dmseay

The dog barked at the backdoor. He checked, no one there, probably a mouse. The old man fixed himself a cup of tea, added sugar and milk. Sat down in the dark, only a stove light was on. The dog barked again. There there boy, he said. That’ll do boy, that’ll do.

Summer time without air conditioning. He sat in a pool of sweat drinking hot tea; mumbled about being cold. The whole thing didn’t make sense; cold and sweating. The old man was afraid of this; she was no longer there to tend to him. She hadn’t been for some time. She would know what to do.

He grabbed the blanket from the couch and wrapped it around his body. He was growing colder, sweating more, teeth rattled. The dog barked again. Shhh, he said. Shhh. You mustn’t. He took another sip of tea. It had grown cold.

And, he noticed in the corner, a pair of house slippers. They looked like his wife’s. He wondered if they were. Looking at the slippers, he could remember now. How that’s all she ever wore. They would dance in the kitchen with them on. How he wished she was there. How he wished.

The old dog came and sat by his side. He gave him a good rub. Then there was a sound from down the hall. It was her getting up to make breakfast.

You’re here, he said.

Yes. Did you sleep?

Nothing happened to you?, she shook her head, walked over and touched his face. She felt the coolness of it.

No dear. Did you have another bad dream?, he nodded. She held him close.

Don’t leave me.

Shhh. No dear. I won’t.

And then he woke up. Sunlight came in through the back door window. It was another day.

He picked at his plate; peas, some chicken, a piece of bread. Thinking of childhood, his mother, father, the garden in the backyard, a bath tub filled with turnip greens.

His wife asked him to pass the iced tea as he stared into space. She got up and got it herself. Sorry dear, he said. My mind was elsewhere. Guess I was daydreaming again, she smiled.

The sun came in through the blinds. It was a bright light. Always was this time of day. He just stared at it. You’ve hardly touched your food, his wife said. You don’t like the chicken?, he said it was fine. All was fine. Everything, fine. You know, soon I won’t be here to cook these meals for you, the older woman said, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

Sorry?, he stopped looking at the light.

I said I won’t be here to cook these meals for you.

Where will you be?

Gone silly.

Gone where?, he grew impatient.

I’ll be in heaven dear.

Oh, his hands trembled. That so? …We must not talk this way, he wiped his thin lips. I won’t have it, he shouted, the dog began to bark. She got up from her chair and held him, shhh, she said. Shhh. There there.

Who will take care of me?, he asked.

Arrangements will be made dear. Then again, you could be gone before me.

Gone where?

We’ll see each other in heaven one day dear. One day.

Are you certain of that? All this talk of death. And look at me. My bones show through my skin. I don’t like this. I don’t.

We come from the earth and our bodies go back to the earth.

I want to go to the garden. The one my family had when I was young. One day. Yes, one day.

She held him close to her chest, Shhh dear. Shhh.

The old man could’ve swore he heard laughter. Thought he heard people talking in an empty room too. He’d sit down and watch the news all day long with the sound off. People moving their lips. Total silence. Just dressed up people on television with desks in front of them. Talking. Just no sound. That was odd he thought. Very odd. So, he made up stories in his mind. Stories that involved him. Imagination.

He talked about the war. What it was like to be in a trench hole with hangrenades going off and cannons being fired. Talked about what it was like to lose a leg in combat. He had convinced himself that this was all true.

Said he’d been to the moon. Told his imaginary friends that he was an astronaut. Said he’d been to Mars as well. Floated in the sky, he said. Weightless. I felt free, he laughed.

Alone. Talking to himself. Not knowing what day or year it was. He had lost his mind. And, people didn’t seem to care. No one from his wife’s old church stopped by to see him. He had no family; she had died years ago. If he got hungry he’d just order a pizza.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He worked on the assembly line all those years; saved some, had a pension. The old man and his wife talked about going to Florida. But, she had a group of friends she would miss too much. She was active, played cards, church choir, had a real pretty alto voice. The old man didn’t remember her anymore. She was gone. Just one day, gone.

It was his greatest fear; to die alone. And, he didn’t even know it.

