dmseay

He found the body in a ditch along 41. A black girl, kinda short with tattoos on her; looked like a city job; said the wrong thing to the wrong guy up in Chi-town. That was his guess.

Had been mowing all day for the county. Almost ran over her. A silver bracelet reflected in the Sun. Shined up in his eyes. He had never seen a dead body before. Not ever been to a funeral. The young man just stared at her for a little while. ‘Cided it was best to call the sheriff’s office. Stopped mowing. Took a drink from a water jug.

Half hour later the sheriff showed up. Asked the boy ’bout her. Shook his head. Young girl too. Not much past twenty-one, the sheriff said. No license or id on her. No purse. Just a body. Just a body laying out in the hot Sun.

You can get back to work, the cop said to the boy. I’ll call you if I need you, the young man got back on his mower and turned the ignition. He then turned it off. Hollered at the sheriff as he walked away. You said twenty-one, the officer nodded. That’s a shame. A real shame, they both looked at each other. Yes sir, that’s a real shame.

She said hello several times into the phone. Hello. You hear me?, she asked. On the other end there was nothing, not even breathing. I’m gonna hang up now, the older woman said. I’m gonna hang up and not answer again. Hello.

Don’t do that, a creaky male voice said. Don’t hang up on me, he said. You owe me. You owe me an explanation from a long time ago, the hoarse voice said. You don’t remember me do ya? I know my voice has changed. I’m older now. And so are you. Think back a long time ago. Back when we used to meet in the park ’round midnight. Do you remember?

Who is this? Just tell me. You’re scaring me. How can I remember so long ago.

I still remember. I remember the softness of your skin, long ginger hair, green eyes.

All that’s gone. I wouldn’t be of any interest to ya now. I’m just an old widow. Who is this?

So Charlie died? I thought he’d live forever. He was an athlete in high school. Very good looking. You took turns between us.

I was true to Charlie. I was true. I don’t know who you are, but you’re a sick man. A very sick man.

Looking at a picture of you here in the year book. Have you got a ’67 year book? The Hornet. Black with gold lettering?

I don’t look at my past. Never have. Did I hurt ya in any way? If I did I’m sorry. I’ve got to go now. Goodbye.

And with that she hung up the phone. It rang again in the middle of the night. She heard it next to her bed. It rang for the longest time. It wouldn’t stop ringing. She picked it up and hung up the phone as quick as she could. She left the phone dangling from the night stand. A busy signal sounded throughout the night.

Lawnmowers. Throughout the neighborhood he heard lawnmowers. People out cutting their yards with push, propel, and riding pieces of machinery. Ice cold lemonade sat on the front porches of these warriors. Occasionally they’d take a break and drink the freshly squeezed concoctions. Then, get right back to it: the mowing of yards in a housing addition called Twin Lakes. However, there were no lakes, just small ponds.

His grass was getting high. The neighbor to his right had mentioned that. The neighbor to his left he had no communication with. Had to do with political signs the neighbor placed in his front yard.

The tall green grass and weeds were beginning to take over. He was aware of this. Yet, something inside of him didn’t want to budge. He knew he was the talk of Twin Lakes. He saw people point as they drove by. But, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It’s my yard damn it, the old man said. I’ll do what I want when I want, he whispered under his breath. No one tells me what to do.

The grass was starting to get knee high. Weeds and dandelions could be seen from blocks away. The neighbor to his right threatened to mow it for him. Telling him that his yard was an ungodly mess. Asked him why he didn’t take more pride in his yard. Said, everybody else is doing it. The old man just shook his head and told him, that’s precisely why I don’t cut my grass. I’m not a lemming.

And so, the grass continued to grow about hip high. Then one night under a yellow moon he was awakened by several lawnmowers. Was it a nightmare? No, he looked out his window to see five or six people with mowers cutting his yard.

