LOVE POEM FOR A BILLY GOAT
A Short Story by Joe Wilkins
Copyright © 2015
Randy Watson was confused—but he also felt good, because he figured he must be in love, or at least what he imagined love must be like. After all, what did someone like him know about love, except what he had read about it, or seen in the movies. At age thirteen, these were all new feelings he’d never had before.
As he sat in the swing on his front porch, his attention was temporarily diverted by the widow Andrew’s squeaking grocery cart, as she pulled it down the sidewalk across the street. She looked very tired, and Randy thought about helping her, but she didn’t like him much because of his pet billy goat, so he let her trudge on down the street.
It was a very hot and sticky day in his hometown of Riverside, Florida, with the late afternoon, July air hanging like the limp Spanish moss on the overhanging live oak trees that lined the street in front of his house. But Randy paid little attention to the heat, because he was wondering about all this love business. In addition, his father was due home from a three-week business trip at any time now.
He looked out across the street at the huge, orange, late afternoon sun slowly slipping through the trees and dropping behind the Coca Cola bottling plant down the block. He wondered why the sun and moon always looked bigger as they got near the horizon.
As he swung back and forth, he looked next door over to the Henderson house to see if Lori had come back out of the house yet. She was nowhere around, probably up in her room, doing whatever teenage girls do after school in the late afternoon. He had started having some very strange feelings for her about two months ago, which surprised him, because she had lived next door for years and he had never given her much thought. He knew she liked him, because she was always asking him to play when they were younger, or coming over to visit his mother, or wanting to go to the movies with him on Saturdays. But he had never thought much about their relationship, just accepting their friendship mostly as two young playmates.
Then, about a year ago, she had definitely begun to mature into a young woman, and he did notice that. Her maturity—and his, later on—had kind of silenced their relationship, whereby he felt very different and awkward when she was around, so he had tended to avoid her, because he now knew that things would be different between them, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Then, about a month ago, he had had a very startling dream about her and him, where they were passionate lovers. Boy, did that change things.
Soon, though, Randy’s thinking drifted back to his mother and father. These were not good thoughts, because something was wrong between them, but he didn’t know what it was. When his parents were around each other, they avoided looking at each directly. And the words between were short and brief, as if they didn’t really want to talk. Something was definitely wrong. But what was funny about it was that they never argued or had harsh words. It was as if they controlled their anger so they wouldn’t disturb him. Boy, parents were hard to figure out .
Randy especially noticed that his mother was also growing more distant to him, but he didn’t know what to do about it. For a while, he had tried to be extra nice to her, behaving better so as not to give her any reasons to be mad at him, but that was not working because she would either cut him short in their conversations or seemed to be avoiding him altogether. As a result of this, Randy was getting tired of trying to figure her out just to please her.
However, his dad and he were still close, and he was anxious to talk to him about the whole problem, but not sure how to handle it.
He continued swinging and thinking, until he noticed that Lori had come out on her front porch. The sight of her excited him. She had suddenly gotten very pretty, and he wondered about that, because he’d never thought of her as especially attractive when they were younger. But, boy was she good looking now. She didn’t see him at first, so he continued looking at her intently, with a queer tightness forming in his throat, and he wondered that if he had to speak at that moment, would he be able to?
Then she turned and looked in his direction, seeing him sitting on the swing. “Hey, Randy,” she called across the hedges, unaware of the new feelings he had for her. “Have you fed Chester yet,” referring to his pet billy goat that both had fed and cared for since they were younger.
He sucked in his stomach and stood up, trying to stretch himself a few years taller. “No, Lori, not yet. I was going too soon, though. Want to help?”
“Yeah,” she answered gaily, tossing her head impishly, her long dark hair swirling provocatively. “Beat you ‘round back,” she challenged, jumping off her porch and running toward the back of Randy’s house toward the goat pen. He chased her briefly, she a slim, swift, flashing bird, and he stopped and watched her race to the pen, skimming gracefully in the twilight. He didn’t want to catch her—just watch.
He ambled up to the goat pen, trying to appear nonchalant, but certain she could hear his heart pounding. “Chester hasn’t had much to eat today, so he’s probably half starved,” he announced, brushing by her to open the gate, acutely aware of her perfumed fragrance and closeness. “He’s getting sort of rag-taggety and skinny. I think I’ll stake him out in Mr. Robish’s lot tomorrow. Got to fatten him up a bit.”
“Why don’t you bring him over to the field behind our garage,” she said brightly. I’m sure Daddy won’t mind. The grass is better there, and it needs cutting anyway.” Then she laughed, “Goats are good lawnmowers!”
Randy opened the pen gate, with Lori staying outside. “Okay, Lori, thanks. Maybe tomorrow.” He opened the large metal, feed-drum, pried off the lid, and scooped out some feed and put it in the trough.
