dmseay

You’re drunk again, she said. Been out all night. I know where you go. Heard rumors. Stories about you. Stumbling all over town. That’s what some friends told me. Said we might have to do some intervention with you. Make you face up to your sins, she laughed. What do you think about that?

Bout what? 

Talking to us. Telling us you’re sorry for the way you been carrying on.

That so, he lit a cigarette. Way I been carrying on? I work. Bring home money. You spend it. You buy new clothes. Cosmetics. Said you want to look like one of those women on a magazine cover, he laughed. Started smoking Virginia Slims, I noticed. You’ve come a long way, baby, he began stroking her blonde hair and placed his hand under her chin. He bent down for a kiss. She slapped him. Hard. On the jaw. He just smiled.

Get out of here, she told him. You ain’t no good. Some kind of monster. What are you grinning at?

Nothing.

Go on. Get, she pulled the sheets up over her breasts. Just go.

Where you want me to go to?

I don’t care. Go back to the bar. I don’t care.

Bar’s closed, he said. She looked at the alarm clock. Closed two hours ago.

It’s four o’clock in the morning. Go get some breakfast. Get some coffee. Leave town. Just let me be. 

Alright. No loving tonight. Makes me sad. I wanted to come home and crawl in bed with you. Wanted you to hold me. Wanted to hold you, he walked to the bedroom door. Opened it. He said, Im not coming back. Once I close this door. That’s it.

She turned off the lamp. They looked at each other in the dark. Two of them could barely see. He closed the door and walked down the hall, singing a Johnny Paycheck song, Don’t take her she’s all I got. She heard the truck start. Engine barely turned over. That starter was always giving him problems.

I mistook you.

How’s that?

Thought you were somebody else. This woman I used to know.

Who’s that?

A woman. Young. Many years ago. Brunette. Vermont. Some New England state.  Could have been Maine. She had brown eyes. Used to laugh at my jokes.

Uh huh.

We’d talk for hours. Like this. In coffee shops. Bars. Parks around town. Two people sitting on a bench. Talking.

What about?

Things. Favorite movies. Books. Religion. Past lives.

Hmm.

She spoke about being an Indian princess in another life. Said she bathed in the Ganges River. Before it got dirty. She’d smile. Said her grandmother was now a cow. She was a vegetarian. 

I see.

I’d call her sometimes at midnight.  Just to see if she was dreaming. Hear her voice.

Bet she loved that.

She always told me goodnight. Said, get some sleep. I’d just lay there and think of her.

What happened to her?

Not sure. One day, she was gone. Her phone was disconnected.We no longer met in coffee shops, bars, park benches.

Sorry.

No. It’s my fault.

Sounds like you loved her too much.

Yeah. I guess so.

You saw him?

Yeah.

Say hello?

Kept walking. Went right past me. Didn’t even tip his hat. Or smile. Just strolled into church like he owned the place. Like all these people were there waiting for him.  Walked right down the aisle. Took a seat at the end of the pew. Stared straight ahead the whole time Pastor Taylor was preaching. We were led in song; he didn’t sing.

Why you think he came back?

Lord knows.

Lord knows he’s a sinner.

We’re all sinners.

Yeah, but he’s a special kind of sinner. He lied. Couldn’t confess till it was too late. Getting that girl pregnant.  Grown man? He knew better.

That’s a rumor.

She left town. Some said she went over to Johnson County for an abortion. Kill an unborn. I guess he was OK with that. People say he paid for it.

I know his wife left him.

Yeah. Don’t blame her.

No. Course not.

So you saw him?

Yeah. Went right past me.

The television was turned off. A candle burned; smelled of chocolate. Dark blood on an easy chair cushion. He sat listening to a train go by. Noises in the night. A dog howled. Opposums diging in garbage cans. Mice scurried across the kitchen floor.

The old man picked up a recorder and blew into it. A hollow sound. Haunting. Missed notes. Fingers covered holes. No song, just long stretched out sound. A cat knocked over a coffee cup.