The old man went to his closet and retrieved his rifle. And, hiding behind a window with the curtains pulled back, he began to shoot. He shot three in the front yard and two in the back yard. He fired several times. Blood was all over the dew wet grass. Shot them as if they were deer out in the woods. One at a time. Bang, bang, bang. He then lit a smoke and called it a night. This is America, he said. Nobody tells me what to do.

They drove throughout the Midwest in moonlit hours. Through Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska they went, then turned ’round and did it again. Went into towns like Auburn, South Bend, Goshen, drove on the outskirts of Chicago goin’ ‘cross state with billboards lookin’ down upon em: Legal Problems, Call The Hammer. Best Amish Buffet Around. Massage Parlor, All New Girls Off Route 30. She began countin’ em along with the license plates that passed by; Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, there was one attached to a VW van from Alaska. Had a dog in the back seat with it’s head hangin’ out. She wished she still had her dog. Daddy took it away to some nice farm to live on. Years passed and she doubted that.

He’d pull off to rest areas every once in awhile. The grass was green and the dogwoods were startin’ to bloom. Trash from the pickup was placed in cans along the sidewalk. Wrappers from McDonald’s, Pilot truck stops, Casey’s General Store, Wrigleys Spearmint and empty soda cups with bending straws were all collected. The sun was coming up. It was time to sleep.

No one knew why he took her out of school. She made good grades, was somewhat popular, had friends. Things had changed though. The old man, who was her grandfather thought he could educate her better by hittin’ the road. The toothless old man who wore a Make America Great Again red cap wanted his grand daughter to learn the way he did; from experience. So, he bought her Leaves Of Grass, by Whitman, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Twain, and Moby Dick, by Melville. He often said literature was wasted on youth. The skinny leather skinned man wanted to make sure it wasn’t wasted on her. She read em religiously while seated at benches before goin’ to sleep. He’d question her on the readings of the day. Felt it was his place to ask her about The Body Electric, Captain Ahab and Ishmael. Was curious as to what she thought of Nigger Jim. He’d light up a Viceroy and they’d discuss for a couple of hours. The mornin’ dew made her tennis shoes wet.

They’d died and left her to him. Two college professors of English they were. They knew that the old man loved literature as well. And, in their will, in case of an untimely death, He would take her under his wing.

It was his father and he knew the old man well. Thought that he could raise her better than they could. Believed his ways of education were superior. Maybe they were, the old man thought. Maybe. The girl has learned a lot already. Her mother’s cancer, the father’s suicide, she was very mature for her age. And, had no problem in still being an idealist like most youngsters. She believed in the stars and the moon. For, they were never far out of reach. That’s what they both believed. That’s what they both knew as truth.

And so, they dreamed under the sun. Waiting for night fall. Where they could both reach out and touch the stars and moon through the windshield. A million lights shine on Nebraska at night. They grabbed em all.

It always takes time, she said. These things take time, lit a cigarette and threw the match out in the yard. I don’t doubt that he loves you, he’d be a fool not to, but like most men, he takes some encouraging; needs to have his nerves worked up to pop the question.

I guess so, her younger friend said. I guess you’re right, the skinny blonde took a swig of beer from a can and pulled her long hair back over her shoulders. I guess he’s just gun shy. Been married before to some girl he knew in high school. Guess you could say they was high school sweethearts. Anyway, he married her as quick as he could. Says he made a mistake. Doesn’t wanna do that twice he says. Says this next time will be the last time. Guess that makes me feel real special, she laughed. They both laughed.

Cars whizzed by the older lady’s home throughout the night. There were different types of headlights pushing through the dark. High beams shined and bounced off the few houses as did cars with low beams. There were some with just one headlight on and a couple with no headlights on at all. Just a bunch of cars driving throughout the night out on 30 past the strip joints, trailer parks, gas stations and headshop hotels. The two women sat out there watching pickups peeling out of parking lots, semis moving through town, and bass boats being pulled to the lake. They were still working on a 24 case of Michelob Ultra. They were going to make it an all nighter.

