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Buy a vowel, Bell yelled at the TV. You stupid bitch buy a vowel. 

I’ll take a J , said the teacher from Peoria.

Stupid bitch, Bell pointed at her drink. I’ll take another, she told the bartender. Buy a fucking vowel.  That’s all she needed to do. The bartender poured the speed rack whiskey in her glass.

Bzzzz. Sorry, my dear, there’s no J, Sajak said. Come on now. Spin that wheel.

I’d like to buy a vowel,  said the Air Force Private.

Vanna turned the letter E.

I’d like to solve the puzzle, Pat.

Go right ahead.

LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE, Bell said with the military man.

Who didn’t see that coming? She asked the whole bar. Hit me again.

Last one, Bell. The short older woman with a cigarette dangling from her thin lips told the lady of the night, evening, and afternoon.

OK. I’ll be good. Just let me finish this in peace, Bell said. I should be on that show.  I could win a new car. And I’d drive it everywhere. I’d drive it out West and down South. I’d drive it up to Canada. Some place exotic. I’d let my hair down and just go.

Your hair is already down, the barkeep laughed. Has been for years.

Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted. Goodnight, nurse.

She’d been going into bars since she was seventeen. Fake I.D. from the state of Vermont. Some name on it. Ashley Jensen. That’s what she went by. Told folks just to call her Ash.

Like her father, she had a love for whiskey and cheap beer. She used to sip from his bottles when she was just a kid. He was too drunk to know, and Maggie could not tell. The mother thought she was just unbalanced. She called Bell her special child.

Bell staggered across the street to the other dive bar. Placed a ten on the bar and said, One for the road. Fill her up.

And, the bartender did. He poured the whiskey slowly. It seemed slow to Bell. Every little drop going into the glass. No ice. She drank it neat. Straight up.

Could I get a beer back? She asked the old fat man.

Sure, hon. What do you want?

Just a shorty of Miller Lite.

Gotcha. I’ll take two from you.

Two bucks for a shorty?

This is a business, Bell. You know. Like your business. You don’t give it away for free now, do you?

No, I do not. I certainly do not.

I get off in an hour, he said. Same deal?

Same deal.

God laughs at fools. That’s what dad told Billy one night when they were out in the barn. William was drinking while Billy watched and took note of what brown liquor could do to you. Another one is, You make plans and God laughs at you, William told the boy.

So what are you saying? Billy asked.

William placed his bottle of Christian Brothers on a haystack and stumbled over to his son and punched him in the jaw with a drunken right and a left uppercut to Billy’s thin chin.

Don’t get wise with me, William said. He grabbed his bottle and took a long drink. I’m trying to tell you something, Dad said. Just listen. Listen to me. I know by experience. The Lord Jehova has snickered at me my whole life. Sometimes, he cries with laughter at me. I’m a fool, Billy. Always have been. So. Watch your step in this life. Just watch it.

And he walked away while Billy lay there in the straw, listening to his pop whistle as he walked to his truck and took off.

God laughs at fools.

It doesn’t make sense to me, Loretta said. Mom was a religious person. She believed in everything the good book says. I’ll never understand, she told John.

Some things we’re not meant to understand, he said into the phone. I know she was miserable. Knew she wanted to leave this life.

You knew?

Every Christian does, John said. They want to go to heaven. Live out eternity with Jesus. Personally, I think it sounds a bit boring.

What are you saying, John?

Life is hard. Dad was a drunk. A womanizer. Probably still is. We’ll never know.

But mom had faith, Loretta said.

Yeah. Look at what that gets you. When it’s time to leave, you leave. That’s just how it goes.  Either you decide or someone decides for you. John lit a cigarette. 

Are you smoking inside the house?

Yes. Drinking, too.

You’re going to wind up just like dad. Loretta’s voice threatened.

Maybe.

Do you ever wonder where he’s at?

I imagine he’s dead by now, John said. The body can only take so much. Or, in mom’s case, the spirit can only take so much.

See. You do believe.

Sure. Just not in Christianity.  I believe I’ll come back a nine year old Hindu boy. John laughed.

Goodbye, John. Take care.

Goodbye, Loretta.

A hundred parking tickets underneath windshield wipers. A boot attached to a wheel.

