Dina M Wilks

Lee leaned back until his spine hit the ground. Feeling the hard surface took him by surprise, he didn’t realize he was drunk. Grady stood in the corner of the park smoking a cigarette. He was lean, his figure made a sharp line against the darkening sky. The day had started with Lee cutting out on work, because Kyle hadn’t had a job all week, and Grady had the day off. It had started with a beer and a couple of rounds of pool at the Dixie Chicken that turned into Kyle and Lee dropping depth charges after Chip had come in with a bottle of Jack Daniels, sealed and begging to be cracked open. Lee shivered from a sense of deja-vous. It was like being in high school; a fun feeling for a moment, but not a period in Lee’s life he wanted to relive.

Kyle had positioned himself on the bridge just over the creek that split open the front end of the park. A reed pole in hand and quart of beer resting against his thigh. His steel-toed boots sank into the plant-dotted green surface of the water.

“There aren’t any fish,” Lee tried to stand, only to have his back feel the ground again. He moved his head high enough that he could swig from the bottle of Jack he cradled against his body. It took concentration, deliberate messages to his head to lift, then to his arm to move the bottle to his mouth.
“Kyle caught something once,” Grady broke the silent image he made.
“A turtle,” Kyle remembered. “Wanted a piece of my finger for taking him out of the water. You’re drunk, Lee.”