They both watched Chester eat vigorously for a while, keeping an awkward silence, until they became aware of Lori’s mother calling her. Randy came out of the pen and closed the gate, sensing Lori’s closeness to him. When he turned, her face was close to his and her hair was framed around her face like a dark canopy that would envelope them with its intriguing cover and delightful fragrance. Then a distant look came into her dark eyes, and they looked at each other as if wondering what should happen next. Then, suddenly, she brushed her lips lightly across his, turned, and rushed home.
Randy was transfixed, wild new sensations leaping and charging through him. Was that a real kiss? He wasn’t sure, because he’d never kissed a girl before. His heart was throbbing, charging him to such intensity that he felt he would light up like a bulb. How beautiful she was!
He was uncertain how long he had been standing there, and was unaware of anything else, until his father placed his hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Randy, how’s it going? How’s old Chester?”
Randy had been so engrossed in his reverie with Lori that his father’s sudden appearance startled him. He had not heard his car pull into the driveway, and he quickly wondered if his father had seen him with Lori. “Gosh, Dad, great. Glad you’re back. Have a good trip?”
His father stood silent at first, watching the goat, before answering,“Hmm, not too bad—not too good either. Average I guess,” he mused, before turning to Randy. “It’s good to get back home though. You known, Randy, these long sales trips are starting to get the old man down…”
There was tenseness in his voice, which meant it was probably a worse trip than he was letting on. Moreover, the disappointing sales trips were getting more frequent lately, Randy had noticed. He wondered if it was all the business, or his relationship with mom.
His father cuffed him lightly on the head. “Come on, let’s eat. Mom’s waiting.”
They went into the house through the back door to the kitchen. His mother was setting the table, and Randy followed his father to the sink to wash.
Don’t you two wash in that sink,” she admonished them. “That’s what the bathroom’s for. You’d think a grown man’d know better. And you, Randy Watson, I’m not going to tell you again.” She looked sharply at her husband, and Randy felt very futile and awkward, suddenly feeling like he wanted to protect his father somehow. Bitterness surged into him, as he shuffled to the bathroom to wash.
When he came back to the kitchen, his father had his hands around his mother’s waist. “Now, honey, don’t be like this,” he said, as if trying to seek some unknown understanding about his wife’s foul mood. She stood very stiff, and then drew away, expressionless, and Randy couldn’t help feeling how different she was becoming.
Supper was eaten quickly, in painful silence. Randy’s food was tasteless, and he ate as fast as he could, while trying not to raise his parents suspicions that he was aware of the tension between them. He did not like all this family tension one bit.
After eating, Randy excused himself and went out to the swing on the front porch. It was dark now, and the tree frogs were singing their nightly song, light and cheerful. His spirits slowly brightened, and soon he was thinking of Lori again.
He wondered if he was in love. Boy, it sure felt like it! He had never been in love and he wasn’t sure how a person in love was supposed to feel. It certainly didn’t seem like his mother and father were still in love. Surely, he must be in love. Why else would he feel this way? Finally, after listening to the frogs a bit longer, he concluded that he was in love. That was for certain. And even better, Lori loved him—a little anyway, because girls don’t kiss boys they don’t love, do they? Well, it was fleeting kiss, he admitted. So, even if she didn’t love him, it was obvious she liked him a lot. But, why shouldn’t she. After all, he was a tall, good looking fellow, smart, a good athlete, who had known her practically all her life, had treated her well when they were little, and they had a lot in common. That was what love was all about it, wasn’t it?
Then, this strong, urging feeling came over him. He would have to let her know how he felt about her, then he could be sure if she felt the same. But how to do it? How do you go about such things. He doubted if he had the courage to tell her straight out, because he knew he would blush and stammer—and probably botch the whole deal. Maybe he could invite her to a movie, on a regular date, and they could talk later. But where could they go after the movie?
How was he going to let her know how he felt? A note? Maybe. Wait…how about a poem… No, that was too different and pretentious. And, gosh, what would happen if some of his buddies found out he was writing love poems to a girl? Anyway, who writes girls love poems these days? Maybe some of the poets in the old days did it that way, but these were modern times. Would Lori even understand him that way?
After a while, he recalled that she had liked Edgar Allen Poe’s poems—not the spooky stories, but the poems about women Poe had known. He and Lori had studied Poe in English class, and he remembered Lori paid close attention when the teacher read the poems aloud in class.
So, that was what he would do: write a love poem, nice and friendly, not too thick or mushy, just a nice, friendly love poem to let her know how he felt. Nothing wrong with that. Then he wondered if she would think he was a sissy by writing a poem; after all guys didn’t do things like that. But he finally decided he would risk it. He trusted Lori to see things the right way.
