Views and Mechanics Publisher's Note Editor's Note Review of Nickel and Dimed Review of Night Shade By Elizabeth Murray Radical Influence: Review of Spoken Word Revolution Redux By Romella D. Kitchens Creative Nonfiction Toiling in the Garden of Memory By Madonna Dries Christensen Poetry Homecoming By Nic Sebastian Maple Syrup Emergency By Paul Carlino Bathroom Visitor By Michael Lee Johnson Fiction A Job Well Done By Catherine Cheek Animal Man By R.B. Trout Watch Over By S.K. Tatiner The Frailty of Perfection By William R. Stoddart Eat Drink and Be Merry By Rebecca Barbush Cover Art "Riot of Flowers" By Dee Rimbaud About the Contributors © 2007, River Walk Journal and respective authors and artists. All rights reserved. Do not use or reproduce without permission. River Walk Journal, Inc. Board of Directors Chairman - Elizabeth Ross Vice Chairman - Joseph Koch Secretary/Treasurer - Geri Stock-Ross Editorial Director - Patti Kurtz, DA Literacy Director - Kenneth Weiss, Ed.D Policy Director - PA State Rep. Jess Stairs Advisory Board Chairman - Patti Kurtz, DA Asst. Chairman - Dan Lachenman, PhD Samuel Hazo Christopher Leland Edwin Yoder Joseph Bathanti Journal Staff Publisher - Elizabeth Ross Editor-In-Chief - Joseph Koch Senior Editor - Patti Kurtz Senior Editor - Neeldhara Misra Copyeditor - Kathy Skaggs Blog Contributing Editor - Maggie Koster Education Blog Contributing Editors - Jordan Wirfs-Brock, Kim Haynes Publicity Director (PA) - Geri Stock-Ross For information about submissions, visit http://www.riverwalkjournal.org/subs.html. Questions about promotions, subscribers' services, and advertising should be sent to publisher@riverwalkjournal.org. River Walk Journal, Inc. is a non-profit corporation run entirely by volunteers. For information about volunteer opportunities and internships, visit VolunteerMatch. |
The Frailty of Perfection By William R. Stoddart Grace McKenzie was born, and her birth was commonplace enough. Her father, Jack, fell in love, and that too was commonplace. But to Jack, it was as if the grand vault of heaven were opened, and he breathed-in icy fleece from angel’s wings. He held her and his tears fell on her new face. He drove home alone that day and drifted off to a smiling sleep. The McKenzies owned a small vineyard by the shores of Lake Erie. It was October, and the grapes took on the indigo color of dusk, just before stars broke the darkness. The cool breeze from the lake was just another blessing Jack welcomed. The dusty summer smell of chemicals was just a bad memory, like the anchor of smothering debt. Sarah, Jack’s wife, was there to remind him about money. The thing was money, and the lack of it trailed Jack as far back as Sarah permitted. It followed Jack like a mistake one can never make right. Sarah took the monthly calls from the bank and the various suppliers. “Your buddy, Kevin, called from the bank yesterday. I’m beginning to know him better than I know you. He reminded me that you two were army buddies in Vietnam. Anyway, he says he needs a payment on the principal. That means, Jack dear, we borrow money to make the payments. Who’s going to give us more credit?” Sarah took a long drag from her cigarette. She quit smoking for five years and started back when things got bad. She was eight months pregnant and miserable in the summer heat. “When are you going to talk to that loan officer? Can’t you work something out with him? He keeps telling me about how close you two used to be. You best make some effort before we lose everything.” Sarah was too tired and miserable to put up much of a fight. She lit another cigarette, picked-up the television remote, aimed and fired. Jack knew she was right. He loved her and told her daily that he never loved anyone else. Jack stopped answering the phone after his army buddy, Kevin, started calling from the bank. Jack was Kevin’s platoon second lieutenant. Jack had just graduated from a state college and was in the ROTC program before being shipped-off to Vietnam. He feared losing the vineyard to the bank. He wanted Kevin to go away forever. It was the day after Jack’s daughter Grace was born. It was a workday, but Jack was too happy and relaxed to work. For the first time in years, the anxious, heavy feeling in his legs was gone. He felt almost giddy as he looked out over the blue lake. The white clouds sailed quickly through the cool sky, pulling shadows across the tense skin of lake water. With his wife Sarah and baby Grace in the hospital, it was just Jack and his dog, Spence, at home. “Today, Spence old boy, I’ll drink the McKenzie Lake Shore wine. We’ll chill the swill and drink a toast to my new little girl.” Jack uncorked a year old vintage and drank straight from the glass bottle. Each long draw from the bottle left the aftertaste of failure. One local food critic recommended McKenzie Lake Shore wine mixed with water the perfect window cleaner. He pressed the cool glass hard against his forehead. His sinusitis was bad this time of year. The wine was not selling and Jack took to peddling his grapes at a roadside stand along Route 20. The new thing was ice wine, and Jack was confident he would be successful next year with his new venture. He finished the bottle and opened another. Far out on the lake, Jack could see a freighter. It moved on the horizon like a zipper, opening the seam between water and sky. Jack sat on the ground, leaning against a fence post. Spence put his head on Jack’s leg. Jack held the bottle between his legs and stared into the blue sky. Over the years, the lake and sky burned its blue into his eyes and the dirt colored his skin. The wind kicked-up from the lake and a dust devil spun its darkness over the dirt road. Jack thought about his baby, Grace. One day, this will be her vineyard. She’ll grow here; the land and sun will color her skin. Grace will care for Sarah, her mother, Jack’s wife. They will care for each other. “Today’s the perfect day.” Jack spoke to his dog, Spence. “I’m feelin’ fine drinking my own fuckin’ wine. I never liked the labels on this fine vintage, Spence old boy. No wonder no one wants to buy my wine. The labels are too damn ugly. Has nothing to do with the taste. Or the after taste. Then there’s Kevin, my old army buddy. Fuck him and his little dog. He tries to take my paradise, I’ll frag his ass. Just like in the Nam. I’ll frag his fuckin’ ass.” *** The sun was setting far into the West corner of the lake, bleeding the clouds pink. Jack spilled quite a bit of wine over the course of the day. It was, after all, a day in October - a day when shadows fell long across the vineyard. He closed his eyes and imagined the smell of gunpowder. He liked the smell as it reminded him of the war when he was young and felt alive. Jack opened his eyes and saw whitecaps on the lake. He closed his eyes again and waited to feel the cool lake breeze one last time. It will be here soon, he reassured himself. Eternity will have to wait the meantime. |