The Harland Highway - GARDEN HOSE STORY - PART 1

Episode Date: September 30, 2016

This is the 1st segment of Harland's short story about a man who travels back in time every time he drinks from a water hose. Enjoy PREMIUM MEMBERS! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The lawnmower rumbled like an agitated dog being woken from its sleep. Brett pushed it lazily over the tall green grass sprouting on the front lawn. The sun was punishing, beating down on him relentlessly. No cover, no place to hide, not one cloud in the whole sky. The summer had been brutal, record temperatures for the last three weeks. Everyone was on edge, agitated. flustered, unable to get comfortable. Sherry had been on Brett's ass for five days to cut the lawn.

He wanted no part of it until today. Yeah, today was the final straw where she didn't ask him this time. She just gave him that look where her left eyebrow goes up a fraction of an inch, followed by a dead stare. From his vantage point sprawled out on the couch, Brett knew exactly what it meant. Cut the grass or weren't another fight for the next ten days. Regudgingly, Brett pulled his overweight, 43-year-old body up off the couch, adjusted his tattered green shorts, and slipped his unkempt feet into his dirty-looking flip-flops.

Brent was a slob and he knew it. That's why he didn't want to cut the grass. It was too much for him. Life was easier lying on the couch, watching football, eating chips, nap, Yes, cutting the grass was just too much effort at his age. Brett hadn't always been like this. Underneath the roll under his chin, there used to be quite a chiseled jawline. Young, healthy skin, white teeth, an all-American smile that caused little creases in his cheeks.

He was a good-looking kid, athletic too. Brett was a wide receiver on the high school football team. In fact, it was being on the football team that ended up. up leading him to Sherry. It was during a practice one day. Brett had busted a cleat on his left shoe. As he hopped back towards the dressing room, he saw a cute blonde girl sitting in the bleachers with two of her friends. They watched Brett struggle past them, and as hard as they tried, they could not help but burst into laughter. Brett stopped and stared at them, thinking they were total geeks. He shook his head and kept walking his crooked walk to the dressing room.

He was never sure why, but for some reason he took a quick look back over his shoulder and his eyes somehow locked with Shelly's just for a second, maybe even two or three, but that's all. It was inconsequential or so breaded thought, but later that night and for the next two weeks, all he could think about were her eyes, those beautiful, round, blue eyes. The lawnmour engine vibrated, more than it should have probably. Brett was too lazy to ever change the oil or even top it off for that matter. This made the engine work twice as hard and make twice as much noise. Brett didn't care. He was numb to it. In fact, at this stage in his life, he had become numb to just about everything.

His wife, his job, his kids, everything. As Brick came to the perimeter of the lawn, he took a wide turn and spun the lawnmore around, pointing it back to where he had just come. There were long, even lines swathed across the lawn. It actually looked rather manicured. He sighed, realizing he wasn't even halfway done. Already his whole body was dripping with sweat. His forehead had large beads of perspiration dripping from it,

falling to the grass like salty raindrops. His ungroomed armpits released streams of perspiration that slid down his fleshy sides and careened over his fat-filled love handles. His skin was pale and pasty. Brett hadn't really spent much time in the outdoor world when he didn't have to.

His wheelhouse was soft, cushiony chairs, couches, restaurants with the all-you-can-eat buffets. Brett wasn't obese, but he could certainly stand to lose at least 50 pounds. As he pushed the mower back across the center of the lawn, his two children ran through the gate, followed by Sherry. Nathan and Kelly were just two years apart in age, Nathan ate and Kelly six. They were at that age where their father meant everything to them. They were like little puppies at his feet. They just wanted to please them. Unfortunately, Brett's

playtime days had long gone past, and guiltily he often dreaded his own kids. knowing that they yearn for his energy, hoping he would play with them. In this moment, Brett was almost grateful for the lawnmour. As his adoring kids charged toward him, he was able to sternly wave them off, warning them of the impending danger in the form of a lawnmower and its spinning blades.

He had an out. The lawnmour he had moments before despised was now his ally and friend, conspiring to keep his own children at bay. As Brett waved his arms and the look of excitement instantly faded from his children's faces, they knew their daddy was off limits as long as he was shielded by the lawnmower. Sadly, they knew this drill and did not pursue it. Like trained animals, they changed course and headed straight towards the house.

Shelly walked hastily, barely looking up at Brett. Her arms were filled with several grocery bags, and she looked hot and flustered. Brett felt insulted that she wasn't recognizing the colossal effort he had made to get up off the couch and cut the grass. All this cutting and not even a hello from his own wife? In protest, Brett reached down and shut the lawnmower off before Shelley could reach the door.

