She got hot in the summer, boy, like North Texas thunderstorms, on cue around seven. Every once in a while, tornado. I was happy then, ice cold Lone Star on the couch by eight. Didn’t matter what was on TV, she ran through my mind. Clothes loved being on and sad to come off her. She’d pluck from the line every night around sunset. Lord, that silhouette. Wasn’t long, though, until things got serious. She wanted it all and I could only offer part of it. You see I was a rough. Loved the rig, too. Hard work, but deep satisfaction. I told her all she had to do was wait. Three months off, two on, and always good money. Plano home base, vacations Galveston and Arkansas lakes. But she wasn’t the waiting type and wanted it her way. Me at the kitchen table every night, one truck, one car, one dog and two youngins.
Last I heard was a text.
Well?
The chopper sliced toward the rig, low over open water.
Honey, that ain’t me.
I got out holding my hat, inhaling that salt breeze with a hint of Sulphur.
Well, honey, I ain’t yours.
I let her go with that, or I guess it was the other way around. It was the middle of the day. Gulf in every direction. The waves beating against the legs. Not a single cloud out there.
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Wilson Koewing is a writer from South Carolina. His books JADED and QUASI can be purchased through his website: www.wilsonkoewing.com. He can be found on X @jadedwriter. His debut poetry collection DETRITUS HOMME is forthcoming from Nuthole Publishing. His latest short story collection ROLLING ON THE BOTTOM is forthcoming from Cowboy Jamboree Press. He lives in San Anselmo, California.
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