dmseay

Clothes had piled up in the corner. Dishes unwashed. Carpet hadn’t been vacuumed in years. Cobwebs in corners. Tables with dust on them.

On the walls were spray painted stick figures in blue and red. One of the paintings was a man with a knife in his hand above his head. The other was a woman with a gun. Both taunting each other. No words written. Just man and woman threatening each other. No action. Just staring each other down. Waiting for the wrong move.

That’s how he remembered it. His wife with a gun and him with a knife he’d pulled from the drawer. He knew there was a bullet in the barrel. He put it there. Just one.

And he remembered the silence. Her creeping backward out the front door. She had the gun pointed the whole time. He saw her get in the truck and take off.

I loved that woman, he whispered. I loved that woman.

You alone?

Yes.

What are you doing?

Looking out the window at a tree across the street. Been watching it every day. Seeing colors change. Now they’re yellow. Maybe soon they’ll be red. Or maybe a pretty rust color before they turn brown and die, only to be raked into a pile by the curb.

You’ve put a lot of thought into this.

I like watching things change. Nature changes. People change. The culture of an entire nation changes. The old ways. Line them up and shoot them down. Bury them. Turn them into mulch. Yes. I like watching things change.

That’s quite a sweeping statement, she said. Have you changed? she asked. Or are you the same as you were back then? Back when we were married. You used to watch the trees change back then, too. We’d go for long drives in the country in that old pickup truck. I loved that truck. Old. Comfortable. The seats were worn in. Fit was perfect. And the windsheild wipers never worked, she laughed. It’s a wonder we never killed anybody, they both laughed. But those drives were special. We’d wind up at some country store where they sold scented candles, large colorful lollipops, apple butter, all this crap you didn’t need, but we bought it anyway.

I remember.

You used to point out the types of trees to me. Oaks, hickory, cherry, birch. We drove past apple orchards where you could pick your own. We never did. Too lazy. We just bought a basket.

Right.

Do you go on drives with her?

Sometimes. When the seasons change.

Just like us?

Yes.

Some things never change.

I imagined it. Saw you standing in the mist, breathing into your hands, a red stocking cap on. You said, I’m cold. Told me you were freezing. Snow covered the plaid coat you were wearing.

We walked through the forest. Pines shimered in white and green. Birches with chipped bark seemed like old friends. Our feet made paths.

Dogs howled in the distance. An owl sat in a tree. You took my hand. Nightfall came.

A fire was built. Brilliant colors of orange and blue rose in the flames from the chopped oaks and hickory. We sat side by side. You only coughed a little. Seemed like you were barely sick at all. A bottle of chianti was passed between us. Your body was warmed by it. This is what you wanted. A final goodbye. Just the two of us. The pills were taken, and a kiss was had. It was time.

Cancer sucks, you said. We laughed. You hugged me and fell asleep. Never to awake. Goodbye, my dear love. Goodbye.

Time ran swiftly through his fingers. The old man sat with his whiskey and pondered. Outside, kids dressed in costumes knocked on doors and yelled, trick or treat. He left the porchlight off. Spent time reflecting.

Some are too busy to think of the past. Their lives are constantly on go. Jobs, careers, social engagements, always looking for the next adventure. That was never the case with the old man. He spent a lifetime looking backward in the rear view mirror of an old Ford truck. The bed rusted out. Headlights on dim.

The ice in his glass melted. Kids had gone home to divy up their treasures of the night while the old man sat in darkness, waiting for memories to stop. Women who had come in and out of his life, being raised by mom while dad worked in the factory, taking trains across country, never settling down. Always a step behind normal. Seems to be the question in America: What is normal? He asked himself this and smiled.

Maybe in the next life, he whispered. Maybe in the next life. He walked down the hall of his trailer and crawled into bed. Dreamed of a night in Dallas, watching women dance and climb on poles. Glitter in the air. Neon lights blinking. A redhead whispering in his ear, it’ll be alright. It’ll be alright.

Her voice soothed him in his sleep. Time ran swiftly through his fingers. Morning was always around the corner. And that’s what he was scared of.

I watched as he pulled into your driveway; brushed his hair back, put out his cigarette. He checked his look in the mirror. Stretched his mouth out, picked his teeth.

He had roses. Red. The kind you give lovers, carried them in his left hand. A bottle of wine was held in the other. Some kind of chianti with the basket around it. After drinking, it would be made into a candle holder with wax dripping down. Something cliché like that.

His knock on your door was soft. Almost indecisive. Did he want to be there? He knocked again. This time, it was a little harder, put the wine down, and made one more sweep through his gray hair.

And then, you opened the door.

What did you do to him? she asked. He hasn’t spoken in three days. Almost a week, he continued looking out the front window at cars driving by. Fords, Chevys, a Dodge, some pickup trucks and old beaten down station wagons hauling garbage in the back, went by on a dimly lit street. He’s back in his room. Go talk to him, she told her husband. I don’t know what you said to him, but it’s had a profound impact on him, he lit a cigarette. You have to smoke so early in the morning?

It’s what I do. I go to bed, I light up. Wake up, I light up. Smoke whenever I damn well feel like it, he coughed.

Right, she nodded her head.

In the cabinet was a bottle of Paddy’s Whiskey. The old man poured himself a glass. It was about half full. The whiskey glistened in the flourescent light. The long bulb overhead in the kitchen flickered. He looked up at it and shook his head. One more thing to fix, he said. This trailer is falling apart. Little by little, things are coming undone. And does he help out? No. He does not. He’s old enough to do some things around here, the grand dad said. Ever since we took him in, he’s been nothing but a problem. Stays out late. Sleeps all day. It’s not what I said to him. He’s just stoned out of his mind all the time. Gone. As if he were on a different planet, he said.