He went back inside to his room, and sat at his desk, full of a lover’s spirit, trying to write his poem. But nothing would come, and he soon realized that this poem writing business wasn’t easy. To stimulate his imagination, he went to his bookshelf and took down the volume of Poe’s writings that he had bought a while back. He scanned through it, hoping to get some inspiration to help him get started, but nothing would come. He quickly realized that what he liked best about Poe was his stories, with the poems appealing to him only through their rhyme and rhythm, but the romance part seemed somewhat lacking.
Discouraged, he paced around the room, but determined to stick it out. He’d planned on writing a long poem, as he felt he had a lot to say, but when he sat back down and finally got started he could see that writing poems was a tough business, so he decided to make it a short one.
Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by his parents having an argument. Their voices carried into his room from the kitchen, so he got up and closed the door, pushed them out of his mind, and started back to work.
When he finally finished about an hour later, he copied the poem very carefully and neatly on a piece of stationary paper, leaned back in his chair and read his handiwork carefully:
TO LORI
Lori, Lori, my sweet,
Your walk, your smile,
The way you toss your head;
Are all I’ve ever longed for;
To anyone who ever loved,
None could have been so dear
As you are to me.
I love you!
He was rather surprised by his efforts, because he had never done anything like this before. It felt so different. Not bad though, he thought, rather proudly. His English teacher might find fault with it, but that didn’t matter at all; this was a love declaration, pure and simple, and that was okay.
Then there was a knock on the door. It was his father. Upon entering he noticed Randy sliding a paper under a book. “What are you doing son?”
“N-Nothing, Dad. Just writing.”
“Well now, another one of your stories?”
“No, not exactly,” Randy answered.
“Mind if I see it. Like to see what you’re up to these days. Like to know what your talents are.”
“Well—I don’t know, Dad. It’s kind of personal.” Randy was now in full panic.
“It’s not something you’d be ashamed to let me read, is it?”
“Gosh, no, Dad. It’s just that it’s personal. You know…”
“A girl?” his father asked knowingly.
“Well—yes.”
“Okay, enough said. In fact, I used to do this sort of thing myself when I was your age.”
Randy looked intently at his father and was aware that this was a crossroads moment. He could sense that he was growing up and becoming more like his father. He was entering the world of grown-ups. After a painful pause, he asked “Dad, what’s it like?”
His father smiled, “What’s what like?”
Randy lowered his head. “You know…love—sex…”
His father looked at him, somewhat surprised, knowing that he needed to handle this moment carefully. “Well—well, Randy, that’s a tough question. We’ve never talked about this–but I guess it’s time.” After an awkward pause, he continued, “Randy, my son, it’s hard to explain such a subject. You do know the physical side of sex, don’t you?”
Randy felt embarrassed answering, as if he had been hiding something from his parents. “Yeah, sort of…”
His father looked at him, wondering how much he did know and where he had obtained his information. “Well the physical side of sex is much too complicated to go into now, and I don’t think I could do a good job of explaining. I”ll get you a good book that goes into all the details and it will explain it like a doctor.”
Randy had already read several such books, but had not let his parents know, so he didn’t say anything about it now.
His father continued, “But that’s not what you want to know about, is it? What I mean is, I guess you want to know about sex and what it means with someone you love. Right?”
“Yes,” Randy answered a little too eagerly, “that’s it.”
His father rubbed his chin. “Well, that’s tough to answer, too.” He gazed out the window, wondering what to say next. “Very difficult, but let me put it this way. Sex and love are different things, and can be kept separate between a man and a woman—very easily–sometimes too easily. But they can be combined together—and that’s the ideal. Now, it’s easy to start off in a marriage the right way, but after a while love and sex can drift apart—which is not good! Keeping sex and love combined might be the toughest job in the world. It’s something you have to keep working on all your life, because if you don’t, all your efforts can slip away, with sex on the one hand and love on the other. Sex is incomplete by itself, and the happiest people I know are those who can blend them together—and keep it that way. Sex becomes an act of love, rather than just a physical thing. Understand.”
“Yes, I think so,” Randy answered, not quite convinced if he did or not.
“Good,” his father sighed, much relieved. “Try hard, because if you do, and succeed in someday finding a woman who believes about this like you, then you’ll never lack for happiness—never. But, on the other hand, if you marry someone who doesn’t know this—and don’t assume all women do—then sex will only torment you.”
Randy noticed that his father’s voice had a strange longing as he finished. It seemed in some strange way as if he was talking about himself and his mother.
His father rose from the bed. “Well, that’s enough of that for a while. This old boy’s getting tired. It’s been a long trip.” He walked to the door and turned. “You think about what I’ve said.”
“Okay, Dad, I will.”
After his father left, Randy sat staring at his desk. Boy, that was a lot to think about. His father really surprised him, being able to talk about sex and love the way he did. That was a part of his father he had never known.
