in the driveway crying, her hands pressed to her eyes like she was trying to keep the tears in there. She reached for me and I held her as she cried and shook in my arms.

“How could he?” she asked between breaths. “The first Thanksgiving without Mom and he has to bring her? Do you think they’ve been together all this time?”

I realized then that we had seen Faye before, at our engagement party. That was what, twenty-six years ago? There had been this rumor in town that Margie had heard about Hank and this other woman...God Almighty that had been a night full of confrontations, crying women and doors that were nearly slammed off of their hinges.

The door opened to reveal Hank.  

“Dawn, I didn’t drive an hour for my daughter to walk out on me. Get in here.” He motioned to her like he was calling his springer spaniel to his side.  

“How could you bring her here? Mom’s only been gone for nine months.” When Hank didn’t reply, Dawn turned around and walked to the end of the driveway. She continued onto the sidewalk and just kept walking until she was out of sight.
    “It probably wasn’t the best day for this, Hank.”

“What would’ve been a better time? My funeral?” He went back in, slamming the door behind him. I wandered into the driveway to look for Dawn, and a green sedan coasted into the driveway in front of me. Dawn’s brother with his family, I groaned. At least they beat the girls home from college.