dmseay

Did you see that? he asked. A trace. Some light in the sky. Going east to west. Glowing.

No. I missed it, she said.

Maybe a shooting star or a comet, he looked up again. Huh. Probably an airplane, he told her. Just some airplane or rocket. Perhaps a rocket? I don’t know.

Who shoots off rockets out here? she asked. They do that in Florida, not Tennessee. She looked at his face, outlined in the dark. You’re seeing things again. It’s your imagination, the woman said.

You always say that. As if my mind plays tricks on me. Like I’m not logical. You think I’m crazy.

Do not.

Yeah. You do. Think I’m nuts. Always have. When we were in school, you thought I was off. Always questioning me.

I just don’t think there was anything in the sky, she lit a cigarette and offered him one. He lit them both with a Zippo. They breathed in the nicotine and cold night air. Menthols taste good in the winter, she said. I don’t know why, but they just do. You think so?

I’m done talking to you. I’m done talking, period. I know what I saw.

No, you don’t.

Yeah. I do.

You saw a light or an airplane or a rocket or a comet or a blank blank blank fill in the blank. You saw nothing.

And that’s why I will no longer speak. Not a word. To anyone. I’ll live the rest of my days in silence. 

Now that’s crazy.

He looked at her. Just looked at her and walked away. Same way he did last weekend and the weekend before that.

Sonofabitch is crazy.

There’s no creamer, he said.

In the back of the fridge,  she replied. You have to move stuff around. It’s in there. The pumpkin flavored. The one you like, she got up from her chair.

I don’t see it.

Look, she pushed him aside. Behind the lettuce. See? Coffee creamer.

What’s lettuce doing on the top shelf ? It belongs in the crisper down below, he told her. He opened the bottle and poured some in his cup.

It doesn’t matter. The crisper does nothing. Vegetables still rot, she closed the refrigerator door. You can put the lettuce anywhere. A tomato, same difference.  These are just things they do to entice you. Makes you want to buy it. It’s cold either way.

That’s not true. That’s not what the salesman said.

They’ll say anything. 

Yes. I understand that. But I think he was sincere about the crisper. I don’t think he’d lie about such a thing, he said, stirring his coffee around.

You’ll believe anything. You probably think I love you.

Don’t you?

I don’t know. All this time. Not sure anymore. Weeks go by, and I think I still love you, but I don’t know. Maybe I just depend on you.

Depend on me?

Yes. Help with the kids. Bills. A roof over my head. That sort of thing.

How long have you felt like this?

A while. A while.

What do you want ?

I don’t know. I like security. It’s safe here. Almost easy. Too easy. The kids are gone all day. I make meals. Hold your hand. And that’s all that’s required.

Yes, he opened the door. Let me know when you figure it out.

Sure, she placed her arms around him. Have a good day. She kissed him on the cheek.

Another requirement?

Yes, dear. 

Stuttgart is north. So is Smackover. Locust Bayou is over there. Camden’s not far, the fellow at the gas station said. There’s nothing in these towns. A diner, couple of churches, Tastee Freeze. What’re you looking for? He noticed the Ohio plates on the station wagon.

We’re just driving, the man told him. Checking out parts of the country we’ve never been to, his young daughter was getting fidgety in back. We were in Tennessee before this. Heading to El Dorado, he said, the wife checked her lipstick in the mirror.

You gotta head west, said the man as he pumped premium into their tank. Yeah. I been there a time or two. You should check out Texarkana while you’re at it.

Maybe we’ll do that, the husband said. Maybe. The daughter was getting restless.

Honey, why don’t you say hello to the nice man, the wife said. The daughter rolled down her window a bit. Go-on. Don’t be shy, dad turned, and looked at her in the backseat with a pink blanket covering her legs.

Hi, the attendant said. I’m Rusty. Everybody calls me Rusty. Always has. Pleased to make your acquaintance, she rolled down the window a bit more. About eye level. Then, all the way down.

Hello Rusty, she said as she pulled a gun out from under the blanket and shot him. Bye-bye Rusty.

Retracing steps. Paths walked. There was always something new but never different.

