dmseay

This is what I do, he said. I travel all over the tri-state region selling paper products; toilet paper, paper towels, paper plates, napkins, anything made out of paper, he rolled up his sleeves revealing a gold watch on one wrist and a gold plated bracelet with his initials on it, BK, on the other. Just a couple of prizes I’ve won over the years. I’ve got a plaque back in my office for winning that year’s sells competition, the old man rolled his ice around in his glass.

I started out a long time ago selling plastic products. Won prizes there too. Guess you could say I was born to be a salesman. Been all over this country, motioned for the bartender to bring him another round. I’ve been in Texas, Missourri, Ohio, Indiana, Florida, got a condo on a golf course down there, all over. Even made calls out in California, he tipped the blonde and winked at her.

Had my share of women too. There for awhile when I was younger I was getting all kinds of tail. A redhead in the South, blonde up North, gotta brunette in the Midwest. There was a lot more than that, he stirred his drink. But, I stayed married the whole time, he smiled and loosened his belt, Yep, been married thirty years. Bout time I hung em up I guess. Women just have a way of getting into me. Like a cold drink on a hot summer’s day. My wife never caught on. Oblivious to all my faults. That’s why I keep her around, he checked his cell phone for messages.

I’m gonna call it an early night. You never told me what your game is. What do you do?

I’m an astronaut.

Check please.

She looked out her kitchen window at the tall oaks, cedars, and pines. Leaves were falling. Backyard needed a good raking.

Slowly the leaves danced on air ’til they hit the ground. Leaves of yellow, gold, red, rust all waltzed to the sounds of nature; a dog’s bark, cat’s meow, the noise of children singing and laughing. She knew that sound, that orchestral sound. Knew it from when she was a kid. Knew it as an adult; Autumn’s songs never left her soul.

It happened each year at this time. Late October brought forth memories. Thoughts of love filled her head. While the whole earth was dying, she was thinking of love.

The short,stout, woman dreamt of her first kiss. Maybe this would be the year, she thought. Maybe. A forty year old woman who’d never been kissed. She felt embarrassed.

There were times in high school when she thought of being kissed, but, it never happened. They were merely cruel jokes played on her throughout the years. Boys, who’d never thought of her would send letters saying to meet them under the football bleachers after school and then never show up. This went on for years.

So, on this night in the Fall, she walked to the bleachers and sat underneath, waiting for a kiss. The young woman had no courters, no suitors had sent her notes. She just went there on her own, hoping, for one kiss.

Sitting there on the wet dewy grass, she began to pick at weeds that were dying as high school sweethearts proved their love to one another. She noticed them, and did not say a word. The grown woman just picked at weeds, while the hazy moon shined in the evening sky.

Once again she walked home quiet like in high school. One of these days, she mumbled. One of these days. I’ll be kissed too.

She spoke in tongues. Some crazy language that brought her closer to God. Up there in front of the church she stood; rattling on like nobody’s business; arms stretched out like she was receiving the holy ghost. Like she was filled with the spirit.

And there were others up in front as well; singing and clapping their hands as the band played a rockin’ version of The Old Rugged Cross. People holding hymnals, reaching up to the sky, and the preacher man waving the Holy Bible over the crowd. Saying, Come forth sinners and be saved. Death to sin and alive to Christ.

The minister ran up and down the aisles looking for non-believers. Seeking out those who had only come for the potluck afterwards. Food prepared by good Christian women of the South. Fried chicken, potato salad, and cornbread so sweet it’d make a dead man smile.

In the middle of all this Brother Paul had a vision. Said it wouldn’t be long til our Lord Jesus Christ was back on earth to separate the chaff from the wheat. Said that every one would be judged by the son of God.

Then he talked of the fires of Hell. How we’d all perish if we weren’t saved. Saved by the blood of the lamb. Having our sins drowned in the river.

One by one they came up to confess their sins and be baptised. They went under the muddy water and came up with a glow ’bout em. Parents were proud, wives pleased, and men were mad, crazed with what had just happened.

She spoke in tongues. Some crazy language that brought her closer to God. ‘Least that’s what they said.

