dmseay

She always said he had a problem with women. Didn’t like the power they had over men. Boys doing backflips to impress them on school lots, church grounds, board rooms, car dealerships. Always looking for attention. Always out to prove themselves.

That’s how he was. Born with southern charm and good looks. Never realized the power he had. Would sit there on the barstool for hours making a fool of himself. Talking it up to the ladies like he was Burt Reynolds or Stagger Lee. Trying all kinds of magic to conjure up in a cloud and blow it their way. They’d laugh at him as he swooned over them and bought drink after drink after drink. His missions often failed.

The old man at the end of the bar would watch this fiasco go down every night. He’d sit with his beer and shot and watch the young clowns of the circus apply their tricks. He’d watch them spend all their money on a Saturday night on honey, pure honey. And get what? Maybe a toss of the hair, a kiss on the cheek, some false phone number. He’d watch and laugh. Ashamed of his gender. Wondering what happened to real men. The quiet types.

There’s really nothing to it, the old man thought. Just sit and keep your mouth shut and they’ll come to you. That was his practice as a young man. His game.

And now he finds better company with Proust, Bukowski, Beckett and Shepard. All night he would spend reading Mamet, Mailer, Miller. The power of women no longer existed in his life. Those spells they cast had no effect on him. He was finally at peace.

Lonely? Men get lonely. But, what is the price? In one’s life there is struggle. And as we get older, the struggle is less. He thanked God for this each night that he left the bar. A twin bed, a single chair, one plate. Be careful what you wish for.

She always said he had a problem with women. She always said that.

She remembered. Years had passed and life had changed, but, she remembered.

Snow reminds you of things, people, places, memories can flood the mind. There must’ve been six inches on the ground already. Another six was expected. She sat by the window watching the earth turn white. Mailboxes, parked cars, streets and sidewalks covered in magic. The blue streetlights shined down on it all. She found herself in a dreamlike state. Thinking about her wedding day long ago. Celebrated in a protestant church. Her dress was ivory. He wore tails.

Her daddy walked her down the aisle that February morn. Might’ve been the only man she ever loved. Daddy always wondered what she saw in the boy waiting at the alter. Before they strolled, he whispered, It’s not too late. You can walk away if you choose. She shook her head, no. Gave dad a peck on the cheek. Alright, he said. Let’s do this thing, he tucked his arm over her’s.

His breath smelled of whiskey. The boy could barely stand. He had a flask in his pocket up top. Very thin. It didn’t bulge. She looked at her mom and dad and smiled. It was not too late.

The snow was piling up that day too. Men at the V.F.W. hall were clearing the sidewalks in wait of the bride and groom. But, they never came. No one did. She dug down deep in her gut and said, No. No, I will not marry you. Her father was pleased. She had made the right choice.

Dad died on a night like this a few years back. Cold and snowy. She told him at the hospice, You can leave now. You don’t have to do this, they grinned at each other. And then, he was gone.

They walked through the grocery store side by side, each with elbows on the shopping cart. There were other couples too. Most of em together, some separated by space, and others trying to keep up with children; crying, pulling items off shelves, tugging at their mom’s dresses. All rewarded with candy and pop. A firm hand no longer was practiced.

And they’d flirt with each other in the wine aisles. He’d select a red while she had her eye on a white. They’d tease each other and take both kinds.

There seemed to be a peace in the wine aisles. A magical place where couples came and marveled at the various bottles. Screw tops and corks. Some on sale for $4.99 and others up to $35.00 and beyond. Wine is wine, her daddy always said. Don’t need anything fancy to get you where you need to go, the old man would scoff. She always brought up stories about pop in the wine aisles. Just short little stories. She missed him dearly.

A lot of couples never made it over to the wine aisles. They never found peace. They’d settle for PBR, Budweiser, Miller Lite on special. They’d buy em in cases of 24, sliding the boxes under their carts. Mom’s and dad’s drinking away the day’s problems; the rent being late, their son’s failing grades, a leak in the roof, a sex life wilted. Magic was gone.

So, the couple toasted to each other. He with a red and she with a white. To love and to us. They’d kiss and pour another glass. Watching the yellow moon as clouds rolled by. Just watching.

There were gun shots a few blocks away. He heard them as he tried to sleep. Outside, a pair of tennis shoes hung on a wire. An old alleycat crisscrossed the backyard looking for a mate. And, down the street the flashing neon sign went dim.

Everything was dark. Cars rolled by with their headlights on low. A murmur of heavy bass crept through the neighborhood. Soon 4th of July would be here; fireworks and gun shots, fireworks and gun shots. The old man’s cough from down the hall would be silenced. No more of his constant hacking. Just fireworks and gun shots.

