dmseay

The harvest came through this year. Who would have thought this last spring when we planted, the minister said. We nursed these sprouts until they became full and rich. They’re not green anymore.

No. No, they are not. Full bloom. Some think they can make it on their own, said the elder. They believe it’s OK to rebel. This flock of young ones. Looking outside. Seeing the evil in this world. I dare say they want a part of it.

We can’t let them. There is God and nature, the Puritan said. They all tend to be weak. We’ve done all we can do.

Tonight, they’ll leave us for the world. Wicked ways. We can only pray they’ll come back.

Amen.

Amen.

All kinds of things were going on there. Real kinky stuff. Accusations,  promises, declarations. You couldn’t get a word in. They cut you off as soon as your mouth was open. No talking on my part. Just sat there in silence. Waiting. Just waiting.

For what?

My moment.  A split second to leave. Quietly exit, he lit a cigarette. No sense in staying when they want to abuse you like that. Like I said, real kinky stuff.

How many people were there? he asked, poured himself a whiskey.  Just a round about number. A guess.

Let’s see. There was myself, some bloke from God only knows. An Indian fellow. And those hideous men, telling us what to do.

What to do?

Yes. Bossing us around.

What did they tell you?

I’d rather not say. I was scared for my life. Real bona-fide fear. Pulled out a whip and was swinging it around like some kind of king, keeping his peasants in line. This was not what I paid for.

Real kinky stuff?

Yes. Real kinky stuff.

What’s with the visit?

Thought I’d stop by.

Haven’t seen you in months.

Been busy.

Not too busy, I hope.

No. Just enough.

Did you ever get that girlfriend situation figured out?

Sort of.

How’s that?

I left town.

Oh. That’s why I ain’t seen you. Left town? Sounds like you in your younger days.

Yeah. I suppose.

Something didn’t agree with you, you’d leave. Take off in the middle of the night. Had us worried sick, his father told him. Still got the trailer?

Lost it. Stopped paying rent. Left all responsibilities behind.

Where’s your truck?

Sold it.

What’re you? Some kind of bohemian? they both laughed. Where you sleeping at night?

Shelters. Parks. Canyons out West. Fresh cool air at night. Colorado, Utah, Wyoming. Different life, the old man smiled.

I’m jealous. You’re free. Where you off to now?

Going to the East Coast. New York, New Hampshire,  Maine, Massachusetts. Want to get there before winter. Enjoy the colors.

What about us?

I’ll be back for Thanksgiving.

Good. We’ll smoke a turkey together.

I’d like that.

Yeah. Why don’t I drive you out East?

Sure.

We could talk. 

Talk.

I’ll go get my keys. I’ll let you drive. We can stop at gas stations and get corn dogs.

OK, pop.

An adventure.  A real adventure. 

Yeah. A real adventure.

Why are you tired? You don’t do anything, he said. Sit around. Lie around. Never moving. No movement. A constant state of rest, the old man told him. Examine the possibilities. Look around you. What do you surround yourself with? Bare walls. A chair. Twin mattress. Paper plates. Is this what you want? the young man just looked at the floor. You’re not going to find anything down there, he said. Look at me. Look, the old man cupped the kid’s chin with his right hand. You see this? All these wrinkles? They’re well deserved. I’ve seen good times, and I’ve seen bad, he said. But I always looked forward. Always.

I’m tired, the boy said. I’m always tired. I’ve had enough. I want to end it. Be done with it. Move on to the next life.

There is no next life. This is it. All you get.

Bones just rot in a box? Soul goes nowhere? That’s not what they told us in Sunday school, he laughed.

I don’t know what’s true and not true. I just know you have to make the most of this life. Otherwise, you wind up dead way too soon. Life will kill you. If you let it.

He knows a lot. Too much.

How so?

What’s that?

I said, how so?

I made these confessions to him. I told him.

You told him what?

Every detail. Didn’t leave a bit out.

The money?

Yes, the money. These crimes we committed. We stole from people. That’s what I told him.

Choices. Right? We all make choices. Once we make these choices, we can’t look back. Good or bad. We can’t look back, he lit a cigarette and took a shot of whiskey.  Does anybody else know? Did you confess to anybody else? Ha. The fuck? Well, I hope you did the right thing.

What’s that?

Stuck a gun down his throat and told him to be quiet.

I didn’t do that. 

Why not?

I just let it go. Maybe I want to be caught. Maybe I want to pay for my sins. 

You told him about me? 

I didn’t say your name.

What did you say?

