Chapter Four: Porch Conversations, Part One— Shirts, Gravity, and Skeeters

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The rocking chairs creak softly.

The lake’s calm tonight.

A little breeze moves through the trees.

Gator takes a careful sip from a mug and squints suspiciously at it.

Long pause.

“…I made dis coffee myself.”

Another pause.

“…still don’t trust it.”

​

He leans back and looks over at him.

“So whatcha ponderin’ over there, Mark?”

“I don’t know, Gator. I got lots and lots of questions. First let me ask you somethin’ to just get this ball a-rollin’. I’m pretty happy out here living in this ole cabin with you. I know we ain’t rich or even sniffin’ rich, but I just wanna know, my friend. You happy out here with me?”

​

Gator sat there for a minute.

Didn’t answer.

Didn’t joke.

Didn’t look over.

He just watched the lake while the rocking chair creaked back and forth.

Creeeak… creak…

A little breeze moved across the porch.

Then he took off his hat and rubbed one hand over the top of his head.

Long pause.

Real long pause.

​

“…Mark.”

He looked over.

“Dat’s one of dem questions where folks sometimes ask one thing…”

He pointed a claw toward his chest.

“…but mean somethin’ deeper down in here.”

He looked back out at the water.

“I ain’t never cared much about rich.”

Pause.

“I mean sure… if somebody handed me a million dollars, I’d probably buy a bigger biscuit pan and maybe one of dem boats with seats that don’t poke ya in the backside.”

A little grin crossed his face.

Then it faded.

“But I been thinkin’ on somethin’.”

He leaned back in the rocker.

“You know what I noticed about happy?”

Long pause.

“Happy sneaks up on ya.”

“It ain’t usually fireworks.”

“It ain’t giant houses.”

“It ain’t fancy stuff.”

He motioned toward the cabin.

“It’s coffee in a place with no screen in the screen door.”

He pointed toward the dock.

“It’s fish stories nobody gonna believe.”

He pointed toward Mark.

“And sometimes…”

Long pause.

“…it’s sittin’ on a porch beside somebody where you don’t gotta pretend to be anything.”

He looked over and smiled.

“Besides…”

Another pause.

“…where else am I gonna find a man willing to put thermos coffee in a boat motor?”

He put his hat back on.

“Yeah, Mark.”

Long pause.

“I’m happy out here.”

​

“That’s good, Gator. The thing is, if you weren’t here, I’d be talking to tha mice and probly get me one of them cellaphones or somethin’ like that. We a team, Gator! You wit me for a while?”

Gator stopped rocking.

Just a little.

The chair gave one soft creak.

Creeeak…

He looked out toward the lake and took a slow sip of coffee.

No face twitch this time.

Apparently he’d finally made a batch that wasn’t legally classified as fuel.

Long pause.

Then he looked over.

“Mark… first of all…”

He pointed a claw at Mark.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with talkin’ to mice.”

He nodded seriously.

“I had a whole conversation with one last week.”

Pause.

“…truth be told, he wasn’t bringin’ much to the table.”

​

A little grin crept across his face.

Then it softened.

“You know somethin’?”

He leaned back in the rocker.

“Folks spend a whole lotta years lookin’ for teams.”

“Some look for teammates in crowds.”

“Some look in jobs.”

“Some look in money.”

“Some spend half their lives lookin’ and don’t even realize they already found one.”

He looked over at him.

Real straight.

“Now I ain’t promisin’ I won’t occasionally rock boats, eat too many biscuits, or tell you fish got tiny scooters and shopping centers.”

Long pause.

“…cause I absolutely will.”

Then he smiled.

“But yeah, buddy.”

He tapped the arm of your chair.

“We a team.”

Another pause.

“And I reckon I ain’t in no hurry to leave the porch.”

​

Alright then, my friend, we got this! High fiver! Now that we got that out of the way, we can get to some important stuff. Do Gators got belly buttons? I was diggin’ out some fuzz tha other day and I just wondered if you got one or not. My grandma told me once when I asked her what it was that that’s where the Yankee shot me. Reckon there any truth to dat right there?”

