So Long Gone

There were two lines of trees that ran parallel from the road, and in between stood a rough shack, a pea in the straw, ready to be spit down the valley. The house was dwarfed by the refuse, discarded bits of machinery, cracked and rusted odds and ends of scrap material, bags of household garbage and six or seven shopping carts. The garden, beyond the garbage pile, had long lost the fight with the surrounding wilderness and had quietly succumbed years ago. The lane, once wide enough for a wagon had slimmed down to shoulder width and didn't run true to the road anymore, a path cleared by drunken missteps and far away eyes. The shack leaned heavily, sagging under its own weight, and would have fallen years ago, if not for the supports that looked accidental, straining to hold on, sinking into the soil. The door, hinges loose, rattled in the wind, and talked the old man to sleep on those nights when his mind played memory tricks on him and he wandered in a circle around the stove, lost and looking for a dog dead for thirty years. In the corner, the bed was littered with newspapers and magazines that detailed life for the last two decades and beside it, nailed to the wall was a picture of the Virgin Mary, faded but recognizable, if only by the halo and baby in her arms, illuminated by a ghostly light. The windows, covered years ago with heavy cloth, had disappeared into the background except to break the even skin of pots, pans, brushes, rope and hand tools hanging on nails and forgotten. Some shelves had been mounted on one wall and were full with rusted tin cans, labels mostly missing and some of them open and black on the inside. A small table stood close to the stove, on it a pail only half full of water from the well in the back. Two chairs stood ready, but only one did any work, the other was for company, never invited and never missed.
The percolator on the stove started to burp in time, a rhythm that sometimes made the old man get up and dance with graceful steps, with an imaginary woman, so long gone, but beautiful and full of grace. She smiled at him and he, encouraged, would spin her around, showing off the dances he had just learned the previous evening. She lay her head on his shoulder and he knew then that they would be married soon. He looked down to throw a sly wink at the dog, dead for thirty years, and wondered that he could be so happy.