I said we held up gas stations and liquor stores. That’s what I told him, he looked away at the television in the corner. The Guardians were up 3-2. Guardians. They’ll always be the Indians to me, he took a sip of beer. He said son, you have to pay for these sins. Told me to turn myself in.

I can’t let you do that, he pulled his jacket back and revealed his gun. We’re going to walk out of here slowly. And get in my car.

Oh yeah?

Yeah.

Are you going to kill me?

We’re going to take a drive. A long drive. And by the time we get there, I’ll have made my decision. 

Your choice?

Yes. My choice.

Not sure. You can never be too sure of these things. One day, you think it’s there, and then the next day, it’s not, he told him. Some kind of belief in something. I don’t know, a god, some messiah, a holy man, maybe a shaman. And as you get older, you doubt these things. You doubt their existence.

Look at Judas. He lost faith.

No, he didn’t. He had faith the whole time. He knew what he was doing and who he was doing it to. And he knew he had to do it. 

How so? Wasn’t it just greed and anger? 

Look at the bigger picture. If he wouldn’t have done that, there would have been no sacrifice. 

Pilate would have caught him eventually.

No. That wasn’t God’s plan. It had to go down the way it went down. That’s what God wanted.

And, now you doubt him.

I do. It’s a schizophrenic relationship. My beliefs keep shifting, he lit a cigarette. The constant state of confusion. 

Yeah. 

Yeah. 

It is loud. His voice is coming through walls. Through vents on the floor. Loud talking. Stern warnings. She cries.

Cars down below on Broadway. Police sirens sound. A million tourists shuffle their feet. Talking. Yelling. Drunken behavior. Young men throw up in gutters as girlfriends turn away. They cover their mouths. Lips will not be kissed.

I open my window. High above it all. Ashtray is overflowing. Stale smoke hovers mid-air. And this kid is yelling again at his girlfriend, maybe a wife, perhaps some whore. Her tears continue.

Get out, he says. Leave. Pack your bags. This was a bad idea, he tells her. When will you learn, baby? When?

The door down the hall opens and is slammed. She stands there in the hall with the dangling light fluttering off and on.

Christmas came early this year.

Daylight has moved on. Sun is sleeping over a flat Earth. Darkness has taken over.

She goes down to the river where stars cast their light. Glowing on water as catfish jump and frogs croak. 

Remembering times when night meant swimming naked. Bearing bodies and souls to no one; a secret. 

They were in love. Said they were. Kids make up stories, tell tales, passions true, promises made.

Lives change. The sun does rise.  New days begin. And past loves are dreamt about. Never going away. Never fleeing. Forever swimming in a river at nighttime.

Yes. There were times I felt like walking out. Quitting. He’d say something, then I’d say something. We’d fight over small things. Which led to bigger disagreements.

I remember, the daughter said, looking in the mirror. I remember all the nights, Daddy walked out. And you didn’t follow him. He just got in the car and was gone, she lit a cigarette. 

Don’t ash on your dress, Momma told her. Be careful.  Shouldn’t smoke anyway, she grabbed the cigarette from her daughter’s lips and crushed it on the pine floor.

Do you wish you married a different man? Someone who took better care of us?

Sometimes. But then I never would’ve had you.

Strange how that works.

It is. You love this man? This boy you’re about to walk down the aisle with?

I guess so. Seems like the best thing to do.

How so?

What’s that?

I said, how so?

He’s got a good job. I think he loves me.

Do you love him?

I’ll learn to, the bride said. You taught me that.

Yeah, but I never did. Thought I could. Never did.

You never loved Dad?

The mother shook her head. I’m afraid not. Couldn’t wait for him to die.

Why didn’t you just get a divorce?

Christians don’t do that. We just stay miserable. 

These rare instances, he said. Moments in time we’ll never get back. Think you got something, and then the door is shut. Any chance there was is now gone. It’s a brief opportunity, he lit a cigarette. And for what? To see beyond? The gathering of information? Seeking out love? Ask yourself.  Do these things matter?

Hey chief. Ready for another? the bartender asked. He nodded yes. Downed what was left in his glass, a short scotch. A snifter was placed before him.

And I don’t say these things lightly, he whispered. There’s always a reason. We’re forever looking at the broader scope, crushed out his Marlboro.  We take what is there, and we narrow it down. And what is there? A gift? Punishment for sins we committed long ago? Greetings from God? We wait for his word. Whether we believe or not, we’re always wanting a sign that everything will be alright. Sun in the sky. Birds chirping.  A white Christmas.  We want to be told it’s all OK, the bartender looked down the bar at him. Sitting there. Talking to himself. Vanna turned another letter. The puzzle was solved.