{"id":3569,"date":"2016-04-26T17:55:24","date_gmt":"2016-04-26T22:55:24","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/?p=3569"},"modified":"2025-03-15T14:29:24","modified_gmt":"2025-03-15T19:29:24","slug":"hawkweed-original-fiction-patricia-crisafulli","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/hawkweed-original-fiction-patricia-crisafulli\/","title":{"rendered":"Hawkweed"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"home-display-none\"><div id=\"kgvid_kgvid_0_wrapper\" class=\"kgvid_wrapper\">\n\t\t\t<div id=\"video_kgvid_0_div\" class=\"fitvidsignore kgvid_videodiv\" data-id=\"kgvid_0\" data-kgvid_video_vars=\"{&quot;id&quot;:&quot;kgvid_0&quot;,&quot;attachment_id&quot;:3793,&quot;player_type&quot;:&quot;Video.js v8&quot;,&quot;width&quot;:&quot;960&quot;,&quot;height&quot;:&quot;540&quot;,&quot;fullwidth&quot;:&quot;false&quot;,&quot;fixed_aspect&quot;:&quot;false&quot;,&quot;countable&quot;:true,&quot;count_views&quot;:&quot;quarters&quot;,&quot;start&quot;:&quot;&quot;,&quot;autoplay&quot;:&quot;false&quot;,&quot;pauseothervideos&quot;:&quot;false&quot;,&quot;set_volume&quot;:&quot;1&quot;,&quot;muted&quot;:&quot;false&quot;,&quot;meta&quot;:true,&quot;endofvideooverlay&quot;:&quot;https:\\\/\\\/faithhopeandfiction.com\\\/content\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2016\\\/06\\\/video_poster_hawkweed.jpg&quot;,&quot;resize&quot;:&quot;true&quot;,&quot;auto_res&quot;:&quot;automatic&quot;,&quot;pixel_ratio&quot;:&quot;true&quot;,&quot;right_click&quot;:&quot;on&quot;,&quot;playback_rate&quot;:&quot;false&quot;,&quot;title&quot;:&quot;Hawkweed | Short Story Movie Trailer&quot;,&quot;skip_buttons&quot;:[],&quot;nativecontrolsfortouch&quot;:&quot;true&quot;,&quot;locale&quot;:&quot;en&quot;,&quot;enable_resolutions_plugin&quot;:false}\" itemprop=\"video\" itemscope itemtype=\"https:\/\/schema.org\/VideoObject\"><meta itemprop=\"thumbnailUrl\" content=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/06\/video_poster_hawkweed.jpg\"><meta itemprop=\"embedUrl\" content=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?attachment_id=3793&#038;videopack%5Benable%5D=true\"><meta itemprop=\"contentUrl\" content=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/hawkweed_short_story_movie_trailer.mp4\"><meta itemprop=\"name\" content=\"Hawkweed | Short Story Movie Trailer\"><meta itemprop=\"description\" content=\"Hawkweed | Short Story Movie Trailer\"><meta itemprop=\"uploadDate\" content=\"2016-06-21T06:54:17-05:00\">\n\t\t\t\t<video id=\"video_kgvid_0\" playsinline controls preload=\"auto\" poster=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/06\/video_poster_hawkweed.jpg\" width=\"960\" height=\"540\" class=\"fitvidsignore video-js kg-video-js-skin\">\n\t\t\t\t\t<source src=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/04\/hawkweed_short_story_movie_trailer.mp4?id=0\" type=\"video\/mp4\" data-res=\"1080p\">\n\t\t\t\t\t<source src=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/06\/hawkweed_short_story_movie_trailer.webm?id=0\" type=\"video\/webm\" data-res=\"WEBM VP8\">\n\t\t\t\t\t<source src=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/06\/hawkweed_short_story_movie_trailer.ogv?id=0\" type=\"video\/ogg\" data-res=\"OGV\">\n\t\t\t\t<\/video>\n\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t<div class=\"kgvid_below_video\" id=\"video_kgvid_0_below\"><div class=\"kgvid-viewcount\" id=\"video_kgvid_0_viewcount\">102 views<\/div><div class=\"kgvid-caption\" id=\"video_kgvid_0_caption\">Hawkweed | Short Story Movie Trailer<\/div><\/div>\t\t\t<div style=\"display:none\" id=\"video_kgvid_0_meta\" class=\"kgvid_video_meta kgvid_video_meta_hover kgvid_no_title_meta\">\n\t\t\t\t<span class='kgvid_meta_icons'>\t\t\t\t<span id='kgvid_kgvid_0_shareicon' class='vjs-icon-share' onclick='kgvid_share_icon_click(\"kgvid_0\");'><\/span>\n\t\t\t\t<div id='click_trap_kgvid_0' class='kgvid_click_trap'><\/div><div id='video_kgvid_0_embed' class='kgvid_share_container kgvid_no_title_meta'><div class='kgvid_share_icons'><span class='kgvid_embedcode_container'><span class='kgvid-icons kgvid-icon-embed'><\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<span>Embed: <\/span><span><input class='kgvid_embedcode' type='text' value='&lt;iframe src=&#039;https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?attachment_id=3793&amp;videopack[enable]=true&#039; 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background-color:#444444\">D<\/span>ad had been gone a week already, but every time Melody asked Mom where he was, she got the same answer\u2014working. That didn\u2019t make sense to her, because Dad had a job at the nuclear power plant construction site outside Oswego, along the shore of Lake Ontario. When she wondered if he was playing with his band, The Four Winds, Mom told her to stop the questions\u2014and didn\u2019t she have something better to do. So, she decided to be helpful: staying out of the way, keeping her little sister occupied, and not making too much noise when Mom went to bed in the middle of the day with a headache.