The Swing

The Swing

Gideon Wells meandered down the dirt road towards his family’s shack nestled back in the long needled pine trees of southern Georgia.  Small puffs of red dirt rose with each step.  A hot dry spell for two years had caused everything to wither and die.  Now his pa was going to die too.  Gideon felt bad about that.  Not as bad as when his dog Jupiter died, but he worried for his mama and sisters.

Mama had told him that morning he would be the swing when his pa died.  That he was nearly thirteen and the biggest, and he’d have to be brave.  Gideon wasn’t at all sure he was up to it.

He and mama ate a lunch of cornbread crumbled over beans cooked with lard for flavoring.  They sat at the plank table made from some old pallets found lying by the side of the road.  His mama occasionally gave out a soft extended sigh.  To Gideon, it was the same sound a deer makes when it’s been gut shot and don’t have long to live.  It was sound without hope.  After lunch, Gideon and his mama walked out the rusting screen door towards town. As they passed, folks came out of their houses joining them and commenting on how sorry they were to hear about his pa.

Soon the small group entered the sagging village and up to the crowd gathering in front of the town square.  People murmured and heads turned as Gideon and his mama made their way to the front.  They stopped at the edge of the dirt square dominated by the gnarled oak tree that seemed as tired as the red dusted village itself.

Gideon saw the doors of the town hall open and a cluster of five men emerge.  Gideon’s pa shuffled between two of the local deputies, his hands tied behind his back and his feet shackled.   Another deputy followed carrying an old folding chair.  Sheriff Biggs trailed with a ponderous thick rope looped over his shoulder.

Gideon felt the lump in his throat as the rope snaked over the lowest branch and was secured to the tree.  His pa climbed on the rickety chair and swayed staring at Gideon until the black hood and rope were pulled over his head.  When the chair was pulled from under his pa, Gideon knew from the jerking legs it was not a clean break.  He looked at his mama who nodded her head.  Gideon dashed towards his pa launching himself and clinging to his pa’s kicking legs.  He began to swing back and forth until he heard a faint popping sound and his pa hung limp and still.

Gideon dropped to the ground feeling relief.  He knew his pa had gone quickly.  And after all, Gideon thought, isn’t that all you can hope for?

© Copyright 2006 Joel Baker

Email this story to others who might enjoy it.

Submit your writing to receive feedback and a chance to be published.