Arthur sat on the porch’s lowest step, which was pleasantly warm and splintered. His bare feet dug into the soft dust as he listened to the sounds of the late afternoon — stalks of alfalfa rustling secretively amongst themselves in the breeze, brothers calling out the close of the workday from the tractor shed, pots clattering from within the house where his mother hummed her customary meal-preparing tunes. He was tired, and wondered mildly why things were and what things he would do and how they and he would matter. These things, he concluded, would be revealed in time.

…

Arthur sat on the porch, his eyes steadily averted from Thea’s corner of it. Other people’s conversations filled the air. The last of the ice in his tea had melted some minutes ago, but still no suitable greeting presented itself. A wicker chair creaked nearby, but he did not hear it. Finally Arthur thought of something, or at least had the impression that something might be thought of. He turned his head hopelessly, preparing to either speak or (if courage should fail) to smoothly extend his head’s rotation into a nonchalant glance through the open window behind him. Looking inside the empty house was an ordinary thing to do, surely. His head stopped mid-turn. “Hello,” said Thea, not three feet away. “I’m Thea.” Arthur looked up and confirmed that it was. “Mighty pleased,” he said, failing to specify what was so pleasing, but in his confusion the meaning was clear. Thea laughed, sat down in the chair adjacent, and waited a moment. Arthur wondered silently how he was to proceed, but knew it would come to him.

…

Arthur stood on the porch. His eyes followed the weedy path that led to the driveway that led to the street that led to the highway that led somewhere else, probably somewhere that made sense, or at least failed to make sense in a new way. The evening rainfall had not precipitated Clara’s arrival, despite prior remonstrations that either nightfall or inclement weather would require her swift return. Captivated by the heady thrills of delinquency, however, she paid her parents little heed, and Arthur once again felt the burden and uncertainty of his paternal duties. Thea reluctantly endorsed upbraidings and curfews as the best means of curbing their daughter’s rebellious tendencies; Arthur did too, but so reluctantly that enforcement was out of the question. Who could say, he reasoned, whether stringency or laxity was more suitable, and how could he know until Clara’s maturity was complete? Any firm pronouncements today would be nothing more than speculation taking on the somber guise of advice. His reflections turned cloudy, their most comfortable state, for the acceptance of ignorance itself promised an age of clarity to come. Arthur awaited it expectantly.

…

Arthur sat on the porch, tired and slightly bewildered. It was a familiar feeling in recent months — voluntary unemployment had thus far proven about as vapid as involuntary employment, if more enigmatic in its frustrations. There was nothing overtly unsatisfactory or distasteful about his daily life in retirement, but it was neither culminating in a series of exhilarating, long-put off experiences, nor distilling into a determined peacefulness in which simplicity is both the means and end of existence. Activities, hobbies, thoughts and dreams slipped by like sticks in a spring stream, whose weakening current would soon run them aground as the rains which gave it life disappeared. Arthur wondered how he had lived so long without getting answers to his questions or even knowing what all questions to ask. Perhaps no one knew, or perhaps he merely had not yet come across those who did. Still, though, there is time, he thought, as drowsiness overwhelmed his ruminations. He breathed deeply, and night fell.

…

Arthur lay on the porch, a faint smile seeming to acknowledge and thank the small gathering that milled respectfully around its modest confines. Doleful but redemptive songs could be heard playing inside the house through the open window, where Clara and her children had commandeered the piano and added their voices to it. Thea passed from here to there, greeting family and friends as they nodded deferentially to the spouse of the man in the casket. “Yes,” she murmured again, “We do plan to drive over to the cemetery in a few minutes. Art wanted to be here on the porch at first, though, just for the viewing. Said this was his favorite spot to think. ‘Not that I figured stuff out, dear,’ he’d tell me. ‘But it was still nice to try.’” This was a nice anecdote. The guests smiled appreciatively and sipped their tea.