Soon Randy realized he was hungry again, so he went out to the kitchen. He found some crackers, then went back on the front porch and sat in the swing, munching the crackers and listening to the tree frogs.
What a complicated business love was, he thought. He looked over to the street lamp, watching the moths hovering beneath the light, and wondered what sex was like for them and all other animals. Was sex just sex to them? Surely, there wasn’t any love. And what about his mother and father? What was sex and love like for them? Did they still love each other the way they used to? He remembered looking through their family album at their wedding pictures and their early days of marriage. There was one special picture, where his mother was holding Randy as a baby, and his father was standing right beside her, with a palm tree in the background, and they looked like they were the happiest people on earth.
Randy continued swinging. When he stopped and silenced the squeaking of the swing, he could hear his parents talking upstairs, but their voices were muffled. Since he was now feeling tired, and he had a baseball game tomorrow, he headed for bed. After taking a shower, he went to his room and crawled into bed.
He began again to think about Lori, but was soon interrupted by his parent’s voices, which were faint but clear, with the still night air carrying their voices down through his open window. “Rose, I wish you wouldn’t keep harping about my job. So, we’re not rolling in wealth. So what? Who is in this town? We’ve got a decent home, good friends, and a fine son. Actually we lack for very little.”
“It’s not just the material things, Bill. It’s just that you’re capable of so much more. Why I remember when we were in college, some of people had grand visions of your abilities, that someday you’d be a big success—and in those days you even believed it yourself. Whatever happened to that man? You were so visionary and enthusiastic, but since working as a salesman you’ve changed. I just don’t know how you could have become a salesman. You’re just not suited for it—and you know it.”
There was a long pause. “Look,” his father snapped back with a voice that was mixed with anger and fatigue, “be quiet about it—okay! I never made any big pretenses to you! You just assumed too much. Sure, I wanted a big job in a fine company, with plenty of chances for advancement, but the economy has made those jobs rare. I’m doing the best I can, and this job isn’t all that bad—except for the travelling. But we’re doing okay and I am making decent money. What I don’t understand is why what kind of work I do is all that important to you, as long as the necessities are provided for.”
“Well, it’s just that everything seems like such a waste.” His mother’s voice sounded hurt.
‘’And you dreamed that you would be my inspiration to balm all of mankind’s ills. Nonsense! As a matter of fact, I wonder what it is that you want to do with your life. Do you want more kids, or do you have some dreams to fulfill when Randy’s grown and gone? Do you plan to write the great American novel on the kitchen table, and seek fame and fortune. After all, you did study English Literature in college, so I always figured you’d do something with that. Or teach!”
There was a long silence, with neither saying anything further. Finally his father spoke,” Baby, I’m sorry about any broken dreams you may have had about me, but I’ve got to be me and do certain things the way they need to be done. Life sometimes demands we do things just to survive. Come here, sweetie, how about a little loving.”
“No, Bill, not tonight. I’m exhausted and I just don’t feel like it.”
“But, Rose—“
“No, Bill, not tonight. No, don’t.” Her voice got very stern then. Then she was adamant. “I said no!”
“Come on, honey. I love you. I need you. For me, then.
Randy listened to all this with a hard lump in his throat. Was love having to beg for sex, or what? It didn’t seem right. He began to feel anger toward his mother.
His father continued imploring, and finally his mother said, “Oh, all right, or neither of us will get any sleep.” Her voice was now detached and matter-of-fact in tone.
There was silence for a time, and Randy wished he hadn’t heard any of this, but he couldn’t help listening further. He could hear their love-making sounds faintly, and he was strangely disgusted. Then everything was quiet.
“You see, Bill,” his mother finally said, crying, “it was no good for me. I feel simply terrible. I don’t know why you make me do it when you know it’ll be like this. Just a little consideration…”
Randy could listen no more. There were tears in his eyes and a huge, painful knot deep in his throat. His tears soon turned into soft sobbing. He slowly got out of bed, and grabbed his love poem from the desk, looking at it and thinking how pointless it was. He stumbled his way out of his room, through the kitchen, and out the back door, unmindful of the noise as he slammed the screen door.
What’s happening, he thought. What’s wrong with his mom and dad? He looked up at the full moon. What’s the point about all this love business?
He unfolded the poem. He could read the words clearly in the moonlight, but they no longer seemed good and beautiful–only stupid and meaningless.
He stumbled back to the goat pen. Chester stood by the fence looking at him with his head cocked to the side, as if trying to figure out what was wrong with Randy. Randy hesitated a moment, then without thinking, he thrust the poem through the fence to the goat. Chester grabbed it immediately with his mouth and began chewing it up. Soon it was gone and Chester just stood there looking at Randy like he always did when he was hungry.
THE END
