dmseay

What time did you get in last night? she asked as she poured coffee for herself. He lit up a cigarette. Placed the match in the ashtray. I said, what time did you get in last night? His wrinkled lips took in a drag. Finger tips had burn marks on them. I’ll tell you what time you got in, she pulled a chair out from the table and had a seat. Heard the dog barking around two. I know it was two ’cause I looked over at the clock. Then I heard the door open. Heard you stumbling around. Jingling your keys. Tripping over the door mat. You tracked mud on the floor, she said.

Sorry ’bout that.

Whatever. I’ll clean it up. Just part of what I do ’round here, she stirred her coffee. You think there’s ever going to be a time when you don’t go out? You stay home? You’re out every night of the week. Always coming home at odd hours.

I get off at eleven. I like to wind down.

You like to get drunk is what you like to do. I’ve heard stories. Heard about how you flirt with girls half your age. Making a fool of yourself is what you’re doing.

I do no such thing, he said with a grin. I do no such thing. They come on to me. I don’t go after them.

Must be your astonishing good looks. Or, your charm, she got up and sat in his lap. Placed her arms around his neck. What am I going to do with you? he shrugged his shoulders. What am I going to do with you?

White barns. Trees blooming on the first day of May. Fields tilled. Farm equipment for sale. And semis race each other. A pond in a yard. Acres and acres of land. Rain is coming down.

I ride on 30 across Indiana. Tail lights shine brightly, reflecting off the wet pavement. A cigarette is tossed out of a truck. Its orange tip bounces on the road briefly before fizzling out. A sign in bold letters states that JESUS IS LORD. It’s getting dark.

Emergency lights on. A car pulled off the road. A boy pissing in the weeds. Dad stands beside him. Windows rolled down. A whole family encourages the kid. A Peterbilt honks.

I’ve traveled this road a hundred times. Just like I’ve driven on 80 stretching across Chicago, 69 going down to Indy, 55 on my way to Memphis. I -95 from D.C. to Maine is a sight to behold. This is a big country. I never tire of it. Do you?

He sat inside, watching tree limbs sway in the wind. Saw an American flag flapping in the breeze. Looked at semis shaking as they drove down 41. A rabbit chased a mole.

The television wasn’t coming in. Just blurred lines with gray snow. Turned on the radio; nothing coming in. Just fuzz. Dog tied to a tree barked.

Hail came down. Hard balls of ice. Baseballs being thrown down from God, he thought. He’s trying to tell us something. Like, maybe it’s time, the man whispered.

He’d been waiting for the end of the world for a while. Stocked up on canned beans and chipped beef. Had cases of water in the garage. Opened a beer as he looked on. Watching a funnel cloud touch down in the north. Sweeping across fields of soy beans and corn. Tearing trailers apart. This is God’s wrath, he said.

And, like that, it was over. He was untouched. Everything around him destroyed. Cars turned over. Debris everywhere. People crying out to God and Lord Jesus.

We’re left, he said. We’re left here on earth. Satan is among us, he called out. Satan is here.

On the radio, a song was playing. Stand By Your Man by Tammy Wynette.

Dogs barked next door. You couldn’t see them in the dark. It was just this ongoing barking. Then, there’d be silence for a little while, followed by more barking. Two dogs held in by a rusty chain link fence. Tied to a post in the ground. They were really making a ruckus.

Birds began singing as the sun approached. They sang loudly, joyfully. Dogs began to growl.

He got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. Drew the blinds back and saw a man pull up next door in an old truck. He’d never seen this truck before. The man, short and squatty, carried a shot gun. The dogs barked more.

The old man turned around for a second and heard gun shots. The dogs quit barking. He saw the shooter bang on the front door with his heavy foot; kicking at it. He decided to call 911. The door was opened. Shots were fired. Birds were still singing.

Squad cars pulled up too late. Red and blue lights made a circular motion. Sirens were turned off. A woman came to the door with blood all over her long tee shirt. She was crying and carrying on. Yellow tape was placed on the door that said, CRIME SCENE. DO NOT CROSS.

Birds really sang a chorus that morning. The sun shined on the dew. The old man just kept looking next door. Couldn’t figure out what happened. There’s evil in this world, he whispered. Pure evil.

Stop.

What?

You know what.

No. I don’t. I’m sitting. Sitting here. Minding my own business. Doing nothing.

Just stop. There was silence for two minutes. She lit a cigarette and turned to him again. How does it feel?

What?

What I’m doing. This thing I’m doing to you.

You’re not doing anything.

But, I am. The same thing you were doing to me, she stopped talking. He stared out the train window. Trees went by. Old buildings in small towns. Debris out in the streets. They both looked out the window. Then she, sitting across from him, looked at him again. There sure is a lot to see, she said. This is my first time on a train.

Oh, he turned to her.

Don’t do that.

What?

You know what. Think I look funny? she asked. You keep staring at me. Don’t look at me.

You were talking to me.

Yes. Yes, I was. I need a drink. Maybe that would calm me down. Do you want to join me?

He looked out the window. Saw cars lined up. Dodge, Fords, pickups, station wagons, a Pinto. No, he said. He pointed to outside.

Fine. Maybe you could see about sitting somewhere else while I’m away.

Maybe. Just maybe.