How far did you go? he asked

From Indiana to Maine, I said. Stops in between. Taking long routes, unnecessary out of the way  back-roads. Watching autumn turn to winter.

How much money did you have?

Not much. Kept asking friends, family, and acquaintances to wire cash via Western Union; secret passwords.

I see. He motioned to the bartender and put two fingers up in the air. Tonight, we drink, he told me. To the poor man’s travel, he toasted with the shots of whiskey.  I drank it down. It warmed my soul.

Thanks for the drinks, I said. Gotta be on my way.

Where are you going?

I don’t know.

Night sounds. Trucks going down the highway. Wind blowing on trees. Maniacal laughter in the room next door. Bottles thrown out into dumpsters down below. A drunk throwing-up. The buzzing of an electrical current in a No Vacancy sign. Arguments in Urdu.

Class was a long way away. Drunks, junkies, whores, wild men screaming into night. Cop cars with sirens blasting. A cold rain hits my window. What I wouldn’t give for a little money, honey. Broker than broke, and that ain’t no joke. Somebody’s dog is barking.

The taste of blood comes up when I cough. That metallic taste. Please, God, don’t let me die here in Dante’s hell; this seventh level where I’m stuck along with  vagabonds and small-time con-men. Heaven never in reach.

She said I’d  never starve. As long as I stayed  with her. A woman I met in Pittsfield who worked at a strip joint declared. She had a thing for the wounded, the heart broken, souls that had been lost for years. She needed a new pillow to sleep with. The old one gave out on her, walked out, and left a note. It’s been fun, the letter said. Save your dimes.

We kept each other warm in the New York night. She’d bring home Chinese food, and we watched Jeopardy. Laughed a little bit. Made love on a torn mattress. Drank Gallo wine from big bottles in paper cups from the bathroom. Our naked bodies lying in the morning sun coming through a thick window. Her arms around my belly. Blankets kicked to the floor. Jazz played on public radio.

I thought we had something. You always do. Only to leave it behind. Never good enough. Always looking for the better option.

God help us all.

Quiet places scare me. Peaceful countryside, a farm, funerals, some dirt road in a Midwest county, all frightening. I’ve never been one for peace.

I prefer noise. The squeaky sound of a saxophone in a bar with people talking over it, ordering drinks from jaded waitresses, cops cruising by outside, chasing a Dodge with no muffler, lovers yelling in the room next door, a junkie crying for a fix, voices talking in my head.

Chicago, for the most part, sleeps at night. It is only the night hawks flying high that make noise. Drunks in Mexican restaurants at four in the morning, bartenders washing glasses in a sink, club goers dancing to electronic beats, blues wailing from Southside joints, Northside white kids eating char dogs at The Weiner Circle, a line out the door, sounds of heavy metal radio and rap in the porn shops, moaning and groaning coming from booths, homeless boys in wigs.

But, for the most part, Chicago sleeps. Jobs are to be tended to come morning in the city that works. Beer trucks delivering kegs, bread brought to diners and four star joints, drugs being sold on corners (they’re no different than pharmaceutical reps. Except for clothes and expense accounts). Everybody has to make a living, including whores on Lake Street calling out to me as I stand in line for work. A sign above says, Fresh Killed Lamb. Slaughtered years ago.

As I grow old, noises become less and less. Maybe it’s location. Perhaps I’ve tuned them out. Could be youth is gone. Gone, gone, gone.

Noise. I miss you.

Where were you when I was single? she asked. I would have gobbled you up, the middle-aged woman swung higher on the swingset; he pushed her again. I waited as long as I could. But, a girl gets tired of waiting. You know? he grabbed the metal chains and slowed her down. Now I’m stuck. I mean, I’m not in love. Maybe that’s what happens in marriage. You fall out of love. He lets go of the swing and sits in the one beside her. Maybe I was never in love to begin with. Damn you. Where were you? they laughed while stirring dirt with their feet.

Nowhere, he told her. Everywhere.  Just roaming around.

Roamed where?

Out East. Philadelphia,  D.C., New York. Got all mixed up. Just drove back and forth on I-95. Went all the way to Maine. Saw the ocean.

Never seen that.

