dmseay

What’s the point?

To what?

This deal.

It’s what we do.

We take money from people. Place it in our wallets, our bank accounts. Stuff it under mattresses . We spend it on foolish things. Booze, gifts for our wives, toys for kids. Meals out at restaurants we can’t really afford. So, I ask again. What’s the point?

I don’t know what you’re talking about. We live from day to day. Committing these sins. Why? ‘Cause we need to in order to survive. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be placed in this hell on earth. But this is the predicament we find ourselves in, now isn’t it.

Yes. Yes, it is. I don’t know if I want to be any part of it anymore. This American dream. I’d just as soon take my money and go elsewhere. Another table to gamble at.

Right. Either way, you have to throw the dice. It’s a big craps game. There’s no escape. You might as well stay where the dice are hot. Blow on them if you have to. Wish yourself all the luck you want. Come on, seven. Yeah?

I just don’t know what the point is anymore.

We don’t have time for that. America needs us. We keep this country going. Deals. Always making deals. That’s the point. That’s what this country is about.

Right. and I’m stuck in it. Stuck in the shit. Trying to claw my way out every day.

Take it easy. You think too much. You take it too hard. We have it easy compared to what? Mexico, Guatemala, the Phillipines? Living in some shack with fourteen kids running around, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, suffering in the heat and despair. Pipe down and do your job. And be thankful. For we are truly blessed.

Never loved you. Thought I did, once a long time ago, when we were kids. But that was just a feeling I’d never felt before. A rush to the head. Causing nighttime sweats. Anxiety. After a while, it wore off. Then you were just another woman, he told her.

What do you think about? she asked. What goes through that fool head of yours? she brushed back her hair with long fingers. This is not what you wanted. Is it? I don’t think you know.

Know what?

What you want. One minute, you’re loving me, then the next you’re on some bus heading off somewhere. Santa Fe, Portland, Chicago, anywhere. Calling at all hours of the night.

Sorry.

Gotten used to it. Used to what feels like a broken heart, she reached in her purse and took out $500. The wife took off her ring and handed it all to him in one handful. Take this, she said. Just go.

You think it’s best?

Yes, I do.

Can I get a ride to the pawn shop?

I killed him, he said. I think I killed him, the man said into the payphone.

Well. Which is it? Did you kill him or not? his friend responded. Was he moving? Just lay there still? he poured a shot of whisky into his rocks glass. Poured in a bit of water. What happened? Tell me, he said calmly.

I was in a bar. This guy kept saying the wrong things. He was trying to get my goat, he told him.

Sounds like he did.

He was some stinking Hoosier. Running his mouth about women and money, blood from his hand dripped on the phone. He leaned on the booth.

What’s that got to do with you? Is it your mission to get kicked out of every bar in Chicago?

I think he’s dead.

Where is he?

Behind the bar.

Did anybody see this?

No. I don’t think so. I’m not sure.

I see. What? Did you shoot him?

Bare hands.

You killed a man with your bare hands?

I believe so.

Put the body in your trunk and drive down 41. Dump it in the Kankakee River. It’ll be high. It’ll suck it right down.

Yeah.

Yes. And, don’t ever call me again. You hear me? Head down South. Or go to California. Start all over again.

I got a girl.

You got nothing. Just leave. Take your money out and leave.

What about my job?

Just leave.

No one expected to see them at the funeral. He’d been gone for such a long time. Years went by without a trace of him. He’s grown up. And her, she still looks the same. Looks like she jumped off a wedding cake. Maybe she did. Did she leave with him, or did he leave with her? Can’t remember. We tend to forget these things.

There they stood. Waiting in line to see dad one more time. The two of them sat in the back of the church, holding hands. All these folks here to bid farewell to his father; no one recognizing them. Maybe they didn’t want to. Damn shame. His own brothers and sister didn’t shake his hand. And as for her, they pretended she wasn’t there.

I saw them in front of the casket looking at dad. They both just stared. Dad’s ghost had long left the room. Looked at him real strange like. Then they walked away. Just left. You know when you’re not wanted.

Day light is good. You can see for miles, he said. Night time, nothing; no vision. Barely see in front of you, he lit a cigarette as they walked through fields of yellow, purple, rust.

He took her hand. Their fingers intertwined. Easy fit; no rings. What do you want? she asked. He kept looking forward. A dog barked in the distance. Am I in your future plans? She began to swing their arms back and forth. They kept walking. There was silence for a few minutes. I didn’t mean to ruin the afternoon, she told him, hands released. He kept looking on, beyond rows of wildflowers.

She stopped walking. He continued. Didn’t turn around. And, she didn’t chase him.

Morning. Did you sleep? She was crying all night. Said she was having bad dreams.

I heard her. Crying. Didn’t hear any talking, but there was crying.

Lately, she cries all the time. She could be in the grocery store and just break down in the middle of the produce aisle. Weeping over cabbage. Or something.

The other day she cried. Talking about the second coming of Jesus. Said she wasn’t ready for it.

Did you tell her she was?