You ever just get tired of it all?, the young blonde asked. She lit up another Newport. I mean, you ever just wanna jump on 30 and never look back? I was looking at a map the other night and 30 takes you up to Merriville then you can jump on 80 and drive clear out to the West coast. All the way out to San Francisco if you want, she stood up and stretched her arms over her head.

Never looked at that map before. Not with any intent. Nope, I’m settled. Gary’s got his job on third shift, bills are paid, I’ve gotten real comfortable. That’s what happens as you get older. You get comfortable, the older woman opened another beer.

I think about it. This is the United States of America, she raised her voice. You can get a job doing something anywhere in the land, the blonde sat back down.

Well, which is it? You wanna get married or take off in the middle of the night on some kind of adventure?

The young blonde paused. I don’t rightly know, she said. I’m still young. Maybe I could do both.

There are no rules. There are no rules.

Right.

They started collecting the empty bottles and headed inside. You want some coffee?, the older woman asked. The younger one nodded her head yes. Said she had a ways to go till morning.

He’d take a seat at the counter every morning ’round five. Ordered the same breakfast; two fried eggs, extra crispy bacon, hash browns, buttered wheat toast, and coffee with cream and sugar. The National Anthem played in the background as people came and went, ate and drank, slurred their words and read the morning’s news. But, not him. He stood at allegiance until it was over, hand over heart, looking out at the American flag that flapped in the wind across the street, thinking of those who’d gone before him; his grand dad who fought in WWII, his father who fought in Korea, an uncle who had gone off to Vietnam, and a son that lost his life in Afghanistan. He was turned away from service, flat feet. Cursed em everyday. The trumpet sounded the last note. And, like clockwork, breakfast was served.

Irene placed the greasy plate down in front of him. He said a quick prayer and crossed himself; reached over and grabbed the plastic salt and pepper shakers.

That wind looks strong out there this morning, Mike the owner said. Just gonna spit snow though. It won’t stick, he poured a cup of coffee and topped off a few customers. What’dya think Jack? Gonna stick? The old man with lines in his face and greased back blonde hair shook his head. Got up to 62 yesterday. Grounds still too warm, flat feet said. Wait till the nights keep at 28 or so. Hell, maybe the teens. Won’t be too long, he munched on crispy bacon and took a swig of coffee. Sounds ’bout right, Mike said. Sounds ’bout right.

Did’ya hear ’bout that shooting last night out at Brandy’s? Jack shook his head no. Two men got into it over some dancer in the parking lot. One of em wound up dead, Mike said. Just a matter of time I guess when you hang out at those joints at two in the morning, Jack nodded. Young folks too. Black, both of em. Arguin’ over who was gonna take her home, Jack shook his head. Said there was more to it than that. I bet you’re right. I’ll bet you’re right, Mike said as he lit up a Viceroy.

Girl get away OK? Was she harmed in any way? Mike said she was the one who called the cops. Her dancing days are over I’ll bet. White girl? Mike said, probably. Wouldn’t be surprised.

These girls get mixed up in this. Always on the verge of gettin’ killed or bein’ left dead in some hotel room out on 30. Damn shame, Jack said. Damn shame.

Probably came from a good home.

Naw. She came from trash like all of em, Jack said. Probably Waynedale or some neighborhood on the Southeast side. Betcha she never knew her dad. Betcha she never did.

Jack went back to eating his breakfast while Mike continued reading the paper.

They sat there in silence.

The shed stood at the back of the property amongst thickets and brush; weeds climbed on its side and shingles lay loose on top. It’d been there for years, old pieces of plywood forged into four walls with an A frame ceiling in which two by fours stretched across. There was cracks and holes in it. Age will do that.

Them original owners never bothered to empty it. Old newspapers and water damaged boxes filled the shed from top to bottom. A groundhog made it it’s home. Once you opened that door there was no way of telling what you were in for. The smell of the mildew alone was enough to make you wanna turn around and run. Dark green circles covered the inside.

