dmseay

he slept up under a bridge on the outskirts of town that night…used his bookbag for a pillow…sweatshirt for covers…

a storm was brewin’…thunder boomed all ’round and lightening ricocheted in the sky …playin’ duelin’ banjos with the heavens and earth…God was a hell of a picker…

and he slept right through it all…dreams of bein’ on a pitcher’s mound in the big leagues…throwin’ all kinds of junk…sinkers…sliders …knuckle balls…he knew it was just a matter of time ‘fore he was pulled…replaced by a closer…never completed a game…

in this dream he kept strikin’ ’em out…one after another…they’d get up to bat and he’d just mow ’em down…batters would throw their timber in the dugout and curse his name…

seemed like everybody did…an ex-wife he left long time ago…mom and dad who’d grown tired of his antics off the field…bosses at supermarkets and roofin’ jobs he’d had over the years…faced ’em all in the line up…faced ’em all in his dreams…

these dreams of his…vivid and real…like some kinda picture show…a documentary on his life…some kinda metaphor…proof that he’d lived a little…made mistakes along the way…

but…he was able to sleep…slept til the crack of dawn…it’d be a new day…

his sins were accounted for…

they found him in this old abandoned house out on 30…dog was there barkin’…hadn’t been fed in days…couple of empty bowls marked food and water sat in the kitchen next to an old refrigerator…scuff marks on it…rusty hinges…door swingin’ loose…old rotten letttuce and bologna on the shelves…half a package of hot dogs…the kind that plump when you cook ’em…

he was layin’ face down on the hardwood floor…body flat…with this terrible smell…you could tell he’d been dead for awhile…pants were undone…shirt half tucked out…but his hair…short black hair was perfectly combed…as if he’d spent time in front of a mirror to get it that way…had some pomade in it…smelled of flowers…real perfume like…still didn’t compensate for the odor comin’ off the body…like I said…he’d been dead awhile…

and his desk drawer was pulled out…no credit card bills or receipts…just love letters…opened up love letters written in blue ink…with a fountain pen…you could tell…fancy like…letters that proclaimed her undying devotion to him…some woman from Ohio…that’s what the envelopes said…poloroid pictures of her in various poses…wearin’ floral print dresses and sweaters …different times of the year…some of the letters said, Merry Christmas…, while others talked of her day to day struggle of bein’ apart…loneliness…

his driver’s license said Ben Crenshaw…height 5’10″…weight was 200 pounds…eyes were brown…birth date was 09/15/1957…the address didn’t match the home…from out of state…never bothered to get a new one…it had expired…

I wondered if there was anybody to contact…all he had were those damn letters marked, Love, Susan, on ’em…no address…just said Fairfield, Ohio and the zip…no phone numbers…nothin’…just pictures of Susan…

I don’t know…two…three times I drove by her house…saw the Ford in the driveway…couldn’t bring myself to tell her…wanted to…wanted to tell her straight…face to face…she deserves that…but…I didn’t dare…scared of her reaction…frightened of what she might do…what I could be blamed for…some irrational act…you know…women get that way…

how’s that…

irrational…come outta left field…everything from threatening you to mouthin’ off to a grocery clerk over something completely irrelevant…or worse yet…a scare tactic…some Tylenol overdose…somethin’ to put the fear of Jesus in ya…

they’ll do that…

inna heartbeat…they’re not happy less they’re leavin’ you…can’t be the other way ’round…nothin’ a woman hates worse than bein’ left behind…absolutely hate that…hits ’em right in the gut…and whose the bad guy…you are my friend…you’re the one to blame…nothin’ civil ’bout it…

maybe you should just go…not say a word…change your number…

I’ll drink another beer…work up courage…get ready for the onslaught of terror…

you say so…

I say so…

how many times did you call her…

call her…

yes…today…how many times…

I don’t know…several

several…

yes…several…I called several times…

why…

what do you mean why…

why did you keep calling her…

wanted to talk to her…to hear her voice…

so you called several times…

yes…

did she ever answer…

no…she never answered…

just a ringing of a phone…that’s all you heard…just this ringing each time you called her…

yes…

with no answer…

well…it went to her voicemail…

what did her voicemail say…

what…

the voice on the answering machine…was it her’s…

yes…

and what did she say…

she said…you’ve reached 312-883-8881…I can’t talk at this time… but, if you’ll leave a message… I’ll get back to you…

and did you…

did I what…

leave a message…

no…I did not…

so…you called several times…heard her voice…and never left a message…is that right…

it is…it is right…

why…why didn’t you leave a message…

I don’t know why…

well there must be a reason…right…

maybe I was scared…

scared…to leave a message…what kind of a guy’s scared to leave a message…

I don’t know…

you don’t know…

no…

remember in high school…you’d call girls and hang up the phone ’cause you were scared…but you wanted to hear that voice on the other end…her voice…and you’d call time and time again…’cause that’s what boys do…right…