No gas in the tank. Two front flat tires. A dead battery. William’s pickup is no more. He waits for Mexicans to steal it and turn it into scrap. Or, maybe get towed by The City of Chicago. He prayed for his best friend to one day disappear. Just walk home one day and be gone. It was the only prayer William ever had.

He was not a faithful man, though his family went to church every Sunday. William stood quiet while Maggie and the kids held hymnals and sang out songs. The Old Rugged Cross. On Calvary.  And Amazing Grace were Maggie’s favorites. Little Johnny simply mouthed the words; too shy for his voice to be heard.

And the old man just stood there while voices were raised and souls came for healing. Confessing sins and being baptized in a deep tub behind the pulpit.

Death to sin and alive to Christ, the preacher said as he dunked the body and lifted it out of the clear water. The whole congregation cried out while Bill just silently thought of Sunday fried chicken along with mashed potatoes and gravy. Homemade biscuits and string beans with bits of bacon mixed in. This is what he left behind.

Eddie had plans. Most kids do. That is, they think of plans, but seldom do they come true. One boy wants to be a football star. A girl who longs for the stage and silver screen. Some just want a family, kids, and a steady job. Sometimes, that’s thrust upon them.

Sixteen and in the back of a car. A blue Chevy Eddie bought with money he’d saved from working at the Piggly Wiggly. The son of Maggie had worked there since he was fifteen. Cleaning up aisles. Stocking shelves. Giving money to his mom to keep bills paid. The rest he saved for that car. It was his dream to own it one day. Which he did for five hundred dollars. A little elbow grease here and there. A paint job. A new muffler. This was his chariot, which would soon have a baby seat in the back. Fuzzy dice were thrown away.

Seventeen years old. A young age to be parents. Eddie and his wife, Virginia, learned the old-fashioned way; trial and testing. Throwing the baby in water and seeing if the newborn girl could swim while they were drowning.

Maggie was not proud of her granddaughter. She was angry at Eddie and Virginia for being what she called irresponsible. She was angry for her son following in his dad’s footsteps. Mad at her own mistakes of youth.

As for Virginia’s parents. They shunned her, too. No one taught them how to change a diaper or run water for a bath. Why should they? The parents thought. Why should they?

Christmas was over. No more presents. No more stories of the baby Jesus around the tree. Time to grow up, her father said. My daughter. Married by a justice of the peace, Dad said to his wife. Married to a store clerk. All I can say is, good luck. And he didn’t even mean it.

Not many came to the funeral. Her four surviving children and Uncle Pete, who used to chase her around the house with a wooden spoon when they were kids, delivered the eulogy.

Loretta and her husband, Jack, sang Amazing Grace to the small crowd that had gathered in the backyard of the farm. Most came to say goodbye, whereas others wanted to find out more about the death of Maggie Johnson.

The newspaper said that she’d died suddenly on her property out on the north side of town. Out where pavement turned to dirt and gravel. She is survived by her four children, and her brother was written. No names were mentioned due to the cost of each word. The cause of death was not mentioned, but everyone knew the story.

Maggie was found hanging from a rope tied in a knot over a beam in the basement amongst the turnips, greens, beans, corn, and rutabaga. It was John who found her. Thunder clapped, and rain fell on the tin roof. And John said out loud, I hope you’re at peace.

Her ashes were spread in the garden. The four children stood there while Loretta scooped into the coffee can and placed the remains down rows of corn and string beans. They figured she’d be at home there. Her final stop. After all,  the preacher man told the kids that no one got into heaven who killed themselves. Most of the folks took that as the truth. John and Bell did not.

Maybe there’s a prize we get when we’re done on this earth, John told his siblings. Perhaps for all this misery, we go through there’s a home for us on the other side, he said. Maybe. Just maybe.

Chicago  changes like all cities.  What was once a parking lot turns into a department store overnight. A diner  becomes a Starbucks or Chipotle while old trains rattle above,  making it hard to sleep in summer’s heat with windows open and bedbugs biting.

He lived above a hotdog stand on  South Halsted. The smell of Polish sausages and grilled onions filled his nose; tastebuds danced. But, it was the Chicago dog that truly  aroused him. Long dill pickle, raw onions,  tomatoes, slathered in mustard and neon green relish with a touch of celery salt touching his thin lips made him  crazy with pleasure after a night of drinking. Thanking God for the 24-hour stand as he walked to Windy City Labor every day. For five bucks with a sleeve of fries. One could not ask for more. 

