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Why?

Not sure. Could be a million things. Million reasons. I’m just not sure, he said.

Where you heading?

I don’t know, Tom responded. Never know. Just hitch a ride and take off, he sipped his coffee. One time, I got a lift clear out to the East Coast. Didn’t talk to the driver much. He said he just liked the company. Someone being there, he lit a cigarette. And I knew what he meant.

Right, Sonny responded. I get that.

Like sometimes, I don’t want to hear a woman’s voice. I just want her next to me.

Yeah.

Well, this guy didn’t want to hear me. Just have me there in that old station wagon. Playing with the radio. Listening to oldies throughout the night. And the next day. And the day after that.

Where’d he pick you up? Sonny asked.

Out in New Mexico. Albuquerque.

That’s a long drive.

Yeah. We got to New York two and a half days later. He dropped me off in Times Square. All those people. Had a hundred to my name, Tom told him. Went and got a slice of pizza for a buck.

Yeah? How long were you there?

Couple of months. Then I headed south to Philadelphia with a guy who never stopped talking, he said. We talked about politics and movies. TV shows. He never turned on the radio. Kept it off. We just talked.

Yeah. I know the type. I’m going to Arkansas. 

Never been there.

You want a ride?

Sure.

You want some of this? he asked. I’ll give you a bit. Let me heat it up for you. It won’t take but thirty seconds. Grab a roll while you’re waiting. There’s bear claws, cinnamon rolls, long johns. Guy from the bakery dropped the box off this morning. Take your pick, he offered. Need cream and sugar?

Cream, the old man told him. Got any of those flavored kinds. French vanilla. I like that.

Let me see. Irish cream, Dutch chocolate,  pumpkin spice. Here, French vanilla. 

Wait. You got pumpkin spice?

Yeah.

I’ll take that. Even though it’s August.

Take what you want, the owner handed him a bowl filled with tiny creamers.

August. We’re rushing seasons a bit, aren’t we.

I suppose. What kind of roll do you want?

Bear claw will be fine.

One bear claw, he served it on a plate. Poured more coffee. You get tired of life, don’t you? the old man looked out the window at cars as they drove by in the dark. Headlights shone into the diner.

I do, the old timer said. I do.

Curious?

About?

What’s on the other side. If church is right. Heaven and hell. All that stuff.

What do you think?

Not sure. At one time, I thought I knew. Not anymore. 

I’ve been coming here for twenty-five years, he said. You’ve been here for ten. Used to have this talk with the old owner.

Hank?

Yeah. Right before he died. Said he was going to heaven. Then he took a gun out and shot himself right in front of me. Damndest thing I’ve ever seen.

Yep.

I saw some strange shit in Korea, but nothing like that.

I’ll bet.

Place was closed for a year, a year and a half.

I remember. Bet it was a bitch to clean up.

I’ll bet, said the old customer. There was silence. The old man kept watching traffic go by.

You want more coffee?

Sure.

Where are you going? he asked.

Nowhere in particular. Maybe downtown for a few things, she said.

You’re always leaving at this time. Monday through Friday. Don’t come home till dark. 

It’s always something.  Milk. Sugar. Your six-pack of Miller. We’re always out of something. 

Can I go with you?

I’ll be right back.

You always say that. Then, hours later, you walk through the door. Smiling. Like you met your lover. 

I’m just happy to see you. 

Right. 

He fell asleep in the recliner. The television was on. Tom Snyder talking about Charles Manson. Asking the prosecutor questions about Mason’s state of mind. Knowing he’d never be free. Talked about Squeaky and the rest of the California crew, Sharon Tate, and the grizzly murder scene. It was two in the morning.

She snuck in through the backdoor and went straight to the laundry room where she took her clothes off that smelled of cigarettes and air freshener. Walked through the house naked. Saw Snyder on the TV.

She felt guilty.