<\/p>\n<div class=\"text-indent\">\n<p>After dinner one night, Melody got up from the table without being asked and carried her empty glass to the sink, holding it up so Mom could see she\u2019d drained all her milk. Mom only stared at her own tall glass, the ice cubes melting into the Coke and whatever she\u2019d poured from the bottle in the cupboard over the stove.<\/p>\n<p>From the sink, Melody pointed toward Jodie, who was six. \u201cYou got to finish your milk. That\u2019s the rule. Right, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Jodie pouted and rolled a tater tot against her catsup-smeared plate.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat would Dad say?\u201d Melody planted her hands on her narrow hips, a stance that she, at age eleven, associated with grown-ups. She sang one of Dad\u2019s made-up songs: \u201cOne more, Jodie girl, now let\u2019s make it two. Three will get you growing, and four before you\u2019re through.\u201d Dad had songs for everything\u2014brushing teeth, doing homework, even hurrying up in the bathroom.<\/p>\n<p>Mom skidded back in her chair and snatched the dishes from the table. Raising the short stack of plates to shoulder height, she smashed them on the floor.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMa\u2014\u201d Melody shrieked.<\/p>\n<p>Another crash, and Mom\u2019s glass hit the cupboards. Half-melted ice cubes bounced along the linoleum.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI can\u2019t stand it,\u201d Mom screamed.<\/p>\n<p>Melody grabbed Jodie by the wrist. Smelling pee, she knew Jodie had wet her pants, and pulled her into the bathroom. She ran the tub and shook in too much Mr. Bubble. As she watched the froth rise, Melody wondered if Mom was cleaning up the mess, sorry now that she\u2019d made it. She knew Mom was sad, but had never seen her do anything like this before.<\/p>\n<p>Melody started singing a song Dad liked, about kissing an angel every morning. He used to sing that song to Mom and dance her around the kitchen. Sometimes he\u2019d dance with her, too, twirling her around until she got a little dizzy. When she\u2019d fall into his arms, he always smelled like coffee and sweat, but not in a bad way. He hadn\u2019t danced with them in a while. Before Dad left, he and Mom argued a lot about how much the time he was spending with The Four Winds.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhere\u2019s Mommy?\u201d Jodie asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIn the kitchen.\u201d Melody wondered why her little sister hadn\u2019t asked for Dad\u2014why, to her, Mom was the one who\u2019d gone away.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"flourish aligncenter wp-image-996 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/02\/double-flourish-content.png\" alt=\"Hawkweed - a short story by novelist Patricia Crisafulli\" width=\"88\" height=\"31\" \/><\/p>\n<p>The kitchen floor was still sticky the next day, and Melody picked up pieces of glass, but knew better than to tell her mother about it. In the afternoon, she rode her bicycle up and down the gravel driveway, wanting to go farther, but Jodie wasn\u2019t allowed on the road, and she had to keep an eye on her. At four o\u2019clock the newspaper was delivered by a guy driving a tan sedan. Melody brought the paper inside and opened it on the living room floor. As she turned to the comics, the middle slipped out: a double page printed as a Bicentennial flag\u2014pink and white stripes and stars on a pale blue background. Melody taped it on the front window, smiling because Dad always took them to the July 4<sup>th<\/sup> parade in town. Today was June 30<sup>th<\/sup>\u2014that meant he\u2019d be home in a few days.<\/p>\n<p>The next morning, Melody awoke to something metallic rattling on the other side of her bedroom wall. She ran out of her room and into the kitchen. \u201cDad\u2014\u201d She took a step back. \u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Grandma Belva straightened up from the lower cupboard where she\u2019d taken out a frying pan. \u201cYour mother called me. Go put some shoes on and get the broom. I found glass on the floor. Don\u2019t know why somebody\u2019s got to tell you. You\u2019re twelve, ain\u2019t ya?