Rain hit the tin roof of his trailer. A beat was set, and the old man smiled. Ping, ping, ping, drops fell. He blew into the recorder again. Except this time, he got out of his chair and danced a jig. The pudgy man looked in the mirror and laughed. My, how we have slipped over the years, he said, catching his breath. Oh, how we have slipped.

He went to the window and looked out at the darkness. Black. Moon covered in clouds. Why are there never stars? he asked. Why? he blew a note.

I’m tired of the dark.

The door slammed shut. He started the truck. Loud music played. Some kind of Mexican oom pah pa band on the radio. A tuba in the background. Trumpets blaring. Men singing in Spanish. Streetlights were still on. The Texas sun was starting to rise.

Working girls were still working the boulevard.  Wrapping it up from the night shift. A few cars pulled over to the side. Men negotiating with boys in tight dresses and women made up in heavy lipstick. Calling out as they walked home to 24-hour hotels, SRO’s, and pimps apartments. Street cleaning crews talking loudly about last night’s game. Rotating brushes hitting pavement. He drove right past.

Downtown Dallas was still dead. A few lights on in towers. Early morning business overseas. A Starbucks opening. Chairs placed on a patio. Soon, lattes and cappuccinos will be poured. Blondes in Pilates pants ordering iced coffees with soy or oatmilk. Almond if they have it. Pancho keeps driving.

In the yard is a little girl with a lunch pail in her hand. Dora the Explorer smiles as her father pulls up in his truck. More oom pah pa. More tuba. Pancho holds his daughter, and they begin to dance.  They laugh and sing.

Go tell your mom I’m here, he said to her. She runs inside, yelling that her daddy is home. Mom and dad embrace. More kids come running down the stairway. Papa was home.

Is there truth in that? Story, you just told. Or is it fiction? Maybe an out and out lie, he said. There’s ways of getting to the core of something. Place where all truth is. We dig at it each day. Scrape off a little skin till we get to the bone. That’s where it hurts, he took a drink of whiskey.

You went out one night.

Go on.

I followed you. Through cornfields, you crossed the highway. You were following some kind of light. A path.

Be sure you’re telling the truth.

That road took you to South Calhoun. A blue house with a red light shining over the porch. Sign that read, The Kingdom. I watched you go inside from across the street.

You got the wrong guy.

Came out an hour later. You looked cold and disheveled. The streetlight shined down on you.

That’s a lie.

I knocked on that door. A woman came dressed in lingerie.  She asked if I wanted to come in. I just shook my head. Started crying.

About what?

My daddy. Whoring around town. I watched you walk back home. Saw the shadow of you. Talking to yourself.

What did I say?

You were mumbling about death. How you weren’t fit for this world. Bout being a sinner.

You got it all wrong.

Do I? Said, do I? Momma died without knowing. Or, did she?

Your mom didn’t know nothing.

Hmmm. She knew lots of things. She smelled your clothes. Your breath. Heard you coming and going in the night.

This is all made up. You got some kind of mind boy. 

Yeah. I suppose I do. But one thing is certain.  You’re going to answer to somebody. Yes, sir. I’d get on my knees now if I were you, the kid pulled out a pistol. Aimed it at him. On your knees. We all pay for our sins.

She ate watermelon in the back of a truck as Daddy drove through town. They passed the church where her sister left the groom at the altar. Took off for Little Rock. Nobody has heard or seen her since. All kinds of rumors. That tends to happen.

They passed the filling station her brother robbed back when he was a kid. Stuck a gun up to the cashier’s face and demanded cash. He’s doing time. Writes home asking for money so he can get cigarettes. Daddy says he can go to hell. Said the boy couldn’t be his; must be the mailman’s.

There’s the tavern where Granddad died one night, she whispered as she spit out seeds. Had a heart attack right there at the bar. They dragged him out by his shoulders and threw him on the sidewalk. His brown eyes looked up to heaven. Doubt if he got there.

Daddy drove through the  cemetery and parked the truck by mom’s grave. A bluebird whistled. He placed flowers there. Tulips. The kid wondered if she was resting in peace. She often thought about that.

Cobwebs. Dust. Sun glares in from behind broken blinds. Lampshades on crooked. Wires split.

