dmseay

everything she did was top secret…kept her mouth closed ’bout it all…how she made her money…habits…lovers…kept a bottle of vodka ‘hind the toilet in the downstairs bathroom…thought no-one knew ’bout it…that’s what she thought…

and if you’d confront her with anything she’d deny it…could spy on her smokin’ a cigarette every mornin’ out in the garage…don’t know what she was thinkin’…smell stayed on her for the longest of time…said she didn’t…but she did…

all these strange men would drop her off at night…past one o’clock in the mornin’…men with pick-up trucks and old Chevy’s…wearin’ cowboy hats…you could make out their outlines in the dark…wouldn’t walk her up to the front porch…doubt if she’d let ’em…

then she’d be gone all day…followed her one time…goin’ on these long walks through town and out to the edge of the county where she’d stop at a tavern…looked twice ‘fore she entered the place…I waited for her outside in the brush…hiding behind tall elms and thick oaks…wantin’ to see what she was up to…

stayed in there a good long time…couldn’t see inside…the red neon blinking was blinding…kept for hours out there just waitin’…wantin’ to catch her in the act…never did…wake up in the early hours of the mornin’ with the birds chirpin’ and the sun on the rise…parkin’ lot empty…and my baby girl gone…she was always gone…

used to go out to the pond and feed catfish…watch ’em jump for pebbles of food…swim up to the top and then dive back down into the green water…a hundred little fish gettin’ outta the way…

and there was this one albino catfish…pure white…even his horns were white…he kept mostly to himself…swam in circles…waitin’ for the rest of ’em to stop their feedin’ frenzy…he was the most patient fish I’ve ever seen…stayed below the surface…waitin’ for the kitty chow to drop deeper into the water…it was as if he asked to be fed…didn’t demand it…his calm composure was soothin’…

so I watched the catfish…and the hand-sized blue-gills swim ’til the sun went down onna hot summer night with the glowin’ moon startin’ to appear and the frogs beginnin’ to croak…cicadas singin’ out songs of praise…

and for once I felt at peace…

the old man used to drive through town…past the Rialto movie theater on Calhoun…go by bars where he used to drink at ’til the wee hours back in his youth…over at the mall he’d park on cool Fall nights and listen to jazz on the local public radio station…just long ‘nough to calm him down…then he’d get back to drivin’…out into the county where corn fields were startin’ to look brown….and old barns stood with chipped away paints of red…gray…and white…

he’d go out to the interstate and let her fly…gettin’ the old Ford up to 75…80…while headlights beamed and orange cigarette butts danced cross the road…sometimes pop would drive as far as Indy just to get down there and drive back home…

dad would be gone for hours…no-one ever asked any questions…house payments were made…bills were paid…that’s all momma cared ’bout…a roof over our heads forever and ever Amen…isn’t that what all mom’s worry ’bout…safe and secure…not happy or thrilled with life…just safe…

the old man pulled in ’round midnight when the sky was black and the moon lay in wait…I could hear him shut the door on the truck and tread through the gravel driveway only to open the door to the kitchen where he’d find a plate of chicken pot-pie…meatloaf…maybe a stuffed pepper next to a note that said, heat up in microwave for two minutes…,he’d eat it cold…

and by mornin’ with the sun was just breakin’ it’s yolk over America that car would be gone…no dirty dishes in the sink…not any evidence that he was ever there…just gone…vanished…’til midnight when I’d hear that old Ford pull into the driveway once again…

didya hear that noise out there…some kinda dog barkin’…

wake you up…

yeah…I was in this dreamlike state and that dog out there woke me up…did the neighbors get a new dog…some kinda big dog like a German Shepard or somethin’…definitely not a small dog…not a yapper…these were full-on barks…and now…nothin’…now that we’re all awake…you don’t hear from him…damn dog…

