dmseay

he took a nap in the afternoon…air-conditioner hummin’…puttin’ him to sleep…like it was singin’ to him…some kinda drawn out lulaby…cold air filled the room…

and he dreamt of this girl he knew in high school…pretty blonde who sat in History class with him…they became drinkin’ buddies…crossin’ state lines and buyin’ beer…T.J. Swann…wine coolers…bottles of schnapps…they’d sit down by the lake where’d they talk till two in the mornin’ bout what they wanted outta life…how they were gonna get it…just talk…

after graduation she took off for California where she hooked up with some b-movie actor…heard he broke her heart…wound up drinkin’ every night and doin’ blow…got to be a problem…the girl’s looks faded…she got older…never reached out to him for help…lost his number along the way…

he stayed ’round town…took a job at the GM plant…workin’ on the assembly line…always wondered what happened to his drinkin’ companion…always hoped she’d come back to town…used to go down to the lake with a six pack…talk to himself…hum songs out loud…said he’d wait for her…and he did…

dreamt of her…he dreamt of her…woke up callin’ out her name…she never heard him…she was gone…

you’re always writing ’bout people leaving…taking off and getting lost in America…you think that’s right…think people do that…

sure they do…

they just up and leave wives…kids…roots behind…

yes…

why…

they’re wandering souls…they’re constantly on the move…like coyotes…they just go places to be going places…it’s in their blood…can’t help themselves…can only stay put for so long…then they gotta leave…go to Vermont…or New York…maybe Texas for awhile…or New Mexico…somewhere so they can be lost for a spell…get away from salespeople…insurances and assurances…to be wild…sleepin’ in shelters…under viaducts…on park benches…

you ever do that…

yes…my soul gets restless…have to leave…don’t have a choice…either that or stay and kill myself…feelin’ trapped sometimes…a nomad’s life…that’s what it is…a nomad’s life…goin’ from town to town…washin’ your clothes at all night laundry-mats…reading books all day at the library…havin’ a beer next to another wanderin’ soul…talk ’bout the road…small towns like Joplin…Batesville…Paris, Tennessee…tellin’ stories like the time I went up to Montreal to escape Hurricane Irene…or when I got lost in Connecticut and it was pitch black with rain comin’ down in buckets…and what did I do…I danced in it…got outta my car and danced in it…these are the actions of restless souls…

you hittin’ the road ‘gain…

probably…when the leaves change and there’s a peace to the earth…nice and cool…that’s when I’ll make my move…throw a dart at a map and make my move…

used to go on these drives ‘cross country…from Ohio to Colorado…turn ’round and head back east takin’ the southern route through Kansas…Missouri…into Effingham…back to Cuyahoga County…smokin’ cigarettes the whole time…tossin’ butts out the window…watchin’ lit tips flip on the asphalt in the dark night…smells of freshly tilled land and diesel exhaust as I drove in a manic state…

didn’t want the journey to end…had the radio tuned to talk radio shows…idiots from all over callin’ in complainin’ ’bout damn liberals…or talkin’ smack ’bout Republicans…I always figured they was all the same…

and I’d pull into the driveway…porchligt would always be on…unlock the front door and see you there…watchin’ a soundless t.v. …just pictures on a screen…Spencer Tracy movin’ his mouth…talkin’ to Katherin Hepburn…a silent conversation…but you could tell they were in love…you never asked where I’d been…just kept watchin’ the movie…pointed to the refrigerator…took your cue…

there’d be all kinds of leftovers from throughout the week waitin’ in there…roast beef…chicken fried steak…some kinda casserole…’nough food for an army…knew I liked second helping’s…

we continued sitting in silence…not a word said…just sittin’ there like two strangers…a house shared by two strangers…wouldn’t be too long ‘fore I’d head off ‘gain…wonderin’ each time if you’d be there when I opened the door…

guess you never know…

and he’d walk ’round town all day…out in the hot Sun…turnin’ his face into a reddish brown leather…eyes bloodshot from the night ‘fore…and the night ‘fore that…

the old man would beg for dollars on sidewalks where business people walked past carryin’ briefcases…wearin’ suits…talkin’ on cellphones…the old man yelled out as they passed him by…yellin’ out how freedom wasn’t free…and they were all just marchin’ to a giant drum…

but ‘ventually he’d get ‘nough cash for a forty ounce…a small bottle of fire water…drank it down quick…like it was soda pop…then he’d go lookin’ for more…lookin’ till night came and darkness engulfed the town…yuppies whoopin’ it up in pubs and taverns…nicely lit beer gardens…drinkin’ craft beers and Moscow mules…they were civilized…

he never wanted to be part of society…never wanted a home or a rented room…had his blankets hid under the viaduct that stretched ‘cross Calhoun and Harrison…other downtown streets…slept off and on up in a corner tucked away from sight…no-one walked under the viaduct…they’d heard stories…tales of how homeless men would rob ya down in that part of town…steal from ya like Pancho Villa…nothin’ could be farther from the truth…