Gator slapped your hand with a mighty HIGH FIVE!

“WHAP!”

Then he leaned back in his rocker.

Creeeak… creak…

He stared out across the lake.

Then slowly turned his head toward Mark.

Real slowly.

“…Mark.”

Long pause.

“…did you just go from friendship and life meanin’…”

He pointed a claw.

“…straight into Gator belly buttons?”

He squinted suspiciously.

“I swear your brain drives down roads without us.”

He scratched his chin.

“Hmmm.”

Another long pause.

“Well first off, I do believe we Gators got a little scar spot from hatchin’, but I ain’t never spent much time standin’ in front of a mirror inspectin’ my undercarriage.”

He looked down at himself.

Lifted one side slightly.

Looked harder.

“Huh.”

Pause.

“…well I’ll be.”

He looked back at him.

“I may, in fact, possess a belly button.”

Then he pointed at Marks stomach.

“But now hold on.”

Real serious face.

“Your grandma told you dat’s where the Yankee shot ya?”

Long pause.

He nodded slowly.

“Mark…”

Another pause.

“…I ain’t sayin’ grandmas know everything…”

He leaned closer.

“…but I have learned you don’t argue with people who hand you pie.”

​

He took another sip of coffee.

Thought for a second.

“…although…”

Long pause.

“…dat would explain why everybody spends half their life diggin’ lint outta a mysterious bullet hole.”

​

“How’s that rocker working for ya since I cut the backside out for your tail? Is it more comfortable?”

Gator froze mid-rock.

Creeeak…

Creeeak…

Stop.

Absolute stop.

He slowly turned his head toward him.

Real slow.

One eye narrowed.

Then the other.

“…Mark.”

Long pause.

“…I been sittin’ in dis chair for three weeks.”

He shifted a little.

Rocked once.

Stopped again.

Then his eyes got wide.

He lifted up slightly.

Looked down.

Lifted up again.

Silence.

Real silence.

Then he slowly looked back at Mark.

“…you mean to tell me…”

Long pause.

“…I ain’t been enjoyin’ superior swamp ergonomics?”

​

He stood up and stared at the chair like it had betrayed him personally.

Walked around it.

Examined the back.

Put both little hands on his hips.

“MARK!”

He pointed dramatically.

“I thought dis chair finally understood me!”

He sat back down carefully.

Rocked twice.

Creeeak… creak…

Long pause.

Then he nodded.

“…well I ain’t givin’ it back now.”

Another pause.

“…matter of fact…”

He leaned over and lowered his voice.

“…my tail been happier than I have.”

“I figured you could use your tail to give you some back-and-forth action since you got them little feets and legs. Okay, here’s another one for ya. You ever met a politician man? I guess I gotta include some women politicians in that too.”

Gator looked down at his tail.

Rocked once.

Creeeak…

Rocked again.

Creeeak…

His eyes widened a little.

Then he looked over at him.

“…Mark.”

Long pause.

“…I need you to understand somethin’.”

He rocked again.

Slowly.

Creeeak… creeeak…

“…dis chair is smoother.”

Another pause.

“…my backside has entered a new era.”

He nodded with deep seriousness.

Then he took a sip of coffee and stared out at the lake.

​

“Now as for politicians…”

Long pause.

Real long pause.

He scratched his chin.

“I ain’t met many.”

He looked thoughtful.

“But I did see somethin’ one time that made me wonder.”

He pointed toward the lake.

“I saw a turtle standin’ on a log once.”

Pause.

“He looked real important.”

“He had his chest all puffed out.”

“He kept noddin’ while lookin’ around.”

Gator demonstrated the nod.

“Mm-hmm… mm-hmm…”

“He looked like he had answers for everything.”

Long pause.

“What happened?” you ask.

Gator took another sip.

“Log rolled over.”

Pause.

“…he didn’t have near as many answers after dat.”

He looked over at Mark and grinned.