what were you dreamin’ ’bout…

Burt Lancaster…I was at this movie place with a woman watching Burt Lancaster…it was one of ’em old movie theaters and Burt Lancaster was up on the screen with a woman on the beach…kissing her while the ocean came in…just waves coverin’ ’em and all they kept doin’ was kissin’…he held her tight and I kept thinkin’ I should make my move on the woman I was with…this tall ginger woman with green eyes…so…I put my arm ’round her and she said she wanted popcorn…right when Lancaster is makin’ out with this woman on the beach and I’m gettin’ ready to move in she says she wants popcorn…

so…what’dya do…

at first I got angry…angry at her and angry at Burt Lancaster…

why were ya angry at Burt Lancaster…

’cause he gave me hope and then it was taken away…I had high hopes that I was gonna kiss this woman and it was all ’cause Lancaster was gettin’ kissed on the screen…and there were all these couples ’round us kissin’…all these young people just makin’ out at the movie theater…while waves crashed over Lancaster and this woman he was havin’ an affair with in the movie…

Deborah Kerr…

yeah…Deborah Kerr…that was the woman on the beach with Lancaster…they were just rollin’ in the waves and it seemed like they couldn’t stop…couldn’t get ‘nough of each other…like they was meant for each other forever…

so…did you go and get her popcorn…or did you try to kiss her again…

I was leanin’ in to kiss her and the damn dog woke me up…I was right there at her lips and I could smell her perfume…I put my arm ’round her and that damn dog started barkin’…immediately everything went blank…Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr disappeared…I woke up to reality…to the fact that there is no ginger woman in my life…I wasn’t in the movie theater with a beautiful woman…I was alone…just simply alone…and I felt really sad all the sudden…like there was no hope in this world…I was never gonna be on some beach like Burt Lancaster with some woman that I loved…never…

few get that…

yeah…few do…the lucky ones…the ones that played their cards right…oh well…it was just a dream…

how old are ya…

pretty old…

what…70….75…

old ‘nough…

ya got any regrets…

nope…

not a one…

lived my life pretty simple…stayed outta trouble…I’ve managed to get by…don’t have much…but…I’ve managed to get by…

look at where you live…an old trailer park…what’dya do for a livin’…

this and that…worked a lot of different jobs…mowin’ yards…roofin’ houses…dumpin’ trash…anything to pay the rent…

didn’t ya want anymore outta life…

like what…

travel…family…a good woman…

had all those…

ya did…

did…gave ’em up too…

for what…

poetry…words…lines connectin’ lines…I wanted a life of nothin’ but books and a typewriter…just read and write all day and into the night…

ever get any money for it…

it’s always ’bout money with you now isn’t it…how much did you make…how much could you make…didya make ‘nough…you don’t write poetry to get rich…you wanna make money…sell insurance…

got enough to live on…

I get by…I get by…

you goin’ out to the fair…

nope…

what’s wrong…

just don’t feel like goin’…

why’s that…

you ask a lot of questions…just full of curiosity aren’t ya…like some kid askin’ his dad this and that…always wantin’ somethin’…now it’s that damn fair…what…ya wanna ride the Ferris wheel…a horse on the carousel…twirl on the tilta-whirl…

just askin’…

well don’t…been years since I’ve gone to that fiasco…used to take my girl to it…years ago…I’d win her prizes…she’d give me kisses…walk ’round with a big ol stuffed teddy bear…clutchin’ it like there’s no tomorrow…

how’d ya win it…

shootin’ at these plastic ducks swimmin’ on a conveyer belt…and they had this silly music they’d play as the ducks went by…some kinda pipe organ music…hit one and bells and whistles went off…she’d get all excited…

play any other games…

toss the ball in a bottle…little golf size balls you’d throw in these empty milk bottles…there’s a skill involved…I’d win her a prize there too…bunch of helium balloons…with hearts and arrows on ’em…

you don’t wanna go…

naw…you go…I’m just gonna stay here and think ’bout things…

like what…

the way things used to be…just the way things used to be…

he’d sit at the bus stop for hours…wavin’ busses on by….just liked sittin’ on the bench…smokin’ his Camels…drinkin’ from a brown paper bag…40 oz. …Skoal vodka…cheap brandy…

and he’d talk to himself…carry on full conversations…’bout God…the second coming of Christ…the shape of the woman’s ass ‘cross the street…

people’d pass him by…scared to talk to the 300 pound brother whose eyes were constantly red…had odors comin’ off of him…yelled out at cop cars as they cruised by…he was a popular fella with the boys in blue…

