dmseay

He looked and saw nothing. Darkness. Out lines of window frames. A sliding glass door. Birds chirped away in the backyard. Another hour before sunrise. Streetlights shined a blue and yellowish color.

It was peaceful. He had been up all night wondering around the trailer park. Dogs barked. Cats ran and hid. The boy kicked a can down the street. Saw trash cans overfilled. Heard trucks off in the distance. Highway 30 was close by. A train ran through town. He had options.

The old man was asleep. Passed out early that night. A can of Miller High Life slipped through his hand and made a mess on the carpet. He just kept on sleeping. The boy picked it up quickly and drank what was left. Just a slurp. He opened another. The teen knew the old man had lost count.

Boy must’ve walked around the trailer park for hours. He was trying to decide whether to leave or not. There was nothing much to stay for. Mom had died a few years ago. The old man was at death’s door. His cat ran away. Why couldn’t he, he thought. What was holding him back? The boy had a little cash from working at the Kroger store. Stocking cans and cleaning aisles. Smoking cigarettes out back and talking smack. His restlessness was getting to him.

Boy went back inside his trailer. The TV was still on. The sound was down. Just Sheriff Matt Dillon in Gunsmoke was on. Walking through town. Looking for bad guys. Women in petticoats. Saloons filled with drunks and gamblers.

And then it hit him. He’d go out to Vegas. Take his money and play the slots. And when he won, just walk away. Start a new life. That’s what he wanted. A new life.

Pop was in a dreamlike state. Blurry eyed, he woke up in a haze. There was a note on the coffee table. His bare feet squished on the wet carpet. The note said, I’m gone. Adios.

The old man read it and laughed. He took another beer from the fridge and whispered, What a strange boy. Good luck.

They sat in the bar watching Wheel Of Fortune on television up in a corner close to the drop ceiling. Vanna turned letters. Pat made some witty remark. The contestant spun on Bankrupt, leaving him with nothing. He was a service man. All dressed up in his Air Force uniform from Lexington, Tennessee. The old lady thought he was cute. Her husband just ordered another beer. He shook some salt in it and watched the foamy head rise. She kept on drinking gin and tonics.

Isn’t that a shame, she said. A military man goes broke on Wheel Of Fortune. It’s bad enough he has to go fight a war,she shook her head. A gray hair fell to the bar.

He ain’t got no war to fight in, the old man said. We’re not at war right now, he laughed. Next you’re going to tell me he was drafted, he pulled out a comb and slicked his greasy salt and pepper hair back.

Well, he’s in the service isn’t he? You’re always saying we’re fighting somebody somewhere, she slurped her drink.

Not him. I’m talking about Special Operatives. Navy Seals. I’m talking about men who don’t have time for Wheel Of Fortune, he stated. They’re probably killing somebody right now as we speak, he tipped his stein to a flag on the wall above the mirror.

There they looked at each other in the glass. Him, with lines in his face. Her, with drawn on black eye brows. They just stared for a moment.

Do you still find me attractive? she asked. He sat still. I found this book at the library on senior sex. Said couples in nursing homes were still doing it, she smiled. He took another drink of beer. Said couples could be happy forever. What do you think about that? she asked.

I think I need another beer.

He had a dream. Fields. Wide open fields. No corn in them. Or, soy beans. Just flat lands.

And, she was dancing barefoot in the plowed up dirt. She was spreading seeds with her bare hands. Hoping that soon they’d sprout.

He watched her in this dream. This strawberry blonde with fare skin in a paisley sun dress. She was smiling at him. Laughing as she danced, skipped to music in her head. She’d hum along to it.

She told him all was forgiven. His sins against her turned into dust. They were no longer alive. They’d gone to the other side where fields of gold rolled on forever and ever.

She reached out for him. But, he couldn’t move. His guilt weighed him down. Then she danced away. He just watched. Just watched. That’s all he could do.

There’s no sense in looking off into the distance. You have to live in the here and now. Nobody knows what the future will bring. Could be good . Could be bad. You could live it up today and die tomorrow. Some people. That’s all they plan on is dying tomorrow. Their present day is filled with nothing. Eating and sleeping. Watching television. Going to a job they hate. Some assembly line where they screw in bolts all day long. Or, making Happy Meals for the populas at large.