You don’t have to be condescending, she walked away. He continued looking at America.

Do you hear them?

Who?

The birds. They’ve come back. Nests are being made. Different colored eggs will fill them. Chicks will chirp while mothers sing. It’s really quite something. They fly south and then fly back. Like senior citizens.

I wonder where they go. Arkansas, Texas, Florida, Alabama. How far south do they go? We should follow them sometime, Grandpa. Get in the truck and chase them.

Can’t chase birds. Too fast. Fly too high.

We could pretend. Imagine that we’re following them. The same way we pretend that grandma’s in heaven.

You think that’s pretend?

Sam’s mom says it is. But, what does she know?

What do you think?

I think she’s in heaven. All good people go to heaven.

Right.

We should chase birds, Grandpa.

Yes. We should chase birds.

Don’t force anything, he said. Let it come naturally. If you have to think about it, then it’ll come out wrong, the old man said. That’s the problem; too much forcing. Trying to put a circle in a square. It just doesn’t work, he told the younger man seated next to him. The harder you try, the worse it gets, he motioned for the bartender to set up another round. There’s nothing wrong with hard work. It’s just when the hard work doesn’t work, you gotta a problem, he downed his whiskey, tapped the shot glass, and motioned for another.

The young man looked at the old man’s hands. Wrinkled and lined. Calloused. Black underneath nails. He laughed.

What’s so funny?

Your hands, the kid said. All they’ve ever known was forced work. Look at mine, he stuck out his hands, fingertips pointing to the sky. These hands are clean. Never had a scratch. They’re pure white. The nails evenly trimmed. I’ve never had to force anything. Smooth, he said. Notice how my ring slides off and on. No forcing. No forcing.

I see, the old man grabbed the kid’s hands. Things have come easy for you. Not a matter of skill or brains. Just luck. There will come a time when you’ll think you have to force. And you’ll get nervous. But, don’t.

Have you forced? Am I right about that?

Look at me, the old man said. What do you think? You learn as you get older.

He sat in his car, looking at Christmas lights in April. Red, orange, green, yellow glowing in the pitch black of the trailer park.

Another beer was pulled from his six-pack. He felt the coldness in his hand as he drank. Sweat dripping off the can.

The old man noticed how the lights sparkled and flashed on and off. It gave him peace. He didn’t question why they hadn’t taken them down. He was thankful.

He crushed the beer can in his hand and tossed it out the window amongst the other debris; candy bar wrappers, used condoms, burned out Roman candles that lay there. Put the car in drive and took off. Headed back home. It was two o’clock in the morning.

Waste of time. All this talk. Going back and forth over what? Opinions. That’s all there is. Just opinions. Most of the time, we don’t even know what we’re saying. Just talk to hear ourselves talk. Our own voices. No listening. Words. Babble, he said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it. What time is it?

There’s a clock above the bar, the young man told him.

I don’t want to look at the clock. I’m asking you. Why do you have to be such a smack?

It’s ten o’clock. Time for you to go home and go to bed, he took a drink of his beer. People don’t like you. I’ve seen you before in here. You start trouble. Patrons don’t like you. The bartender doesn’t like you. Nobody does. And yet, you come in here. Haven’t they thrown you out a couple of times? the old man looked at him. Yes, I’m talking to you. You come in here like you’re some kind of royalty. A king. Except you don’t have any followers. No country, the kid said. What are you in exile? the old man laughed.

You should respect your elders. one of these days we’ll all be gone. And you’ll be stuck with rainbow flags and cute transexuals selling beer. I’m out of here. I’m gone. You remember what I said, the old man took one last drink and walked out the door.

Who was that? the young man asked the bartender. I’ve seen him before, but who is that? Where does he get off? Just who does he think he is?

A dinosaur.

Did you mean to kill him?

I don’t know. It all happened so fast. He was coming at me with his arms outstretched. Like he was Frankenstein. He had some look in his eye. A mean look. But, he had his arms open. Maybe he wanted to give me a hug. I don’t know. It all happened really fast, she said to the cop.

You think maybe he was trying to hug you? Has he tried to hug you in the past like that?

How do you mean?

Coming at you. Arms outstretched. A mean look in his eye. Did he say anything?

No. He was silent. Breathing heavy. He was a smoker. Went through about two packs a day. He always had a gurgle in his throat. Made noises. But he wasn’t saying anything.

How’d it all start?

He came home late. Later than usual. I could tell he’d been drinking. Kind of dodged and weaved through the trailer. I was sitting in the front room watching TV. Some kind of show about animals. How they protect their young. Keep them safe. But then other animals come and try to kill them. Rape the mom. Declare themeslves king, the cop listened. Took a drink of coffee. Those animals are real headstrong. Wanting to kill. Wanting to protect, she said.

Did he come to you, or did you go to him?

He came over to me. Smelling of alcohol.

Where was the gun?

Had it beside me on the stand.

And you were waiting for him to come home?

Yeah.

Why’d you have the gun there?

Always have the gun next to me when he’s gone. Lots of crime in that part of town.

Yeah. I know.

Those animals killed those babies and raped that mother. That was hard to watch. But something made me want to watch it, she tapped her finger on the table. He got in between the TV and me, and he would not move. Just stood there with his arms outstretched. Like some animal, she tapped faster on the table. So. I killed him.