The folding chairs were stacked in the corner. Rips in cushions. A Graceland sticker stuck to the back of one of them. Christmas wrapping paper taped to the back of another. A dark brown spot on the carpet.

A hole in the roof let in rain water. Buckets half full. Rust in the kitchen sink. A moldy mop in the corner.

He looked around this house of his. How did I lose control of this? he asked himself.  Years pile up, and you don’t give a damn. No money to fix it, he laughed. It’ll go away some day, he said. Just like me. We’re all falling apart.

It was a hot day in June; he was born in November. Parents marveled at the child whose smile was a mile long. Teeth pearly white. Ten fingers and ten toes. Hair was sandy blonde. The perfect child. A sight to behold.

Days at the car wash during the summer were miserable for the young man. His whole life had come to this, he thought. Scrubbing on Chevys, brand new Ford trucks, Lincolns longer than a football field, and Korean cars owned by daughters of middle-class families. Given to them as graduation gifts. They’d tip him a dollar.

He had dreams of leaving town. Going off to Chicago or New York. Just pack his book bag and go on a bus. A one-way ticket would suffice.  He never wanted to come back; wanted dreams to become real.

In the midnight hour, he purchased a ticket for New York. Said goodbye to no one. His parents didn’t realize he was gone till a week or two later. They wondered what had happened to their golden child. The one God smiled down upon. No clues left behind. Just an empty underwear drawer and a missing copy of Catcher in the Rye were all they had to go on.

Dad said, maybe he went camping. I’ll check down by the river this afternoon. You know how he loves adventure,  the father laughed. Yes sir.  He loves adventure.

The bus trip took him on 80 across Ohio onto 76, passing along Pennsylvania. He saw America on and off the bus. Poor people. Blacks, whites, Mexicans traveling the promise land. Some got off in Cleveland and Youngstown.  Others took root in Pittsburgh or Philadelphia. Only a few were left for the journey into the epicenter of American culture. A true pie made up of every color, race, and religion there was. He looked out in awe.

Our boy has left us, dad said. He’s gone. I guess he’s at that age. Time for him to start his life, he told his wife.

Should we go get him? she asked.

I wouldn’t know where to start. Truth is. I barely know him.

He walked all over Manhattan. Looked up into the sky at all the tall buildings. Sought peace in the churches. Had lustful needs taken care of on 8th Avenue. Took up shelter behind a dumpster in an alley. Which is where they found his body in the month of June with a notebook beside him. The first page read, Always Be Prepared For Your Journey.

You have nothing to say? he asked.   Where’s your voice? Something happened to it. You don’t sing anymore. Used to sound like a bird. That was years ago. Little by little, you lost it till you became silent. I don’t even think you clear your throat anymore. There’s nothing there. What’s that like? he lit a cigarette. Took another one out of his pack and offered it to her. The older black lady took it. He lit it for her. She sucked in its poison. 

You remember the time we went fishing? her son asked. I think that’s where it began. Dad told you to shut up. You were saying something about a child left behind. The old man said he didn’t want to hear about it. He said, be quiet several times. Huh. You kept on yacking. Could say he warned you. I guess. Then he struck you in the face. You were silent then. No more talking. You didn’t even cry. Just sat there. Momma. What happened to that child? Can you tell me?

She looked away. The old lady kept looking at the door to her hospital room. She kept looking over her son’s shoulder. A voice came over the speaker in the hallway. Fifteen minutes until visitors have to leave. Fifteen minutes.

Some said you couldn’t take care of him, he said. Said you just dropped him off at the fire station. Put the kid in a box. Opened a door and slid him through. Is that what happened, momma? Did you let that child go? She kept looking over his shoulder. 

I don’t blame you, mom. I heard he cried all the time when you brought him home. Said it sounded like a sheep. Some say he was really skinny, too. Under weight, they called it. No one thought he’d survive. You ever want to talk about it, let me know.

Visiting time is over, the voice said. Visiting time is over.

The son placed his arms around her and said goodbye. She did not respond. Momma just sat there in her chair, hands by her waist. Flowers standing in water. When he got to the door, he waved.

Visiting time is now over.