The old man stood in line  as the sun came up waiting to go  inside the hall and wait for a work ticket. An old fat Irish man with a tall skinny black dude named Cookie sat behind the cage, calling out names and giving assignments. White men got the best jobs, the ones that paid most, while blacks took low paying gigs across town.

Cookie laughed at his fellow brothers. Saying things like, it sucks to be you, nigger to the darker skinned while the ones with lighter skin were almost treated white.  All were hungover or addicted to something worse;  the daily paycheck spent within hours on booze, crack, smack, or weed. Something to get them through this life.

It was a far cry from the farm.But he never longed to go home. Never thought of going back to his wife and family. William believed in drunken spirituality. Thought the bottle would lead him. And it did.

Why are there so many stars in the universe? Sometimes, they’re brilliant, all aglow, while other times  hiding behind dark clouds or not out at all, leaving on any given night like preachers leaving churches, children running away, lovers parting, or folks passing on.

But, on nights when they shine, stars make you think. The moon makes you dream. Stars stir the  brain. They leave you in constant thought long after they’ve burned out. Look up in the sky. A shooting star. You know it’s doomed. Destined to die. And then there’s a million more to take its place. 

He’d look up in the sky every night from out in the garden. Boots sunk into wet dirt amongst tomato plants, squash, and peppers. No binoculars or microscope. Just the naked eye. 

John stayed out there for hours.  Never did he wish. The boy just thought a lot. Wondered if stories about his father were true;  curious as to why mom quit going to church on Sundays.

Maybe God left her, he thought. Just like the stars. Or maybe she left God. The young one wanted to know. He wanted to know a lot of things, but after Billy’s death, she quit talking. Other than arguing with William, the stern woman did not say a word. She just did her chores and remained silent.

Perhaps that’s why dad left, he told the stars.

No, the stars said. He left long before that.  

In evenings, she sat under a  tall oak filled with age and wisdom.  She spoke to leaves; green in the spring, and rusted red in autumn.  During winter, she talked to brown limbs whose coat had fallen to the ground. She never yelled or raised her voice.

Bell spoke in soft tones. When she got older, men said she had a seductive tongue. The tall  brunette cast spells on men. Or, maybe it was the other way around.

By the age of seventeen, the freckled girl got mixed in with unsavory types. Drunks, pill poppers, junkies, she knew them all. She had the reputation of comforting them with delicate tones and warm embraces. Some called it whoring, Bell referred to it as casting out demons from men’s souls.

Every night, she  walked the south side of Main Street and turned up Broadway casting spells. Johns were grateful. Her family turned a blind eye to the sins of the youngest daughter. Church folks judged. Devils laughed.

But, in the evenings, she spoke to the  tree. No one knew what they were talking about. No one ever asked, just a tall string bean talking to a tree. Asking important questions. Talking about her dad, who used to visit her at night in her room. No one knew of these nightly visits but the tree. Oaks are good at keeping secrets.

She sat in a rocking chair on the front porch, looking out at gravel,  tall grass, and sherbet sky.

All the folks in town knew her business.  Gossip.  Lies. Women telling stories.  It was all fictitious.  The only truth was that William had left town. Left her with four kids, a fallow farm, and an empty bank account. The stout woman had no idea where her next dime was coming from. Kids were growing. Empty bellies growled at night. Next year, she whispered.  Next year.

John often sat on the front porch, too.  There was a hatred for his father,  but down in his soul, he wanted to be like him. 

He had heard stories of his womanizing and drinking. The young boy saw what it was doing to his mother. But still, he had that roving eye and wandering spirit about him. And, the more he saw mom cry in silence, the more he wanted to be like him.

The boy had dreams of leaving but never could. Eddie was going to have a family of his own. Start fresh. Go off to college and find a girl. That seemed to be his major. 

Selfishly, he had plans to leave John on the farm. After all, the youngest never spoke of his dreams. As far as everyone knew, he would stay and take care of mom. It was expected. 

As for the daughters, Eddie figured they’d be married with kids  by the time they were twenty-one. One did. The other had different plans.