‘ventually he’d lay down on the bench and fall asleep…darkness would come…the stars would shine…he’d shiver in the night air…dreams ran through his head…dreams ’bout a woman he knew long ago…on this very street…eyes were shut…

’round midnight an older lady…with silver hair from down the block would walk by to check on him…bringin’ coffee and sandwiches…maybe a blanket if he needed one…wouldn’t wake him…just left it all under the bench…filled stockings…every night was Christmas eve…

but…he never did see her…never met her…she delivered the goods in silence…under a streetlight that shined down on her wrinkled skin…

God bless you Miss Rosencrantz….

she spoke of love…a deep kinda love…said she had it once in her life…some man who brought her flowers everyday…Sunday kisses on the forehead…she spoke of love…

and she wept for months…years…when it was gone…when he’d left…walked out the door one night…a ghost whispered goodbye…she spoke of love…

Never bothered changing the sheets he slept on…,she said…,wanted to smell him everyday…I miss that smell…,she cried…,I miss that man…,poured another drink…lit another cigarette…,Long to hear his morning cough…the sound that woke me each morn…,she spoke of love…

People leave us…,he told her…,Life changes on a dime…,she shook her head…,Oh…but it does,he said…,it does…,she just looked at him…said nothing…no-longer spoke of love…

tired of all this…

this…

this…everywhere I go there is nothing but the same thing…

like…

work…always work to do…

yes…

and you have to do it…

don’t have to…

no choice in the matter

there’s a choice…

living for nothing more than the miserable existence of work…all types of work…unskilled…skilled…hourly wage…salary…why I’ve even been paid with sandwiches and a pint…and at the end of the day what does that get you…

a full belly…

nothing…gets you nothing…can’t save from that…what…you’re gonna put a piece of bologna in the bank…no…nothing…gets you nothing…it’s over rated I’d say…always looking for work…finding work and working til your body aches…til the mind is numb…a whole life dedicated to work…and at the end what are you given for your efforts…a small pension…401k’s to cash in…savings over the years from suffering and sacrifice…no sir…no sir…

so…you’d rather not work…

I’d prefer not to…

he timed himself reading…not for speed or to set a quick pace…just timed it out to see how long he could read ‘fore he lost train of thought…gave up interest completely…reading Cormac McCarthy’s, The Orchard Keeper, page after page…fascinated by his use of language…reading all the words…taking them in bit by bit…eating pieces of the book like you would a Sunday dinner…savoring it…

‘fore he knew it he’d spent an hour reading from the novel…now his mind was starting to wander…going off to places like Cave City, Arkansas…Lexington, Tennessee, Mount Juliet, there close to Nashville…small towns of his childhood…the South…where things moved slow and simple…never questioning the fear of God…or the saving grace of Jesus…we all knew the devil lived in the woods…back in the pines where creeks flowed over rocks and leaves crunched under our feet in October…

couldn’t get his mind off the South…or his childhood…Friday night football games with high school heroes such as Jimmy Jones at tailback…Claudias Goshen at tight end…Mark Surmack played quarterback…and his big brother Johnny was a lineman…he remembered all those players from way back in his youth…games against towns like Smackover…Camden…El Dorado…Huntington…thought of them all…the smells of fresh cut grass and fried pies coming from the concession stand…sponsored by the local Lion’s Club…

and he closed his eyes and took a nap…a long dreamlike state conjuring up images of girls from his past…his first kiss underneath bleachers when he was just in grade school…poppin’ open a beer he’d stolen from his daddy’s six pack…drinkin’ alone out in the darkness down an old dirt road…smoking cigarettes with friends at midnight in a packed car at the drive-in movies…some Burt Reynolds picture…

when he woke-up he realized those days were over..long gone and now there was nothing left in life but work and sleep…work and sleep…wished it was different…longed for something else…

so…he rolled over and went back to reading Cormac McCarthy…he’d always have that…