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot till December.\u201d Melody went back to her room and pulled the sheet over her head.<\/p>\n<p>Grandma Belva and Grandpa Don lived two hours away, on the other side of Syracuse. Mostly Mom took her and Jodie to visit them; Dad only went at Thanksgiving. Melody knew her grandparents didn\u2019t like her dad very much.<\/p>\n<p>Dad\u2019s hair was black, and hers was almost as dark, except it shone reddish in the sun. In the summer, she\u2019d put her forearm next to his and compare suntans; his was always a deeper brown. Jodie looked like Mom, blond with light eyes. Grandpa Don called Jodie the little golden girl.<\/p>\n<p>The images made Melody sleepy, until a big hand gripped her shoulder and shook hard. Grandma Belva frowned at her. \u201cGet your sister up and be quiet about it. Your mother needs to sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>All that day and the next, Melody had to help Grandma Belva while her mother slept or walked around with a cigarette and Coke in a tall glass. Pretty soon, the house smelled like Pine Sol and Comet cleanser, and there were no more furry dust balls under the beds.<\/p>\n<p>Grandma Belva took over Jodie\u2019s room, so Melody and her little sister had to share. But Jodie always crawled in bed with their mother, not only at night, but sometimes during the day. When Melody looked through the open door to her parents\u2019 room, she saw two blond heads propped up on the pillows.<\/p>\n<p>Alone in her own room, Melody cradled the half-sized guitar her dad had bought her and practiced chords. The pads of her fingers were sore because she\u2019d lost her calluses over the past few weeks; it hurt to build them up again.<\/p>\n<p>When Mom walked down the hall toward the kitchen, Melody called after her. \u201cWhere you going?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGot an errand,\u201d Mom said. \u201cKeep an eye on Jodie, will you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGrandma\u2019s here. Can I come?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019ll be back in five minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMom?\u201d Melody hesitated. \u201cWill Dad take us to the parade this year?\u201d<br \/>\nCar keys jangled all the way to the back door.<\/p>\n<p>Melody sat on the front porch, trying to predict the color of the next car to pass the house. She had to wait a while before she saw one. When her mother returned in their old station wagon, Melody went inside to see if she\u2019d bought any ice cream. Mom pulled a carton of Salems and a six pack from a paper sack.<\/p>\n<p>Grandma Belva stopped scraping carrots at the sink and put the beer in the refrigerator. \u201cYou got to get it together, Ann. You ain\u2019t eighteen.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t start, Ma.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou\u2019re a grown woman with children. You ought to act like it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy isn\u2019t somebody yelling at Frank to be a grown man, instead of going off somewhere, doing God knows what? Tell me that, Ma!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody cut through the living room, where Jodie was playing on the rug, and headed out the front door without stopping to put on shoes. She rolled to the sides of her bare feet as she crossed the gravel driveway to the garage to get her bicycle. The pedals dug into her instep.<\/p>\n<p>Down the road from where they lived, past the intersection with the yellow flashing light and a gas station on one corner and a small general store on the other, Melody spotted a boy on a bicycle. She\u2019d seen him around since school got out, but didn\u2019t know who he was.<\/p>\n<p>About a half mile down the road, the boy caught up with her. He had on jeans and white socks; his hair was buzzed to a brush cut. \u201cThere\u2019s a creek up a ways,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI know.\u201d Melody looked ahead.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWanna ride there?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody shrugged; there wasn\u2019t anything better to do.<\/p>\n<p>The boy said his name was Charlie McMurphy, and he was staying with his aunt and uncle that summer. When he said his parents lived about 10 miles away, Melody thought they had to be really out in the sticks.