dmseay

He went out lookin’ for her…she’d been gone for a couple of days…like the time before that and the time before that…so-on and so-on…it was a recurring theme in their lives…ever so often…say every other month they’d go out and tie one on at the local bar drinkin’ cheap shots of whiskey and cans of PBR…always on an empty stomach…you’d find em out back pukin’ their guts out at the end of the night…weavin’ home in their Dodge pickup truck…cops were familiar with em…

This went on throughout the course of their marriage…ever since she said I do…a Polish weddin’ down at the VFW hall where her daddy was a member…they danced that night…everything from polkas to old Bobby Vinton songs…hired a DJ to spin daddy’s vynil collection otherwise known as the box of rocks…scratches on em makin’ em skip…they’d all smile and clap their hands to the music as the bride and groom did shots on the dance floor…little guys dressed in butterfly ties tried to steal kisses from sixth grade girls behind the purple stage curtin…sneakin’ sips of vodka left behind on tables by their fathers…mothers…brothers and sisters…folks circled up for the chicken dance…a bouquet of flowers was tossed and a mad scramble on the floor did ensue…tin cans tied to the truck…made a rattlin’ sound as they headed out of town to the lake where they’d spend the next few days makin’ wild Polish love….screamin’ and yellin’ into the night as beer cans and bottles piled up outside in the snow…a drunken love…

And they never had kids…sought advice from their parents…the church…a doctor down at the neighborhood clinic…they all said just keep on tryin’…they did…tried all the time…in the mornins ‘fore he went to work at the factory…evenin’ time when he first walked through the door…they spent the first two years of their marriage drunk and naked in the house they rented ’till one day she’d had enough…got dressed and walked out the door…was gone…she wasn’t at her parents…her siblings…no-where to be found…just vanished…leavin’ him in a drunken haze as to what happened…he’d go out and look for her to no avail…called the cops…put up posters ’round town…then a month later she’d come home…said she wound up down in New Orleans and she couldn’t find her way back…that was the first time…second time she took off for Denver…third time Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania…he didn’t ask ’bout the other times and she didn’t know…everything was a dream-like state…a mystery with no clues…just torn dresses and bad breaths…

So…he took off after her this one last time…got to the edge of town and knew she was gone for good…stopped the truck and opened a beer…gave her a toast…then took a drive out to California where he stopped and looked at the ocean…turned ’round and headed back ‘cross country…through small towns and villages…big cities and long highways…pulled into his driveway only to see her there…a ghost of her…wavin’ goodbye…wavin’ goodbye…wavin’ goodbye…

Old bus tickets…novels…half used roll of toilet paper…various bottles of medicines and a couple of coffee mugs laid there on the desk in front of him…the clock on the microwave read 4:07 in the mornin’…it was dead quiet…

There were no sounds of police cars outside…no trains goin’ by…weren’t any alley cats moanin’ in the back behind the dumpsters…all the johns in their Dodge trucks…Ford Focus cars…old beaters…and used Beemers had all gone home for the night…leaving the whores behind on streets like Dewald…Harrison…Williams…and South Calhoun…used condoms behind buildings…houses…churches…the Dollar General over on Creighton…they’d all left their mark…the black and Hispanic girls weavin’ home from an all night session…jackets zipped up to stay-off the cold of the night…

And back at the desk he sits there tryin’ to write…come-up with somethin’ original for a change…write a poem…start a novel…get to writing a screenplay… but…he keeps starin’ at those bottles of drugs…the Trazadone especially…there were four or five filled bottles of 100 MG pills he was examining…he’d pick em up and shake em…read the lables…got a nauseous feelin’ in the pit of his big belly…it would take more than a bottle to place him into a final rest…

Then there were the bottles of Welbutrin that sat there as well…blue half used pills that he took in-combination with the Vraylar…all supposed to make him feel better…get rid of sad thoughts…he just looked at em…he looked at em…took a couple of teaspoons of cough syrup and called it a night…

