dmseay

People think you’re crazy, she said. They think you lost it. A friend told me you were slipping. I stuck up for you. Told her you’ve never been sharper.

I don’t know, he spoke into the phone. Been thinking lately that none of this matters, he said. Life’s just kind of a dream. You’re going along, and one day, you wake up. That’s when you start realizing that none of this is real. Painted pictures. All life is painted pictures.

You’re talking metaphorically, she said, lit a cigarette, and blew out smoke. Anytime a person talks metaphorically, they’re talking crazy. This is what folks are saying. Telling me you’re speaking in riddles. She started pacing the kitchen.

I talk the way I talk, he yelled.

Hey. Don’t get angry with me. I’m not the one. Trying to help you. Trying to make sense of it all.  You want help? I’ll help you. You don’t? I won’t. 

I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m fine. He slammed the phone down.  He sat in the recliner and stared at the ceiling. Looked at a wooden beam and wondered if it was strong enough.

The phone rang and rang. It wouldn’t stop ringing. He laid the receiver on the end table.

Hello. Hello. Hello.

A truck door slams. Tree limbs with beads of ice on them. Nothing’s in bloom. It’s all dead still. Brown grass, withered rose bushes, no life in the garden. He sits inside his trailer home and hears a knock on the door.

Open up Levi, the man says. Come on now. Open up. It’s freezing out here, his voice raised.

I’m coming. Hold your horses. Levi puts out his cigarette in a Folgers coffee can with brown water in the bottom of it; floating butts.

What took you so long? the man asks.

Oh. It’s you.

Gonna invite me in?

I suppose.

The man enters the trailer. Various pictures of naked women are up on the wall. A stack of Hustlers in the corner. A couch that’s seen better days.

Can I have a seat?

Make yourself at home. You will, anyway, Levi says.

It’s about Joan.

What about her?

She wants to see you. The man folds his arms to keep warm.

She sent you to tell me that?

Yeah. Strange, ain’t it? My wife. Your ex-wife. Just kind of weird, I guess, says the man.

I don’t have much use for her, Levi  tells him. Our thing was done years ago. She hated me. I hated her. Marriage. You know the deal.

The man laughs. He pulls out a pack of Lucky Strikes and offers one to Levi. Levi takes it.

I figured you were getting low, the man says. You can keep the pack if you want.

Not my brand. But beggars can’t be choosers. Levi places the pack in his coat pocket.

Don’t you have any heat?

Didn’t pay the bill. Besides. It’s spring. 

Right, he smiles. She’s dying, Levi. 

That so?

Yeah. She is. She wants to talk to you. 

No can do, sir. My hands are clean.

You owe it to her, the man says.

I don’t owe her nothing.

All those times you cheated on her. She wants to get the air clear before she passes on.

I cheated one time. She thought I did a hundred times. No. I will not do it. I told her I was sorry years ago when it happened. Tell her I wish her good luck.

Alright. I will. I’ll tell her. I’m gonna leave now, Levi. You take care of yourself. Hear?

Sure. Let me ask you something?

Yeah?

Do you love her? I mean, really love her?

Does anybody really love anyone?

What is wrong with you? Ronnie asked. What are you waiting for? You gotta get in the ballgame. The clock is ticking. Soon, nothing will be left. Everything gone. No more opportunities. And then what? Eating at a shelter? Sleeping on the floor? This is not what I want to see happen to you, he said.

Leave me alone, Bobby told him. I’m staying right here.

I can’t fault you for that, Ronnie placed his hand on Bob’s shoulder. You can sit in the bar as much as you like. But soon your money is going to run out. Hear me? And you’ll be drunk, hungry, and tired. You’ll piss your pants cause you can’t find a public toilet. You’ll shit yourself.

Leave me alone, Ronnie. I’m warning you.

Ronnie reached into his pocket and fetched a ten spot. He placed the bill on the bar in front of Bobby.

Bobby held the money and looked at it. He clutched it in his fist and put it in his wallet. He smiled.

Today’s my lucky day.  

I’m done.

You’re done?

Yeah.

How do you know?

I feel it. This life is coming to an end.

Sure of that?

Yes. I believe so.

OK. What do you want?

Bottle of whiskey. A pack of smokes. 

Then no more? 

Nope. I’m done. 

I get it.

Tired. Sick of watching the news. It’s all moving so fast. One day, you’re twenty-five, and next, you’re approaching sixty. I never had time.

For what?

To catch up. Always lagged behind. 

I see.

My bones hurt. I’m weak. Can’t  breathe. Where’s my Marlboros?

Here.

Light one for me.

He lit his friend’s cigarette. Stood over him. Looked outside. A blackbird sat on the window frame, staring in. He then flapped his wings and flew away.

 

It’s early.

Couldn’t sleep.

Something on your mind?

Yes. Always, she said. I’m always thinking of her. That woman.

You have to let things go, he told her.

Not this.

Been a long time ago. Years.

Right.

Maybe you should go back on that medicine.

I don’t need any medicine.

What do you need?

Not sure. She walked over to the counter and shoveled coffee into the percolator.

It wasn’t all my fault, you know.

Mine too, I guess.

Damn right.

These things happen.

Yeah.

Nothing good comes from it. Nothing. Just three hurt people. Least, that’s what I think. She got out the cream and sugar.

Yes. I was hurt. Everybody’s at fault here, he said. No getting around it.

You never said you were sorry.

