dmseay

A trailer with missing steps on the front porch. Mosquito strips hang from the light fixture. Gravel and dirt make up a driveway. Folding chairs with a ripped card table and rusty legs. The three of them sit around it with a twenty-four case of Old Style sweating in the night heat.

I called you boys over for a reason tonight, Bobby said. We need to get down to business. Need to be honest with each other. Don’t talk over one another. Listen to what the other guy is saying. They all nodded. Teddy. Jimmy. We’ve known each other a long time. Been through a lot. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not cut out for this anymore. Just don’t have the strength, he told them. I gotta step down as the ring leader. How do you two feel about that?

Teddy lifted his empty can and threw it out in the yard. Jimmy sat in silence.  That’s how I feel, Teddy said. You’re quitting when we need you most. Those teenagers are going to take over now. They’ll see we’re weak. Teddy raised his voice.

Shhhh. Not so loud, Bobby commanded.  You’re not listening. I’m done. Done with worrying about the cops. Tired of worrying about somebody lying there dead on my front doorstep. Jimmy remained quiet.

So, I guess it’s over. Teddy said.

You boys can sell if you want to. But, I’m done, Bobby lit a cigarette.

You moving out of the park?

Bobby pointed at the station wagon. Gonna take that across country. See America. Maybe settle down in Indio.

I see. Ted cracked open a cold one. Jimmy just sat there. Staring out into space.

I’ll need you to take care of him, Ted pointed at Jimmy.

Why me?

He’s got nowhere to go. He’s retarded for Christ sake. All this time, it’s been me.

You mean me, Bobby shouted.

Bring your voice down. Bobby took out a gun from his pants. He pointed it at Teddy. I said settle down.

You’d shoot your own cousin? Teddy asked.

Without hesitation. The two stared at each other. Jimmy rocked back and forth.

Go on then. Do it. You pull a gun on me. You better use it. I ain’t gonna watch him. He ain’t my responsibility. You Hear me?

I say what goes, Bobby said.

I’m done with this. Teddy stood up.

Where you going?

Leaving.

We ain’t done.

I say we are. Have fun. Send me a postcard.

Bobby cocked his gun. Shot it two times. Once in the air and once in Teddy’s back. He dropped to his knees and then landed on his bearded face. Arms outstretched. He lay there in the tall weeds. Jimmy remained silent.

Did you find her? He asked.

No. No, I did not. Looked everywhere. Old dives we used to go to. Diners where we all had pie at two in the morning. Washington Square Park, where we always went to buy joints from that one guy.

Nothing?

Nope. When was the last time you saw her?

Couple, maybe three months ago.

It’s been longer than that.

Maybe. I can’t keep up with time anymore. It goes quickly or not at all. Just stays on the same month sometimes.  Can’t tell a difference until the seasons change, he told me.

Leaves.

Yes. I noticed tonight while I was walking over here. Went past Union Square. All those damn people selling organic vegetables. I can’t afford organic vegetables, he said.

No one can. They keep up with the Jones’. Dinner parties in empty lofts. Saying minimalism is chic. Brick walls covered in black and white photos. House poor. But, they have their parsnips, I laughed.

Yeah. He took another drink. No sign of her, huh? 

Afraid not.

Hope nothing happened to her, he said.

Yeah. Hope not.

I’m out of here.

See you around, I said.

Not if I see you first.

Hands over eyes. Rubbing sleep out of them. The morning stretch and cough simultaneously. He grabs a beer from the mini fridge. Pops the tab. Foam spews on his wrinkled hand. He wipes it on his mouth. 

The room smells like cigarettes and cheap gin. No matter how impoverished, a good martini is always in order.

Dial is set on WKCR. They’re playing Coltrane for the next twenty-four hours. He sits on his bed and listens to Central Park West. Thinks of the upper Westside. Women walking dogs. Horse-drawn carriages. A couple kissing on a bench. He takes another swig.

A Love Supreme is now playing. He hums along. It is still dark outside. Snow flakes fall on 24th Street. Maybe they’re blessings coming down. He opens his window and tastes the air.

Happy New Year,  he says to himself. Happy New Year.

