dmseay

It was much easier being alone, he thought. Away from people, life in solitude, incognito, just far, far away from society.

I used to walk around New York City everyday. The mass of people I’d encounter. One after another all over Manhattan. Going places. Carrying shopping bags, pushing strollers, brief cases in hand, book bags over the shoulder; all coming at me, he ran his weathered hand through gray hair, took out a red rag to blow his nose on.

And, sitting in parks with hookers, junkies, the insane, wondering what my next move might be. I’d always look up at the sun. It would bounce off steel towers, shine through trees of gold and red and yellow, while people talked to themselves. Mumbling curse words. Looking at the masses going by and spitting at them, he asked for a dollar and it was given to him. The people of New York can be charitable.

His teeth were yellow. Skin was brown. He was missing a right arm and a left leg, taken from him in a suicide attempt; jumped in front of a number 6 train heading into Brooklyn.

I’m going to try out for the Yankees this year, he said. You think I gotta chance? Just as good as I do, I said. Just as good as I do.

We waited there around Madison Square Garden for a while. He with his “homeless vet” sign, me with my hands in my pockets. I remember it was cold out. Yes, it was cold. But, the sun was shining.

There was a fan blowing on the body laying next to him. Blonde hair was tossed just a bit. She talked in her sleep. Saying words of forgiveness. Some kind of healing was taking place. The young woman rolled over, grabbing more blanket. He was left very little. Just a bit of white sheet. The old man turned away from her, faced the alarm clock on the night stand. Red numbers read 3:30. The moon shined through his window. The cat purred on the floor next to him. He stroked it softly as she continued speaking of old days when life was less complex. Or, was she just babbling. Talking non-sense. He tried to pull more covers, but, it was of no use. She kept them all. Just like everything. She kept em all.

The smell of coffee lingered down the hallway at the crack of morning. The old man liked watching the burning star rise above the lake. Without much sleep, he got out of bed. Ran cold water over his lined face and breathed in the smell of coffee from the kitchen. As he poured himself a cup, he noticed she was outside on the deck in her robe talking to herself. He stood by the door and listened. Said she was not happy with how her life had turned out. Said she never should’ve married the old man. Everyone told her it was a mistake. She didn’t listen. Women rarely listen. She told em all that she loved him. She loved the idea of love. The house, sharing a bed, omlettes in the morning, but she wasn’t in love with him. She fooled herself. That’s what we do in life; we fool ourselves.

His wrinkled hand started to turn the knob. He noticed she was now laughing. She was laughing at him. She was laughing at them as a couple. Two people couldn’t be more different, she thought. As she stood up she noticed he was looking at her. The old man turned away from the door. Walked back to the bedroom and sat on the bed placing his gray hair into his hands. He was crying. And her, she remained on the deck looking at the back door. Wondering what kind of trouble she had caused this time.

Trees. Green trees. The winter came and left early. There was no spring. Hills of grass mixed with tall weeds covered the ground; land that just a month or two ago was brown.Funny how things come alive.

He left Gary heading east. Drove past liquor stores, Dollar General, barbecue joints, barber shops, and gentlemen clubs. He was wanting to see land again. Seemed like all he’d ever seen was concrete and steel. The old man was born amongst it. But, it never seemed natural to him. There’s city life and then there’s country; he longed to see country. He wanted to breathe.

There was nothing holding him back. Put in thirty years at U.S. Steel. Only filed for workman’s comp twice. He dealt with the heat, flames, heights, climbing up and climbing down. His reward, a pension and Social Security.

There was no one to take care of him. The old Pole never married, no kids. Had a woman he lived with for awhile. Wound up cheating on him. She made him come home to an empty house and a note; Dear Stosh. He knew it was coming. Stories by Nelson Algren told him so. There is no solace.

He drove into Indiana. Going on 20 East. That greenness of it all. Made him want to just get out of his truck and walk through it. And, he did. Got down in the tall grass and waved his arms like an angel. He could breathe now. He could finally breathe. That’s all he wanted.

