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It’s not as if we don’t try, John thought silently. Maybe some don’t try at all. Then again, who am I to judge?

John continued breaking Mason jars. Crashing them to the floor. Vegetables everywhere. He began to yell. Scream out. His voice bounced off the concrete walls. Just breath. That’s all he needed. Breath in between screams. Madness requires that.

He had a grand saved up. If he sold the farm, there was no telling how much he could get from land developers wanting to turn it into a housing addition with some strange name like Cherry Orchard or Lake Montague. Something selling the good life when all this land had brought him was grief.

The young man went upstairs and walked out to the front porch, where his mother used to swing slowly in the evening air.

What would you do, mom? He asked the haunting spirit. What shall I do? The family needs money, he mumbled, hands over lips. Bell could use it. I could use it. Just run away, he swung higher. Just like dad did.

There was no answer.

The End

Empty bottles. Labels halfway peeled off. Caps tossed in a trashcan. Christian Brothers a quarter full. Swallows of Wild Turkey, and beer cans with cigarette butts in them; swimming in a little bit of Old Style.

Posters adorn the cracked walls. Snapshots of women he’d been with. Blondes, redheads, Maggie was a brunette. A woman he never loved. Just the bearer of his children. Did he love them? He loved Billy. Kept a picture of him, too. Right there on a milk crate, he used it as a nightstand next to a cheap watch and a beer bottle filled with dimes and nickels. Never counted them. Just kept adding to the collection.

The television was on. A small black and white. He was watching channel 11. Some news program with a fat man interviewing a round table of politicians. The fat man acted like he knew all the answers to the questions he asked.  Chicago’s best and brightest played along.

Lying in the dark with the hotdog sign shining in his window, William laughed. He laughed at the television show. He laughed about his living conditions. And he laughed about leaving his family behind. They’ll make out OK, he whispered. They’ll all be fine.

No more church. He stopped believing. Mom’s suicide. Dad leaving them. Billy’s death. A sister who gave up on God as well and turned to whoring. All of it led to his decision to curse a higher power. God’s will be done, he said. God’s will, indeed.

Often at night, John sat on the swing, going back and forth slowly and viewed the front yard. He remembered the five of them playing tag or kickball. Kids coming over after school played tackle football; broken arms, and bruises. Boys cursed like their daddies did at the television on Sunday afternoons in the fall. One team of boys called themselves the Bears, whereas the other was the Vikings. They never chose to be Packers. Too much hate in their blood for that.

John thought of the simple times. Before Billy’s death. After that, there were no more games of tag or kickball. The Bears and Vikings stopped playing on autumn days after school. No one officially stopped these games. It was unspoken. The farm was hallowed ground where Billy was lifted up into the heavens. That’s what mom believed. Silently, she instilled that notion in them.

And John did not buy it. He didn’t buy it as a kid or as a young man. He broke up with God like a drunk breaking up with a woman. He yelled at God. Told the Holy Ghost to go find somebody else. He said to Jesus, Leave me be.

All this was kept quiet. A storm brewed inside. No emotion was shown. After his brother’s funeral, he cried alone. During his mother’s, he laughed. He laughed so hard he cried. No screams. Just laughter. It was as if the book of truth had been opened to him; you live, you die. Ashes to ashes. There was no spirit. Not to John.

Although John never spoke of his anger and atheism, Eddie read his soul. There, he saw nothing. Nothing good. Just an angry young man who gave up. Stopped living. And once you reach that point, Eddie thought, it’s hard to come back to where the pastures are green and the Lord tends to his flock.

To be alone in this world is painful, Eddie told John once. But then again, he said to his kid brother, You already know that.

For a long time after his mother’s death, John walked around in a malaise. Most of the time, he spent inside the house counting quarters and half dollars he had saved over the years; a big water jug filled with silver, dumped out on the kitchen table. He examined each coin carefully while thinking of nothing. Not a thing came to his mind; a blank slate.

Every once in a while, Eddie would call his kid brother to check on him. Asking questions about work or his lack of. Telling John that he couldn’t go on painting sides of barns, fences, and small houses.

Don’t you want to get married? Start a family of your own? Eddie would ask him.

I had a family, John told him. They all left. Everyone leaves either through life or death. Things change. People change. People changed, he said.

We’re still here, John. I might have left the farm, but I’m still looking out for you. Loretta, too. We’re family John. 

What about Bell?

She’s gone, John.

I saw her just the other day. In the parking lot of the Walmart. Getting out of a car that wasn’t hers. Some man behind the steering wheel. She didn’t see me.

Didn’t, huh?

Nope. 

That’s because she’s gone, John. She ain’t coming back.

Neither is dad?

No. He left before leaving.

You ever want to find him? John asked.

I just as soon not. 

You think he’s still alive?

Man like that? They die young and hard. 

I see. 

Their conversations would go on for hours. Eddie did most of the talking. An assistant at the Piggly Wiggly. In line to one day being manager. A wife. Two kids.

Some folks got the world right at their fingertips. Others just keep on scratching, trying to get a hold. Like a slick rock. Nothing to grab onto. People just keep reaching. But, there’s nothing there. Just air.

There are others who don’t reach at all. Democrats call them the needy. Republicans say they’re freeloaders. John was OK with either title. He just didn’t care anymore.

And that’s when they get you, John, Eddie said. Right when you don’t care. Don’t let them get you, John. Don’t let them get you.

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.