No. I said nobody is. Left it at that. Figured she wouldn’t feel so singled out. Told her I wasn’t. Said I hadn’t been to church in years.

You told her that?

Yeah.

No wonder she’s crying all the time. She thinks she’s going to Hell, dad laughed. Poor thing. We gotta get her baptized.

You know any preachers?

We’ll do it ourselves. Take her down to the river and dunk her under for a bit or two.

That’ll work?

I believe so, the old man poured himself a glass of whiskey. He pointed at it. Holy water, he said.

Holy water, the boy poured a shot as well.

Here’s to Heaven.

Cheers.

There’s no point. This is done. Do you hear me? What’s the matter? Don’t just lie there in silence. Talk. Say something.

The silence continued. Her husband just laid there naked. Sheets and blankets were pushed aside. The cat made strange noises.

Do you remember the time we went on that trip to Florida. It was so hot. You said we’d save money by going in the summer. Who goes to Florida in the summer? she laughed, ran her fingers through his gray hair. The drive down there. Oh, that drive was something else. I remember we stopped in Savanah and went for a walk around town. All those weeping willows. Flowers. Orchids, I believe. Water. Lovely water, she continued stroking his hair. She placed her other arm around his belly.

You’ve got a bit of a paunch on you dear, she whispered. Yes, you’ve gained weight, she smiled. Better start taking care of yourself.

Tonight I’ll make grilled chicken and put it on a salad. It won’t hurt you to eat healthy, she got up and took her robe hanging on the door knob. You want coffee? she asked. You always want coffee, she opened the bedroom door. The cat stayed by her husband’s body.

I wish you’d say something. At least a good morning, she shook her head and walked down the hall. Made a pot of coffee. And waited for him.

He walked in darkness. No streetlights, porchlights turned off, signal lights did not flash. There were no cars out. No Fords or Chevys taking girls home past curfew. And it was silent. No music, no noise. Only sounds of semis racing on the nearby highway that ran north and south, from Chicago to Terre Haute, carrying diesel, pigs, furniture, and people’s belongings. Sounds of air brakes in the distance. Motors ran on a truck stop lot. He walked towards the far-off noise; had nowhere else to go.

Lights from diesels danced on the highway. The young man waited for there to be a lull. He crossed cautiously. All those trucks lined up on a cold night. Kid saw it as an opportunity to get out of this small town. A town where everyone knew each other’s business but never spoke. Where living room lights went off at 10:00 and shades were drawn. A town in the summer filled with the smells of hamburgers on grills and cut grass. A place where you knew something wasn’t quite right. No fish ever came out of the pond. And though shots were heard in autumn, no one ever brought home a deer.

The youngster went from semi to semi knocking on doors; asking for a ride. Truckers would ask, where you going? The kid told them anywhere. Anywhere.

No one would take him. He sat in the diner, stirring coffee. Looking at the waitresses’ legs, watching the sun come up. Hoping he’d have better luck in the daylight.

His book bag became his pillow. Leaned it up against the glass and bent his body in the booth. Kid slept for twenty minutes, felt like an hour.

Can’t sleep here, a blonde server told him. Go on now. Get, she demanded; talking to him like a dog. She wiped down his table. The boy started to say something, but no words came to him. Just an awkward silence between them while Taylor Swift sang in the background. He walked out the door, and a bell rang.

Now, he was facing the highway again. He took a quarter from his pocket and flipped it. Heads. He was heading to Chicago. A hundred miles away.

There’s a fly buzzing around. Actually, he’s very quiet. I chase him with a folded magazine as he flies from table to counter to bookshelves to the television.

Good Morning America is on, and the fly has landed on George Stephanopoulos. It’s on his forehead. I move in cautiously, silently, I don’t think he’s on to me; I’ve been wrong before.

He’s twitching as I move the magazine with my hand, placing power in it from my forearm. The fly sits still now. And just as I swing with my follow-though, he takes off.

Stephanopoulos has been struck. I hope he doesn’t file charges.

This rain won’t stop, he said. Kankakee is touching the bridge on 41, took a sip of coffee. Soon it’ll be overflowing into land. Creating small ponds, lakes, too much for the soil to take, lit a cigarette, looked at his wife who was frying eggs and making toast. We got a roof over our heads, he said. Guess we should be thankful.

Did you hear the boy come home last night? momma said. Told him to be home by midnight. Said be careful, she served breakfast to dad. Don’t see his car in the driveway. I’ve told him to call if he’s not coming home.

He don’t listen. Never has. Just does what he wants. He’s just a boy. He’ll get it together one of these days, he got up to look through the cabinets for a can of tobacco and rolling papers. That’s funny, he said. Swore I had a bottle of Red up here, he moved items around looking for it. Was about halfway full. Took a shot last night. He better not have taken that whiskey.

He wouldn’t do that, she declared. He minds.

That boy. Damn it. Bottle ain’t here.

A sheriff’s car pulled up in the driveway. Lights came through the house like the second coming. A message was to be delivered.

The parents held hands and waited at the door.