Very few people get it right. This life. Vacations, summer homes, grand kids, Saturday night cookouts. A cocktail makes the time go faster. To drink and speed through life. Or, perhaps slow it down a bit. Taking time to enjoy. These few. These lucky few.

I look out upon nothing. No sun. Not a cloud nor a blue sky. Staring at cream colored walls. Shut off from the outdoors. Living on coffee and creamer. A slice of wheat bread. No mortadella. Not even a slice of bologna. A spoonful of peanut butter. All resources have been spent. And the walls feel like they’re coming closer. A little too close. I want to push them away, but, they won’t budge. Is it my imagination, or, are they standing still?

Thunder is heard. Soon the sins of many will be washed away. And I wait here inside. Waiting. For what I do not know.

Blinds are drawn. It’s dark in here. And quiet. Very, very quiet. The thunder is timed. It comes and goes every few minutes. Lasting only as long as God allows.

Rain hits the roof. A new noise. It eases the mind. Perhaps this is paradise. As good as it gets. I’m OK with that. I’m OK.

He spoke a different language. Some kind of broken English. Always talked about simple math problems; adding, subtraction. Never talked in the abstract. Just simple two plus two equations. Sometimes he’d add one plus one, or, one minus one, but for the most part he said two plus two equals four over and over. He was like a broken record.

And then he’d count to ten. Real fast. Like he was playing hide and go seek. He thought he was communicating. Speaking in some kind of Esperanto. Nothing could be further from the truth. He just didn’t know any other words. Never learned his alphabet.

When he wasn’t adding, or, subtracting, the boy would be silent. Sitting in a chair watching television with the sound off. Looking at pictures on the screen. Sometimes his mother would bring him a sandwich. He’d count the slices of bread. Then he would take a piece of lunch meat off and subtract. Out loud. His mom would tell him what a good boy he was. And, how smart he was. He’d grin from ear to ear.

One day he got real mad. Frustrated at life. He began counting to ten over and over again. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Just kept repeating himself. This drove his mother crazy. She pleaded with the boy to stop, but, he kept on saying numbers. Mom turned off the television. He began to cry as he counted. It was all like some hypnotic drug he was addicted to. Counting and television. Tension grew. Mother told him to shut-up. Shut-up, she said. I’ve had enough, she screamed. He kept on counting as she began to collect clothes and pack them in a suitcase. I’m leaving, she told him. Done with this, mom declared. And, then she was gone.

The boy sat there in silence. He never counted again.

So. What’re you going to do? Gonna just sit there? Get up and fight boy. Prove yourself. Show me what a big man you are, the old man said. You think you got something on me? Think you’re quicker than me? I might be a little shakey, but I still got my moves, he taunted the boy. You just sit there. Waiting for me to make the first move. I might just do that boy. I just might.

His brow was wet. There was no air-conditioning in the trailer. Windows were closed. The afternoon sun heated up that piece of tin like an oven. The boy’s beer can was sweating. He took some of the condensation and used it to wipe his forehead. The old man kept rattling on about how tough he was.

You should’ve seen me in my prime, the old man said. I was really something. Fast. I’d sneak a punch in before you even knew it. You think I’m something now? Back then I was really something. That was before you were born boy. Back before I got your momma pregnant in the back seat of a Chevy. She thought I was something too, he laughed.

The boy took a swig of beer. Placed his right hand in his vest. Pulled out a pistol and aimed it at the old man. He said, all you are is talk. That’s all you do. You just talk. And talk. And talk. Why don’t you shut up for once. Just one time I’d like to hear nothing. Maybe a dog in the distance. But, other than that, I don’t want to hear a God damned thing. Particularly you, he put his hand on the trigger.

Don’t be going crazy now boy, the old man said. Don’t be talkiing that way. And put that gun down. Now.

Two shots were fired. One to the head and the other to the heart. The old man laid there on the floor bleeding. There was no movement. No sounds.

