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within more than a hundred
yards of you. A restraining order is a powerful thing, son.”
     
    Drew
released the hold he had on his father’s head allowing his head to sag. And
then Jonathan Mackenzie vomited in his own lap. The puke was a combination of liquor
and chili. Drew sighed, pushed his father on over on the mattress and went to
get a bowl of warm water and a rag. He deposited the bowl by the bed and watched
the man tossing angrily in the bed, a glimpse of his future. “I pray to God you’re
wrong…I hope I’m nothing like you,” he acknowledged and was about to remove his
father’s vomit soaked shirt when it all came to a head.
     
    Possession
of controlled substances?
    Mental
illness?
    Sexual
abuse?
    My
lawyer had a fucking field day ripping that bitches’ creditability to shreds.
     
    What
the hell? All of it was lies, unless his father was citing his own sins.
     
    With
his hands slayed on the mattress, Drew leaned down, his mouth next to his
father’s ear. “FUCK YOU! Lay there in your vomit. I’m done cleaning up after
you.”
     
    He
backed his way out of the bedroom. His hands fisted by his side as he quickly turned
and stormed into the den. The apartment walls started closing in on him. He
shoved his hand through his hair trying to process all the thoughts rattling
around in his head. His pulsed raced as he lifted a glass with lipstick marks
around the rim. He drew back his arm and slung the glass at the wall.  Crash!
It shattered into pieces! Crash! Another glass hit! Then another! The tip of
his boot caught the edge of the end table sending it skittering across the
floor. Within minutes he had destroy the den, and used his arm to sweep the empty
beer cans off the counter top in the kitchen sending them pinging against the
floor.
     
    Why
hadn’t she fought for him? What kind of mother doesn’t fight for her son? She
knew damn well what she was leaving him to endure on his own! She’d lived the
life. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a firsthand look at what life with
Jonathan Mackenzie was like. Somewhere in the back of his mind the words
“self-preservation” were screamed, but he refused to listen. It was an excuse.
     
    She
had sacrificed him for freedom.
     
    His
rage finally subsided and he stilled, chest rising and falling with heavy
uneven breaths as he assessed the damage of his fit of rage. A little
self-preservation of his own was way overdue. Scooping his jacket up off the
back of one of the chairs in the dining room he headed for the front door.
     
    There
was only one place he’d ever felt at home.
    Only
one place he’d ever found peace.
    Only
one place he wanted to be.
    Boonville,
Arkansas. ♠
      
    Drew plunked his duffel bag on the ground and turned
gazing out over the yard. There it was… the barn shrouded by a blue, cloudless
sky. Rocks grew to the size of boulders in the pit of his stomach and a sheen
of sweat formed along his brows. It’d been two years, and it still looked the exact
same as the day he’d left: gaping holes in the burned roof, charred jagged wood
gutting out, curled up tin pulled loose from rot.
    Tink had loved the ranch. He’d loved that barn and
working with the horses. He’d spent many nights alone in that barn dealing with
his demons and he’d died in that barn, and Drew knew in his heart the old man wouldn’t
have wanted it any other way. He’s tombstone reads, “Reunited with Mabel on
Friday, July 13, 2012.”
    “You okay, sir?” The Cabby asked gazing up at Drew
from the driver’s side window. The cabby draped an arm over the wheel his eyes
following the same paths as Drew’s. “Looks like the owners had themselves a
nice little fire. Hope nobody got hurt.”
    Drew swallowed hard retrieving his wallet from his
back pocket. He handed the man the cab fare and heaved the strap of the duffle
bag over a shoulder, climbing the steps to the front porch. “Anybody home?” He
called out pushing open the door. Silence greeted him.