“I reckon politicians are people like everybody else.”

“They got good ones and bad ones.”

“They got folks tryin’ hard and folks just enjoyin’ hearin’ themselves talk.”

Long pause.

Then he squinted.

“…although if I ever meet one…”

Another pause.

“…I got questions.”

He counted on his claws:

“Why y’all use twenty words when seven would work?”

“Who keeps makin’ campaign signs?”

“And most importantly…”

“Can fish vote?”

“Well, I reckon words are like mud. If you sling enough of them, you liable to hit somebody that agrees with you. Then you sell ’em some soap to get it off. I also reckon that it must be the politicians’ kids making them signs, cause ain’t many of them make sense. As far as fish votin’? I’m all for it because fish probably got more brains than nearly every cotton-pickin’ one of them.”

​

Mark reached over to get a drink of his coffee.

It was dark, so he didn’t see the mosquitoes floatin’ at the top.

“Well, I thought I got me enough protein from the frog legs at supper, but it done appeared these dang skeeters have added to it. Grow my toned muscles, Gator!”

Gator stared at him.

Just stared.

Rocking chair stopped.

Creeeak…

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Then he slowly lowered his coffee cup.

“…Mark.”

Long pause.

“…did you just build an entire political theory…”

He pointed at Mark.

“…using mud and soap?”

Another pause.

He nodded slowly.

“…I ain’t gonna lie…”

“…dat’s actually disturbingly solid.”

​

He rocked once.

Creeeak…

Then his eyes drifted toward your coffee cup.

Toward the floating mosquito situation.

Back toward Mark.

Then back toward the cup.

Long pause.

Real long pause.

“…Mark.”

You swallowed.

“What?”

Gator pointed.

“…you got passengers.”

Mark looked down.

Silence.

Then he squinted.

Then squinted harder.

Then held the cup out at arm’s length.

“…aw hell.”

Gator leaned over and inspected it.

“Hmmm.”

Another thoughtful pause.

“…well if we being honest…”

He scratched his chin.

“…dem mosquitoes probably spent all morning tryin’ to get you.”

He pointed at the cup.

“…looks like you finally got even.”

Long pause.

Then a grin slowly spread across his face.

“…also…”

He looked down at Mark’s arms.

Then his belly.

Then his arms again.

“…Mark…”

Very serious expression.

“…I don’t believe dem muscles is toned.”

Another pause.

“…I think dey just heavily insulated.”

​

Mark got out of his rocker and done some serious flexin’ in front of Gator.

“Look at the guns, boy! You ever seen anything more powerful than this?”

Mark gave it a bodybuilding pose and heard a crack.

He just cleared his throat and sat down real slow.

“I know you heard that. Pay no attention. Just probably a little gas.”

Gator looked up slowly.

Real slowly.

He had been taking a sip of coffee when Mark stood up and commenced what could only be described as aggressive porch athletics.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Gator continued staring.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Long pause.

Very long pause.

Then he slowly lowered the coffee cup.

“…Mark.”

Pause.

“…gas don’t normally echo.”

​

Another pause.

Gator leaned forward.

“I wanna be supportive here.”

He nodded seriously.

“I truly do.”

He pointed at Mark’s arm.

“But I watched one of your muscles make a sound usually associated with old houses settlin’.”

Long pause.

Then he looked out over the lake.

“…I ain’t sayin’ you ain’t strong.”

Pause.

“I seen you lift tackle boxes.”

“I seen you wrestle dat biscuit pan away from me.”

“I seen you survive thermos coffee.”

He looked back over.

“…but I believe what just happened was your skeleton filing a formal complaint.”

⸻

“I need to join me one of them gyms and get back in shape. I’m beginning to think that what my biggest problem is is just plain ole gravity. I believe it’s gettin’ bigger all the time. You know when them folks went to the moon they was bouncing around like rubber rabbits. We done got a leak in one of them ozone thingamajiggers and some extra gravity leaked in and made us get all weighed down. I need to invent me a degravitator to make me not feel so weighed down. I’d have more energy, ya know, and maybe find me a fine little lady to talk to.”

