dmseay

He looked across the street through his window; rain spattered, the blinds halfway opened. The old man looked at buildings in disarray, a cobblestone street falling apart, the drugstore on the corner where black and brown men gathered each morning; drinking their coffee, smoking cigarettes, scratch offs in one hand, a penny in the other. No one ever wins.

Cars drove by, made a clippity cloppity sound with tires running over potholes. A STOP sign bent. Children crossed the street. That damn guard blew her whistle. The sound pierced his ears.

The old man closed his blinds. He was done looking. Maybe it was too much to see; the Rust Belt, cities America forgot.

I look at cacti in the windows. Pink and white blooms. Delicate flowers. It is spring. They haven’t bloomed since Christmas. Colors. There was no need for lights.

The sun shines on them, and I am struck by the contrast; plants suited for the desert growing, flourishing safely indoors, cars driving by, and shanties falling apart brick by brick, as the cacti live. It’s a beautiful picture for those walking by on uneven sidewalks.

I keep the shades open as a gift to the neighborhood.  Light on green leaves never looked so spectacular. People point at them. They stare at the beauty. I wonder if they’re just looking into my apartment. 

Seated in my easy chair, listening to Bill Evans, and waving at the passersby. I am happy with this.

I remember seeing her. The last time I saw her. She was dancing in the front yard; had a stick with a flag attached to it. It was silver and purple. Shiny. She’d jumped up in the air and landed, doing the splits. Her hair was blonde, he smiled. And she was wearing this one-piece suit that glittered in gold. Like a majorette or something. Marching up and down the yard. People honked as they drove by. Boys whistled, ran his hand through his greasy hair. Seems like years ago. I don’t know how long, he lit a cigarette. Folks miss her. I miss her. It’s a shame what happened. I didn’t mean to. Things just got out of control. Next thing, she was dead. I woke up beside her. There. In the front yard. Traffic going by. Nighttime. No more honking.

Guilt.  It’s the guilt that gets me, he said. Stealing, lying, cheating, conning people. These sins. This is what keeps me up at night, he lit a cigarette. I’ve never been square. Forthright. Ducking and dodging. That’s what I do. And it’s on my mind constantly. Never ends. Crimes committed years ago are still haunting me, he took a drink of scotch.

Have you confessed these sins? To a priest? Or a counselor of some kind? he asked.

No. I keep it to myself. 

Probably best. You say sins. How bad could they be? These crimes you’ve committed. Have you ever killed anyone? he swerved back and forth, side to side in his chair.

No.

Are you sure of that?

Yes. My crimes involve theft, stealing, lying to people to get ahead.

Yes.

And what has it got me?

What?

Nothing. It was all for nothing.

Do you give to people?

The poor? When I can.

You make that sacrifice?

Yes.

The past is the past. Have you tried to right your wrongs?

Yes. I guess.

And you give to those down on their luck?

I do.

Life is over in the blink of an eye. You can only do so much. Forgive yourself.  Soon, it will be over.

That’s what I’m scared of .

They say there’s a light. A brilliant shining at the end. Warm and glowing. Inviting, he said. Like a rebirth. Moving from one life to the next. That is what they say.

Brilliant shining, huh?

That’s what they say.

Who’s they?

Those that have started to go to the other side. Heart attacks, car wrecks, stroke. A life altering event. Taking you just to the brink. And then pulling you back. Letting you see just enough, he told him. It’s called a near death experience. Saw it on some news program. People talked about the warmth they felt. This unconditional love.

The love of who? Jesus? Vishnu? Mohammed? Peter standing at the gate, passing out fliers?

Not sure. They all had the same story. A glowing light. A presence, he sipped his coffee; ate his donut.

I’m not ready to die. Or, almost die.

But doesn’t that comfort you? These stories?

Why did they come back?

Wasn’t their time.

And if they proceeded?

God bless.

I don’t know. Pretty strange.

Do you believe in an afterlife?

I believe I’ll have another donut.

Tonight, he’s talking to her. Sweetheart this and honey that. Lighting her cigarette and pouring a beer. Asking her, do you want a blanket? Could I turn the heat up for you? Kissing her on the forehead and rubbing her feet. Chet Baker sings in the background.

Last night, the two yelled at each other till sun-up. Harsh words were said. You son of a bitch, she screamed. You’re a whore, he told her. All this ranting about being drunks and having their child taken away. It’s your fault, she said. All of it. You left bruises on my baby. You hit my kid, she said.

What about you? he asked. The bath water was too hot. Skin burnt. Always crying. Did you ever wash his clothes? he pulled a gun out. This time, I’m going to do it. I’m going to rid myself of this problem for good, he laughed, pointing the gun at her.

