The Rockin' Chair by Steven Manchester Read Free Book Online Page A

demanded that they all graduate. I wasn’t gonna raise dummies like me , he thought.
    The kids spent way too much time on the farm as far as Hank recalled. They loved their grandma but absolutely adored the old man—who’d demanded that they call him Grampa John; Grampa as a title of respect and John so they’d always be on a first-name basis and able to talk as such. It was like their grandfather walked on water for them. Knowing that he’d drowned in that same pool of righteousness years before, Hank couldn’t get over it. It don’t make no sense . As the years unfolded, the old man maintained his stubbornness, so Hank stayed clear. The kids would come home with stories that painted anything but an accurate picture of the strict, unforgiving mule. He was gentle and kind with them— like he’s livin’ long enough to make up for the pain he put me through . In a shameful way, Hank envied his kids for their loving stories of their grandpa.
    Maybe with death gettin’ closer every day, the old man got scared, he wondered. Maybe the kids were Pa’s repentance.
    Without asking Hank’s permission, the kids grew fast. It seemed like Elle was putting up a new calendar every couple of months. Hank awoke one morning to find the boys’ cowlicks flattened with some hair jelly, while Tara’s pigtails were replaced with a perm. It felt like he slept once more and awoke to find them gone. And that was exactly how it went. The house was filled with chaos one minute and the kids were all graduating from high school the next. Then sure enough, one by one they flew the coop to find whatever their hearts were searching. After they’d each made it over those looming mountains to discover the real world, silence blanketed the house. Thinking of all the laughter that had once spilled through the bunkhouse, Hank thought, I’d give anything to hear it again.
    Still, he couldn’t have been more proud of each of them. No matter how their efforts turn out, Hank thought, they’re each tryin’ their best . Georgey went to serve Uncle Sam— God bless his soul. Evan’s feet couldn’t move fast enough out the door— off to college in the East to spite me and become a writer . Tara followed a shooting star that landed in New York. He cringed at the thought of his sweet, innocent girl in the big city and prayed, God be with her . There was nothing more he could do.
    Life got real quiet after that. Elle found hobbies to replace the time she spent with the kids and his mother took ill. Ma just showed up on his porch one night and asked, “Excuse me, sir, but could you tell me if you’ve seen my pa?”
    Hank was horrified and realized that when life was good, time got carried away on a hurricane wind—but when pain came knocking, the air went still. While Ma’s memories grew faint and foreign, her mind was slowly being removed from the world around her. It was terrible to watch. Hank couldn’t imagine a worst crime than for some disease to steal away the memories that an entire life spent collecting.
    The coldest wind whipped down the mountain and back-handed Hank across the face. Opening his eyes, he reached for his pocket and lit another cigarette. “A few more Marlboro miles and I’ll be able to order that iron lung,” he coughed.
    The air must have dropped ten degrees since his mind took a jog down memory lane. It’s gonna be another winter of endurance for sure , he thought, and then glanced toward the farmhouse. Pa’s light’s out. Gazing up, he stared into a majestic sky. The moon was ripe and there were a million stars; it looked as if someone had freed every firefly Hank had ever trapped in a Mason jar and placed them on a black velvet canvas. Hunched in his jacket, he collected the empty beer cans around him and struggled to stand. His back ached. He stretched out and realized the throb in his head felt worse.