They’d been looking at each other for hours in silence. She came close to tears a couple of times while he remained steady as a rock. Neither was going to bend. He wanted to say so many things, but masculinity stopped him. Maybe too proud. Perhaps ashamed of what he’d done.

And she stayed quiet out of fear. Scared that if she said anything at all he’d walk out the door again; just like he had a year ago.

Standing there in the living room with the corner lamp on, her dressed in a nightgown, he had on a pair of jeans and a shirt, they both tried to remember when it was they saw each other last. He had become so skinny. The road will do that to a man. While she had picked up a little weight round the middle. Eating out of stress. Wondering when he was coming home. She ate doughnuts. Big cream filled ones with pots of coffee everyday. While he ran with coyotes. Picking up scraps, dead animals along the highways. Dried blood caked on his chin.

She didn’t want to hold him. Didn’t want to get hurt again. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. Wanted to apologize. Let her know that it wasn’t him that left her. Wasn’t his soul. His thinking was all screwed up, wiring was off. There was something not right about him. One minute he’d be in Terre Haute and the next day St. Louis. Hitchhiking along back roads, through small towns. Just him with a book bag.

She asked if he wanted coffee? He shook his head no. Asked him if he wanted to sit down? Again, he said no. What is it that you want? ,she asked.

He stood in silence. Finally said, money.

You need money?, he nodded. They both heard a dog barking outside. Howling. Did ya bring a friend along with ya?, she grinned. He shook his head. What’re you gonna do with this money? Spend it on what? When are you going to settle down?

I’ll take that coffee now if you don’t mind.

No, I don’t mind.

And they walked into the kitchen where pots and pans were piled up in the sink. She made a path to the faucet and ran water into the coffee pot. Filled it up all the way. You want something to eat?, she asked. I got doughnuts, he shook his head.

What was it like out there?, she poured the water into the coffee maker.

Cold. Lonely. Free.

I see. Is the cold and lonely part worth the freedom?

Sometimes.

Yep. I guess it would be. I’m gonna have a doughnut. Sure you don’t want one, again he shook his head. She grabbed a wet cloth and tended to the dried blood on his chin. He leaned forward and kissed her. Why’d you do that for?, she whispered.

Just wanted to, he told her. She grabbed his face and kissed him hard then slapped him.

They stood there in silence. There was no longer a dog barking outside. It was just quiet. And they both looked at each other. That’s all they did. Just looked. The screen door was open. Cicadas began to sing.

Chinese restaurants and billboards for McDonald’s. Truck stops, brown corn fields and naked trees. Houses with big yards. Trailer parks.

He’d look out the window of the bus as it traveled on 30. It was April. The trees should be blooming. Grass was green. And all these diesels riding in the left lane. A sign that reads, End Of Construction. He kind of felt that way too.

His stomach was growling. Soon they’d stop at a Dairy Queen. Little benches outside. Signs that say, No Inside Dining. He settled for a vanilla cone.

And, what if she wasn’t there to pick him up? Maybe she’d changed her mind. Decided she was better off without him. He knew that day would come.

The skies grew dark when the bus stopped in Gary. He’d wait for her. He’d wait. Evening time was still ahead.

What was his business?

He sold used cars.

What kind?

All kinds. Pickups, station wagons, mini-vans,SUV’s, even had some of those Hummers.

Was he honest?

He was a salesman. I know that much ’bout him. He had those cars polished. Spic and span they were. Hubcaps, everything. The cars had a glow ’bout em.

Who’d wanna kill this guy? Was he well liked? Have any vices?

People liked him. I know he used to bet on horses. That can be a vice. A problem in somebody’s life. Don’t you think so? Maybe he gambled on other things too, football, baseball, everything. You know, they still won’t let Pete Rose in the Hall of Fame. Damn shame. Un-American.

Price you pay.

Was there a lot of blood at the scene? Of the crime. The scene of the crime. Blood everywhere?

Yes. A real mess you could say.

Just curious.

Yeah. Looks like the damage was done with a ball bat. Blows to the head. Took the money and ran.