Just another early mornin’ hour…

She looked at him…sitting there in his old work pants with black grease on them and white paint…she just looked at him…smoking a cigarette and drinking from a bottle of Schlitz…his gray hair speckled with black…ran his leathery hand through it a couple of times…greasy…hadn’t been washed in days…he let out a laugh…,what you lookin’ at girl…,the old man said…,what are you lookin’ at…,she felt as though she had been caught…staring at him this whole time with eyes the color of emerald…the young woman didn’t know what to say…looked away from him for a minute…,naw…you can look at me…,he said…go on…take a look…,he grinned showing off his old yellowish brown teeth…

The pretty blonde woman turned her head to look at him once more…he lit up another Kent with a match from his drawer in the nightstand…waved the flame out and threw the wooden stick in the tin can that sat on the linoleum tile floor that had burn marks all on it…,what do you remember ’bout me…,he asked her…,tell me what I used to be like…,the man said…she opened her purse and pulled out a picture…an old black and white photo of him in a Navy uniform…with a white sailor’s hat a top short cropped pitch black hair and a big smile on his face…

This is you…,his grand daughter said…this was you…long…long …long time ago when you fought in the war…you used to tell stories about your boat being fired upon…shot at…you used to tell stories…,she handed him the picture…

I don’t know this man…,he said…,you say it’s me…you sure ’bout that…,the pretty blonde wearing a sweater her grandmother had made for her nodded her head…,I was in the service…I fought in a war…,he asked…I don’t recall that…,she took another picture from her purse…this one of a real attractive brunette with brown eyes wearing a jumpsuit as she crouched in the garden pulling weeds with a big smile on her face…,whose that…, he asked…,who is that marvelous creature…,took another swig of beer…held the photo between his thumb and pointer…

That’s Grandma…,she said…that was grandma…you remember her…she was the love of your life…

Where is she…

She went to heaven a couple of years ago…

My word…you don’t say…,she pulled out another picture of a silver haired woman wearing glasses…handed it to him…

Whose this…

That’s Grandma when she got older…just before she passed away…

I say…I don’t remember…who are you…

I’m your grand daughter…

Don’t say…don’t say…did you turn out right…

I turned out right Grandpa…I turned out right…

That’s good…that’s good…if you say so…,the old man closed his thick eyelids…turned his head away from her…and fell asleep…she took her hand and placed it in his…gripped it then slowly let go…he was home…

I’ve been out in the cold

Naked

Not knowing the forecast

Waiting for sun

Waiting

And I know the sting of the wind

Face ruddy

Body beaten

Where’s my overcoat

The one I had as a kid

It buttoned up

Protected me

And now I am naked

I will always be naked

Truth is a slap in the face

A wake up call

Yes

Yes

I’m alive

he kept to himself…real quiet like…didn’t talk to anyone…didn’t even own a phone…just kind of watched as the world went by…kids playing in leaves…dogs walking their owners…jacked up pickup trucks cruising down the street…a motorcycle with a fat broad’s arms wrapped ’round leather…he would just watch…

and the only thing that changed were the seasons…winter’s gray skies changing blue…summer’s greens turning gold and rust…there was never a spring…spring gives hope…he gave up on that a long time ago…

at noon the church bells rang…everyday…took a moment to listen to em…he’d hum along…and smile…just smile…one more day…just one more day…

that’s all he wished for…

looking out at trees which are now nearly empty…few colors remain…rust and golds clinging to limbs by old Saint Pat’s…making me wish my soul was saved…

and on the ground grass is still green…leaves in piles by Saigon…an Asian sweeps the sidewalk…I wish him good morning in English…he nods and smiles…nods and smiles…

the air gives us breath…we all take it in…

He sat there…lookin’ right at him…starin’ at him…tryin’ to place him…where’d he seen him before…maybe down at Donny’s over on Broadway…or…BJ’s Pub a little further down the road…hard to say…definitely didn’t see him at The Rock…not the type…he looked wild…but he didn’t look that wild…had this way ’bout him…couldn’t figure him out…some kind of calmness was in his face…it was as if he had the sweet love of Jesus all in him…he looked that way…long hair and blue eyes…should’ve been carryin’ a lamb…like them pictures in the Bible…those colored drawings of Jesus and the twelve disciples…he even wore sandles…

