A Man from Wichita

 I once met a man from Wichita.
  While driving down the country
  road. Not knowing what time it
  was I was driving for hours. Felt
  the beating of the sun on my
  shoulders.

  Saw a him on the side of the
  road and pulled over.
  Rolled down the window.

  Swatting away bees like flies.
  Wiping his sweat with his handkerchief.
  Talking to himself.  Sure feels like
  summer I can smell grandpa's
  barbecue. Phew! It's gonna be a
  hot one.

  Fanning himself with his wicker
  hat. Looking at him. He was three
  shades tanned with blisters in his
  hands. His eyes were squinted sun
  kissed by the sun.

  Wrinkles upon his face. A striped
  long shirt, rusty pants and suspenders
  with a pair of worn down soles.

  Reaches into his left side pocket. Pulls
  out his pocket watch. Might be just
  in time for ma's lemonade down by
  the sycamore tree.

  You want to know a secret. He boasted
  I got some moonshine. Its my grand daddy's  
  secret recipe. Pulls out a silver
  flask from his shirt pocket. Yep good old
  days. It  had grooves and dents and one
  single rose embedded. Shinning in the
  glistening son across my face. Blinding
  my eyes like a small flare.

  Takes a sip and pauses and enjoys the
  moment like a fine wine connoisseur
  making his mustache curl. Putting
  everything else in slow motion. Only
  to savor the moment.

  Asked him for directions. He just
 simply said as he coughed. "All you
 have to do is go forward "but, before
  you go take one sip with me. Please
  do me that favor. Oh! By the way my
  name is Ian Murrel.

 Handing me his sliver flask tightening
 his suspenders prompted back on his
 tractor. Took me a moment to work-up
 my courage. He just stared. Smelled like
 licorice.
 
Not to be so rude I took a sip. Burned so
 much down my throat as it settled. Made
 my eyes water. Nodded and laughed.
 That first sip will get yah.

 Reminded him the first time he took his
 first sip with his grandfather by his side.
 Sitting on the porch steps coming back
 from work. From working with my father in
 the mines. Made my insides churn.
 Looking back at me.
 
 He began to Talk to me about the time
 he went  fishing with his dad.
 Fished all day by that dock.
 Not a single bite that autumn day.
 Till it got dark and
 began to rain. Smelled like honeydew.

 Over that orchard. I tell you these
 corn fields have their own story.
 It made him only ponder. Paused. Took
 a sip. Seeing his eyes widen and his
 nostrils flare. Hands me back the flask.
 I take a smaller sip. Just to feel the small
 burn on my lips. Numbed for the moment.
 I would just stare.

 Remembered when he joined the armed
 forces when he was eighteen. Had so
 many restless nights.
 Scars upon his right knee.
 Scrap metal still embedded. Inside
 titanium alloy. Shows it off like a
 badge of honor.

 Only hurts when I square dance as
 he laughed and joked.
 His spirits still intact.

 Looks back at his pocket watch.
 Squints to see. Looks up at the sky
 Well you look at the time. Sorry young
 lad I just start talking and keep on
 yapping.

 He chuckled! It's a habit. Listen hear
 son all you have to do is go down
 this road. Make a right down by
 Miller's creek.
 When you reach the end you will see
 a sign to Sedgwick county.
 
It will take you back to the open
 road but, before you go take my
silver flask. It's the least I can do.
 I was baffled for the moment .
 Not sure what to do. Look back.
 He just simply said.
 My way for making up for lost
 time.
 
 And, To say thank you, thank you for
 stopping by. Listening to this
  old man share his stories.
 It's not every day we get a new
 stranger in these parts. It's a custom
 to give away a special keep sake.

 Plus you got some home made
 moonshine with you.
 Now it's getting late you
 should get going.

 I walked back to my car feeling
 overwhelmed and a bit of gratitude.
 Opened the door and closed it.
 Catching myself in the moment. I
 simply smiled.
 
 Looked through the rear-view mirror.
 Watching him wipe his sweat off with
 his arm.

 Starting the engine he simply took
 his hat off. Seeing his silver fox curls
 for the first time and
 his rigid beard. He bid me a farewell.
 Walked to the middle of the road as
 he shouted.
 Be humble lad. Be humble.
 
 Driving away his silhouette began to
 shrink until, he simply faded.
 I looked back and he was gone.

 Drove back to the same spot and
 he was no where to be seen.
 Walked over to the sycamore tree.
 Found some initials carved in the
 tree. I,M 48. My skin turned pale and
 my eyes were befaled.
 
  A sudden shiver went down my
  back and I couldn't understand.
  Made it back to the car.
  Turning the head lights while it
  got dark. Drove back to the city.

 Till this day I have that silver flask
 inside my glove box. Smell of
 licorice when I open.
 All this when I made a wrong turn
 and I met a man from Wichita.
 Ian Murrel. A gentle soul.

                           -Ax.barajas-