The lawnmower took its sweet time going silent. Almost as if letting out a long, exhausted breath, the lawnmower motor whined to a stop, sputtering just before falling silent. How'd the shopping go? Brett asked without really caring. Hot. Nathan kept pulling cans off the shelf. He drives me nuts. Shelley kept walking, clearly not interested in striking up a conversation. Hey, do you think he could grab me a drink, babe? Hot as horse shit out here.

Shelley stopped just for a second and exhaled a little puff of air. Brett, do you not see I'm overloaded? here. How about it'll help with these bags? Babe, I'm cutting the grass here. I'm boiling. Oh, and I'm not? Come on, Brett. Shelly gave him a little stare of exhaustedness and kept walking toward the door. Okay, fine, whatever, thanks. Shelly rolled her eyes at his poor little old me inflection and then hustled on into the

house. Brett really was thirsty. This heat was zapping the moisture from his body, but he didn't want to go on the house and have the kids. kids swarmed him, and he didn't want Shelly to think that she had won the get-me-and-drink stand-off. He could always use it as leverage for later. Brett licked his lips. They were dry, chapped, craving something in a liquid form. It was in that moment that Brett noticed the water hose sticking out from behind the shrubs.

He could see the nozzle perched on a flat stone, a few drips of water leaking from the spout. Brett just became thirstier. Now he began imagining the water from the hose pouring down his parched throat. Why not? He half-whispered to himself. Brett lumbered over to the garden hose and picked it up.

The spout hung in his right hand while his other hand fumbled behind the bush and turned on the water. Instantly Brett felt the vibration in the hose. He could feel water coursing through it, coiling around through the twisted chambers of its innards. Within seconds, the clear flowing water erupted out of the end of the hose and soaked the surrounding grass.

Brett stood there and watched it for a second, slightly confused, mesmerized even. He couldn't remember the last time he had held a hose like this, perhaps when he was a little boy? The sound of the gurgling water splashing all over the ground made Brett smile. It was a familiar sound, a sound he knew from his childhood. Without another moment's hesitation, Brett leaned over and brought the water hose up to his thirsty mouth. Almost the instant the water hit Brett's lips, he felt relief and satisfaction. The water was slightly warm, but grew colder as the water that had been heated up, lying dormant in the hose, was pushed out.

The cooler water came in behind, and Brayette. Brett cherished it. He closed his eyes as the clear, cool liquid filled his mouth. He gulped it down like a ravenous dog, lapping sloppily from its water bowl. This was just the relief Brett was looking for. Not only was his thirst being satiated, but the drinking from the hose seemed to be calming his mind. It was relaxing him, taking his thoughts off all the things that seemed to stress him out.

his jobs the fights with his wife the kids as breck continued to ravage the water a smile crept onto his face he actually started giggling slightly there was something about the sheer innocence and joy of drinking from the hose that seemed to be taking him back a place in his mind that was long ago when he was just a boy yes that's it a boy In his mind he was transported to the house where he grew up, the backyard where he used to play catch with his father. Brett was having vivid memories how he and his dad would throw the football back and forth for hours, both of them breaking every so often to drink from the garden hose, the one that hung on the wall right beside his mother's rose garden. Brett was now drinking more than he probably needed to. His thirst had been quenched, but yet he

continued to let the flowing water cascade across his lips. The sensation was just too pleasurable. Brett didn't want to let go of the nostalgic feelings that seemed to come from drinking from the hose. He just held it, submerged in those glorious memories. Hey kiddo! Suddenly Brett heard a voice calling. It came from across the yard behind him. Somehow the voice seemed familiar, but he wasn't sure. Brett's eyes popped open, the tap water gurgling out of the hose and landing on the ground splashing in all directions. You're going to drink all day or work on your long ball? Brett's heart froze. Suddenly he knew the voice. It was a voice he hadn't heard in over 25 years. It was his father. Dad? Brett whispered to himself nervously.

trepidatiously he slowly turned his head towards the voice what he saw was almost enough to make him collapse there at the far end of the yard not his yard but now the yard from his house where he grew up as a boy stood his father norm coleman car salesman norm coleman in his brown slacks his yellow golf shirt and his big crosbie-style straw hat Brett couldn't move He blinked his eyes together quickly Three times Tiny drops of water Falling off his drenched lips He was in complete shock Well, you're gonna throw the baller not

Ready? Brett dropped the hose And ran for the door of the house The hose spun around on the ground Rithing uncontrollably Like a snake with its head chopped off Water spurting everywhere Brett ran through the house