That’s what people do?

Yes. That’s what people do.

Blue lights on the bottom of a Charger. It cruises through town at forty-five miles per hour. There is silence. He does not hear him. Only sees the silver car moving down the street. Wonders where he’s going at three in the morning. Not many options. Could be coming home from a bar that just closed; kicked all the drunks out; last call was made. Maybe he’s driving up to the filling station to see a girl there working third shift. Get some coffee. Chat awhile. Maybe.

The old man adjusts in his chair. Continues looking out the window. It’s so black out there, he says. He sees outlines of cars parked up and down the street. Hears a train coming through town. But, he’s still wondering what that Charger is doing out at this time of night. A diesel puts on his air brakes. The old man breathes in and breathes out. He thinks that maybe that Charger is heading to I69. Leaving town forever. Maybe the guy had enough tonight at the GM plant and just said the hell with it. It’s a possibility. Heading up to 80 to take it across to Chicago. He’s got a little dough in the bank. Wants to start all over again. Leave the wife behind. Just drive.

I’ll bet he’s heading out to California, the old man whispers. No…he’s going out to Vegas to gamble what little he has left, the old man smiles.

I’ll betcha he’s going out to Los Angeles on old Route 66. Be in St. Louis by noon tomorrow. Stop along the way and hold up a 7-11. All these scenarios. Maybe he just can’t sleep. Maybe the baby can’t sleep, the old man feels his skin, his own skin.

He wishes he had a car.

She threw herself at his feet. Begged for forgiveness. He stood there, in the kitchen, streetlight coming through the window, and just looked down on her.

The house was dark. No lights on, just the lamp in the living room where she waited for him. All night long she waited for him. He’d left early in the evening. Words were exchanged. Accusations made. A fist was thrown into a wall. He’d heard enough.

She had dark circles under her green eyes. These nights were common. Nobody got any sleep; she didn’t, he didn’t. Their whole lives had become a circle of yelling and forgiveness. Sentences, like, I promise, were said. And, she’d tell him she loved him. Those simple words, I love you, were hard for him to say. Even after twenty years of marriage. Seemed like neither knew what love was. Maybe at one time they knew. Maybe.

He had women ’round town. She knew bout it. Wasn’t suppose to know, but, she did. People talk. And, she had her one time affair. Some salesman who left town. Walked out on his wife and kids one night. Just drove to another state. Maybe Nebraska, or, Oklahoma. She blamed herself. Blamed herself for breaking up a family. Breaking up a family just out of spite. He found out about it. The whole town did.

She locked herself away. Hid from everybody. If the phone rang, she didn’t answer it. Lived in darkness. A kind of lie to herself. No, he wasn’t sleeping around. Not her man, she said to herself as she waited up for him. She’d pour coffee with a bit of whiskey in it. And wait. Just wait.

And, she threw herself at his feet. Begging for forgiveness. He just looked down on her. Looked down. No more words were exchanged. No more lies.

Corn fields were dead along 41. Debris had piled up on em. Drivers throwing out cigarette butts, McDonald’s bags, Happy Meal boxes, beer cans, all over resting soil.

Soon they’ll come alive again. Soon. Green stalks reaching and the smell of corn will come quickly to this land. Almost as if it were over night. A farmer’s dream.

There’s a time of the year when the sun never goes down in Alaska. They call it midnight baseball. That’s what he longed to see; midnight baseball.

He’d been to almost every state in the country. Spent a lot of time in the Midwest; Indiana, Ohio, up around Chicago. Big fan of Michigan too. But, he wanted to see the sun at midnight. Wanted to feel it on his skin. Wanted to drink beer under golden rays at two in the morning. Maybe these were all just dreams.

The sun followed him. Followed him all the way to California. Then he took a right at San Francisco. And then,it was dark. His friend no longer had contact with him. It was that way throughout the night.

Morning time came and his pal woke him up. There he was in the sky. Shimmering in the morning fog. Rising to where he’d always been; looking down on him.Watching his every move.

He drank coffee and looked at it through his windshield. Soon we’ll be together, he whispered. Soon.