too hungover to steal from anybody…stealin’ takes ambition…ambition was the farthest thing from the old man’s mind…could say he lacked ambition…

he took on these odd jobs…mowing yards…painting houses…pulling weeds…even had a newspaper route…whatever he could do to keep a dollar in his pocket…beer in his belly…

didn’t have a girl…said he didn’t want one…got tired of break-ups and make-ups…never had things on the level…women went one way…he took off in another…

lived in this rented room over on Broadway…a bed sunk in the middle…carpet with cigarette burns in it…walls a dusty brown from smoke…he called it home…

every night he looked out his window down on the street…watched watched bums digging in garbage cans…whores soliciting their goods…cops rolling by slowly…dealers peddling dope…nickel bags…dimes…all of them looking for some kind of score…a buck is a buck…

and sometimes he would look up at the Moon…wondered what it was like up there…wanted to jump in craters…bring home the American flag…

he took on these odd jobs…whatever he could do to keep a dollar in his pocket…beer in his belly…

what is your point…

to get to the bottom of somethin’ you have to really dig down deep into your soul…scrape the bottom and see what you can find…it could take years…a lifetime…just an endless search into yourself…picking away at things that have been built up for so long…

like…

childhood things…memories of being corrected by your parents…dreading the outcome of events…bringing home a bad report card…a black eye from a bully in the school yard…your first kiss…a first rejection…

and these things you speak of…we all have ’em right…we all have these memories…from childhood…teen years too…

yes…but I’m talkin’ ’bout the early years mostly…those years when you could run and jump and fall on your face…tears falling…your pride was hurt more than the torn skin…talkin’ ’bout back when the night was quiet…too quiet…and the least little noise sent you running down the hall to your parent’s room where you found them asleep…snoring away…all comfy and cozy while you had nothing but fear inside of you…and that fear never leaves you…

never…

never…it takes on different forms as you get older…fear and dread…fear and dread…some job interview…getting the sack…break-ups…always trying to do the impossible…

yes…

and what do we do… we run…we run away from the hard stuff…the muck and the mire that comes between us and what we really want…using everything we can to fill voids…black holes…

I see…

no…we see nothing…all this rubbish…we see nothing…oh we think we’re in the clear…but we’re far from it…something is always on the cusp of getting us…tackling us from behind…or worst yet it’s right in front of us and we’re too blind to see it…

right…

and you thought your parents were fast asleep…but they were dreaming the whole time…nightmares…from when they were children…it just keeps going…from one generation to the next…

until…

until what…there is no until…it never stops…

we’re never at peace…

we settle…but no…never at peace…

and why is that…

because we never forget…we never forget…piles and piles and piles of thoughts…memories…actions…no…we never forget…

he’d send her love letters from far away places…New York…Montreal…Vermont…Iowa City….she never knew where he was gonna be next…could wind up in Alberqurquee for all she knew…or maybe on one of those fishing boats up in Alaska…wouldn’t surprise her…

she waited for him…said he’d be back ‘ventually….just had to sew some wild oats…had been a couple of years now…she stayed true…wasn’t like she didn’t have offers…men from all around wanted her…used to come watch her dance on their lunch breaks…wrappin’ her long legs ’round a pole…runnin’ her hands through thick hair and takin’ her time on lap dances…drove ’em wild…

one week the letters stopped comin’…no more words drippin’ with honey…nothin’…folks said, I told ya so…,she didn’t listen…kept checkin’ the mail box everyday…after awhile she got fed up…went ’bout her business…didn’t care if she ever saw him again…and sure ‘nough…she didn’t…

couple years passed and she googled his name for kicks…various newspaper articles showed up concernin’ him with a murder…his murder…had been shot in the neck and his girlfriend had burned down the house to try and cover her tracks…the things people do…

she did not cry…nor did she feel sad…just numb…think you know somebody…

he spent his last six bucks on a schooner of beer…tryin’ to feel human again…think it was a Carling…or a Yuengling…somethin’ that slid down his throat and was cold…reminded him of days of mowin’ lawns and rakin’ leaves…a cold beer always tasted good after doin’ work…he missed ’em both…beer and work…

had been on the bum for a couple of years …sold his car for a grand that had quickly dwindled down to the livation in front of him…he’d taken on day labor jobs here and there…but nothin’ stuck…he’d work a day…collect a small paycheck and not show up again till a couple of weeks later…various tasks…sweepin’ warehouse floors…placin’ parts on assembly lines…paintin’ sides of buildings…seperatin’ the re-usable from debris…the quicker he got cash the sooner it was gone…

sittin’ next to him on this night was a salesman from out of town…had gold bracelets with initials on his fat wrists…talked ’bout cleanin’ supplies…his whole life was cleanin’ supplies…various tonics you’d put in steam cleaners…different kinds of soaps…waxes…rub-on…rub-off…his was a custodial dream…to clean the whole world…one dollar at a time…