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow old are you?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTen\u2014eleven in October.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou going into fifth?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFourth. Had to repeat.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m eleven. I\u2019ll be in sixth.\u201d She pushed hard on the pedals, even though it hurt her feet, and pulled ahead.<\/p>\n<p>They bumped over railroad tracks marked only by a post that said RR X-ing, then passed an old farm where scrub bushes grew fat and tall in abandoned pastures, and a collapsed roof indented a weathered barn. Melody swerved to the shoulder and propped her bicycle on its kickstand. Charlie leaned his against the short stretch of guardrail.<\/p>\n<p>Climbing down the embankment, Melody tried to pick a stalk of blue bachelor button flowers, but couldn\u2019t snap the woody stem. Daisies and black-eyed susans grew thick near the mouth of culvert. On the opposite bank across the stony creek, yellow and red-orange flowers bobbed on thick, fuzzy stems. <em>Fuzzy brushes<\/em>. Melody smirked over the name she\u2019d just made up.<\/p>\n<p>It became their pattern, riding out to the creek, sometimes in the late morning or else in the early afternoon. They threw stones, made rafts out of sticks, searched for salamanders and frogs, and followed the stream as far back into the woods as they could go without getting scratched half to death by wild blackberry bushes. At first, they didn\u2019t talk about much other than what they were doing at the creek. Then Charlie started telling her about the bar his parents owned; how he\u2019d nearly beaten his brother, Bobby, who was fourteen, at pool. He told her his sister, Sissy, was pregnant. \u201cMom had a fit. Sissy\u2019s only sixteen\u2014she\u2019s getting married. The guy is eighteen. He drives a truck.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody didn\u2019t know what to say. Talking to Charlie about girls being pregnant embarrassed her. \u201cYou\u2019ll be an uncle,\u201d she said at last.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI hope it\u2019s a boy. I can teach him to fish.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot right away.\u201d Melody thought about Jodie, who\u2019d gone back to sucking her thumb. \u201cBabies don\u2019t do anything for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>On July 4<sup>th<\/sup>, Charlie came to the back door right after breakfast, saying his aunt and uncle were taking him to see the parade; she could come, too, he said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan\u2019t,\u201d Melody told him. \u201cMy dad\u2019s coming home today.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOkay, see you.\u201d Charlie\u2019s bike tires crunched the gravel as he left.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho\u2019s coming?\u201d Grandma Belva stood in the middle of the kitchen. \u201cYou know he ain\u2019t, so don\u2019t you go mooning around here. And don\u2019t be asking your mother. She feels bad enough.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>That afternoon, Melody went to the creek by herself. Sitting on the bank, she told herself stories of how, when Dad came back, she\u2019d play the guitar and sing all the time, until she got really good. Then they\u2019d go to Nashville, just the two of them. She\u2019d wear a cowgirl outfit, blue with silver fringe, and white boots with silver studs. Dad would wear all black, like Johnny Cash, except for a blue vest like hers. When they sang and played together, she\u2019d live up to the name he gave her.<\/p>\n<p>Maybe that\u2019s where he was now, Melody thought suddenly. He could be in Nashville with The Four Winds, getting that big break he always talked about. Then he\u2019d send for them, and they\u2019d live in a big house and drive around in a big car, and say \u201cyou-all\u201d like they did in the South.<\/p>\n<p>Melody squinted at the glare of sunlight on the creek. Her eyes watered, and she rubbed her nose on the back of her hand, trying not to think about the other possibility: that her grandmother might be right about Dad never coming home.<\/p>\n<p>The next day, her friend, Stacy, came over, and they played Clue and Mystery Date, but Jodie kept bugging them, and Grandma Belva said they had to include her. \u201cWhy\u2019s your mom in bed?\u201d Stacy asked. \u201cShe sick?