The air-conditioner rattled throughout the night; it worked half-heartedly. The two of em laid there in bed sweating; it was too hot to make love; that was his excuse.

She tossed and turned throughout the night; saying strange thoughts out loud, daddy stop, you’re not the boss of me, he sat on the side of the bed and tried to make it out. These were her dreams. Every night she had the same ones, always said those words out loud.

Honey, he said in a whisper, Honey wake up, he ran his frail hand through her long gray hair. What were you dreaming ’bout?, he asked. She didn’t have a response. Just laid there gasping for air. Darling, what is it?, he went into the kitchen to get her a glass of water. She followed.

The two of em sat there at the metal table. Do you want some coffee? The sun’s gonna come up any minute now, he told her.

Do you remember when we were young, just dating back then, and daddy used to make ice cream on the back porch?, he nodded his head. Well, daddy always wanted me to sit on the ice cream barrel while he churned it. And it was cold. And there was salt everywhere. And I didn’t wanna do it. I told him that was for little kids to do. And, he’d get angry, telling me that I was still a kid. I was his kid. Now go get a towel and sit on the ice cream barrel, she said as he handed her a cup of coffee.

I told him, he wasn’t the boss of me. I was almost a grown woman. He couldn’t tell me what to do, she said. Then I’d go into my bedroom and cry. I was always crying ’bout something back then. Always.

So, he’d make momma sit on the barrel. Little thing that she was. Barely had enough weight to keep it in one place, she laughed.

You remember when daddy died?, he nodded. I didn’t even cry at the funeral. I never did cry over it. What do you think of that?, he looked at her, stirred his coffee. What do make of a child that never cries over her daddy’s death?, he took her hand. I’m just asking. Just asking. Am I a terrible person? A cruel woman?, he shook his head.

No dear, he told her. No.

I should’ve sat on that damn ice cream barrel. I should’ve minded him. There were so many things I made a fuss over as a child. So many things. And, I never told him I was sorry. Don’t that beat all, she took a sip of coffee. Don’t that beat all.

He sat in his room

Watching rain fall

Listening to rain fall

Not wanting it to stop

Let your tears drop

In puddles of a seedless ground

This nothingness

Thinking of her

Lost in clouds

Wanting

Waiting

For light

Wishes never come true

And it is she that will not come

It is she

Above

Crying down

The rain falls

The rain falls

And one day it was over; he was no longer in love. Was he ever? hard to say. He told her he was in love under duress. It was if she forced him to say it. She was pushy that way. Always wanting to hear what she wanted to hear whether that be truth or not.

So, she bought him things; clothes, dinners out, things he needed. She’d pay any price just to hear those words; I love you. She’d pay it ten fold. But, he never got around to it until one night in bed when, in a moment of weakness, he said those magic words. He knew he was making a mistake as they slowly came out of his mouth. And, once you commit, you’re in it for the long haul.

He stuck with her. Held up his end of the bargain. Yet, he felt an anger towards her. A meanness built up inside him. And the meaner he’d get, the more stuff she bought. Soon she was paying for everything. That’s when guilt set in.

Angry and guilt ridden; that’s what he was. Mad at her and himself. Enough so that he wrote her a letter saying he just wanted to be alone in this world. Wanted to be by himself. She called and called; demanding answers. Said he was a coward. And that’s when he’d had enough. Both of them had.

The phone quit ringing. Numbers were deleted. And alone he was. Be careful what you wish for.

He watched the hawk circling in the clouds, swoop down and pick up its prey. He thought of this, seeing the massive bird carry the squirrel in the sky, taking it back home for dinner.

It was nature, the food chain and all that. Watching out in the woods, surrounded by oaks and pines, hearing cecadas sing their songs, mountain tops with snow on them, and him, just him, alone.

The old man wanted to be alone. That’s what he told everybody. Was tired of folks, television, pop songs, technology. He just wanted peace and quiet. And to wake up each day to the beautiful painting that was the forest.

This was his home. He had a tent and a fire each night. Sitting there, watching sparks fly, eating a fish he’d caught that day. Reading Whitman by candle light, this was his way of spending an evening.

And in the morning to be awakened by that glorious sun with dew dripping from the leaves; he washed his face with them.

