dmseay

A red light blinked. Children crossed the street. A man smoking a cigarette in a truck watched. Merle Haggard was on the radio. Days ended early. Brown leaves on the ground. Nightfall was an hour away.

He saw his son playing football in the park; running and getting tackled, laughing. The little kid could throw the ball as well. Sending it way down field for his friend to catch in a crowd; a hail Mary. Dad lit up another cigarette.

The radio now played George Jones. He sang along, He stopped loving her today. Took out a picture of a pretty blonde woman with feathered hair, wearing a sweater, and looked at it. He looked at her and watched him. How did things get so screwed up, he thought. Maybe life cheats us, he whispered. Maybe God laughs at us.

Dad watched his son throw one more touchdown. He looked at the picture a last time. Pulled a gun out of the glove box and stuck it at his heart. The trigger was pulled.

It took her years to pay off bills that had mounted over time. Death doesn’t stop collectors. She looked at the receipts carefully. Hotels, dinners out of town, various escort agencies, Asian massage parlors out on Highway 30. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The young wife kept them as they were paid off. And then, one by one, burned the bills in an ashtray on his desk until they were black. His secrets had become hers.

At first, there was anger. Followed by madness. Dark days of drinking in the mornings and afternoons. Cursing out loud at pictures of him that hung on the walls. But, she never told her son. Mom just said, Dad was a tortured soul.

Autumn had returned. The two of them had Thanksgiving in a new apartment. There were no pictures of the father on the walls. Just reminders of God’s love crocheted on framed white pads and pillows. The boy never asked why.

I used to be so mad at you, she said. Just angry. And, for what? Nothing. There was nothing you did wrong. Perfect in every way. Maybe that’s why I left; got tired of it.

You knew what you were getting, he told her. Knew what I was all about. I wanted to be the perfect husband. And in doing so, I drove you away.

You brought home flowers every night. Made tea for me. Fixed dinner sometimes. It was too much, she said.

Somewhere between too much and not enough, he said.

No. Just too much. You drowned me in love. Most women would want that, I suppose. I felt like I was suffocating. Couldn’t catch my breath.

So, you left.

Yeah. Sorry about telling you in a text. I thought of telling you in person, but I chickened out.

I see.

You’re happy now?

I am. You?

No. I’ll never be happy. Happiness is something few people have. You’re lucky, she playfully punched his shoulder. You’re damn lucky.

Did you ever love me? she asked. I mean, really love me. Like you couldn’t go a day without me? That kind of love, she looked at him, sitting next to her on the porch swing. He nodded his head without a word. Most of their marriage, he did not say a word. ‘Cause, if you did, you never showed it, she said. We didn’t even write our own vows. Just repeated whatever the preacher said. And you were drunk, she laughed. Everyone could smell it. I sure did, he looked at her. She smiled.

Sorry, he told her. I’m truly sorry, he said. In my mind I knew it would never last.

Our marriage?

Right. Just too young. I still needed to go off and look for new adventures, he turned his head down.

Did you find them?

New adventures? No. I did not.

You just found new women, she laughed.

Yeah. That’s true.

For the short time we were married, did you ever cheat on me?

Not physically, he said. But, in my mind? I did. In my head, I cheated all the time. I never gave it a second thought. In Fool For Love, the old man says, In my mind I was married to Barbara Mandrell. In my mind, they both laughed. In my mind, I cheated on you. Sorry about that.

That’s OK. For years, I’ve been sleeping with George Clooney, she smiled.

You take care of yourself.

You too.

They sat on the couch in the dark. Not a word was said. It was early morning. Still dark outside. Moonlight glistened on snow. He reached over to hold her hand. She pulled away.

A phone call came the night before. It was a woman claiming to be his lover. She said the two had been involved since early spring. Dodging around town. Rendezvous in various hotels out by the interstate. She told the young wife she was pregnant.

When confronted with this, he broke down and cried. Told the mother of his two children how incredibly sorry he was. Said it was not love. He wasn’t sure what it was. An affair based on physical attraction was all.

Man and wife sat there watching the sun rise. Not a word was said. Only silence.

I sit too long in darkness

Waiting for the sun to arise

Giving me hope

First glimpse of orange and blue light coming through my window

Street lights fade

And then…strange…I want it to grow dark again

Where is he?

Hiding.

He’s always hiding.

From you.

Me?

Yeah. Even when he was a little boy, he used to run from you, she said. He’d run and trip over his own two feet. Falling right into my arms. You’d call his name, and he’d turn away.

That so? Never realized. I know I don’t see him much.

You never see him. And when you do, he runs. Like you’re some kind of monster or something. And when you call, he gives me the phone. Just hands it over the second he hears your voice.

He never liked me.

What do you want? she asked. I don’t think you ever liked him. He was just some mistake you made on a Friday night.

Huh. That so?

Yeah. I told you no. Remember? You just had to push it. Made me do something I didn’t want to do.

So you regret him too? Huh?

No. I do not. I just regret the man who gave him to me.

Hmm. He lit a cigarette.