Open. Nothing is closed off. All is possible. You believe that, don’t you? We’re all given this chance in life, he said. An opportunity. But you have to gamble. Stand at the blackjack table and eventually show your cards. This is what the rich and famous do, he told his son. They throw the dice. They’re not worried about the outcome. You know why? kid shook his head. Because they will get back up if they’re knocked down, the father smiled. A rooster crowed.

He’s starting his day, dad said. Waking all of us up. Mom will put a pot of coffee on soon. Don’t tell her what we talked about. She wouldn’t understand. The old man looked out the window of the trailer. Saw the lined up mailboxes, porchlights on, a dog chained to a tree. He looked at his son. Sorry I didn’t give you more, he said. But you gotta earn it. Just like I did. I didn’t have a dime when I came to this town. Not a cent to my name, he told him. Slept under bridges, in woods, rummaged through trash. And I never gave up. Took any work I could find, the rooster crowed again. Saved, cause that’s what you’re supposed to do. Didn’t waste it on women.

Until mom came along, the boy said.

I didn’t chase them around. She came to me.

Where did you two meet?

In church. We were both godly people. Never lost the faith.

Yeah, the boy lit a cigarette from dad’s pack on the table. You don’t mind, do you?

No. Not at all.

All that about not giving up, the boy looked around the trailer home. Saw the TV in the corner. A boom box on the shelf with cassette tapes next to it. Opened a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. You don’t mind? Right? the boy laughed. The old man slowly shook his head. Kid grabbed two glasses from another cabinet. Juice glasses with Mickey Mouse and Goofy on them. He poured them full. Here’s to all you’ve attained, Daddy.  He lifted his glass. Come on now. Lift your glass old man. To not giving up, he  laughed and slammed the whiskey down, poured himself another.

Is this some kind of joke?

Nooooo. Look around you. You rolled the dice old man.

Right. You’ll learn one of these days how tough it is out there. I never gave up, boy. I never gave up. 

Yeah. You just settled.

Salt and pepper shakers half filled. A bottle of ketchup.Waitress asks, you want any hot sauce ?

Names and numbers on bathroom stalls. Paper towels litter the floor. Sinks are wet. Water soaks into a sweatshirt when bending over to wash his hands. Pants are wet, too.

Tables wiped clean and booths swept under. Fries, pieces of bacon, bits of toast, empty packs of marmalade, wind up in a dust pan carried by a Mexican who doesn’t speak English.White men wearing MAGA hats; tee-shirts barely covering their hairy bellies.Women, far away, are waiting on them. 

Speakers blare out a country song. Someone singing about losing a loved one, heartache, and despair. More sugar is poured into coffee.

And I sit here in this torn leather seat reading Kerouac; tales of Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty. Wishing I had money, honey. Wishing I had a home.

What did you see? she asked.

Not sure, he said. The dark is hollow. Nothing there. At least that’s what I always believed.

See things differently now?

Could be my mind is playing tricks on me. Maybe I was talking to myself. As you get older, you do that more and more, he told her.

As you get older, you go crazy? Is that what you’re saying? she ran her hands through his thick gray hair.

Maybe. Yeah. I guess I am. There’s no way I was talking to a ghost, he said.

Why’s that?

I don’t believe in them.

So you had a full-on conversation with yourself ?

Must have. Do you believe in ghosts?

I believe in paying rent, she laughed.

Yeah. I put the money on the dresser.

To answer your question. Yes. I believe in spirits. I believe they walk among us, she rubbed his shoulders.

Huh. Never thought about it.

What did the spirit say?

Said she was looking out for me. Told me I was safe.

Safe from what?

Harm. Forecasted a quiet, peaceful death for me.

I hope not too soon, she walked over to the dresser and placed his dollars in her purse.

You have to go?

Yes. Next week?

Sure.  

I’m leaving, he said. Not sure where. Flip a coin, I guess.

Aren’t you getting too old for this? she asked. There’s only so much a body can take. In and out of shelters. Living like a vagabond. How much money you got?

A little.

A hundred? Two hundred?

About five. Depends on the bus ticket.

