Millard R. Howington was born in Georgia and moved to South Carolina as a boy. He holds a BA degree from the University of South Carolina-Aiken, and worked as a microbiology technician in Delaware and Florida before moving back to South Carolina. He has been a member of the South Carolina Writers Workshop since 1994 and is a past president. He has had poetry, fiction, and essays published in various magazines and anthologies, including the inaugural issue of The Petigru Review, 2007.
Manuscript Title: Delineation
The Palace
It may well have been one in times past,
but for now it was a still livable hotel
in Fort Lauderdale with its roof being
worked on from one of the hurricanes.
I noted the progress of a red plastic cup
drifting ever so slowly over the bottom
of a swimming pool situated only feet
from the non-stop traffic of Ocean Drive.
Across the street was a small outdoor
restaurant that catered to the condo
folks, and the waitresses played up to
them, calling them by name and such.
I leaned on the balcony railing and wondered
if that black strip of roofing draped over
a palm frond, just out of reach, would fall
off in the gentle breeze, noticed the two
women in thongs tanning by the pool
though they had nice tans already, and
that one lady so very white I hoped
she knew what the Florida sun could do.
I ventured to the hotel bar one night
and the old regulars were jacked up about
politics, being their loudest, so I boxed
the rest of a roast beef sandwich, grabbed
my Bud Light, and retreated back to the
room for the local news. Anchor Dwight
Lauderdale had aged quite gracefully.
Beach
I liked to jog to
the pier my one day off and have
breakfast, gazing at an ocean
through salt stained windows.
There was a bar nearby, mainly
deserted in the off season and
I'd stop in, enjoy a brewski, flirt
a while with the waitress there;
she loved to draw my attention
to the rare big busted patron and
ask me if I knew how they got
that way. On the slow walk back
to my summer rate motel, I skirted
water's edge and wondered just
how long that little sandpiper
with the one leg was going to last.
Riding Double
The old black mare, Maude,
tolerated me and my little brother
riding her bareback on the hardpan
country road in Georgia, until I tried
to urge her into a trot, then she
began this gentle swaying back
and forth nothing drastic but just
enough to eventually launch us
into the hot summer air, in tandem,
brother to brother, with me landing
first on my chin, rocks and red dust
spraddling out, and I wondered right
then if this was payback for all of us
watching her mate with that Shetland
pony (Prince), who was so short he
had to approach her from the top of
a bank behind the chicken houses,
while cousins galore attended.
Reunion
Not a planned deal, but enough
of us would show up on a Sunday
afternoon at the little white house
on a hill in Georgia with its massive
oak tree guarding the circular drive.
That rusting temperature guage was
still nailed to the tree trunk and didn't
keep the temp anymore, of course, a
chewing tobacco ad fading with time.
A lovely young relative made the mistake
of walking in front of the floor fan and
her dress flew up just enough to reveal
a little leg and she let out the appropriate
demure yelp, retreating and smoothing
things back into place.
Something was different this time,
someone was missing and I inquired, much
to my regret. Uncle Leroy, with the glass
eye, recounted Cousingate to me: one
cousin's husband had been rendezvousing
with another cousins wife, and there had
been fisticuffs and scenes and such, and
that's why they weren't there. The cousin
husband of the scandal had always been the
one to say grace before our Sunday group
dinners, with his trembly faltering voice which
reminded me of someone verging on a nervous
breakdown. This time an understudy had to
fill in for him. I missed cousingate's sincere
prayer tremolo and knew, somehow, that
things would never be the same around there
again. They all lived much too close.
Church Stoop
That's where my little brother and I
found ourselves, mainly because of me
and my staring at the lady breastfeeding
her baby a few pews back. Women did
that then. We whipped rocks at imaginary
enemy targets until the old gray car came
slicing down the hill toward our church,
sliding and gliding on the mud slick road
spinning around completely and surely
it was going to be fatal, yep--but no
it came to a skidding halt right next
to the big oak tree shading the entrance
to this singing church. Inside they were
really getting into I'll Fly Away, my Dad's
favorite hymn. The driver struggled his way
out of the car waving a cane about, then
hobbled his way over to us and patted me
gently on the head, saying: "Great to be
alive, ain't it boys?"
Henry at the Viewing
I never knew my uncle had been
called Joe by his friends. My
aunt, who had a mastectomy as
a young woman, always gave me
gentle hug whenever there was
a gathering; tell me how handsome
I was. Her grandson, Henry, was
at the viewing for Joe, surrounded
by the teen girls there, relishing
the attention as he leaned in a
swagger on the side of the coffin.
Horse Country
How they husband those remaining
dirt roads for their precious horses,
but my sister cut a nice fine groove
in one of them when she and her
girlfriend insisted on motoring
forward despite a flat tire. My father
gaped at the evidence, that rim
line swaying to the right then over
to the left, pitching up little berms
of red sand along the way. Then he
looked at me like a man drowning,
but I had no rope to throw.
1967
His diminutive neurologist entered
the examination room with an officious
strut, and piercing eyes. A riding crop
wouldn't have been out of place. He
started right in: "What year is it?"
My father answered immediately and
with all confidence: "1967!" The
summer of love, Dad? Good choice,
it was an excellent year.
Fathers and Sons
I would have gone on back to Miami
my face set like a flint, forever
estranged had not my battery
blown up like a bomb when
I turned the key in the parking
lot of that crummy motel.
You came with your tool kit
(you were always so handy
like that) and helped me put
a new one in, Truce.