He kept seeing a twinkling light in the sky; like the one that led the wise men to Jesus. It glowed brilliantly, shining throughout the night. Leading him down 41 towards Tere Haute, Evansville, southern Indiana.

This light, a star perhaps, was his traveling companion, that and the radio tuned to a old time rock and roll station. Old hits played throughout the night; Buddy Holly, Bill Hailey, Beach Boys; he sang along to em all. He knew the words. He knew the music.

And he’d pray some too. Pray up at that shining object in the southern sky. His prayers were simple; asking God for deliverance; something he’d wanted his whole life.

Soon the old man would be in Kentucky with the sweet smell of farmland ’round him. He’d see the sun come up, replacing that star. He knew his way now. His way home. He’d been delivered. And for that he was grateful.

The spell was cast long ago. He didn’t know what hit him. Amongst drunks in a crowded tavern, the two of them met. Seated side by side at the bar, the two of them made small talk while a Van Morrison song blared from the juke box. Talk like, where you from? and, whatcha drinking? oozed from the side of his crooked mouth while she just sat there stirring her drink. At times men would come between them to order a beer. But, no one tried to interfere. Folks could tell by their eyes, the way they were locked in on each other, that these kids were in for the long haul.

You like the old songs? he asked her. The ones our moms and dads listened to? she smiled, took another drink, nodded her blonde head. I grew up on that stuff, he laughed. Still like it better than what’s out there today. What can I say? My parents brainwashed me, they both laughed, he moved in closer.

You’re from Van Wert?

Yes ma’am.

What’re you doing over here in New Haven? she asked.

Well, he adjusted his cap, I got a notion to come this way this evening. Something in the air was pulling me. It was as if I was being pushed and pulled towards you, but, I didn’t know it. It was subliminal. Maybe a ghost from the past. Our past. Kept telling me to come this way, he placed his arm around her back and held onto her hip.

There ain’t no ghost, she whispered.

You don’t believe that story?

Nope, she pulled on him to come closer; face to face. She kissed him and then let go.

What’s your name?

Cindy.

I’m Jimmy. That was our first kiss. Right here in this bar. Yessir. Won’t be our last.

I spose not. I spose not.

Happy Anniversary.

Birds fluttered ’round the gutters pecking at old leaves that had been left there seasons ago. The old man could hear them, not see them, but hear them. They were talking to each other as the evening sun glowed. Maybe they were talking about how hot it was. He listened closer; still couldn’t make out a word.

And, it was definitely talk. They weren’t singing. In the mornings they sang. Evening time they chatted. He wondered if it was two lovers out there? Two birds that had been with each other for years. He poured an iced tea, remembering his love. How they chatted in the evening and sang in the morning.

She used to wear these dresses that fit nicely ’round her hips. He loved taking her by the hand and walking through their neighborhood on the north side of town. They’d walk barefoot on the sand down by the lake; carrying shoes and sandals. The water would wash away the sand between their old toes. In the summer it felt nice. There was comfort in the water. The same way birds brought comfort to him now.

He lit a cigarette and took a drag. Had another sip of tea. The sun was going down and the birds were no longer heard. Perhaps he would go to the beach the next day as soon as he got up. As soon as the birds began singing.

The bison ran by the side of the road; penned in; running, just running. Parts of their winter coats still stuck to the sides of the animals; half skin, spots of fur. They drove along 41 looking at them. Fenced in animals. He wondered what that was like.

There was very little conversation between them. He’d look over at her every once in a while. She still looked the same as when they’d started out on the road years ago. Still had that same smile, same sparkling green eyes. He liked to run his rough hand through her blonde hair while he was driving. Gave him hope. Hope that she would never leave him like the one did and the one before her. This was his wish.

He worked odd jobs and they stayed in shelters while criss crossing America. Most of the shelters were of the religious kind. They had to attend service in order to have a bed that night; separate beds; they weren’t married. That didn’t stop em though. On cool autumn days they’d park the truck under leaves of gold and red. They held onto each other tightly till it was time to head off to church; didn’t want to, but, they did.