She shook her head, lit a cigarette. I thought this would be your final resting place, she said. And here you go again. Wandering off to nowhere, she offered a smoke to him. She lit it. He nodded.  I give up. Do me a favor. Don’t come back. You hear me? Can’t take it anymore.

At least I’m telling you. Could’ve just taken off in the middle of the night.

I suppose. She paused. Got a quarter on you?

Yeah.

Well…flip that thing.

We’re not young anymore, he said. Joints hurt. Teeth yellow. Losing hair. I guess it’s all part of the process, the old man told his wife.

What process is that? she asked.

Getting old. Getting on in years.

We’re not that old. Seventy-five is not bad.

Soon I won’t be able to drive. They’ll take my license away, he looked at her.

You’re a good driver. They won’t do that.

About ten years from now.

A lot can happen in ten years, she said.

Yes. We could be dead.

Could be. We could die tomorrow.  It’s just a matter of time, I guess.

Yeah.

It’s been a good life. With you, she said. She placed her hand in his. It’s been good.

Do you remember when you left me? I stood there out in the cold. Yelling at you to turn around. You just kept driving. Kept going. I watched the Pontiac drive away with you in it. Going a hundred miles a minute. 

Yeah, she laughed.

Why did you do that?

I was mad. Mad about that girl you were seeing.

I wasn’t seeing any girl.

You still deny it.

On the holy Bible, I deny it.

Easy to do. Easy to lie.

Not easy to you.

I still love you. I’m a fool, I guess. 

Yes. I love you too. 

Did you ever cheat on me?

Had lunch with a fellow once. A bottle of wine. No. I never cheated on you.

I see.

But, there’s always a first, she laughed.

Right.

We’ve known each other a lifetime.  There’s bound to be some mistakes. 

Yes. Bound to be.

They sat in the quiet of the evening, listening to birds sing. Watching weeds sway in the wind;  thoughts to themselves. Neither confessing the mistakes of a lifetime.

 

Because nothing is there. Nothing. We live in this shopping mall Mcmansion suburbia type of lifestyle, but nothing exists, he said. It’s all imagination, a dream. One day, you wake up, he rolled a cigarette with his rough hand. And you’re on the other side.

What’s on the other side? he asked.

Don’t know. I’ve never been. Came close a couple of times. Car accidents, pills. But never been, he told him. Once, when I was a kid, I tried. Swallowed a bottle of painkillers. Taken away in an ambulance. I watched outside the ambulance, from up above, riding to the hospital. Some would call that the third eye. Others would say I was crazy. But I was almost there. Almost on the other side. I think, he drank his coffee. What do you think?

His friend shook his head in disbelief. You never told me that before. Never said you tried to kill yourself. Crazy man.

Yeah. Crazy. 

Two tulips in a vase. Reflection of a cactus in a mirror.  A wooden crate with the words Product Of Holland printed on it. A broom stands in the corner. Fan blades turn overhead. They sit there waiting.

Did he say he was coming?

He did.

Are you sure of that?

Yes.

Pete looked at his watch while Sam got up and began to pace the warped floors.

Maybe he meant the next day, Pete said. Or the day after that. You could’ve got it wrong. You’ve been wrong before.

When? When was I wrong?

Can’t say particularly. But I know you were. These things happen. People make mistakes. 

He said he’d be here, Sam told him.

OK.

Hours passed. Pete stared out the window. Sam remained on the couch. Springs tore the cushions. A dog barked outside.

I think he’s here.

Get away from the window. Don’t crowd him. Don’t jump all over him when he walks through the door. A man like him needs space. Needs to think. Plan. Just don’t act like a school girl. OK.

Pete walked over to Sam. Is that what you think of me? A school girl? Is that what you think.

I’m just saying.

You better think again.

Look. There’s a pecking order here. There’s him at the head. Then me as second lieutenant. And you, a soldier , who carries out our orders. Capeche?

No, it is not capeche. Since when we’re you my boss?

Since he said so.

He said so?

Yes.

I see.

Just sit down and wait.

Wait?

That’s all we can do.