The Pahl Paw Patch: Bound
Nelson Pahl
July 20, 2010
Sporting soiled coveralls, dusty work boots, and a Johnsonville Titans sweatshirt, Stan sat in the porch swing, gripping a beer can. He´d lived in this house all his life—fifty-one years, to be exact. He inherited the modest, lemon-yellow Victorian from his mother, who inherited it from her mother.
After another long day at the mill—the same mill his father and his father´s father worked at during their lifetimes—this is where Stan liked to park it: on this porch swing, the first of the evening´s many beers in hand. Here, he´d survey Midwestern small town life as it muddled on by.
With a gentle push to the porch floor, Stan eased himself back and forth in the swing, as he watched a train pass before his home.
Where's that thing going? he wondered. Stan took a pull form the beer can. Maybe Colorado. I´ve always wanted to go to Colorado. Wake up in the mountains every morning, breathe the crystal clear air, the sun so close you can almost touch it…Whatta life that would be.
Stan lost Marian, his wife of twenty-four years, eighteen months earlier. They´d remained childless, by default.
Nah, he thought. It´s probably going to Arizona. I´d like to go there. Warm winters, palm trees, red rock buttes, no grass to mow. Mmm…the smell of the desert after a monsoon. He closed his eyes and imagined the scent. What a life that would be.
Tonight was bowling night with the boys. He´d been heading to The Lanes with buddies each Thursday for more than thirty years. And truth be told, it was about the only exercise the five foot eight, two hundred-pound former fullback got these days. There´d be beer, hot dogs, chips, dirty jokes, and more beer.
Stan opened his eyes and surveyed the fast approaching caboose.
Nah. I´ll bet this one´s headed to California. The Wild Wild West. Oh…how I´d love to see ol´ So-Cal. All those movie stars, the beautiful women, the beaches, the great seafood, the perfect weather all-year round…Sun, sun, and more sun! All that money to be made. Man, would that be the life!
Stan pulled the beer can to his mouth, tipped his head back, guzzled a gulp, then eyed the caboose, as it raced off into the distance. "What a life that would be," he muttered aloud. Stan stared at the caboose…for a long moment…deep in thought…imagining that life…
Then, he crunched the can in hand, rose from the porch swing, and made his way inside the house and to the kitchen, for another beer.
After another long day at the mill—the same mill his father and his father´s father worked at during their lifetimes—this is where Stan liked to park it: on this porch swing, the first of the evening´s many beers in hand. Here, he´d survey Midwestern small town life as it muddled on by.
With a gentle push to the porch floor, Stan eased himself back and forth in the swing, as he watched a train pass before his home.
Where's that thing going? he wondered. Stan took a pull form the beer can. Maybe Colorado. I´ve always wanted to go to Colorado. Wake up in the mountains every morning, breathe the crystal clear air, the sun so close you can almost touch it…Whatta life that would be.
Stan lost Marian, his wife of twenty-four years, eighteen months earlier. They´d remained childless, by default.
Nah, he thought. It´s probably going to Arizona. I´d like to go there. Warm winters, palm trees, red rock buttes, no grass to mow. Mmm…the smell of the desert after a monsoon. He closed his eyes and imagined the scent. What a life that would be.
Tonight was bowling night with the boys. He´d been heading to The Lanes with buddies each Thursday for more than thirty years. And truth be told, it was about the only exercise the five foot eight, two hundred-pound former fullback got these days. There´d be beer, hot dogs, chips, dirty jokes, and more beer.
Stan opened his eyes and surveyed the fast approaching caboose.
Nah. I´ll bet this one´s headed to California. The Wild Wild West. Oh…how I´d love to see ol´ So-Cal. All those movie stars, the beautiful women, the beaches, the great seafood, the perfect weather all-year round…Sun, sun, and more sun! All that money to be made. Man, would that be the life!
Stan pulled the beer can to his mouth, tipped his head back, guzzled a gulp, then eyed the caboose, as it raced off into the distance. "What a life that would be," he muttered aloud. Stan stared at the caboose…for a long moment…deep in thought…imagining that life…
Then, he crunched the can in hand, rose from the porch swing, and made his way inside the house and to the kitchen, for another beer.
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