Don’t.  Just put the gun down, she said. Please. Don’t do this, a window opened. Down below traffic drove down 1st Avenue. The bars were closing. Men lined up for day labor. The sun rose over the Hudson. He put the gun away. They held each other. Sorry, never sounded so sweet.

Tonight, he’s talking to her. Sweetheart this and honey that. Chet Baker sings in the background.

It’s a square. Four walls, he said. Containing us. Keeping us from getting out. No doors. Nor windows. Just walls.

I do like the color. It’s cheery. Very nice indeed. A beautiful room, he said. Better than being out there, I’ll tell you that.

Do you miss it?

Miss what?

Freedom. The ability to go anywhere.

Those days have passed me by. Used to be, I could travel anywhere I wanted. Now, I don’t have any gumption. I’m happy how it all turned out, he told him.

Not me. I still have the wandering ways. Out West. Sleep in the desert. Walk into a bar and order a shot. A cold beer. A woman’s touch. You don’t miss that?

I’m glad it’s all over. Eternity with you. Not a bad deal. We can talk about old times. Remember when we headed south to Arkansas.  Up in the Ozarks. What beauty. And it got cool at night. Winds came through the trees. Made you feel alive, he reminisced.

Never again. We’ll never see that again. Never feel that. Or smell it. It’s over. This is how it ends.

You think the box will fill up?

Hard to say. I don’t know what’s in store for us. This could be just a holding place. A room to wait in till he makes up his mind.

Which list do you think we’re on?

I don’t know. Nobody knows. Out there, I kept a Bible on me.

Yes. Yes, you did.

I never read it. Too complex. Didn’t understand the writing.  I just carried it with me. Like a rabbit’s foot. For luck.

Did it serve you well?

It was given to me by my grandmother. It had pictures in it. And maps. I looked at the pictures of Jesus performing miracles. Hanging on the cross. I don’t know what happened for him to get crucified.  Don’t know the whole story. Pictures only tell you so much.

Quiet.

Yes.

Silence.

It’s nice.

Soon, they’ll be here. Singing into the night. It’s been seventeen years. Not a sound. Not a trace, he said. Sure. There’s birds and coyotes. Dogs barking at all hours. You become immune to that. Tune it out. And now, we know what’s coming. That shrieking sound. Sounds of summer every few years.

They come out of the ground, he said. They piss on everything. Like they were little boys. A constant stream of urine runs from them, he looked at the dark sky. Rain was moving in.

What day do you think they’ll launch their attack?

Not sure. Soon. It’ll be soon. And the fireflies will be out as well. Remember when we would catch them in glass jars? they laughed.

Yeah. That was years ago.

Yes. Seventeen, to be exact. At the same time, cicadas came around. Light and loudness. It was like a war zone.

How long do you think they’ll stay?

Not sure. I’m sure scientists know. Experts on these matters. I couldn’t tell you, he lit a cigarette. Enjoy the silence for now, he told him. Enjoy it.

This is the day he arose from the dead.

Yeah.

So they say.

Right. If you believe that sort of thing.

How could I not? It’s been drilled into my head since I was a child. The son of God. The lamb. Sent here to earth to save us from sin. Yes. How could I not?

You could stop believing. 

And run the risk?

The risk?

Of not being saved.

That’s why you believe?

Yeah.

Out of fear?

Yes.

That’s no way to live.

Let’s talk present. Not past. You’re always talking about the past.  And, if I might add, your past is not always accurate.  It’s kind of a made-up past, he said. One that paints you out to be this real American hero. A friend to the working man, he lit a cigarette and ran his hand through his hair.  Is that true?

What?

These stories you tell.

Stories? You call them stories? When I think of stories, I think of fiction. These are not made-up tales. Truth. These are true, the old man took a drink of scotch. You wanna talk present? What have you done for me lately? That is what you want? the young man nodded. I watched this neighborhood grow. Watched from the very beginning,  the mensch said. I knew and know every family that has lived here.  Used to have turkey giveaways at Thanksgiving.  Bought toys for their kids at Christmas time. Would stop by homes at Easter and Passover. Gave away jobs to those who needed them. And those who earned them.

That’s past. Now is a different story. You’re indicted. Selling jobs, accepting bribes, all this, he told him. That’s the present.

Fundraising, the committeeman said. Someone has to keep this city running.

Machine.

Of course it’s a machine. Cause that’s how we were taught. That’s how things get done.

What things?

The building of communities.  The building of a city. You want transparency? You want to put a stop to nepotism? If a man is starving, do you help him?

Yes, but….

Damn right. You give that man a job.

And he becomes a slave to you.

Slave? No. Loyal? Yes. All the dirty secrets and back room deals. You think you know. But, you don’t. And you’ll never stop it. This is how things work. Don’t ever forget that. It’s all for the greater good. It’s like I say, democracy is too important to be left to the people.