She had bought the property after her divorce of twenty-five years of marriage. Her kids were grown, her ex had taken off for West Virginia or Arkansas, some place where he could buy a mobile home and just drink beer in without disturbance. That suited her fine. The farther away the better.

They parted ways there in Allen County, she stayed and bought the ranch style house out off of 30. A white house with black shutters on it; big brown bushes covered the windows. She took a machete to em and chopped em out. Got rid of the bushes the weeds, fixed the roof and tuck pointed the chimney. Had a sky light in the kitchen that let in water when it rained and melted snow towards springtime. She got that fixed too. Only thing left to take care of was that shed out back. It’s amazing what people leave behind.

She knew it’d never take care of itself. The skinny brunette got up the gumption to take care of it. Went out to the back yard with two or three trash cans, some Hefty bags, a wheel barrow and a sledgehammer with red tape wrapped ’round it. She’d been wanting to get rid of that thing for a long time. Now was the right time.

With the flip of a wrist she opened the first box with a box cutter. The metal blade ran down the middle of the big box which was yellowed with age. Inside it she found a wedding dress, white with pearl stitching. It was a small dress, made for a petite woman. It looked like the one she wore so long ago at the VFW hall where purple sherbet punch was poured and wedding cake was sliced into. Those memories quickly came to her mind. Damaged goods, she thought to herself. The middle aged woman laughed and kept on emptying boxes into plastic receptacles. Outside storm clouds appeared. She decided not to rush. This would be an ongoing process.

In other boxes were all kinds of things. Shoes of various kinds were tossed in a box from top to bottom. There were tennis shoes, sandals, pumps, high heels, all of em fit her perfectly. She decided they were still too good to just be thrown away. So she took what she liked and placed the rest in a bag to take to Salvation Army.

There was one pair inparticular that made her think. They were a pair of old white shoes with flowers at the toes. When she was younger she wore a pair just like em. Way back before she had her first child. Used to wear em when they went dancing on Saturday nights. He’d twirl her ’round and she’d follow his lead. Followed his lead throughout the marriag til one day she stopped twirling. She just stood there in disbelief. Twenty-five years had gone by and she was tired of dancing. She was tired of being lead. She was tired.

In other boxes were books, old hard- covers like Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys, Encyclopedias, Sears catalogues. She thumbed through a couple and decided to pitch em. Nobody reads anymore, she said out loud. Nobody.

And the rain began to fall outside. She decided to wrap it up for the day. Thunder could be heard and a couple of lightning strikes cracked. So, she shut the doors to the shed and ran to the house getting soaked and wet. Laughing, the skinny brunette kept thinking about what she’d found that day. Just memories. Just memories.

I used to watch him from my bedroom window in the middle of the night when the moon glowed and street lights blinked on and off. He’d go out to the front porch and crack open a cold one; mom was in bed, the dogs were asleep.

And, he’d start talking to himself. Some kind of mumbling at first, speaking incoherently, rambling on and on about nothing; he always spoke of nothing. Talk of dreams and fantasies about the end of the world coming soon. He’d get a few in him and begin his monologue.

This whole pandemic thing is going to be our first battle in the on-going fight against evil, I heard him say. Soon there’ll be fires and wars the likes we’ve never seen before. Some kind of new plan the devil has made complete with apocalyptic horsemen and the gnashing of teeth, he’d light a cigarette and take another swig of Budweiser. We haven’t done things in a Christian manner, he loosened his belt. Never have.

I’m watching it all fall apart, he said. Father against son, son against father, I laughed at him as he got more animated. Can’t even trust the love of a good woman anymore, he smiled, The things we used to take for granted.

He got up from his chair and the moonlight followed him into the barn. You could hear the old wooden door creak as he swung it open. Maybe I should’ve followed him out there. Perhaps I could’ve talked him out of it. I don’t know. Never know.

That morning, a few hours later, they found his body dangling from the rafters, rope ’round his skinny neck. I stayed in my room and listened to the police man express his condolences to mom.

Ain’t it strange what the moonlight can do.

