Chapter One: Coffee, Mosquitoes, and Biscuits

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The early morning light peeked through a crack in the cabin wall and landed square on Mark’s eye.

Opening one eye, he sat up slowly in his creaking bed and rubbed both hands over his sleepy face.

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“Coffee… yep, I need me some fo’ sho’. Might put me some gunpowder in it this mornin’.”

He reached up for his favorite overalls hanging from a nail to cover his old naked body. One of the strap fasteners dropped to the floor.

He stared down at it.

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“I just ain’t got the want this mornin’ to bend that low yet,” he mumbled. “Gonna have to get me some new overalls pretty soon, I reckon. Looks like a one-strap day.”

He shuffled toward the kitchen while the creaks and pops in the floor played their usual morning music.

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The coffee pot sat on the stove. He picked it up and gave it a shake.

Still a little left from yesterday.

Mark stepped onto the porch and looked out over the lake beside the cabin.

Morning fog hovered over the water like a blanket. The lake sat smooth as a giant mirror.

“Good mornin’, you big ol’ beautiful lake. Whatcha got for me today?”

He poured the old coffee into the water.

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The surface bubbled.

A moment later two fish floated slowly up.

Mark squinted.

“Must’ve been a tad weak yesterday. Only two fish today.”

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Back through the screen door he went.

Well… the door still existed.

The screen had disappeared years ago.

The faucet clattered and shook before finally giving him water—rusty at first, then clear.

He reached onto the shelf for coffee beans.

And his hammer.

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Pouring beans onto an old towel, he folded it over and pounded them into dust.

From the other room came a voice:

“For God’s sake man, can’t you get a quieter hammer to make dat coffee with?”

Mark grinned.

“Time to get your scaley butt up anyway, you slacker! It’s almost six o’clock!”

He laughed.

“We got a whole lotta pontificatin’ and fishin’ to do!”

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A few moments later, coming through the bedroom door was a six-foot alligator walking upright.

Gator reached over and grabbed his favorite hat from the wall.

He sniffed.

Coffee.

A couple flies buzzed around over the stove after wandering through the screenless screen door.

Then they started coughing.

They flew a few crooked circles.

Loop da loop.

Then dropped onto the stove.

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Mark and Gator looked at each other.

“Coffee’s ready!”

They said it together.

Gator’s deep laugh rolled through the cabin.

He leaned over and stared into the pot.

Now Gator had seen strange things before.

He’d seen a catfish swallow a wristwatch.

He’d seen a squirrel fall out of a tree and get up acting like it meant to do it.

He’d even seen Mark try fixing a boat motor with duct tape, a spoon, and optimism.

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But this…

This looked dangerous.

He narrowed one eye.

The coffee narrowed back.

Gator slowly looked over.

“Mark… I think dat coffee just looked at me.”

Blub… blub…

“Nope.”

Blub…

“No sir.”

He pointed toward it.

“I done lived too long to get into a fight with breakfast.”

He sniffed.

“You put gunpowder in dis one, didn’t ya?”

“Because if dat pot starts growlin’, I’m headin’ for the boat.”

The two sat down with their coffee while fog drifted over the lake.

Finally Gator stared into his cup.

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“Mark… I got me a question.”

Mark looked over.

“Why’d God make mosquitoes?”

He raised a claw.

“No, I’m serious.”

“They bite you.”

“They buzz around your ears at two in da mornin’.”

“They always find the one place you can’t reach.”

“And I swear they tell their friends where you live.”

He looked toward the ceiling.

“I’m just askin’ for understanding here, Lord.”

Mark scooted back in his chair.

Screeeeeech.

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He took a long draw from his coffee and shuddered.

“I don’t know, Gator.”

“I know all about feeding stuff with their creepy little carcasses and all that, but dang they sho can mess up a fishin’ day.”

He thought a moment.

“If you could use ‘em for bait that’d be good… but they too tiny for a hook.”

He paused.

“And if they was bigger they’d suck us dead.”

Gator nodded thoughtfully.

Mark leaned back.

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“I kinda figure maybe they’re here to keep us humble.”

“You get out there catchin’ fish and start thinkin’ you’re all that…”

He puffed out his chest.

“Then BAM!”

“You get bit someplace where you gotta break a limb off a bush just to scratch it.”

Gator nodded.

“Dat right there got some thinkin’ in it.”

He spread his arms wide.

“Look at me! Fish fear me! Birds respect me!”

Then slapped the table.

“WHAP!”

“BAM!”

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He scratched dramatically all over himself.

“Now you out there dancin’ around like you got ants in your drawers.”

He paused.

“Maybe every creature got a purpose.”

Long pause.

“Maybe mosquitoes exist to remind us we ain’t nearly as important as we think we are.”

He took another sip.

Regret crossed his face.

He stared into the cup.

“…and maybe dis coffee exists to remind us life can end at any moment.”

He looked up.

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“You got any biscuits?”

Mark rubbed his scruffy face.

“Biscuits huh? You want biscuits?”

“I reckon I could use some biscuits too.”

“Seeing as you got them tiny little arms and couldn’t reach under the cabinets and get all them pans out, I’ll just do it for ya.”

“Maybe whip up some of them two-minute eggs and all them sophisticated breakfast thangs.”

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Gator lowered his big head.

Mark laughed and slapped him on the back.

“Course I’ll make you some biscuits, my friend.”

“If I can find my biscuit pan.”

He crouched down and started rattling pans under the cabinet.

“Last time I looked under here I swear somethin’ bit me.”

“Here it is!”

“And I believe I even warshed it real good last time.”

Mark stood up.

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A mouse was riding on his back.

Gator’s eyes lit up.

“Whatcha doin’, Gator?” Mark asked.

Gator pointed.

“Mark… don’t move.”

“Gator…”

“No sudden movements.”

“Gator… why you grinnin’?”

Gator tried holding it in.

Failed.

“Mark…”

“HRRMPH…”

“…you appear to have grown a tail.”

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Mark spun in circles.

“A WHAT?!”

The mouse hung on for dear life.

Then launched itself…

Directly onto Gator’s hat.

Silence.

Real silence.

Then Mark rubbed his stubble.

Only one solution.

He grabbed the biscuit pan.

Reared back.

KWAAAK!

Right upside Gator’s head.

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His hat flew off.

The mouse disappeared underneath it.

Gator stumbled backward knocking old knickknacks off the shelf.

Clink.

Clank.

He blinked slowly.

One eye.

Then the other.

Then looked at Mark.

“…did…”

Long pause.

“…did you just hit me upside my head with the biscuit pan?”

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“There was a mouse!” Mark yelled.

The hat wiggled.

Both stared.

Wiggle.

Wiggle.

Tiny nose.

Tiny whiskers.

Gone again.

Gator slowly picked up his hat and dusted it off.

Real dignified.

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“I want our friendship to continue, Mark.”

He placed the hat back on his head.

“But I need you to understand somethin’.”

Long pause.

“If every emergency around here gets solved with cookware…”

Another pause.

“…I may not survive Chapter Two.