*previously published in as an Author of the Month at Twilight Tales, November 1999.

                  Have you ever felt like you were going to die? I mean…really, really going to die. Not that sissy shit everyone talks about in the movies, not that pay-it-no-mind.  I don't mean being scared neither because being scared is just a part of life.  They say death is a part of life too, but I don't always think it's so.  Least not anymore.  That's just the way it is with me.

                  I grew up the same as anybody else.  I had a mama and a daddy.  Had a real nice set up at the edge of town.  Holidays, summers at the beach.  Things like that.  But I always come back here: to this place.  It's old and it's dry--I know that, and it don’t matter.

                  Nothing's been swept up off the porch in years and the boards creak, like they were telling you to just…go away.  Go away from this place.  The wind whispers things to you in that just-so voice…

                  It ain't all bad, I tell you. I know the yard needs some trimming, and the flowers will grow if the weeds are all plucked out, I'm sure of it.  Violets and Daisies, maybe some daffodils.  You can’t get rid of the kudzu, so I’m not likely to try. I bet you're thinking that old porch swing squeaks a rusty violence too, but the chains won't break if you set a spell on it.  See?

                  Well, I know there's glass here and there.  Them kids keep taking out the windows on account of their wishes they want so bad to come true.  Can't hardly blame them, not for wanting and believing in things like that.  I think I've probably done just as bad, so far be it from me to throw a stone.  I've half a mind to fix the old place up myself one of these days but I can't do it all alone. Got to have a helping hand, yes I do.  Things just ain't the way they used to be.  Don’t try to tell a man different.

                  But if you look real hard--I mean sitting still and all--through the trees just over there, you'll see where the sun used to come through and hit just right on that kitchen window.  The curtains weren't yellowed and torn then.   They were all bleached, clean lace, flowing in and out under the crack between the window and the window sill. I can still see that warmth, coming in just like that to hit…

                  To hit…

                  Well, that don't matter now, does it?

                  The more I remember it, the more it gets blurry.  Not because my mind's going, no sir. My mind is all I've ever had and you can bet a little bit of trouble won't take it from me.  Not even when the new people moved in that last time, or was it the time before?  When they were trying to move in…but I wouldn't let them.  They had no right to, really.  I hid out in yonder bushes, right over there by the lilacs, and I spied on em' when they were making their plans with the contractors.

                  Those first ones, they were gonna tear down this here porch.  You think I'd let them do that? With all my memories, all my cherished younger days, worn deep into the cracks of these sturdy boards? Don't look at me like that--I know they're rotting right under my feet now, but they're still holding me up, just the same as I'm talking to you.

                  So I scared them off with a few pranks, a few harmless little snakes and spiders.  Nothing a fine young boy couldn't come up with all on his own if I hadn't first given him the idea, just like that, when he was trying to skin Ida-Mae's cat instead.  He was so scared when I caught him, you'd like to think he was going to soil his britches, right then and there.  It was only natural I gave him a way out of the trouble he was in…and I right like to think I saved that poor cat's life.

                  Yes sir, I did that cat a favor--and those folks too.  That little woman of his wouldn't a lasted a second in this old house.  She was pale, and by the looks of her nails, she hadn't seen a hard day of work in her life.  Why she settled for a quaint man, a quiet man, was beyond me.  I knew if the snakes and bugs didn't scare her off, the dead rats in the rain-barrels would have.  The boy thought squirrels would’ve worked better because they're cuter, but I kept my mind on the rats because I figured I was fixing to scare her off, not make her all sentimental over dead cutesy furry things.

                  So that was the first one, I think. The rest don't really matter because they were all pretty much the same, coming over to this place throughout the years like it was the best thing on earth until they saw the insides, and got that look of guttin' a fish in their eyes.  I can't have the walls taken out here and there and still feel whole about it.   I can't have attic doors locked--with all them trunks and beautiful things people done give us once still hiding up there.  I never took them out, you know.  I haven't even looked at them since that day.   It was a fine day, that one, when I was to be married. A fine, fine day. I was a June bride.

                  It wasn't his fault, you know. Leaving me like that. Everyone always said what a bastard he was for doing it--hell--even right to my face they called him chicken shit and Lizzy lover.  But you can’t tell me he ran off with some Yankee Jezebel, because there just weren't one around to taint him like that.  There weren't no one calling to his heart like mine was.  No one who baked him sweeter apple pies, nor listened so fondly to his jokes even when they weren't so funny.  I always laughed.  I even drank his mama's bitter lemon-aid because he loved her so much.

                  No, it wasn't his fault. And I reckon he'll be back one day.  You'll see. He'll come a riding up that road just as dandy as you please, maybe even pluck Ida-Mae's fancy award winning roses like he used to, and give em' up to me with a tear in his eye and apology on his fine plump lips.  I never could refuse him when he gave me those damn dog-eyes.

                  We were good together like that. He forgave me being barren, when I told him that night before our wedding that I had that kind of womanly trouble--couldn't even bring myself to call it cancer, because technically they'd cut all the bad stuff out of me, so it wasn't really a lie--right here on this very spot.  This was where I knew he'd understand hearing it, and right here on this very spot is where I'll forgive him walking out on me at the alter.  He was scared, that's all. Just…scared. Like mama said, his feet were just plumb pickled till they froze right off and went rolling down the road, so he had no choice but to go after em' if he was every going to walk again.

                  Why are you looking at me so?  You think I'm crazy? Sitting out here on my porch, swinging on my creaky swing, thinking about the past? Sugar, the past is all I've got.  Who are you to take that from me? Who are you to say I've got to leave--you with your Bible and your cross and your black coat and your white collar--looking at me like your seeing the devil! I tell you , I ain't no devil and I'm staying put.  You come any closer and I'll sic the dogs on you.  Don't think I won't do it.

                  You have any idea what this place means to me? You think burning it down and taking up the trees makes it all go away? You think putting another house right on top of my foundation, like some stupid old twister done had its way with my land and got me mixed up with someone else when he was a -transplanting his potted plants, is gonna make all this go away form me? Besides, if I leave, just where do you think he'll know to find me? Ain't no place else to look.  If I leave this here spot, I'd vanish to him forever and I just can't do that to the one I love.

                  I'm tired,  Mister.  I'm so very tired--but I keep a good watch here, from my porch swing. I listen to the breath on the leaves. Gentle as a baby's sigh.  Sometimes I hear his voice, so very far away. Sometimes I hear it just like…

                  Just like…

                  No, it wasn't quite so, when I was lying up there all alone.  No one to tend to me, everyone gone away, down the tunnel, so far I couldn’t' see them no more. Like they was just specks in a long row of ants over a light sidewalk, only none of them were sizzling because nobody had put a looking glass to them like they had to me.  I could feel it burning right through that anvil sitting on my chest… You think that's how the ants would feel it? Burning like no tomorrow's coming.  That heavy thing on my heart was lifting off me though, with the fire of those flames.  I was saved.

                  So don't you come around here, spouting your Jesus and your fire and brimstone bullshit to me. I know Jesus up close and personal and he don't come courting in no black pea coat with ring around the high-an-mighty white collar! Jesus and me, we had a deal. I prayed he'd let me keep this house, you see. And he did.  So you might as well go.

                  I like it here. It don't take much to pass the time, and he's coming back, you'll see. He's coming back one day, for me. Not Jesus, a'course because you only get to see Jesus once and that's when you meet your maker. I ain't ready to meet mine, I tell you. I ain't ready yet.

                  I ain't ready.

Now go away.

Go away from this place…