I’ve said it a thousand times.

Say it now.

I’m sorry. Are you sorry?

For not being much of a wife? Whatever that means? Yeah. Sure. She got down cups and poured coffee into each one. They sat and looked at each other. The two quietly drank their coffee.

I never finished, he said. Came close. Thought I would. But no. Never done. He lit a cigarette. It’s not easy, he told him. At first, you think it’ll be easy, then midway through it gets tougher, harder to make a move. You’re stuck. He sucked on a beer.

What do you mean? his friend asked.  How difficult could it be, Dwayne? Either you hold the ropes, or she does. Or both of you hold them. Dwayne started laughing.

You don’t know anything about women. Do you, Ricky? You talk in fantasy terms. Something you’d hear on television. A talk show. Maybe a sitcom.  They want it two ways. Either you’re in charge, or they are. And if you’re not in charge, then it’s hell.

Yeah. I could see that. Ricky adjusted his hat and ordered two more shots and beers. Maybe this ain’t for me to say, but then again.

Well. Come on with it.

Maybe you should have held on a little longer. Tried to work things out. Is it too late?

It’s always too late. Dwayne took a long drink of beer and followed it with his shot. One of these days, you’ll be in the cage. Fighting to get out. Or sitting in a corner. Suffering. 

Nah. Not me. I see the effects it has on men.

Don’t you get lonely? Ricky shook his head slowly. I know I do.

Dark room. Water heater rumbles. Cats crawl over his hands.

Sleeping on an old couch, worn in over time, foam coming through holes. His head sweats. Brown locks of hair soaking wet. He is naked. 

Newspapers on the tile floor covering cat vomit. Hairballs and too much water. The litter box is overfilled. Orange and black cats asleep on his belly. Claw marks on his chest next to a tattoo of a Polynesian girl outlined in green. His toenails are long and yellow.

A half empty bottle of vodka sits beside the couch. The lid is off. There’s a receipt on the coffee table. Eggs, $4.29. Bologna, $3.50. Honey Wheat bread, $0.99. Skol Vodka, $8.99. A chewed piece of gum is wadded up in a silver wrapper. The cats meow.

What do you want? he asks. Are you hungry? The cats circle his bare feet. He opens a can of tuna and dumps it in a metal bowl. There you go, he tells them. Both wait their turn to eat. No fighting.

He scratches himself and looks at his naked body in the mirror. So this is what it’s come to. He laughs. And goes back to sleep. 

Why is he looking at me? Staring at me. Undressing me with every sip that he takes. Is he thinking that I’m not noticing?

He’s like a hawk. Flying above me. Ready to scoop me up like a field mouse. He’s swirling around the room. Wings expanded. Mouth open. His fingers are claws. Grinning. Laughing. He’s ready to pounce.

Should I make my run? Leave him behind? He’ll only come after me. Chasing me all around town until I can’t move. That’s what he wants.

On the count of three. One, take a step towards the door. Two, get your pepper spray ready. Three, walk swiftly to the car.

I know his type. We’ve played this game before.

Chocolate bar wrappers on the floor. Empty cans of beer on a table. Dirty dishes piled high. An overflowing trashcan sits in the corner. Small black and white TV plugged into a loose socket. Lines run across the screen in silence.

He’d lay in bed, hummed a Bob Seger song about two teens in a cornfield, looked at pictures on walls, Polaroids he’d pinned up with names and dates on the back of them. He stopped and took one down, held it in his hand.

Pretty, he said. Real pretty.

She was a blonde dancer who worked at a strip club out by the truckstops. On paydays, he spent all his cash on her, tipped her fives and tens. She sat on his lap and played with his hair. He lapped it up like a dog getting a bone. Like a kid with an ice cream cone. He sat there for hours till closing time. You could say he was a fixture.

Her name was Irene. She had dreams of being a model. The girl wanted to go out West to California. Every night, she asked truckers what direction they were going. Most were heading to Chicago or Detroit. Some to Cleveland and St. Louis. But no straight shots to Los Angeles. She knew what she had to do; dance her way across America. Stopping in towns and cities on the western route till she got there.

Hotels and motels. Strip bars and adult bookstores. Talked to men behind glass about their fantasies and wearing different colored wigs. She had a dream. Dreams can’t be stopped till a noise wakes you up. She never woke up.

He stopped going to the strip club. He just came home after working at the car- wash. Dreamt about her at night. Fell asleep while staring at her picture. He never woke up, either.

The two of them would lie in bed a thousand miles away from each other just dreaming. Dreaming.

I’m not waiting, he said. Sitting around till you’re ready to go. Always taking your time, he yelled down the hall.

Give me a few, will you. I want to look real pretty for you, she patted her face with powder.

Well, alright. When you come out, I want you to look like Dawn Wells, he said. 

Who? 

Mary Ann. The woman on Gilligan’s Island.

Oh. I see. Mary Ann. Every man wants Mary Ann.

Right.

That’s cause they’re scared of Ginger. Too sexual for them.

Have you been taking gender studies at the junior college again?

Just something I’ve noticed over the years. And besides. Am I not good enough for you?

I didn’t say that.

You did. In a way.

Right.

Where you taking me to?

Applebee’s.  Get one of those fancy drinks and a plate of ribs if you want. Payday, you know.

Yeah. She walked out of the bedroom to the living room and twirled her white cotton dress. You like? she asked.

He smiled. Just like Mary Ann.