the merchant talked of women in different towns ‘cross the U.S. …a broad in Peoria…’nother in Milwaukee…a wife at home…spoke of kids… a boy and a girl in middle school…a pet dog named Alfie…Sunday dinners with the in-laws…his life had gone according to plan…

the bum told him his story too…a former life with a wife…a house and a car…used to be a school teacher…taught History…could tell ya all ’bout World War One…delved into the Korean Conflict…chatted on Vietnam…told the salesman that those days were over…couldn’t pull himself outta the gutter this time…lost his clothes…his pride…just didn’t care anymore…was tired of lookin’ for the big pay-off…

down on your luck huh…, the portly salesman asked him…, given up huh…, the bum nodded…, Well…we’re gonna get you back on track…I’m gonna give you…, he turned on his stool…a check for a…wait…have you seen a brown leather jacket…, he asked the bum…were the hell is my jacket…’scuse me…

and like that he was gone…out the door…never to be seen again…it was the night the bum got close…to bein’ back in the pink…

you were gonna say somethin’…

no…

cat got your tongue…

I got nothin’ to say…

well…say what’s on your mind…

what mind…haven’t had a mind in years…

you’re a smart woman…tell me what you’re thinkin’…

no…see…I don’t think much…

all those magazines I got ya…you ain’t got nothin’ to say…them books you read…got shelves of ’em…surely you’re onto somethin’…

I’m just wonderin’…nothin’ inparticular…lettin’ my brain drift…

lettin’ your brain drift…

uh huh…

what if I was to tell you I don’t believe you…think you’re plottin’ somethin’…lookin’ to end this thing that’s been botherin’ ya…

what thing would that be…

you tell me…lettin’ your brain drift…driftin’ right down the road…goin’ somewhere…takin’ your soul with it…

I’m not goin’ anywhere…can’t…

why’s that…

stuck in my ways…routines…

but you wanna go somewhere don’t ya…wanna leave this place…leave me behind…see…I’m a mind reader…I know what you’re thinkin’…and it worries me…I’m gonna wake up some mornin’ and you’re gonna be gone…just like some bird who flew from an old cage…

oh…just roll over…get some sleep…

you’ll be here in the mornin’…

I’ll be here in the mornin’…

I wouldn’t blame ya if you left…this town’s gotta get to ya…I’m sure you always wanted somethin’ more…kids are grown…you ain’t got no more responsibilities…I can take care of myself…

do you even know where the fryin’ pan is…huh…I didn’t think so…you’d wind up burnin’ this house down…no…my place is here…it’s here…

if I was dead would ya leave…

till death do we part…till death do we part…I’m keepin’ my end of the deal…

I see…

good night…

good night…

he took shots of tequila…two…three…four at a time…just stood there downin’ ’em at the kitchen sink…kept pourin’ Cuervo Especial…shook his head with each drop that went down his throat…pretty soon he got rid of the shot glass and just drank straight from the bottle…he’d place his thick lips on the top and chug away…as if it were water…didn’t bother with a lime or salt…took it straight…like he was punishin’ himself…maybe he was…

had a dead-end job at the fillin’ station…sat there night after night waitin’ to get robbed…got plenty of overtime…nobody wanted the job…took every shift he could get his hands on…did various tasks throughout the night…stock shelves…make coffee…make his hourly drop into the lock-box down below…had to keep his register at a certain amount…in ten years of workin’ there he’d only been robbed three times…all at gun point…somethin’ made him hold onto that job…somethin’…

maybe he was too lazy to go out and find another job…perhaps he was completely satisfied with the status quo…makin’ just a little more than minimum wage…all the free slushies he could drink though…he’d mix ’em with vodka and take breath mints throughout the night…’case his boss happened to wander in…

switched over to coffee just ‘fore morn…used lots of cream and sugar…he’d go through three pots before Sunrise…helped himself to a couple of Krispy Kreme’s as well…half drunk became a full sugar rush ‘fore he knew it…the things he’d do to get through the night…

but now he stood there at the sink downin’ shots of tequila…a forty year old man whose body had taken a beating…lived off of naps…never could get a full eight hours of sleep…spent his days drinkin’ and playin’ video games while Buck Owens played in the background…this was his life…

he’d had other jobs in the past…a college degree in History…at one time he taught high school…but he couldn’t stick with that…same way he couldn’t stick to marriage…it all looked good on paper…but it wasn’t him…he had a different agenda…pretty much just wanted to be kept alone…liked bein’ all by himself…’least that’s what he said…what he told his wife…she understood…said she’d expected it all along…knew she could never make him happy…why even try…

his true love was the bottle…more than anything in the world he loved the bottle…vodka…tequila…gin…whiskey…didn’t matter…he consumed all spirits…he was fully possessed…and that’s all that mattered to him…all he ever wanted…kept away from love…warmth of the human touch…just bottles of dreams…bottles of dreams…sometimes that’s all some people ever need…that’s what he figured…