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody said yes, then no, then asked if Stacy wanted to get ice cream at the corner store. Neither of them had any money, so Melody woke up her mother to ask for a dollar. Grandma Belva yelled at her in front of Stacy. They sat outside for a little while longer, then Stacy went home.<\/p>\n<p>The next day, Melody went back to the creek with Charlie. \u201cYour dad come home yet?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe\u2019s real busy. He\u2019s in a band\u2014The Four Winds,\u201d Melody told him. \u201cBut he calls me all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThe Four Winds?\u201d Charlie repeated. \u201cThey famous?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot yet, but they might be.\u201d Melody pictured the blue-and-silver cowgirl outfit. \u201cI\u2019m going to play with them when I get older.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMy Dad says Bobby and me can stay at one of the cabins. There\u2019s a bunch of them behind the bar. When one\u2019s empty, him and me will get it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow come you can\u2019t stay with your parents?\u201d Melody asked.<\/p>\n<p>Charlie didn\u2019t answer right away. \u201cMy ma has to work a lot at the bar. She don\u2019t want me home by myself. Thinks I\u2019ll get in trouble. I hate being at my aunt\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody nodded. \u201cI wish my grandmother would go home.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>As they headed back to the creek the next day, Charlie braked so hard the tires skidded. \u201cD\u2019you see him?\u201d He pointed toward a mound of tufted grass.<\/p>\n<p>Melody could barely make out a box turtle with a mud-colored shell and yellow around its mouth and throat.<\/p>\n<p>Charlie tucked the creature under his arm as if it were a football and steered his bicycle one-handed. When they got to the creek, Melody insisted on carrying it to the water so Charlie wouldn\u2019t hog the turtle. The outer shell was rock hard, but the underside felt leathery. Melody set the turtle near a puddle of water where the creek had receded. Suddenly Melody worried they\u2019d done the wrong thing; maybe the turtle had a nest near the road and had been trying to get back to its babies.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTurtles hatch in the spring,\u201d Charlie told her. \u201cThey\u2019re all grown up now. He\u2019s better here than getting squished by a car in the middle of the road.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI wish my Dad would come home,\u201d Melody said. Tears caught in her lashes.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAsk him.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody watched the turtle try to climb a rounded rock. \u201cI don\u2019t know where he is.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>On the last Friday of July, Charlie suggested they take a longer ride. It was getting boring at the creek, and they should find another place to go\u2014like his parents\u2019 bar. \u201cIt\u2019s got a soda gun\u2014you can mix stuff. But it\u2019s a long ways, like 12 miles or something.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t think I can ride that far,\u201d Melody said.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI do it all the time.\u201d Charlie dug at a rock with the heel of his Keds until the ground gave it up. \u201cJust don\u2019t tell nobody we\u2019re going.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>They took the back roads until they reached Route 104, where cars passed steadily in both directions. When a propane truck rushed by, Melody bumped off the shoulder and into the high grass. Hills were higher out this way, one so steep they had to get off their bicycles and push them. Finally, she saw the white sign with black letters, \u201cMurf\u2019s \u2013 Live Music Fri &amp; Sat,\u201d and the turnoff into the parking lot.<\/p>\n<p>The bar was built to look like a log cabin, with split-plank siding painted brown and a long low porch that ran the length of the front. A broken barstool titled on three legs by the open front door. Melody couldn\u2019t see much of the dark interior until her eyes adjusted. She stood in the rectangle of light from the open doorway, while Charlie plunged inside and talked to a woman behind the bar. Her hair was red and pinned off her neck, but not in any particular style. Charlie called her \u201cMa.