“If that was the case Ava, there wouldn’t be any room for any of us, lawfully employed or not. Ghosts stay on the other side of the wall for a reason, we as a nation can’t have that debt ceiling risin’ on account of the dead breakin’ parole can we?” First crack of a genuine smile unlocked was put to service behind the curvature of the mug, top lip dipping for drink. Sipping with selfish abundance ocular sphere rings peered over the shelf of brow, trained on a woman who had decided to remain standing as a dignitary of high power. Upon returning the bottom of the clay to it’s rightful position Boyd licked away the residual burnt oak that lingered on his lips in aftertaste.“As long as you’ve known me, no matter how little our actual relationship has been, have you ever known me to be a man lackin’ in resourcefulness?” Face falling back to a molded stern of candid truth the entire axis of the man protracted into the chair. Concerned glue audibly flexing in it’s burrows as the shift threatened a full release. If it hadn’t been for its antiquity, of it’s constant protest without revolt Boyd would have been worried he would have broken it’s spine with the move.
“I can do it Ava. Go back down to the primordial seas if I hav’ta. Grow legs all over ‘gain.”
Confessions bubbling out of a feeling of paralysis were most often the most laconic. All of his limbs had been lopped off in the moment of seeing, of morbid clairvoyance. Running through the woods, lactic acid stifling every stride as the loam and decay of foliage slipped under his tread he knew the consequence of his surrender. Heard it with a crack of thunder; back of skull colliding with bow in recognition of his hubris. Saw it in the hanging of condemned men blue with inactive circulation. Felt it as still thawing mud seeped through his jeans to silence skin of all it’s precious sensitivity. Symphony of responsibility blowing apart his belly with buckshot, faith seeping out of the subaqueous shrapnel holes as he fell into the referential pit.
Breathing out exhaust through a slice of loose lips the jab of the recent memory kicked out a layer of protective growth. Had Boyd reeling in it’s glow, immediately wanting to suck back on a bottle despite the rage of the hangover still very present. “I’ll start lookin’ tomorrow.. Promise.” Drinking away the last of the coffee as mental substitution, the empty urn remained positioned on the curvature of Boyd’s hamstring, the webbing of the thumb holding the item upright as it drew cold.
Air holding a stillness comprised of dust and error kept Boyd seated for a few rounds of his heartbeat, a defiant pound as he pondered the cup balanced on parabola of muscle. Ambient buzz of exterior pests humming in tune with kitchen appliances freezing over the lake between them, create a tangible surface, intensely fragile. “That’s quite alright Ava, I feel I’ve been pullin’ the overdraft of your kindness directly into the red as it is, I’ll mind the house, clean up, make it as if I wasn’t ever here.” Sliding out from the chair Boyd set himself upright, the exasperated muscles and damaged clothing a threadbare display of his current condition. No matter how long this arrangement lasted, as tentative as it was Boyd would make sure he was nothing more than another sound in the house, an afterthought, a basic function of additional income. For as large as he had lived his life up to this point there was always a time for non-existence so as to rebuild. He would adapt, become still as needed.
“Pretty sure there ain’t any room for us to begin with,” lips quietly murmured. Azure hues squinted and idle hand lifted, delicately contouring the back of her neck as she offered him a half a smile. His reference hadn’t entirely processed at first, but prehistoric times and sprouting legs sure did sound a lot like the theory of evolution to Ava Crowder. With a scrunch of her nose and roll of her eyes, she stepped forth in an effort to leave the comforts of countertop corner. “–No one’s gonna hire you if y’ain’t got legs, dummy, no need to be goin’ back that far.” Coffee cup gravitated to lips, head and visage thrust in reverse and the remaining contents of murky, bitter ambrosia washed over tongue rudely awakening still sleeping senses. Sink and ceramic united in junction and stagnant faucet flowed as points of leather boots met mahogany coping. Quickly rinsed glassware nestled its way into cracked open dishwasher before the blonde twirled on heels and condensate aqua gaze reunited with decaying fall foliage.
“Alright, tomorrow,” she agreed amicably, “but you ain’t find a job in seven days, have no doubt Boyd, I’m kickin’ your ass to the curb.” Hint of playfulness in her voice, she maneuvered around the table to truck keys dangling from wall fastened hooks. Thumb and forefinger plucked them forth into her possession, steps backtracking to retrieve carefully elected envelops. “An’ just for future reference, Boyd, “if I ask you need anythin’? It’s ‘cause I’m willin’. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t’ve bothered.” Ava knew he was being polite, but the desperado had next to nothing in his name. He’d made valid minutia moments earlier. The two of them were never particularly close in the duration of their kinship. They simply co-existed. She couldn’t expect him to possess cognizance of complex mannerisms, but by now he should’ve realized Ava didn’t do what Ava didn’t want without kicking and screaming beforehand. The process in which she determined his fate was evidence enough.
“How thoughtful of you,” sarcasm fell from her lips as she fluidly crossed behind his seated frame, paper leaflets lightly delivering swift blow atop his dark mess of unruly hair. “Don’t hesitate to shower while you’re at it, could smell you for miles.” Wooden soles scuffed forward, but hesitated to cross over edge of parlor threshold. “And oh,” realization of cataloged marginalia recalled her attention, “outside the guest room in the hallway; you’ll find some peroxide and gauze to lick your wounds with and freshly laundered towels in the closet.” Finally, the warmth of Ava’s presence left the outlaw’s vicinity. Clutching handbag seated leisurely on arm chair into her person, fingers sifted to straighten partially dry, blonde locks of hair. “You behave yourself you hear?” Warning echoed through homestead followed by the abrupt clash of screen door to worn, aluminum strike plate.
Climbing into Bowman’s old, rusted pick up tuck, belongings were set on passenger seat. Key sought ignition, and after two attempts to get the engine roaring, exhaust backfire crackled through the cool, spring air. She was foolishly trusting Boyd would stick to his word. After paying the bills, picking up smokes, buying groceries and visiting Cousin Johnny in the hospital, expectations of returning to a clean home needed to be met. If the outlaw couldn’t at least square away self-begotten messes, southern belle would surmise him incapable of finding himself a stable source of income within deadline. Not only that, but Ava despised living with pigs. Spending years cleaning up after Bowman and Crowder’s idiot commandos, single ounce of desire to tidy up after others was nowhere to be found.
Luckily, by the time her venture into town was over, her guest miraculously managed to keep his word. Couch and floors were vacuumed in spotless lavation as promised. He’d even trumped her postulation by cycling the dishwasher and wiping down kitchen counters.
Couple days thereafter would come and go spent in near silent coexistence. Not once did she have to clean up after him, and more often than not, she overlooked the placid outlaw’s residence within the homestead. Few greetings were exchanged here and there, but Ava just kept her distance overall save for shamelessly nagging Boyd concerning his job hunting. A part of her believed he was proficient enough to acquire gainful employment, but as each day passed, a page from the book of hope was torn with doubt. Despite their differences, she wanted to witness gradual transformation from creepy ex-convict to an honest working man through the virid windows of his soul. The way she saw it, Boyd hadn’t choice in the matter. Continuing his outlaw ways would get him killed in the long run and the woman refused to suffer loss of remaining kin to the deadly plague of drug running desperation which infested Harlan County.
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