Even when they no longer had to be, Sonny
and Melinda were early risers. She was
always up to make sure Sonny had some breakfast before he headed to the creek
to pull a meager living from the water.
What little money he did make was given over to Melinda who added it to
the more considerable sum she collected in rent from the farms her daddy left
her. Finances held no interest for Sonny,
and he was perfectly happy to let his wife handle them, as well as all other details
of their life.
In the past few years, keeping track of
Sonny took up most of Melinda's time, and to her friends, seemed to also be
taking a toll on her health. More than
once, concerned neighbors called to say they saw him walking down the county
road towards the docks, even though his boat was gone now, Melinda having sold
it. He walked because she also sold his
truck after the sheriff warned her about ever seeing Sonny behind the wheel
again. In the house she found that keeping
the television and radio off helped keep Sonny less agitated. Except for the
ever-present wind and Melinda's soft humming, things were kept mostly quiet now.
The day things changed, Sonny came
downstairs to no breakfast or coffee on the table, and no neatly rowed string of
pills Melinda had been laying out for him.
He was able to find some cornbread from last night's dinner on the
counter. Sitting there most of the
morning occasionally picking crumbs off the shirt he slept in, he listened to
the wind outside and to the sounds of the house. The phone rang about mid morning, but Melinda
didn't answer it, and Sonny had stopped using the phone. When it rang these days it was usually their
daughter calling from across the bay, always at the same time, always with the
same questions. He once looked forward
to her calls, but this changed as memories of her faded in his shrinking world.
When Sonny's stomach told him it was time
for lunch, but there was none, he went looking for Melinda. He found her upstairs still in bed from the
night before. It was unlike her to nap,
let alone sleep-in. He was awfully
hungry and needed her to wake up, but even calling her name she would not stir. Sonny crawled into bed with Melinda thinking
he could tickle her special spot and maybe wake her, but her arm was in the
way, stiff and cold. A disappointed, confused Sonny went back downstairs to eat the last of the cornbread, never
thinking to open the pantry door or to look in the fridge.
Early in the afternoon the phone rang again breaking the house's silence, but this time it didn't
stop, and to Sonny felt as if the ringing was in his head. Wishing the noise would stop, he finally
picked up the phone, and on the other end there was a voice he thought he
should know.
"Momma? Momma? Momma are you there?"
"Hello. I'm Sonny
Belote."
"Daddy? Daddy, where's Momma?"
"Who?
"Where's
Momma? Melinda, where's Melinda?"
"She's still sleeping."