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou kids get a Coke and then go on back home.\u201d Mrs. McMurphy rubbed a spot on the bar with a rag.<\/p>\n<p>They lingered on the front porch drinking their sodas, then Charlie motioned, and Melody followed him behind the bar. Five tiny cabins with tarpaper roofs and plank siding formed a semicircle on a rise about 20 yards away.<\/p>\n<p>Charlie squatted in a cement block and drew in the dirt with a stick.<\/p>\n<p>Melody stamped footprints into the dust of the parking lot. \u201cWe can go.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Charlie didn\u2019t move. \u201cI\u2019m resting.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>After a while Melody had to use the bathroom. The back door of the bar opened onto the kitchen, where Mrs. McMurphy was shaping ground beef into hamburger patties. She pointed the way to the restroom with a meat-smeared finger.<\/p>\n<p>The doors were side-by-side, marked Gals and Guys. Inside was a small sink and two stalls; it smelled like cigarette smoke. There, on the wall by the mirror, was an orange flyer with black letters: \u201cThe Four Winds, Fri. &amp; Sat., 8 p.m. No cover. Two drink min.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody stared at the paper, as if more words would appear to explain how all this was possible: how Dad could be 12 miles away, but not come home at night; how he could make music while Mom stayed in bed, and Grandma Belva bossed everybody around, and Jodie kept sucking her thumb, and she never, ever wanted to play guitar again.<\/p>\n<p>Melody ran out the front door of the bar. Charlie was waiting for her. Her bike was parked by the railing.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJust wait.\u201d Charlie grabbed the handlebars and wheeled the bike to the back of the bar. He kicked the stand hard, but the bicycle fell over.<\/p>\n<p>Melody righted her bike. \u201cCome on, Charlie. I want to go home.\u201d Her throat scratched and her eyes watered. \u201cI don\u2019t want to be here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Charlie walked up the rise to the semi-circle of cabins and headed to the last one on the right. Melody trailed behind him, then stood a short ways back while Charlie pounded on the door.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d a man yelled.<\/p>\n<p>Charlie bolted. Melody stood where she was.<\/p>\n<p>Her dad opened the door, his dark hair drooping low over his forehead like a bird\u2019s broken wing. He was barefoot, and his shirt was unbuttoned.<\/p>\n<p>Melody took two steps forward. \u201cDad?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He shaded his eyes with his hand, and leaned out of the doorway.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFrank, who is it?\u201d A woman appeared, wearing shorts and a scoop-necked t-shirt, her brown hair pulled into a ponytail. Melody could see the end of a bed behind them.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMelody,\u201d Dad said.<\/p>\n<p>She didn\u2019t know if her dad tried to run after her, but the stones in the driveway stopped him, or if he stood there watching her ride away, or if he closed the door and went back inside. She didn\u2019t know because she didn\u2019t look back.<\/p>\n<p>When Charlie finally caught up to her, Melody screamed so hard, she nearly lost her balance and fell off her bike. \u201cThat wasn\u2019t my dad! He\u2019s not here!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou said The Four Winds,\u201d Charlie yelled at her back as she kept pedaling. \u201cYou said you wanted to see him.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody rode faster, letting the breeze take Charlie\u2019s words away.<\/p>\n<p>It was after supper by the time they got back. Grandma Belva demanded to know where she\u2019d been, but Melody stomped into her bedroom and slammed the door.<\/p>\n<p>Melody stayed home for three days, until Grandma Belva pulled her into the pantry and asked if that boy had put his hands where they didn\u2019t belong.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNo!\u201d Melody yelled. \u201cI just don\u2019t want to go. There ain\u2019t even water in that creek sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDon\u2019t say ain\u2019t,\u201d Grandma Belva corrected.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou do.\u201d Melody set her jaw hard.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah, but you shouldn\u2019t.\u201d Grandma Belva\u2019s slippers flopped against her swollen feet as she shuffled back into the kitchen.