He was always busy goin’ somewhere; ‘cross town, out of town, in town; takin’ off in the middle of the night as she lay there asleep. Midnight excursions, he called em; fillin’ up the pick-up with regular out at the edge of town. Seemed like all his money went into that truck; what little money he had.

So, he’d get his gas station coffee, all watered down, with a couple of creams and sugars, light a cigarette and breath in the night air with the sweet smell of alfalfa lingerin’ ’round; the local farmers were harvestin’.

He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a quarter which he would toss and catch then place on the back of his left hand. Heads, he said, We drive west. Tails, we head east. The old man caught the coin in mid-air and called it. Heads, he said, right hand coverin’the left then slowly revealin’ it to be tails. He grinned, turned on the radio to some talk station, call-ins from ‘cross the country, talkin’ in half sentences, quarter phrases, nothing whole, nothin’ you could sink your teeth into. Just incredibly lonely people talkin’. Wantin’ to hear their own voices on the radio. He laughed.

And, he took off east towards the Ohio line. Drove on 30, big semis hoggin’ up the road, chasin’ bright tail lights ‘cross the state. Drove through towns like Delphi, Zanesville, all the way to the middle of Buckeye country where he’d stop at a diner for more coffee and cherry pie. He liked bein’ served by waitresses. This ginger one inparticular. Hey Jimmy, she’d say to him. The usual, he’d nod his head like a love struck teenage boy. First two buttons on her blouse were undone.

Jimmy was one of a few in the place. Worn out truckers eating high caloric breakfast complete with hash browns and buttered toast. They all had guts on em, includin’ Jimmy, whose little paunch stuck out over his belt. More coffee hon?, she asked. He said yes and please. The old man had manners. And, he looked out the windows to see the orange ball risin’ in the sky. Better be gettin’ home now, he mumbled, wishin’ he could stay just a bit longer. But no. Soon his wife would be wakin’ and the day would begin. Just like they always did.

So, he tipped her a five and bid ginger farewell. Got into his pick-up and began to drive back. Back to his small town, his small house, back to his small wife, and back to doin’ it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.

He figured she’d never know. Thought that all would not be revealed on judgement day. Maybe he’d gotten away with one. Just one. But, for as much as he thought about her being in the dark, a wave of guilt hit him everyday. He’d self-punish. Telling himself he wasn’t good enough for her. Saying he wasn’t fit for anyone. The old man had made it this far. Living a lie. Might as well stick it out he believed.

And every night she’d bring him a drink as he sat in his LazyBoy watching rerun after rerun, some ball game, the ten o’clock news, just pictures on a screen with the sound down. He’d nod in and out of a sleep. Dreaming of old times with her, his mystery woman. Being with her out on the road. She’d place her hand on his thigh as they drove out in West Texas moonlight, everything a glow, highways stretching from here to Abiline. And from Abiline to Alberqurquee. He never wanted to stop driving. Just keep on going. That’s what he thought.

He picked her up in some bar outside of Dallas. She was slinging drinks and looking for something to get into. Both of em were good looking. An old lady at a diner told em that as he fed her cherry pie with a spoon. The old woman with desert leather skin said, You two make a lovely pair, then she smiled, wondering what it was they were running from. The redhead had her hand ‘tween his legs under the table, opening her mouth for every little bite. Life was easy. Just pie and lemonade. They both sucked on straws until their drinks ran out.

But, he knew the time was coming. He’d have to head back to Dallas, a wife, kids, rent to be paid. Didn’t want to, but, knew he had to. Waited for her to go powder her nose one night at a truck stop and left her behind. Just left her. Kept looking in his rearview mirror for her, she never appeared. She must’ve known he needed an out. She gave it to him, sitting in a bathroom stall crying her eyes out. She knew it was time. They both knew it was time.

And he drove throughout the night. Knew he had some explaining to do. Tried to come up with a good story in his head, but, couldn’t quite make it work. Nothing he’d say would make any sense other than the truth. And he kept that to himself. But, she knew. She knew. And never said a word.