I don’t know what you’re talking ’bout…

now days they call it stalking…

stalking…no…I needed to get in touch with her…

for what…what was so urgent that you called several times and hung up…

I had to talk to her…

yes…you had to talk to her…

yes…

and now no-one can talk to her…’cause we can’t find her…can’t find her…she’s gone…do you know where she went to…

no…

no idea…

no…

I have an idea…I think you have an idea as well…tell me where she’s at…

I don’t know where she’s at…

you don’t know…

no…

no idea…

that’s what I said…I have no idea where she’s at…

she’s gonna be found…you know that…right…we’re gonna find her…could be anywhere…a garage…a river…back in some woods…left in a car…buried in a backyard…

what makes you think she’s dead…she coulda just left town…lots of people do that you know…

leave town…

yes…they just leave…

have people left you…

yes…

people have left you behind…

yes…

why do you think that is…

don’t know…just have…

who…

my mom…she left me when I was younger…

where’d she go…

don’t know…she just left…left me behind to live with foster parents…bounced from one house to another…

angry ’bout that…

no…

sure…

things happen…people leave people behind…that’s been my experience…

he’d just sit and watch the rain fall…for days…never left his chair…he’d look out down the alleyway as puddles formed in potholes…cars would zip through splashing water all about…on garbage bins…old furniture…mangy dogs out for a walk…all of God’s earth was wet…

and it came down harder…fogged up his windows…all he could see was outlines of trees and church steeples…red brake lights glowing…lawn chairs tossed about…

listening to the rain…he couldn’t help but think of Noah…wise man stuck with a bunch of smelly animals…myth or truth…he didn’t know…his faith said one thing…his head another…

here’s to rain…

a million thoughts raced through his mind…thousands of words connectin’ to one another to form a story…the brain waves were active…couldn’t sleep…he rolled and tossed in bed…tried to close his eyes…nothin’ worked…listened to some Bill Evans on the radio…the jazz just intrigued him more…made him think of cocktails and slow dancin’ with some woman he used to know…long time ago…she was cool…definitely cool…

they’d stay up all night polishin’ off a couple of bottles of wine…reds…Cabernets…they’d dance in the kitchen…he’d lean her up over the counter and kiss her wildly…touching her lips…the front of her neck…while holdin’ onto her at the waist…movin’ their hips akimbo to the music…just swayin’ back and forth…

and darkness would become light…Sun would peak out over the clouds…makin’ it kind of an orange haze…while cop sirens went off and garbage trucks rolled down alleys…he’d hold her close and kept dancin’…soon the music on National Public Radio would become the news from overseas…that’s when he’d turn it off…take her hand and lead her into the bedroom..layin’ her softly on the bed…an old wooden frame that would creak until mid-morn…they slept in shifts…

neither one of ’em worked…lived off the government dollar…they couldn’t hold onto a job to save their lives…they’d burn through bosses quicker than sticks at a camp fire…he’d blow up at managers..she’d show up late…this happened again and again and again….just like their hospitalizations…always windin’ up on the crazy floor…in fact…that’s where they’d met…him with his bipolar and her with her bad case of the blues…a constant sadness…no pill could cure either one of ’em…and they’d tried ’em all…

various presciptions lined their shelves…Welbutrin…Trazadone…Depakote…Lithium…they had a buffet of bottles…they’d pick and choose…never took ’em accordin’ to plan…most times they didn’t take any at all…just drink wine all day to self-medicate…not thinkin’ of the consequences…

a million thoughts raced through his mind that night…wonderin’ where his baby wound up at…heaven or hell…some kinda Dante’s Inferno…maybe a long lived purgatory…he wasn’t sure…

