The Glass Top Coffin (standard:drama, 1347 words) [6/12] show all parts
Author: Stephen-Carver Byrd	Added: Dec 31 2002	Views/Reads: 2492/1710	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
***Part 6*** Pennies From Heaven

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

Mr. Moore wrapped his own little finger around Jordan's and they tugged
for a few seconds---a little tradition they have played for the past 
two years. “I'm sure I will, don't think you've missed a day in over a 
year,” chuckled Mr. Moore while patting Jordan on the shoulder. 

As the boy opened the screen door, Mr. Moore called out to him. “Hey
Jordi, you know those Ducks at the Power Company I was telling you 
about?” Jordan nodded a head. I got a feeling those Ducks might just 
fly your way one of these days. I once heard it said that anyone can 
pull a trigger, but to be a Marksman, one's got to learn to master the 
aim.” 

Jordan had little idea what the old man was talking about but he could
sense a profound seriousness in his voice. He committed every word deep 
to memory, knowing that one day it would all be clear. He held up his 
little finger and wiggled it and Mr. Moore did the same. A small 
twinkle came from the old man's eye, crossed the room and landed 
smack-dab-in-the-middle of Jordan's. The boy turned and bounced down 
the stairs. As his sneaker grazed the final step he heard the old 
screen door slam behind him. It also slammed out this chapter in 
Jordan's young life. It would be the last time he would ever see Mr. 
Moore alive. 

Jordan started down the road for home. When he reached S.L. Anderson's
large house he studied the section of yard that he had seen in his 
vision---the old black man with the mule. Nothing was plowed, just new 
summer's grass. He walked a few hundred feet up the paved road then 
turned onto a small footpath that led through a section of woods. Soon 
the footpath unfilled into a large weedy meadow. He continued to walk, 
passing at a safe distance from an old, abandoned plantation home. Once 
there was a time that he enjoyed exploring the old place, but those 
days were long since past. Late on a cold January evening, as he 
returned home from the grocery, Jordan had heard a strange noise coming 
from the old, dark house. Open closer inspection he heard what sounded 
like two large animals fighting fierily in an upstairs bedroom. The 
commotion was so intense that it actually shook the entire house. The 
air on that evening was bitter cold but breathlessly still. Sitting on 
the front porch was an old junk rocking chair. It began to rock faster 
and faster then it spun wildly. Suddenly it flew off the porch as if it 
had been caught by a wild wind devil. That was the last time that 
Jordan ever got near the old place. The boy jumped a small ditch then 
crossed a grassy empty lot. Now he was back on his own dusty road. It 
was only a short walk to his trailer that sat parked at the end of the 
weedy lane. 

As he walked into the front yard, he stopped to admire all the pretty
flowers that his mother had planted around their small and shabby 
trailer home. It reminded him of a small Japanese garden. The boy 
smiled despite a stomachache that was beginning to brew heavily. 
Opening the front door to his trailer, he slung off his old sneakers, 
sending them flying in opposite directions. On the sofa, he curled up 
into a ball then fell asleep. Two hours later, he felt his mother 
tapping him lightly and asking if he were ok. Jordan quickly explained 
that his stomach had been upset earlier and that he did not feel like 
eating supper. Madelyn felt his forehead. It was cool. She carefully 
removed his socks and shirt then unfastened his trousers, pulling them 
slowly away from his body.  Attired only in white, cotton underwear 
Jordan curled back into another ball. Madelyn held up his tattered 
jeans and noticed two new holes that had recently appeared. She made a 
mental note to mend them just as soon as they were washed. Certainly, 
there was no money for new clothing anytime in the near future. Madelyn 
left the room, returning with a light blanket and placed it securely 
around her son. Even though the small trailer was suffocating in heat, 
a light shiver ran through the boy and he lugged the blanket tightly 
over his shoulders. There were no dreams and there were no bottle 
visions. Only peaceful sleep, deep velvet sleep. 

Continued - Please see part 7 


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