Nothing works, he said. No TV or radio. No electricity. The gas has been cut off for a month now. Can’t even make a pot of coffee. He spit on the linoleum floor. What I wouldn’t do for a cup of joe. I’d even settle for herbal tea. Although I prefer Earl Grey.  Any kind of hot drink would do. He looked out the kitchen window. Leaves are piling up. Soon, it’ll be nothing but white out there. That’s my guess. Farmer’s Almanac says differently. Says it’s going to be mild. Who knows? Could be a cold, wet winter. I place my bets on nothing. Can’t trust Mother Nature. She’s got a burr up her ass. Always out to prove me wrong. He spit his tobacco on the floor again. Every woman is. He lit a candle. This is supposed to smell like autumn. That’s what it says on the jar. Autumn Spice.

How much did it cost you? She asked.

Don’t worry about it. You know there’s no money anymore. Spent it all at the casino. 

Luck is not on our side. She said. Never has been. Always a struggle.  

I said, don’t worry about it.

You stole it, didn’t you?

I wanted you to have it. Wanted you to have something nice. His face glowed in the dark.

I don’t want it.

You don’t?

Nope.

Well, it’s too late for that. Just hang on a while longer. Our check will be here in a few days.

Right. And then it’s gone. She told him.

Everything always is.

Come here, he said. Get over here. Nervously, she walked over to him. Did anyone ever tell you you’re really pretty. She smiled. Blushed a little.  I mean it. Pretty black hair. It shines. Pretty brown eyes. Really something. He swiveled on his barstool. Bartender. Set em up. What are you drinking, honey?

Ohhhh. I’m OK. She pulled out a cigarette. 

Rejecting me? My feelings are hurt, he told her. I thought we had something.  I looked at you across the bar. You looked back. You walked over here to me for Christ’s sake.

I just want a Coke. I don’t drink. I can’t drink.

Why’s that?

I get crazy.

Crazy is good.

No. Crazy is bad. She laughed.

How so?

I’d start around noon. Drink into the evening. Wake up the next morning on a bus leaving town. Going out west. Or up to Canada. She shook her head.

Shouldn’t be in a bar. He said. False advertising.

I like bars. She looked around. Like seeing what I’ve accomplished. Seeing if I can get through the night without a drink. Testing myself. 

I see. Is that what I am? A test?

The brunette shook her head. No. She said. You’re like candy.

How so?

I want to taste your lips. But I’m scared to. Cavities. Holes in your soul. Bad for you. Next thing you know, I’m back on the bus. Or, in your arms with a bottle beside me. 

Yeah. I suppose so. I never met any woman like you. Especially in a bar. You’re a rare breed. He said, placing his hand on her shoulder.  She nodded. If you ever want to take a bus trip, let me know. He laughed.

I’ll do that.  Yes, sir. I’ll do that.

You got kids? She asked. Mine are grown. Eighteen and twenty-one. Yours?

I don’t have any, he told her. Got lucky.

Yep. Sounds like you did. I got pictures. Want to see? She pulled out two grade school photos with a background of orange and yellow leaves. Front teeth missing on the little blonde girl. The boy had his hair combed to the side.

Good-looking kids, he told her as he lit a cigarette. They grow up fast.

How would you know?

Well. I assume they do. That’s what people say.

You know who says that? He shook his head. Parents who missed their kid’s childhood, she said. Hand me that whiskey.

She got up from sitting on the bed and walked over to the window that overlooked 24th Street. She saw taxis pass by. Cop cruisers. A neon sign on the corner flashing red and green. Pizza Slices seventy-five cents, it said.

He went to the sink and splashed his face with cold water. The water was always cold.

You gotta cigarette? She asked.

This is my last one.

Give me a drag, she told him.

You gotta hundred bucks. Go get your own.

You want me to leave?

That’s what I’m paying you for. He laughed. Just. Yeah. I have to sleep.

Gotta big day tomorrow? Representing someone in court? Have to teach a class? Wife to go home to?

Just leave. He opened the door for her.

She turned around in the hallway to say something.  She could hear a deadbolt locking.

Would you sell your soul for a sandwich? I asked. A bed? How about a coat just to keep you warm as you lie on a park bench?