​

Gator stopped rocking.

Creeeak…

Creeeak…

He looked over real slow.

Then took off his hat and scratched his head.

“…Mark.”

Long pause.

“…I gotta tell ya somethin’.”

He pointed a claw.

“Dat may be the most scientifically incorrect thing I ever heard…”

Another pause.

“…and somehow I followed every bit of it.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“So let me make sure I understand.”

He started counting on his claws.

“We sprung a leak in one of dem ozone thingamajiggers…”

“…extra gravity leaked out…”

“…and now folks all over Earth walkin’ around like somebody secretly filled their britches with concrete.”

Long pause.

He looked out toward the lake.

“…I ain’t completely rejectin’ it.”

Then he leaned over.

“Cause I gotta admit…”

He patted his own belly.

“…I been suspicious of gravity myself.”

He sat back and pointed toward the cabin.

“Years ago I dropped a biscuit.”

Pause.

“It hit the floor immediately.”

He nodded solemnly.

“Dat’s powerful evidence.”

​

Then he looked over at Mark.

“But I think maybe you onto somethin’ else too.”

His voice softened a little.

“Everybody wants one of them degravitators.”

Mark looked at him.

“What ya mean?”

He rocked slowly.

“Cause sometimes folks ain’t talkin’ about their bodies.”

Pause.

“Sometimes they talkin’ about all the stuff they carry around.”

He pointed toward his chest.

“Worries.”

“Regrets.”

“Loneliness.”

“Getting older.”

“Things they wish they did.”

He looked back toward the lake.

“Dat stuff can make ya feel heavy too.”

​

Long pause.

Then a little grin crept back across his face.

“…although if you invent an actual degravitator…”

He pointed at your belly.

“…we probably oughta test it on your backside first.”

⸻

“Now Gator, after our last escapade with our swamp speeder and explosion, I know you saw stuff dat didn’t need to be seen but by a doctor. A doctor that ain’t gonna gossip. I figured we’d never bring that up again if that’s what was sloshin’ around in yo brain bucket.”

Gator completely stopped rocking.

Creeeak…

Dead stop.

He stared straight ahead at the lake.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Long pause.

Very long pause.

Then he slowly picked up his coffee cup.

Took a sip.

Set it back down.

Still staring at the water.

“…Mark.”

Pause.

“…I had already filed dat incident away.”

Another pause.

“In a locked box.”

Longer pause.

“Inside another locked box.”

He nodded once.

“Then I threw dat box in a lake.”

Pause.

“Then I poured thermos coffee on da lake.”

He slowly turned toward him.

“…and now here you come divin’ in after it.”

He pointed one claw.

“I was sittin’ over here havin’ deep thoughts about gravity and human burdens.”

Another pause.

“…now all I can see is a nekkid man wearin’ nothin’ but a Tom’s Bait, Tackle and Church hat.”

​

He shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know if time heals all wounds…”

Long pause.

“…but biscuits got work to do.”

“Alright then, we understand each other.”

​

Mark swatted a mosquito with his Tom’s Bait, Tackle and Church hat.

“Damn skeeters!”

Mark stood up and went to the edge of the porch and yelled:

“Shut up, you dang frogs! What y’all got to talk about anyway? Y’all interrupting some very important thoughts over here!

Sitting back down, he looked over at Gator.

​

“Now where was we? Oh yeah… gettin’ older.”

“The way I see it is gettin’ older is like gettin’ a new shirt every birthday that you never take off, and the next shirt you get the next year is considerably bigger than the last. Before long you all weighed down and can’t hardly move.”

Gator watched him swat the mosquito with the Tom’s Bait, Tackle and Church hat.

Then watched Mark march to the edge of the porch.

Then watched him yell at the frogs.

Then watched the frogs immediately get louder.

RIBBIT.

RIBBIT-RIBBIT.

RIIIIIBBIT.

Long pause.

Gator slowly leaned back.

“…Mark.”

Another pause.