No smoking in here, she said. He continued blowing smoke.

I said no smoking, she grabbed his arm. He laughed.

You gonna stop me? Should have done that six years ago. She pulled out a gun from her purse. A short snub revolver. You serious? Gonna kill me over a cigarette? she nodded.

This aint about no cigarette.

What’re you saying?

You know God damn well what I’m saying.

Alright. Alright. I’ll leave. Don’t go shooting me in the back now. Hear? she nodded. He closed the door behind him.

Where are all the gifts?

What gifts?

It’s Christmas. No tree, no gifts, no lights. Seems like just another day.

As we get older, we don’t need them. It’s a child’s time. We grow up and leave fairytales behind, he laughed.

So sad. Why? she asked.

Money. Belief. No more magic. All that wonderment is gone. I’d just as soon have a tuna casserole than a turkey, he opened a beer. Well, here’s to Christmas, he raised his can of Budweiser. Here’s to another year.

What did you do with him?

Dropped him off up the road.

Highway or the backroad?

What difference does it make?

Highway, he’s got a fighting chance. Backroads. He’ll be lost forever. Just tell me where you dropped him off at.

We been over this, he said. Told you I wasn’t going to tell you. Told you it was none of your business. That’s a deal he and I worked out. You’re not going to go looking for him. He’ll make it back here, one of these days. Could be a week. Could be a month. Just like tossing them in a swimming pool. They either sink or swim, now don’t they? He lit a cigarette. Poured himself a cup of coffee.

It’s still dark outside. Should have been in the light. Let him out in the light. What if somebody hits him? What if they find him in a ditch?

He’ll be fine, the father turned on Good Morning America. The hosts were talking about Sunday’s football games. Who won and who lost. Dad slurrped his coffee. This’ll make him tough, he said. He’ll find out how to survive.

How much money did you give him?

Couple of twenties.

That’s all? He’ll spend that in a day.

Not if he’s smart. He’ll come back when it’s gone. Probably spend it on some whore downtown. That’s what I should have done; just taken him to a whorehouse.

That’s not the way you make a man.

You know the Jews are smart about it. They make their boys learn Hebrew. God’s laws. Some kind of social order. Morals. We don’t do any of that. We just dunk them under water in a tank. Hope they come out OK.

He should’ve been baptized.

He is. That’s what this whole trip is about. He’ll either come back a man, or he won’t. You’ll see.

Dust on tables. Television screens need to be wiped. Dead flowers left on the floor. Wilted, shriveled up. The carpet hasnt been vacuumed in years. Various spots on it. Blood stains from cuts. A dark blob in front of the bathroom door. His wrists black and blue. Stitch marks, going up veins. He sits on the floor Indian style and rocks back and forth. Laughing out loud to himself. Mumbling incoherently. Talking about some kind of doomsday. He dreams of it at night time and fears it during the day. The old man often yells out, where are you now God? My father, why have you forsaken me?

As a young man, people would cast stones at him. Throwing rocks at his head and body as he went through town carrying a cross made of metal. It was an old TV antenae he’d found in the junk yard. He yelled out, the end is soon. Repent you sinners. Have faith in the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. A petite black whore from the mission would wash his feet and perfume them with bottles of Polo cologne. Anything she found on sale at the local Walmart. She wiped his tears with paper towels.

The gangs of Chicago had it with him. Said he was a fake. A fraud. Told the people of 95th Street that his days were numbered. Mocked him. Told him, if you are the son of God, then turn this water from the river into wine. He could not. There were no miracles that he could perform. Just talk. That’s all he did was talk.

And so they locked him away in a room above a liquor store over by Austin. That’s when he went really crazy. That’s when the cutting began. The whore would never lose faith in him. She tended to his needs until she died. Mary was her name. She did as she was asked. A true servant.

This old man has not ascended to Heaven yet. He still cries out for the sins of mankind. This old crazy man. This old crazy man. He waits to be called.

She sent me a letter, he said. Written in red ink. Signed with hearts and arrows. Said she was somewhere out East. Wanted to know if I would come join her. Haven’t written back to her yet. The return address was a town in New York, he lit a cigarette. I looked it up. Way up there by Syracuse.

What’s she doing up there?

Said she was dancing at a club. She always wanted to do that. Have men looking at her. Giving her money for shaking her ass.

She mention the kids?

Nope. She did not. I’ll bet her mom’s taking care of them, he sipped on coffee. George Jones was playing in the background. A waitress walked by.

You thinking about going out there to see her? Maybe try to get back together with her? he shook his head.

That girl’s trouble. She has been ever since high school. Making up wild stories. Always running away, he laughed. She sent me pictures. Some naked, some not. Still looks good.

Don’t you want to see your kids? he shook his head. What kind of a dad doesn’t want to see his kids?

The kind that’s given up. I can barely take care of myself. How am I going to take care of kids? Sides, they’d probably break my heart too, he blew out white smoke. Everything I always wanted in a family is gone. I should’ve known better. Known what she was capable of. She’s very good at leaving. Very good.