What I wouldn’t give for a car. Just an old four-door with an engine that wouldn’t quit. Ford. Chevy. Some old Dodge. Maybe a station wagon so I could stretch out at night. Let the back seat down and just lie there; resting. My own space. My own place.

I’d drive it up and down I-95 a few times. Stopping in New York, Philly, D.C., make my way down to Florida for the winter. Sleep at rest areas under blue lights. The tranquil sounds of diesels humming. My own Valhalla.

Maybe get on 80 and head west. Go through Iowa and The Plains. Nebraska, Wyoming. Park it in San Francisco and start my way back east to Teaneck, New Jersey. I don’t know. No particular place to call home. Just stretched out land.  This whole country is mine for the taking.

I dreamt the other night that a woman would be my co-pilot. Travel with me. Then I woke up. It was just a dream.  

Over, he said. This is done. He answers the final clue on the crossword puzzle, places his pen on the nightstand, and turns off the lamp.

He lays there with a blanket over him and a soft pillow beneath his head. The pillow is too soft. He bends it and lies on his side, closes his eyes, but he can not sleep.

A small television sits on an end table between the bed and wall. He sits up and turns it on. Charlie Rose is interviewing Lauren Bacall. He’s practically blushing through the interview. Even in black and white, his face turns red. Shuts it off. The boy goes to the sink in his room and splashes water on his eyes, cheeks, and forehead. It’s two in the morning.

Kid goes outside and sits on the stoop. Up on 8th Avenue busses are going by. Taxis stop for drunks. The sound of Mexican music plays loudly from a restaurant on the corner. Hookers stroll by and ask if he wants a date. He points at his pockets and shakes his head. Creatures of Manhattan in ’87.

A cigarette is lit. He inhales and blows out smoke into the cold morning air. Watches as the sun rises. Tomorrow, he’ll do the same.

Pictures of windmills. An old well pump. Photos of parents and grandparents.  A red barn in a wooden frame.

Candles burn, giving off an autumn scent of pumpkins and pine cones. He swirls red wine in a plastic cup. Lights a cigarette. Looks out the window. A giant blow-up turkey in a front yard. The sun sets. Light turns black. There is nothing more to see.

The fireplace does not work. Nothing in this house does. Electric and gas have been shut off. A blanket with flowers on it covers the old man. He can see his breath. The wine burns as it goes down his throat. Cigarette butts on a wooden floor.

She comes in and sits on the couch. Too dark to knit. His wife wears a coat. When does the social security check come? She asks.

The first. He tells her.

What day is it?

Not sure. They just kind of run together. He takes a last drag and crushes the cancer stick. Places his hands in his pants. I remember when you kept me warm. He tells her.

Yeah. I remember, too. We’re getting old. Too old to fool around, she says. Too old to not have heat or light. She lies down. That wine is going to kill us.

Hopefully.

Pour me a cup.

A cup of death, he laughs.

Just what the doctor ordered.

This isn’t what I ordered. He said. This ain’t it at all. Jr. looks at the sunny side eggs. I ordered over-easy with pancakes and got sunnys with hashbrowns. Toast? I didn’t order toast.

Tell her they got it wrong. Mike said.

And risk the Mexicans spitting on it? No thank you. I’ll eat it.

Then don’t complain, Mike said, stirring sugar into his coffee. Too many people complain in this country.

They should complain if they didn’t get what they wanted. Jr. looks at the waitress pass by.

Everything alright? She asked.

He didn’t get what he…

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Jr. interrupted. Just fine. In fact, you could say dandy. Just dandy. The brunette shook her head and poured more coffee into cups that were half filled and walked to the next table.

They always do that, Jr. said.

What’s that?

Fill your cup when you just got it right. The exact amount of cream. The exact measurement of sugar. Jr. whispered. Mike began to laugh. You think it’s funny? Mike nodded his head. You like doing things over and over again? Mike laughed harder, crying.

Just eat your breakfast. Mike suggested. You’re really something. Paranoid of Mexican cooks. Complain yet you say nothing. Coffee? Really? Coffee? Next, you’re going to say something about the waitress.

She’s not my type.