Excerpt from Tracks
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The sheriff’s car came speeding into the yard. The sirens were on, and the lights were flashing. My dad stood
up, and I crawled back toward the window. The sheriff jumped out of his car followed by Joe Williams whose
gun was clenched in his hand. Joe’s eyes were nervously bouncing around beneath his thick eyeglasses.
“Get the hell down here!” the sheriff shouted up at my dad.
“Go inside, Helen,” my dad said to me. I crawled over the windowsill and across the cot. I ran down the
stairs. Joan waited at the bottom of the stairs for us. I could tell she was scared because she looked like she
was going to cry. She held my hand while we waited for my dad who walked slowly down the stairs. He had
a cigarette in his clenched fist. We followed him outside where Grandpa stood on the porch steps. Molly was
on the porch swing.
“Harvey,” Grandpa said to the sheriff. “What’s going on here?”
“Stay out of this, George,” the sheriff growled. He looked at my dad.
“You son of a bitch!” The sheriff’s face was red and sweating. “You keep your goddamn kids away from my
wife!”
“If something has happened with the girls, it’s my responsibility not Samson’s. I’m their legal guardian,”
Grandpa said.
Grandpa wore a black shirt with a sky-blue bird painted on the back. His pants were sky-blue. Joan had left
her red shoes in the yard, and a spider was making a web inside them.
“George, shut up!” The siren of the sheriff’s car screeched until Joe Williams reached into the car and turned
it off. He never put down his gun or took his rapidly moving eyes off my dad and the sheriff.
My dad stepped forward into the yard, and I followed him. Joan let go of my hand and moved closer to
Grandpa.
“Samson,” Grandpa warned.
A Barbie doll lay naked by the sheriff’s feet. The sheriff stood on one of Barbie’s gowns. The purple sequins
shone in the sun.
“Harvey,” Grandpa said, “I got rights, and I got the right to tell you to get off my property. Unless you got
some legal reason to be here, I’m telling you to leave.”
“What about the fact that these two little brats stole my kids’ swimming pool?” Spit flew from the sheriff’s
mouth. Joan and I looked at each other, and my dad looked down at me.
“Do you have any proof?” my dad asked.
“You son of a bitch!” The sheriff stepped forward. “I should have killed you when I had a chance five years
ago!”
“As I recall, you never had a chance. I believe you were already a bloody mess when I got there,” my dad
whispered through clenched teeth.
Grandpa looked surprised.
“Come on! Fight me!” The sheriff shoved my dad. It didn’t seem to have much of an affect on my dad, but
my dad was backing away from him.
“Fight me!” the sheriff screamed.
Things were getting crazy. The sheriff was crazy. I was scared, and I wondered what my dad would do.
“Harvey,” Joe Williams said softly, “I think we should go.” He slid his gun back into his holster.
“Shut the fuck up!” The sheriff pulled the gun from his holster, pulled back the hammer, and placed it against
my dad’s chest right over the red scar. My dad did not move.
“Harvey,” Grandpa said frightened, “Don’t do this, Harvey.”
The sheriff ignored Grandpa and looked at my dad. “Now what, mother fucker, now what?”
“Now what, Harvey?” my dad said. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers. It was the cigarette that he
had carried with him from upstairs. Grandpa was breathing with short, heavy gasps.
Molly and Joan were on the porch behind me. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear Molly crying. My hands
shook, and my legs trembled.
“Take the girls inside, Dad,” my dad said to Grandpa.
“Samson,” Grandpa whispered. Grandpa picked Molly up from the swing. I heard it squeak, and I knew Joan
would go with Grandpa.
“Your precious girls, your precious girls,” the sheriff said, “You’re so protective of your poor sweet girls.”
The sheriff was smiling without showing his teeth.
I stood beside my dad. My glasses slid down my nose.
I heard the screen door slam, and I knew that Grandpa, Joan, and Molly were inside the house.
“How noble of you, Sonny,” the sheriff said, “And with only one of them really belonging to you anyway.
Right?”
Sweat dripped from the sheriff’s dark hair, and I put my hand into one of the belt loops of my dad’s jeans.
“This has nothing to do with my kids,” my dad said, “This is between you and me not them.”
The sheriff’s car lights were still flashing. They seemed to be bouncing off of everything in the yard. The
spider’s web inside Joan’s shoe was getting bigger and bigger.
“Wrong, Samson. This is about all of us.”
The sheriff moved the gun from my dad’s chest and pointed it at my forehead. I did not move. I felt my dad’s
weight shift toward me. The sheriff’s badge glared in the sun, and I could smell his cologne. His shirt was wet
with sweat. There was a scratch on his hand.
“Harvey, this is wrong,” Joe Williams muttered, “I don’t want no part of this. She’s just a kid. This is
insane.”
My dad breathed heavily. I could hear Molly crying from inside the house. I heard footsteps on the porch.
Joe Williams stopped muttering. The sheriff drew in a sharp breath. I heard the click of another gun.
“Now, Harvey, I really think that this has gone far enough.” It was Uncle Jack.
“Jackson, this has nothing to do with you,” the sheriff said, his voice was shaky. The sheriff lowered his gun.
I looked up at my dad. He was looking at Uncle Jack.
“It’s about all of us,” Uncle Jack said, “Harrison should have killed you five years ago.”
The sheriff laughed weakly.
“Get back in your car. Stay away from my family, and I guarantee my nieces will stay away from your wife.”
The sheriff put his gun back into its holster and walked to his car. He stumbled over Barbie’s van. “You can’t
put a gun to a police officer’s head and get away with it,” he muttered.
“What gun? Harvey, I have no idea what you are talking about. Do you?” Uncle Jack asked Joe Williams.
Uncle Jack still pointed the gun at the sheriff. It was a hunting rifle. I had never seen it before. Uncle Jack’s
glasses slid down his nose. He wore a black suit with a yellow tie.
“No, Sir, I do not,” Joe Williams said. He climbed into the driver’s side of the sheriff’s car making the sheriff
sit on the passenger's side. He turned off the lights then backed the car out of the yard. The sheriff glared at
us.
Uncle Jack put the gun into my dad’s hand.
“It’s not loaded,” he said, his hands shaking.
My dad laughed loudly and reached out to hug Uncle Jack.
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