He looks up to you. Always has.

That boy doesn’t look up to anybody. He’s just barely here.

You don’t think his mother leaving him had anything to do with it?

She left all of us. I won’t talk about it. Another druggie. He’s going to follow in her footsteps.

Down the hall, his door opened. A dissheveled kid in his teen years walked up to the kitchen where the old man and grandma were silent. The three looked at each other. The boy pulled the milk from the refrigerator and drank from the jug. Wiped his mouth. Looked at the old man. I am going to end up like her, he said. What that is, we don’t know, but I’ll end up like her, he leaned on the counter. Sooner or later, we all got to die. And that includes you too, old man, he said. That includes you, too.

The kid walked back down the hall and shut the door to his bedroom. The two grandparents looked at each other in disbelief. It was silent for a moment or two. Quiet.

No one’s going to tell me that I’m going to die, the old man said. No one. Who does he think he is? Delivering some sermon half-baked. And it’s not what he said, but the way he said it. Cocky.

He is right. We’re all going to die someday.

I suppose. I suppose.

Give me something to look forward to, he whispered. A surprise when I come home at night, smiled. It’s been a long time. Hasn’t it? she nodded. We don’t even hold hands anymore. Seldom do we kiss. We barely talk. Right? she looked away. What happens to people? They just get tired of each other. Don’t they? Forever and ever Amen, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Blew the gray smoke up in the air. Tilted his head toward her. Leaned in. I’m no longer in love, he said. We’re no longer in love.

She looked at him with those pretty green eyes. The kind of eyes that make a man do crazy things. Like climb trees in the middle of the night to sing to them. Buy rings and dresses. The kinds in those magazines. Makes you settle down. Staying home at night and give up control of the remote- control. Your only solace is a bar you hit on the way home from a job you hate, and it’s just for one beer. Telling your friends, I gotta go. Get home to the boss. She had become his boss.

There was no need for a word to be said by her. All she had to do was look at him. Her eyes said, you ain’t going no where. We got bills to pay. Kids to raise. You’ll leave when you’re told to. Try to and I’ll lasso you.

The price we pay, he said. There’s a cost to everything. How’d things get so crazy? he asked. She threw back her red hair and took a sip of wine.

Kids will be gone soon, she told him. They’ll be gone, and you can leave. Take your truck and just go. But, there’s a price for that too, she said. A big price. A payday. And I intend to get mine.

I’ll bet you do. I’ll bet you do.

You were saying?

Nothing. If you’re not going to say anything important, why say anything at all?

No small talk, he said. Speaking about weather, work, some notion that’ll change the world, he spit in the dirt. Everybody thinks they have something to say. Something important. But it ain’t so, the campfire was burning down. People think, if I could just get my two cents in, they laughed. Always trying to get their two cents in.

I’m done with folks, he stoked the embers. An orange glow was all that was left. So petty. Self-involved. The worst are celebrities. Actors, news anchors. They think they’re changing the world. Curing cancer. Always talking their point of view. Hollywood. Hollyweird, he snickered. A bottle of whiskey was passed between them.

No, no, no. It’s the politicians. No matter which side they’re always talking about themselves. Saying things like, I work for the American people, he shook his head. Always working for the American people. Yet nothing gets done. Then they get caught with their hand in the till. Deny everything. Now that’s American, both men laughed.

The sounds of pops came from the ashes. Water was poured on the black wood. The sky was dark. Nothing shined. No stars. No light from the moon. Just two men sitting in silence. Drinking whiskey. Way off a dog barked. Maybe a wolf.

Yeah. I don’t think so, he said. You get to a point where there’s an understanding. A belief. Or lack of one, he coughed, cleared his throat. You believe? he asked. Think there’s something out there? Beyond us? Some kind of holy ghost? he ran his hand through his hair. I’ve never believed. Had faith in anything. I go to bed. I wake up. Go about my day, coughed again; wiped blood from his mouth. My wife says I’m going to Hell. You think I’m going to Hell?

I don’t know. At one point, I thought I knew. But I don’t, he thumbed through his Bible.

What does the good book say?

It says, He who believes in me shall have ever lasting life.

Uh huh.

I’m just telling you what it says. Is it true? What makes something true? Just because you say it doesn’t make it true.

Right.

We open our mouths, and things get more complex. Paul was complex. St. Augustine was complex. Men throughout history. Saying things. Gets down to who you believe, the preacher said. It used to mean something to me now it’s just a job. The only way I know how to make money. Saving souls, he shook his hands in the air playfully.

Are you a fake?

We all are.

But you saw him. Right? He was only a few feet away. Maybe a yard or two? he poured two cups of coffee. One for him and the other for his boy. Was it crowded? You had a clear shot. Yeah? the son nodded his head. Were you scared? What stopped you from pulling the trigger? he lit a cigarette and then handed the pack over. Look. Let’s just calm down, the old man said. Take a deep breath. Breath through your nose and let it out through your mouth, the boy followed directions. Go over how it went. Tell me.

I saw him at the football game.

Up at the high school? the boy nodded.

Then what?

We were in the bathroom. Two of us standing there, taking a piss. He finished and went over to wash his hands. Watched him in the mirror.

Say anything to him? Talk?

No. Not a word. Pulled my gun out. He just looked at me. Looked and laughed. Like I was some kind of joke. Pointed right at him. The bathroom cleared out. He said to me, are you going to shoot? Then he smiled. Said, I didn’t think so, and walked out.

That’s when you came here?

Ran to my car. Heard people saying, he’s got a gun. Just drove off.

Police, open the door, they barked. Another knock. Police. We know you’re in there. Come out with your hands up. Up where we can see them, the cop yelled.

The old man looked at his son. You want to get that? Or, should I?