but…he was dyin’ to find out…

she’d send him these photographs through the mail…colored pictures of her in various poses…some with her hair up…and others with her long brown hair down to her shoulders…she never smiled…

and he’d look at these photos all night long as he lay in bed…thinkin’ back to when they were together as man and wife…’fore they got divorced…went their separate ways…

said she needed more space in her life…more time for herself…’stead of takin’ care of others…a husband…kids…

so she took off one night and went to Mexico…drove ‘cross the bridge into Tijuana…guess to find herself…amongst the tourists…the drunks…painted mules…tequila shots…bandits…and drug dealers…all of it excited her…

but…she’d send these pictures from all over…a gypsy really…must have hooked up with the right men…he knew she couldn’t have done it on her own…

shots from Canada…Germany…Iceland…Poland… all over…he knew she sent ’em just to torment him…drive him crazy with jealousy…crazy with hate…

she’d send him these pictures…she’d send him these pictures…

never answer your phone…,he said…,got that caller i.d. ….see whose callin’ ya…know it’s me…,he banged louder on her door…,open up now…ya hear…gonna stand out here till you see me…see what you’ve done to me…I’m some kinda wreck…,the old man continued…he lit up a Camel…

go away…,she yelled in her squeaky voice…,you’re weird…just some weird old man…gonna call the cops if you don’t go away…mean it…,he beat on the locked screen door some more…,you’re gonna break that thing down then you’re gonna pay for it…stupid old man…

come on now…,the dude cried out…,I’m heart broken…you’ve done this to me…took all my money…my lovin’…got nothin’ left…need to see ya ‘gain…open up now…hear…

what’re ya gonna huff and puff…blow my door down…had ‘nough of you…I’m callin’ the police…,it began to rain…buckets of lukewarm water pissed on the old man…,get in your car and go home…now…gonna catch a cold…

I love you Cassandra…can’t get enough of ya…gotta see ya one more time…ya owe me that much…,banged on the white metal door one more time…,alright…I’m leavin’…you win…gonna go home and take care of business now…take care of business…

you threatenin’ me…what ya mean take care of business…lost your damn mind…what kinda business you gonna take care of…

read ’bout it in the funny pages…read ’bout it in the funny pages…,mumbled to himself as he got into the old Chevy…started it up…a curtain was peeled back showing a young woman’s round face with green eyes…

he was gone…

he didn’t know what he wanted…too many choices…the menu shone in a yellow light with the Pepsi emblem in the middle…flies flew ’round it while eggs fried on the griddle…

kept lookin’ at the menu…the black lettering…words like…GARBAGE PLATE…SLIDERS WITH OR WITHOUT CHEESE…BREAKFAST SPECIAL…coffee for a buck…

and there were all these different types of drinks…Orange soda…Mountain Dew…Dr. Pepper…Squirt…he looked at the milk shake selection…still couldn’t decide…chocolate and vanilla…the flies continued swarming the joint…

so he decided on buttered wheat toast and a cup of joe…while others ’round him ate hash browns and ham steaks…sausage patties…omelettes made with real Velvetta cheese…

said a prayer ‘fore he ate his meal…for this we are thankful…

he’d lay awake in bed every night…tossin’ and turnin’…sheets balled up…blankets stretched out on the floor…like a tornado hit…some kinda wild dance with legs movin’ all over the place while sweat poured out of his forehead into a pillow case makin’ it soak and wet with white salt stains linin’ out circles…thoughts kept him awake…

tried readin’ some old papers he’d collected over the years…stacked up in a corner of his rented room…big colorful pictures with headlines above…ANOTHER CHAMPIONSHIP…WAR DECLARED OVER…BODY FOUND IN CHICAGO RIVER…he’d read a little…place ’em back neatly in a pile…go back to tossin’ and turnin’…

started countin’ sheep…that turned into girls he’d known over the years…women that had gotten away durin’ the course of time…blondes…brunettes…a couple of redheads…some of ’em he loved…others he was just along for the ride…

and as the night wore on…he’d fall in and outta sleep…dreamin’ of cross country drives and walks in parks…dreams with sound tracks to ’em…Bill Evans…Miles Davis…Charles Mingus playin’ in his head…poundin’ out notes while his eyelids fluttered…mumblin’ incoherently ’bout nothin’ inparticular….nothin’ at all…

it was all within a night…