Talk, Talk, Talk

So. What’re you going to do? Gonna just sit there? Get up and fight boy. Prove yourself. Show me what a big man you are, the old man said. You think you got something on me? Think you’re quicker than me? I might be a little shakey, but I still got my moves, he taunted the boy. You just sit there. Waiting for me to make the first move. I might just do that boy. I just might.

His brow was wet. There was no air-conditioning in the trailer. Windows were closed. The afternoon sun heated up that piece of tin like an oven. The boy’s beer can was sweating. He took some of the condensation and used it to wipe his forehead. The old man kept rattling on about how tough he was.

You should’ve seen me in my prime, the old man said. I was really something. Fast. I’d sneak a punch in before you even knew it. You think I’m something now? Back then I was really something. That was before you were born boy. Back before I got your momma pregnant in the back seat of a Chevy. She thought I was something too, he laughed.

The boy took a swig of beer. Placed his right hand in his vest. Pulled out a pistol and aimed it at the old man. He said, all you are is talk. That’s all you do. You just talk. And talk. And talk. Why don’t you shut up for once. Just one time I’d like to hear nothing. Maybe a dog in the distance. But, other than that, I don’t want to hear a God damned thing. Particularly you, he put his hand on the trigger.

Don’t be going crazy now boy, the old man said. Don’t be talkiing that way. And put that gun down. Now.

Two shots were fired. One to the head and the other to the heart. The old man laid there on the floor bleeding. There was no movement. No sounds.

I told you to be quiet.

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