The Not | Page 3

most of the day.
The home sat on twelve acres adjacent to Brices Creek, and he’d
worked on the wooden fence that lined the other three sides of the
property; checking for dry rot or termites, replacing posts where he
had to. He still had more work to do on the west side, and as he’d put
the tools away earlier he’d made a mental note to call and have some
more timber delivered. He’d gone into the house, drunk a glass of
sweet tea, then showered, the water washing away dirt and fatigue.
Afterwards he’d combed his hair back, put on some faded jeans and
a long-sleeved blue shirt, poured himself another glass of tea and
gone to the porch, where he sat every day at this time.
He reached for his guitar, remembering his father as he did so,
thinking how much he missed him. Noah strummed once, adjusted the
tension on two strings, then strummed again, soft, quiet music. He
hummed at first, then began to sing as night came down around him.
It was a little after seven when he stopped and settled back into his
rocking chair. By habit, he looked upwards and saw Orion, the Big
Dipper and the Pole Star, twinkling in the autumn sky.
He started to run the numbers in his head, then stopped. He knew
he’d spent almost his entire savings on the house and would have to
find a job again soon, but he pushed the thought away and decided to

enjoy the remaining months of restoration without worrying about it.
It would work out for him, he knew: it always did.
Cem, his hound dog, came up to him then and nuzzled his hand
before lying down at his feet. Hey girl, how’re you doing?” he asked
as he patted her head, and she whined softly, her soft round eyes
peering upwards. A car accident had taken one of her legs, but she
still moved well enough and kept him company on nights like these.
He was thirty-one now, not too old, but old enough to be lonely. He
hadn’t dated since he’d been back here, hadn’t met anyone who
remotely interested him, It was his own fault, he knew. There was
something that kept a distance between him and any woman who
started to get close, something he wasn’t sure he could change even if
he tried. And sometimes, in the moments before sleep, he wondered if
he was destined to be alone for ever.
The evening passed, staying warm, nice. Noah listened to the
crickets and the rustling leaves, thinking that the sound of nature was
more real and aroused more emotion than things like cars and planes.
Natural things gave back more than they took, and their sounds
always brought him back to the way man was supposed to he. There
were times during the war, especially after a major engagement, when
he had often thought about these simple sounds. “It’ll keep you from
going crazy,” his father had told him the day he’d shipped out. “It’s
God’s music and it’ll take you home.”
He finished his tea, went