To be alone. To be at peace. This was all he asked.

Both of em wanted different things out of life. They could never come to a consensus. Always disagreeing ’bout something. There were so many times that he’d threaten to leave her; he didn’t. It was all just talk, foolish talk. And, she threatened to leave him. Then she’d ply her magic on him and they’d wind up making love ’til the early morning hours only to start arguing again as soon as they were through. It was a vicious cycle.

Neighbors would complain ’bout em. They were the talk of the trailer park. Everybody asking each other, did you hear em last night? Screaming and hollering like they was on some kind of Scottish war march. Hoopin’ and hollerin’ in foriegn tongues. Like animals. Just like wild beasts.

And the boys down at the car wash all asked ’bout her as he spent his days cleaning windows and vaccuuming out bits of food, loose tobacco, soda pop stains, and shit from a baby’s bottom. He’d tell em all she was O.K.. Said there was nothing wrong. Stuck to his story til the very end.

Well, one night things really got out of hand. The old boy went and shot her with a load of buck shot. Told her to keep quiet. She kept on talking til the end. Insulting him, telling him he was no good, a loser, a boy among men.

And he just sat there with the shot gun in his lap til he’d heard enough. Then, boom, right ‘tween the eyes. Blew her face off. Put an end to it once and for all.

Next morning he confessed to the crime. Drove right over to the police station and told em all ’bout it. He said, You know boys, a man can only take so much.

The bus left Chicago at five in the morning; darkness downtown, only the moon shined so brightly. Bums asking for a quarter, dollars, gas money to get em back home, hope, a cup of joe.

He sat in the back amongst the drunks; air filled with gin and cheap wine; the bathroom in constant use. The kid stayed to himself as the morning sun broke through ’round Champaigne. Soon they’d be in St. Louis looking at the mighty Mississippi. That brown water just kept rolling.

And the kid had on his earphones. Listening to Miles Davis, John Coltrane, some Bud Powell. The music was a soundtrack as the bus himmed and hawed down Route 66 on way to Joplin, then Oklahoma and into Texas to mark the halfway point. He rested his head on the window. Soon it would be night again.

Stars shined in the pitch black skies of West Texas. It was a yellow moon with haze wrapped ’round it. A man up front who got picked up in Oklahoma City kept calling out, Where’s Phoenix? Somewhere in an Arizona trailer park kin folk were playing cards and the loser had to pick up dad at the Greyhound station.

Eventually the old man got quiet. The whole bus was quiet as people marveled at the red clay of New Mexico. The tall rock formations and the desert with no homes, just highway running through. They’d be in L.A. soon. This is where the kid started to get scared. He counted fifty bucks in his front pocket waded up along with a black and white photo of Sam Shepard cut out of a magazine.

So, the bus drove through Southern California. Last stop before Los Angeles was Indigo where the night air smelled like alfalfa. The bus driver said L.A. would be next. He was too wound up to sleep. Took it all in. He knew he was ’bout to start on another adventure soon. The adventure of poverty.

They pulled into downtown Los Angeles early in the morning. And there were all these Mexicans standing ’round waiting to be picked up and taken home after working all night. Then were those heading off to work; carrying brown bags filled with tortillas, Jaritos, carnitas.

And just like Chicago, bums asking for money. Soon he’d be one of em. Soon. He was far away from home. Didn’t have a map. Just spent his days walking aimlessly ’round tinsel town, listening to jazz and looking every once in awhile at the picture of Shepard. And he asked it, Sam, what’s my next move? He never answered.

They walked through town. Past the liquor store, card shop, adult bookstore, the gas station where he used to get condoms when he was a kid. Today they walked at a slower pace.

And they walked by the movie theatre. Saw Planet Of The Apes with Charlton Heston back then, a long time ago. Charlton Heston fighting apes in uniforms; they sat in the balcony.

The ice cream shop was open. It always opened this time of year. Spring time brought allergies and ice cream into their lives; they sat outside in the cool evening breeze and ate their cones; like little kids; he kissed her on the cheek.

And as they walked back he held her hand. Walked her up to the front porch and kissed her goodnight. She did not pull away. He held her close. The old man missed his wife. And, she missed her husband.