Maybe he was some kind of hippie…some kind of Dead freak who never quite got over the death of Jerry Garcia… been wanderin’ ’round the country ever since…could’ve seen him in Albuquerque…maybe it was Austin…or outside of Flagstaff…he couldn’t figure him out…so…he sat there starin’ at him…took a swig of beer…and walked over to the jukebox and played Sweet Dreams…brought a smile to his face…looked over at Jesus and he was smilin’ too…like he was thinkin’ of somebody…some woman he’d left behind years ago…maybe her name was Mary…maybe she washed his feet at one time…greeted him as he came out of the grave…those kind of things stick with a man…you can never shake em…

So they looked at each other and smiled…didn’t say a word…nothin’…

And he was gone

Small towns along Highway 31…North Liberty…South Bend…Mishawaka…American flags blowin’ in an autumnal breeze…signs for Plymouth…Indianapolis…and the cones lead us down the road…

Exit here for Steak and Shake…Texas Roadhouse…shopping center suburban nightmares…driving into the night…there’s always a McDonald’s within reach…where parents deliver Happy Meals to unhappy children…worn out from the road…soon they’ll be home to blankets and warmth…soon…

And the half moon follows us down the road…a lit sliver in a pitch black sky…cigarette butts bouncin’ on black top…orange tips dancin’ as pickup trucks and semis roll along…makin’ their way to Ohio…PA…all points east…

This road I’ve seen before…used to drive it in my twenties…criss crossin’ a new land in an old beater…a ’67 Dodge Dart…with fins and a punch dial radio…listenin’ to Art Bell at two in the mornin’ or jazz from Dick Buckley outta Chicago…not knowin’ my final destination…

Funny how some things never change…

He sat and watched the rain fall…glistening in the autumnal reds and golds of oaks and maples…everything was wet…dripping like honey off a spoon…it reminded him of past Falls…of romances during the months of October and November…walking down paths in the woods with leaves at their feet and mud clinging to the bottoms of boots…not knowing where they’d end up…that was half the fun of it…the mystery of Autumn…like a black and white photo…always comforting…always…

They shared a trailer out on the West side of town…it was rusting at the top…no gutters on it…had a step missing on the front stoop…busted in the middle with splinters standing up…never got around to fixing it…just let it be…

The trailer had been in the family for years…his mom and dad had it…bought it back when this was a respectable neighborhood…everyone had a job at the Falstaff brewery…or at one of the hospitals…labor jobs…nothing professional…used to you could keep your doors unlocked…neighbors would bring over casseroles when somebody died…walk your kid home from school if you weren’t able…the community looked out for each other…mowed each other’s lots…

Then things changed…like they always do…the brewery closed…economy got bad…a different element came into the trailer park…folks who didn’t care much for making things nice…cars up on concrete blocks…trash in the yards…someone said a whore moved in at the back of the park…cars coming and going throughout the night…all hours…

They shared this trailer…both on disability…went crazy over a period of time…they’d wear wool hats in the summertime and shorts in the winter…waiting at the corner for the city bus to come pick em up each day…that’s all they did was just ride the bus around town all day…looking at the way the town was now…shops closed down…factories abandoned…car lots with low low monthly payments…

And then at night they’d return to their trailer…feed the cats that came around…fix the clothes hanger antennae on the television…watch Family Feud…Wheel Of Fortune…she always commented on how pretty Vanna looked…wishing her body could fit into a dress…with sparkles on it…all shiny…

He’d sit out on the busted stoop smoking a Viceroy…thinking about his younger days…was it all just a dream…maybe it was…maybe it was…