The Rhythm of Rage

May 16^th, Nineteen Sixty Five was a sullen spring morning in the small town of Newport Arkansas. The leaves on the trees angled downward from the weight of early morning dew, seeming to weep for Jessica and Lynn as they await their mother’s hour of departure. The morning breeze brought a ghostly calm to Jessica’s troubled spirit as she stood in the dank shadows of the doorway.

But her serenity was soon flawed when a small voice within whispered, “your mother will never return.” Suddenly Jessica’s spine felt as if it had severed. Struggling to keep from folding over she tumbled back against the door. 

    “God no,” the words leaked through the crimps of her closed lips. She prayed the voice would fade with the darkness of her sleepless night.

    After retrieving her bearing, Jessica gazed into the gray morning only to catch sight of Joe crouched over the wrought iron fence, supported by his elbows, still as a corpse. Jessica watched as he gazed scornfully at the ground with a cigarette burning close to his thick short fingers. The smoke spiraled up, fusing with early morning mist. When fire from his cigarette fell onto his hand, it jolted life into the callous shell of a man. Joe flung the butt across the fence and flapped his hand in the cool moist air. It was amusing to see even an ounce of frailness slither from the pores of his insensitive skin; Jessica’s snicker from the shadows drew Joe’s attention.

    He snatched his head around searching for the soft giggle, but he caught sight of the luggage neatly lined up on the porch, and the waving hand dropped to his side, closing in a furious fist. Anger stewed behind his winkled forehead and bushy brows. It was a riled expression that had often reminded Jessica of an earth-rumbling volcano, waiting to erupt. However, to her surprise Joe reached in the breast pocket of his shirt, and took out a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled deeply and glanced once more at the suitcases then released the smoke into the air. When it cleared, so had the rage in his face. “She’s leaving?” he muttered to himself.

Repositioning on the fence Joe caught a glimpse of Jessica standing in the shadows. “Jesse,” he called. She looked at him in annoyed silence for a moment with thoughts of how his malicious devotion had finally force her mother to make the bitter choice of leaving her and Lynn behind. “Yes Daddy,” she answered.

Joe rose from his bent position, “Come here!”

      Jessica stepped from the shadows of the doorway; a light breeze approached her with a scent of perfume.

“Jesse,” he called beckoning with the cigarette between his fingers, his hard stare cutting right through the gray morning dawn at her.

In spite of her quivering stomach Jessica walked over and stood next to him. Smoke from his cigarette coiling up into her face. “Why are the suitcases on the porch?” he asked. She stepped back, awkwardly avoiding the smoke, and looked at the luggage.

 “Answer me,” His tone was low, and intimidating as the hiss of a diamond back rattlesnake. Jessica sharply eyed him, and replied, “You don’t know, Daddy?”

   He thumped the half smoked cigarette into the street and turned his wagging head toward her. “If I did would I ask you?”  

    Shunning the hard glare of his angry eyes, she looked into the night fragmenting into patches of morning warmth, and relented. “Maybe you should speak to Mama about that.”

Joe shook his head. “So she’s leaving…uh?”  His jaw muscle knotting beneath his stubby beard, “Um…hum, we’ll see,” he said, and a smothered chucker flared his nostrils. He reached into his pocket and took out and another cigarette.