Provider's Son by Lee Stringer

art. Something that is beautiful but practical, like your rocking chairs. Theres a real flow to your chairs. It looks as if theyre all one piece. Something that followed the flow of the grain could work. I dont mean the usual flowers and leaves, but something different. Something human.”
    Levi pictured the last rocking chair he finished, the one with the walnut splats, with intricately carved designs interwoven with the grain. No. The crest rail was the best place for carvings. And the legs. Yes. The legs. That would work. The carvings on the crest rail would have to part in the center where the head rested back. He liked art, but would never sacrifice practicality. A rocking chair is made to be rocked in. The designs could run across the crest rail, and seeing as the carvings had to follow the grain anyway it would work.
    â€œI think itd be spot on,” Levi said.
    â€œYeah, we should try it sometime,” Jon said, but Levi couldnt tell if he was just being polite.

Music and Friends
    It was Friday and Will Walters would be playing at the bar that night. Or so Caprice the bartender told Levi as he sipped on his beer. She looked somewhat native but her blue eyes confused him. He could not help looking at her behind every time she got a beer.
    Back home he had never gone drinking after work. A good drunk on the weekend was well enough, but the stress of this job for the last week made him make that right turn into the bar every day after he got a shower and ate his supper. If he were home it would have been out the door and to his workshop, back to the grain.
    The job itself wasn’t hard at all. It was the embarrassment of being a middle-aged welder’s helper, and his fear of heights that came with it, that made him consider quitting every day. As a fisherman he was an old hand, experienced and confident in not only his abilities, but his very identity. To go from that to handing welding rods and carrying around tools for a journeyman all day was almost more than he could bear. He had managed to get Anita on the phone the night before, and told her about how he was feeling on the job. She had been the only person with whom he talked to about his problems for over the last twenty years, and even though she had betrayed him, he still needed to talk to her. She understood, but not really, as most women don’t understand how important it is for a man to feel admired, or at least respected, by other men.
    The same men sat at the bar every day. They were all white like himself, even though Camp Wisti had people from around the world.
    â€œYou wouldnt believe the fucking pigs in this place,” Morey from Ontario was telling Caprice.
    â€œOh I can believe it,” Caprice said. “I work here dont I?”
    â€œYou know what I had to do today?” he said, his words slurring even more than usual for this time in the day. “I had to clean shit off of a stall wall. I almost quit.”
    Caprice laughed. “Id love to see you scraping shit off a wall.”
    Levi felt sorry for Caprice having to pretend to listen to men like Morey day after day. In truth, however, she didn’t pretend very hard. But either way, she was forced to hear it.
    â€œThe Newfies are the dirtiest,” Morey said to Caprice.
    â€œI finds that hard to believe,” said Levi.
    â€œCall them as I see them, buddy.”
    â€œWhats your background anyway?”
    â€œIm a real Canadian, born in Brampton, Ontario. Or fucking Bramladesh, as it should be called now. Those stinking pakis got the place took over. Im moving north soon. Cant take it.”
    â€œI suppose Im a squaw when Im not standing in front of you,” Caprice said. Four men standing near the pool table glanced over.
    â€œNo,” Morey said, grinning. “You are whether youre standing in front of me or not.”
    Caprice reached over the snatched the beer out of his hand. “Get the fuck out.”
    â€œIm just kidding,