They always left town when they had $300 saved up. Drove that Ford out West. They’d seen enough of the East. It didn’t matter. Long as they were together. That’s the way they looked at it.

Here’s to the road.

People watched as he walked into the bar that night. It wasn’t as if there was a lot of folks in the place; just enough. Two men playing pool stopped their game. A young tough rolled his sleeves down. Women seated at the bar extended their arms to give him a hug. He took off his cap and gave them a kiss.

It’d been a while since they’d seen him; a year and a half. Maybe two years. He looked different. Not like a kid any more. Looked like a man. A jaded man. A fellow who’d seen some things. Been a part of something bigger than he was. And survived.

When he was a kid he used to play war out in the woods with kids from the neighborhood. They’d march in the wet leaves, roll ’round in the dirt, fire toy guns. Prisoners were taken. Some pretended they’d died. Airplanes from the local airport soared over; invisible bombs were dropped.

It was us verses them, he said. Americans taking on Germans in the Hurtgen Forest. We’d fire at them and they’d fire right back. Some guys made it while others didn’t, the soldier said to the small crowd. And, you never knew what you were shooting at. Just firing away at whatever moved. I guess that’s how you win a war. I don’t know, he lit a cigarette, somebody bought him a shot.

And when the firing had finished, bodies were turned over and the horrors of war showed through. Men with no faces. Arms and legs missing. Crying and senseless babbling. No one could make out what they said. He kept that to himself. He didn’t tell many stories. Just sat and drank. While those ’round him wished him well.

He ordered another drink.

The blinds were closed. He looked at the world through lines. Outside, birds were chirping, singing a song. He could hear em, but, was scared to open the shades and take a look. He was frightened of what was out there.

Long ago he used to roam the country. He’d travel to various parts of the United States; Maine to California. Never made it to Hawaii or Alaska. Wanted to. He’d read that they were magnificent places, Hawaii with its lush green and volcanoes, the ocean. And Alaska with its mountains and wildlife; he longed to see a bear.

He kept looking at the traffic go by through the tiny slits. Heard the train coming through town. What’re people doing? he asked. What’re they doing? he took a drink of coffee.

Eventually he’d have to go outside. Hadn’t been out in a month. He needed things; coffee, cigarettes, peanut butter, eggs, bread; he took notes.

The old man noticed there was no one walking on the sidewalks. Nor were there any kids playing. Just some cars going by. Had the rapture come and I missed it? he thought. Gotta step out sooner or later, he said. Gotta do it.

And so he walked outside and looked up at the sun. Looked at the clouds. Took off his mask. It wasn’t going to be such a bad day after all.

He looked at the swamps and the tall grass along U.S. 20. Cones in the middle of the road; sign saying, End Of Roadwork.

The bushes had grown wild along the roadway. Limbs needed to be cut. More orange cones. Men in hard hats and neon vests directing traffic. Another End Of Roadwork sign.

He turned onto 35 South. Two lane blacktop. Houses on both sides of the highway. His Dodge picked up speed. He could hear her body bouncing in the trunk next to the shovel and the gasoline container. It kept making a thud sound. It’d be awhile till sundown; awhile till he could adjust it.

The old man lit a cigarette and played a whispering Bill Anderson tape. That was one of her favorites. Played a Charlie Rich cassette as well. She loved the silver fox.

He thought about her when she was younger. Back when she had blonde hair. ‘Fore the cancer took over. He could remember when she came home from the doctor with the news; first in her thyroid then it spread throughout the body. That’s when she told him, Kill me. Please kill me, he stared off into the clouds as the car kind of drove itself.

And, he did what she asked. Made up a cocktail of different drugs. She shot em back with a glass of whiskey. He poured her another. Then she fell asleep and never woke up. She was gone.

The old man noticed the speed limit was 45. He abided. The body quit bouncing as much. Soon he’d be digging her grave. That’s what she wanted. And that’s what he did. Right out there in the woods on her grand dad’s old property. That’s where she felt most at peace. That’s what they both wanted; was peace at her burial.