Charging up the stairs Slamming the bedroom door behind him Sherry, who was still unpacking the groceries, whirled around just in time to catch him speeding past. Um, you left the door wide open, Brett. There was no disguising her agitation as she yelled after him. Do you want to let all the bugs in? Look, mummy, the hose is dancing. Kelly giggled as the unattended hose continued to spray water indiscriminately all over the yard,

including the windows that Sherry had just washed a few weeks earlier. rolling her eyes sherry motioned to Nathan to run outside and you left the hose running full blast have you seen our water bills lately come on Brett it's dancing mommy Kelly continued to chime Nathan would you please go out there and turn that thing off I'm going to go and talk to your father god damn it Nathan ran out through the open door and dashed towards the garden hose Kelly continued to laugh from her perch on the kitchen stool as Ethan chased the hose around aimlessly, trying to bring it under control. Sherry burst into the bedroom with the words of an argument already forming in her head. This was all too familiar ground. The fights have been many lately, and she had memorized her monologue of disappointments. As the door opened, she let it all come out. Brett, do you even give a fuck anymore?

About this family, about anything? All I ask is that you cut the grass once a week. week try not to drink too much beer and maybe just maybe give your kids a hug now and then is that asking too much huh is it brent didn't look up he was sitting on the side of the bed with his hands covering his face sherry wasn't finished you leave the hose running the lawn isn't even half cut oh and would it have killed you to help me bring up the groceries brett didn't move his eyes still covered by his fingers. Oh, so now you won't even look at me.

Emotion started to seep into Sherry's voice. She swallowed the extra saliva that had built up in her mouth from her impassioned rant. She waited for Brett to reply. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. A silence filled with all the unsaid things that two struggling people probably should have said a long time ago. Sherry waited. So, this is where we're at? After 19 years of marriage, we don't even talk.

Sherry crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her other leg. Brett? Hello? Anyone in there? Suddenly, Brett's body heaved and a muffled snort escaped from behind his cuffed hands. Brett! Sherry looked slightly confused, if not concerned. Slowly, Brett pulled his hands down from his face, his head turning to face Sherry.

Brett's eyes were swollen, his cheeks red, tears smeared all over his face. Now Sherry was most definitely concerned. Her body language softened. She lowered her arms and cocked her head. Her voice softened as well. Baby, are you okay? I'm sorry, Cher. He couldn't finish.

What the hell is going on, baby? Sherry now walked toward him. I think I saw him. I saw who? Sherry demanded. You're going to think I'm insane. Brett, was there someone in our yard? I didn't see anyone. Sherry sat gently on the band beside Brett. Brett looked at her and searched her face, almost as if hoping she would have the answers. His eyelashes were soaked with tears. The whites of his eyes ran around the edges. Who, Brett? Who did you see? What is this all about? I saw my dad.

There was uncertainty in his voice, but he continued. He was standing over by the fence. He was holding my football, the one that I had when I was a kid. Sherry stared at him. Clearly, I'm prepared for his answer. What is all she could muster? I know. I know it's great. crazy i thought maybe i was hallucinating or something but he was there as plain as day i saw him he he called me brettie he's the only one that ever called me brettie another lone tear slid down brett's cheek well at the same time sherry stood up and took a step back from the bed she turned

and glared at him your dad norm are you shitting me i'm telling you i'm telling you he was there shay You know what, Brett? I'm right at the edge here. I'm right at the very edge. I don't know if I can do this. It's just... It's just been going on for too long. Sherry's voice was mixed with anger and pain.

Her voice had softened, but it was because she was hurting, not because she was less angry. Do you even want to be a family anymore, Brett? What? What does that mean? You're barely here anymore, Brett. It feels like you checked out years ago.

Look at you. You don't talk to me anymore. You don't laugh with me anymore. You don't... Sherry began to cry. Maybe on purpose. She couldn't bear her to say what she was thinking. I don't what.

Go on finish. I don't what. You barely talk to your kids, Brett. You think they don't notice? You think they don't feel that? It's like you're just putting in time. Sherry, no, Brett pleaded. I'm telling you, it was my dad.

He wanted to play catch. He wanted to shut the fuck up, Brett, Sherry screamed. Her anger finally coming out. Your father, really? Are you sure it wasn't the nine beers you drank? Well, I was out shopping with the kids. Did you see some pink elephants, too? Sherry charged toward the bedroom door.

Baby, no, this is for real. I swear he was in the yard. Sherry stopped abruptly and turned. The stare in her eyes could have stopped a train. What's real, Brett, is that you are losing this family. Now Sherry's tears started to come. You don't want to be here anymore. It's painfully obvious.

And you have the balls to blame your inability to even finish cutting the goddamn grass on your father? Are you delusional? Baby, it's true. Brett interrupted meekly. your father died from a stroke when you were 18 Brett 25 fucking years ago so do you want to try a different excuse because you probably have about two left to your name and then sherry turned and slammed the bedroom door Brett stood there alone broken confused and possibly a little scared