Caleb Booker
Caleb Booker sat on the front porch of his home on the outskirts of a Wyoming town with a double-barrel shotgun in his lap and a hound dog named Boone at his feet. “Fine day … fine day. A little warm though. Ain’t it, pup?” Boone looked at Caleb with a how-the-hell-should-I-know expression. Rocking back and forth in his favorite chair, Caleb gazed at the distant mountains and sighed. “Used to be crystal clear over there. Now I can hardly see anything at all.” The neighbor’s calico sauntered up the front porch steps. Boone nodded politely, quickly lost interest, and went back to licking himself. Caleb stroked the cat’s head and said a few gentle words to her. He scratched his ankle and noticed that his shoes needed mending. “Got to get to that tomorrow. Patch up the holes and put some polish on ’em. You never know when company’s comin’!” Caleb chewed on his favorite sandwich: peanut butter, grape jelly, and banana. The jelly dripped on his shirt, and he tried to wipe it off with his fingers. Then he noticed his belly and laughed. “Yes, sir! Used to have what they call ‘six-pack abs.’ Don’t believe me, Boone? It’s a damn fact. Drove the girls wild.” He looked at Boone, who was splayed out like a two-bit hooker. |
“Being 75 ain’t what it’s cracked up to be. I’ve got more hair growing out of my ears and my chin than I’ve got growing out of my head!” Caleb sipped on his Coke. About a mile away, a hawk screamed. Boone’s nose pointed to the sound, and he waited. After a few seconds, he slumped back down. That was enough exercise for one day. “I wonder how Mama’s doin’? Got to give her a call tomorrow.” The phone rang in the living room. “I’ll just let the machine get it. Whoever it is, I’ll call ’em back.” Actually, Caleb was avoiding several people: his ex-wife, his younger brother, and his daughter. They all had a lot to say, mostly about the way he was living his life. Just a bunch of folks who thought they knew better than he did. Caleb leaned back and rocked himself to sleep. Before long, he was dreaming of a younger version of himself with six-pack abs and a beautiful girl on each arm. Boone broke his reverie by yapping at the air. After a long, satisfying yawn, Caleb stood up and stretched. His back hurt from sitting too much. “Got to get more exercise …” he muttered. “They got a gym in town. I’ll start next week. Got to get in shape and get those six-pack abs back!” He turned to his dog and said, “Come on, Boone. Let’s go shoot some ducks.” Caleb grabbed his shotgun, walked toward the hills, and whistled. “Fine day … fine day. A little warm though. Ain’t it, pup?” From Carpet Creatures: Tales from the Deep Pile To join the Carpet Creatures project, please visit our TAE Gallery website. |