<\/p>\n<p>The next day, Melody found a wilted bouquet of fuzzy brushes on the back step. She went to the creek with Charlie after that, but they never discussed the ride to the bar, the man they saw, or anything else that concerned the adults.<\/p>\n<p>After supper that night, Melody saw her mother sitting by herself at the kitchen table with coffee and a cigarette. Circles darkened her eyes, and her face was blotchy. For the first time, Melody felt sorry for her mother. She wouldn\u2019t tell who she saw at the cabin, Melody decided. Not then or ever.<\/p>\n<p>The next Sunday afternoon, Melody lay across the floor of her bedroom, turning jigsaw puzzle pieces picture-side up. Jodie played with a doll on the bed. When their mother came into the room, Melody saw her eyes were soft and moist, her mouth smiling. \u201cSomebody\u2019s here,\u201d Mom told them.<\/p>\n<p>At the sound of Dad\u2019s voice, Melody\u2019s slowed down. Jodie squealed and ran ahead. When Melody reached the kitchen table, Jodie was on his lap, her arms around his neck. He stood up, still holding Jodie, and bent down to give her a hug. \u201cHow\u2019s my girl?\u201d Dad smelled like coffee and sweat. \u201cYou know I couldn\u2019t stay away from you,\u201d he said in her ear.<\/p>\n<p>The next day Grandma Belva packed up. Charlie came by, but Melody said she wanted to stay home since her dad was back.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m going out to the cabins tomorrow. One\u2019s empty. I ain\u2019t gonna be at my aunt\u2019s no more.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSee ya.\u201d Melody waved back when Charlie turned at the end of the driveway.<\/p>\n<p>At home, things returned to normal. Dad left for work in the morning and came home in time for supper at five-thirty. Mom wore makeup and fixed her hair. Melody invited Stacy over and they slept in a tent in the backyard. School started again; Melody did homework, and Jodie stopped sucking her thumb.<\/p>\n<p>Dad left The Four Winds, but still played guitar at home. When he sang \u201cI\u2019m So Lonesome I Could Cry,\u201d Mom leaned in close, then hugged him hard. Melody hung back. Dad didn\u2019t sound anything like Hank Williams. He wasn\u2019t good enough for Nashville.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"flourish aligncenter wp-image-996 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/02\/double-flourish-content.png\" alt=\"Hawkweed - Original Fiction\" width=\"88\" height=\"31\" \/><\/p>\n<p>Whatever her parents had said or done or promised each other was never discussed, not even after Melody grew up and went off to college in Boston, where she stayed. Melody broached the subject with her mother only once, soon after she graduated and came home to visit. She and her boyfriend had hit a rough patch, and she wasn\u2019t sure they\u2019d make it as a couple, despite two years of steady dating.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow did you and Dad get through the tough times?\u201d Melody tried not to cry about her relationship, which she knew was already over, even as she tried to hang on to the pieces \u201cDid you just put it behind you, or talk it out?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhy would you be so selfish as to remind me of the saddest time in my life?\u201d her mother retorted. Melody never asked again. When she returned to Boston, she and her boyfriend broke up for good the next weekend. He\u2019d already started seeing someone else.<\/p>\n<p>When she was thirty-five, Melody married Henry Travers, a perfectly nice man she could live without if he ever changed his mind and left. They lived peaceably, but without much passion.<\/p>\n<p>As her parents aged, Melody increased the frequency of her visits. Last summer, her father died of a heart attack at age 72. Her mother didn\u2019t want to stay alone in the house and, after six months on a waiting list, was able to move into the senior apartments in town. Melody flew in from Boston and Jodie from California to pack up the house.<\/p>\n<p>While Melody emptied drawers and closets, Jodie went through a box of photos, setting aside the ones of herself. Hauling a large garbage bag toward the back door, Melody passed Mom and Jodie at the kitchen table; their heads together, one blond and one gray, they looked through an album.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTo think I was ever that young.