Summer would be starting soon. More homicides, more domestic cases, more cars speeding away on Lima Road. And gas stations. Always a target in the summer heat. But, tonight he sat in the dark listening to gun shots.

What would summer bring?, he thought. More anger, more frustration, more heat. It did every year. There’s always a spark that sets off summer. Always an unfortunate event. You can count on it, he whispered. You can count on it. May glorious summer spring upon us, he laughed.

The early morning cool air came through his windows. And there was silence. A peaceful silence. Enjoy it while you can, he thought. Enjoy it while you can.

She stayed in the dressing room for quite some time; admirin’ herself. Been years since she had new clothes; that belly just hung on her. She’d turn sideways and look at herself in the three mirrors. She’d suck in her little tummy even more; play with her long blonde hair. The curls were long and loose. Even when she was bigger she thought her hair was the best thing goin’ for her. That and her emerald eyes.

She got changed back into her old jeans and Freedom Ain’t Free tee-shirt she wore for her son the Marine. Few more pounds, she said, just a few more, left the short dress in the stall and said gooddbye for now. Continued makin’ her way ’round Wal-Mart, pushin’ a cart, talkin’ to herself. Men would look at her while women kept their eyes peeled for specials: cakes, cookies, fried chicken, potato salad, feeding their families of four. She used to have a family of four. Now it was just the three of em. One still at home. He’d be joinin’ the Corps in a couple of years too. Least that was his intention.

In the parkin’ lot she ran into Johnny Ray. She’d known him since high school; seen him ridin’ ’round town in that red pickup truck. Hey girl you lookin’ good, she smiled. You should come out with me some night, she laughed a little. Go out and make your toes curl girl, he took her cart and put it with the rest. I’ll have to see Johnny. I’ll have to see, she opened her car door and smiled at him one last time.

She adjusted the rearview mirror and put glistenin’ cinnamon lipstick on. Sayin’, just a few more pounds girl. Just a few more pounds.

He sat in darkness; hip botherin’ him a bit, stomach growlin’. If he could make it over to the counter for an apple he’d be pleased. Just one apple, then fall back asleep to dream. Dream of when he was younger; stayin’ out all night chasin’ women ’round town. Havin’ a few laughs with friends. Bein’ invincible.

Nothin’ can catch you when you’re young. Life slides at an easy pace. Maybe it’s ’cause he was single. Never had a girl tie him down. Plenty of lovers, but nothin’ ever stuck. He’d be in Chicago, New York, Denver, just blowin’ money, listenin’ to jazz, drinks were on him. And, a job was just a job. Just somethin’ you did to keep the good times rollin’. Havin’ roommates, bangin’ on bongos til two in the mornin’. Everyone’s late for rent.

And now he wishes he could get that apple. Where does the energy go? Where does it go?

He died over there in them bushes behind the house. Used to go out there and smoke after dinner in the evening time. Said he had a heart attack. I say it was just his time.

You know, we all have a time. Our bodies are clocks. Just waiting for the hands to stop. And, as we get older, we want those hands to stop. Folks get tired of daily routines, of hard labor all their lives, the news cast at six. There’s only so much we can take.

And, so he’d go out there every night and smoke his Marlboros, drink his cheap brandy. It was his ritual. Maybe the only thing he enjoyed anymore. You know what he once told me? He said, Life ain’t worth living if no damage has been done to your body, he said that. And he did plenty of damage let me tell you. Don’t think I ever saw him without a vice in his hand. His whittled lined hand.

Now he’s gone. You could say God took him from us. But, that wouldn’t be right. We all choose our time. We all choose our time. One way or another. We all choose our time.

He saw the light in the kitchen was still on. Probably meant she was waiting up on him. It was two in the morning. She should’ve been in bed. Every Saturday night it was the same thing; her waiting up on him. Always in the kitchen too. Never the front room, the back screened in porch, always the kitchen. She would sit there with two cups of coffee at the metal table. He walked in with his head lowered.

How are the boys?, she’d ask him. He’d say they were fine. Win any?, lit a cigarette and blew out the match. He’d shake his head no. There was a real interesting news story on tonight, she poured another coffee. ‘Bout how this boy held up a gas station on the far end of town. Said he shot the attendant three times. He’s in critical condition. Took off with a hundred bucks. All that for a hundred dollars. Did you hear ’bout this?, he said no.

You don’t watch the news at the bar now do ya? ‘Sides, you were throwing darts. You didn’t win a single game? Seems like you lose all the time. I don’t know why you go there. Got a dart board in the basement. Anyway, that boy who shot him was colored. They showed a picture of him on the camera. He’ll probably get away with it. Seems like they always do. A hundred bucks? Can you imagine?

He tipped his John Deer hat and said goodnight to her. Left her there in the kitchen to turn everything off. She mumbled under her breath.

A hundred bucks? Don’t make no sense.

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.