It’s something. Beautiful tide, dramatic sunrises, fishing boats, and sails. Makes you feel alive.

I’d do anything to feel that way.

Alive?

Yeah.

You got a family. Roots here. I don’t have that. Used to, but not anymore.

I should have swallowed you up in high school. You were getting all the girls.

Nope. Kids thought I was getting all the girls. Rumors. I just spent my time here on this swing. Drank beer from my parent’s fridge. Falstaff. And then, one day, I just took off. Went down South for a while. Took odd jobs. My whole life has been odd jobs.

Can’t hold onto a woman that way, they smiled.

I suppose not.

Have you been everywhere?

Nope. Never been to Europe. I guess that’s next.

Stay here.

Why?

We could have one of those romantic affairs. Sneak away during the week. Some motel no-tell.

I don’t do that.

Why?

Ain’t right.

But it’s right for you to go around the world breaking hearts?

I suppose not.

I gotta go cook dinner.

I have to go fix a lady’s deck.

Take care of yourself.

You too.

This business. It’s a mess. What to do? Needs a cleaning. No doubt about it, he said. We think we know what we’re doing, but we don’t.  Haven’t the slightest clue.  All this talk. Of nothing. Just jibber-jabber. Speaking to hear yourself speak. And who are you speaking to? he lit a cigarette. No one. Because no one wants to hear you. They gave up years ago, he paced the room. Do you think for one second you have their attention? Rest assured, you do not, he poured a whiskey.  You’ve gotten old. People laugh at you. You’re nothing more than a stupid little fat man running about, looking for a seat in musical chairs. This is what it comes to. Soon, you’ll be non-existent. Gone. And here’s the sad part. No one will notice.

Cheers.

Shadows on walls. Fans spinning above. Leaves falling off plants. A sink filled with dirty dishes. Rips in a couch. The phone rings; another insurance salesman. Christmas lights sparkle in July.

I can’t do this anymore, she said.

What? What can’t you do? he asked. Do you know what you’re talking about?

Yes. I believe so. I have to leave.

Where to? Where you gonna go? You’re gonna wind up dead out there, he told her. All kinds of evil out there. Murderers, rapists, thieves,  cops, criminals, wild dogs roaming, always growling, looking for prey.  Can you handle that?

I think you’ve been lying to me, she said. Lying this whole time.

They looked at each other. Stared. He pulled a pistol out of his pocket. Pointed at the metal chair in the corner. 

Sit down, he demanded.  This is for your own good, he said. He took rusty chains and a couple of locks and placed them around her waist. She began to cry, kick, and scream.

I’ll bet that gun is not even loaded, she said. Prove it to me, she grabbed it and pointed it at her head, pulled the trigger; nothing. Just clicking sounds. You’re a fake like all the rest of them.

I’m going to get us food. That’s what I do for you, she shook her head.

Yeah.

Give me the gun.

What does it matter? There’s nothing in it. No bullets.

Just give it here.

Look, she pointed it at him. Nothing, she pulled the trigger with a sweaty finger. 

Put the gun down. 

Something gonna happen? Scared? I’d be too. She aimed and pulled the trigger again.

This ain’t funny. This ain’t funny.

A car warms up across the street. Garage lights glow. A little light peaks through darkness. The chained dog barks. 

He drinks coffee while seated at the kitchen table. No sugar or milk. He adds whiskey. Drinks it down quickly. Places the bottle back in the cabinet behind baking soda, Crisco, cereal boxes, and a moldy loaf of bread he’ll feed to birds later in the morning when they gather in the backyard.

Looking out the window, the old man sees a deer. He acts as though he’s holding a shotgun and makes a noise while pointing the imaginary weapon at the animal. The buck runs off.

It is autumn. Leaves are wet from dew. Grass is slick and shiny. He walks outside and stands on the back porch smoking a cigarette. Remembering his past life; the one that got away from him. His younger days when it seemed easier. Everything is easy when you’re young, he whispers. Everything. Jobs, women, hangovers, the world, all of it is easy. Until they force you to grow up, he thinks.

The old man points his finger at his temple and acts like he is pulling the trigger. Bang, he says. Bang.