\u201d Her mother held up a photo. In it, she wore a sundress and sat on the hood of a car. \u201cYour father was handsome. All the girls were after him, but I was the one he chose. He wouldn\u2019t take me to my senior prom, though, because he was twenty and said it was for kids. I went with some boy from my class. He got so jealous.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Jodie unfolded her long legs and got up from the table, saying she\u2019d seen another album in the closet. Melody picked up the garbage bag to take it out to the garage.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDo you know why he came back?\u201d her mother asked.<\/p>\n<p>Melody put the bag down on the floor.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBecause of me.\u201d Her mother lifted her chin. \u201cHe loved <em>me<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m sure he did, Mom. We were all glad when Dad came home.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody wondered what was in the glass by the photo album, even though her mother had supposedly quit drinking a few years back. But Mom never considered wine or beer to be real alcohol\u2014not like her beloved rum-and-Coke.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe didn\u2019t come back because you caught him. He came back for me. He loved <em>me. <\/em>I was the one he loved the most\u2014not you!<em>\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Melody grabbed the bag of garbage by the twisted top, ready to agree to whatever her mother said. For a moment, a memory flashed: her father\u2019s homecoming, him holding Jodie and bending down to give her a hug, then whispering in her ear: <em>You know I couldn\u2019t stay away from you. <\/em>\u201cWhatever you say, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Melody walked out the back door, across the yard, and into the garage. She left the garbage in a heap with the other bags, inside the door.<\/p>\n<p>Without saying a word, Melody got her purse and left in her rental car, driving out along a familiar road.<\/p>\n<p>Skirting the guardrail, she climbed down the same embankment she remembered from childhood, thirty-nine years ago. Coarse grass poked her ankles and scratched between the straps of her sandals. In the lengthening shadows, scraggly wildflowers nodded sleepy heads: bachelor buttons, Queen Anne\u2019s lace, joe-pye weed, black-eyed susans, and the yellow and red-orange flowers with thick stems that, as a child, she\u2019d named fuzzy brushes. Melody smiled; she hasn\u2019t thought about in years.<\/p>\n<p>By the time the creek bed was bathed in shadows, Melody got up to leave. She drove a little farther to a small cemetery, to the plot and stone her father had picked out after the doctor diagnosed him with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. \u201cYour mother\u2019ll never be able to do it,\u201d he\u2019d told her once.<\/p>\n<p>The stone was chiseled with \u201cBeloved Husband &amp; Devoted Father,\u201d then a line from one of his many unpublished songs: \u201cShe loved me and I loved them, and one most of all.\u201d Her mother had always taken that as testimony, truly written in stone, that her love had saved him, brought him back to his family and to her. But this night, still stung by her mother\u2019s words, Melody found a different meaning: Mom had loved him, but he\u2019d loved her and Jodie, and her most of all.<\/p>\n<p>The flowers were wilting already, the stems limp and rubbery, petals closing like sleepy eyes. She left them at the base of the gravestone, then used her phone to do an internet search of wildflowers\u2014red-orange blossoms, thick fuzzy stems.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHawkweed,\u201d she said aloud. After all these years, it felt good, important even, to finally name the truth.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<div class=\"hdivider hr-double hr-long\"><\/div>\n<div class=\"small-text\">\n<p>Videography by Pat Commins<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Patricia Crisafulli Original Fiction<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,18,1],"tags":[102,100,144,15,145,16,25,146],"class_list":["post-3569","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-original-online-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli","category-uncategorized","tag-children","tag-family","tag-innocence","tag-love","tag-movie-trailer","tag-romance","tag-short-story","tag-video"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v15.5 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Hawkweed | Faith Hope &amp; 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