I told you to be quiet.

There was never any love between them. Maybe at one time, in the beginning, but it was only a spark.

She was the first to say I love you. He responded by lighting a cigarette and nodding his head. Months later he said I love you too.

A ring was bought at the pawn shop downtown. Wasn’t a real diamond. Fake. Couldn’t afford the real thing. Seemed to be a pattern throughout his life. Not being able to afford things. They both struggled to keep a roof over their heads. A trailer on the south side of town. Out by the truck stop. The sound of semis would put them to sleep at night. Air brakes would wake them up.

Their lives were a routine. Come home after a long day and watch crime shows on television. Shows about murders and kidnappings. Cop shows where men are drug out of their homes at night wearing underwear and saying they were innocent. Baby’s momma crying in the door way.

They’d sit there and watch with a twelve pack between them. He’d drink ten and she would drink two. Then he would pass out in his recliner. She let him be. Another night of sleeping alone. There was no love between them.

And then you realize it. There’s no one left to talk to. You’ve alienated everyone. Old friends want nothing to do with you. Those heightened arguments you had were too much for them. The highs and lows were too much.

Running. Just running wild. Driving all over the place. One day in New England and then over night you wind up in Dixie somewhere at a rest area on I-95. And you’re yelling at no one. There’s no one left to yell at. That paranoia of everyone out to get you has done permanent damage. Bridges burned.

The high lasts for weeks, sometimes months. And then you crash. Burned out. A depression sets in. You realize what you’ve done. Sadness. Sheer sadness. There’s two options; end it, or, go to the hospital. These are the choices on a daily basis. Choose wisely.

Where’s mom?

She’s gone to heaven.

Sure about that?

She was a believer.

I think she doubts. Just like all of us. Maybe she went to the grocery store. There’s a special on chicken thighs. Boneless, skinless, chicken thighs. You ever heard of such a thing?

No. She’s gone to heaven.

What time did she leave?

I’m not sure of the official time. Could have been at 2:23 in the morning. I wasn’t here. I’m not sure.

Then how can you be precise about 2:23?

I just have a feeling. I found the body you know. Her body. Laying there in bed. There was a beer can on the night stand half full.

Sure that wasn’t your’s?

Yeah. I always finish mine. I never leave anything half full. I complete things. Tasks. Meals. Cans of beer. I think she downed a bunch of pills.

I’ll bet she’s at the car wash. The car is gone. I’ll bet she’s at the car wash. Or, maybe K-Mart. She likes blue light specials.

She’s gone to heaven I told you. You got a wild imagination. She is dead. Gone. I saw her with my own two eyes. Dead as a door nail.

She could’ve been asleep. People do sleep you know.

She wasn’t asleep.

Did you put your hand over her mouth?

You know when somebody’s dead. You just know it. You know when they’ve left you.

Jane’s. I’ll bet she’s at Aunt Jane’s house. Call over there. Find out. Go on. Call.

She never liked you. Used to talk behind your back.

Oh yeah? Well, she hates you too. Hates. Being in the here and now. Right now.

Where do you get these wild ideas? You think you know everything. You got a lot to learn boy. Mom’s gone. She went to heaven. Nothing you can do about that.

OK pop. She’s going to walk through that door any minute now and you are going to look like a fool.

How much you wanna bet?

Father and son waited up all night. Like believers waiting for Christ to come back. She never came.

They’re waiting. All of them. Wanting to see a glimpse of hope. Some kind of miracle. They look for signs. Symbols. A shadow on the wall. In a text that they read. A face in the water. His face. A white Jesus.

They’ve seen pictures of him. Paintings. Colorful images of him nailed to a cross. People down below at his feet. Blue eyes and a beard. A crown of thorns. Images of a white Jesus.

Perhaps they like the baby pictures the most. Wrapped in swaddling clothes. Away in a manger. Paintings of Mary holding him. The three wise men bringing gifts from far away. Following a star. Leading them to the white Jesus.

They’re waiting. Waiting. Looking for the white Jesus. The one they see at Christmas time. On Easter when they celebrate his resurrection. They’re waiting. They’re waiting.