dmseay

Quiet.

Yes.

Silence.

It’s nice.

Soon, they’ll be here. Singing into the night. It’s been seventeen years. Not a sound. Not a trace, he said. Sure. There’s birds and coyotes. Dogs barking at all hours. You become immune to that. Tune it out. And now, we know what’s coming. That shrieking sound. Sounds of summer every few years.

They come out of the ground, he said. They piss on everything. Like they were little boys. A constant stream of urine runs from them, he looked at the dark sky. Rain was moving in.

What day do you think they’ll launch their attack?

Not sure. Soon. It’ll be soon. And the fireflies will be out as well. Remember when we would catch them in glass jars? they laughed.

Yeah. That was years ago.

Yes. Seventeen, to be exact. At the same time, cicadas came around. Light and loudness. It was like a war zone.

How long do you think they’ll stay?

Not sure. I’m sure scientists know. Experts on these matters. I couldn’t tell you, he lit a cigarette. Enjoy the silence for now, he told him. Enjoy it.

This is the day he arose from the dead.

Yeah.

So they say.

Right. If you believe that sort of thing.

How could I not? It’s been drilled into my head since I was a child. The son of God. The lamb. Sent here to earth to save us from sin. Yes. How could I not?

You could stop believing. 

And run the risk?

The risk?

Of not being saved.

That’s why you believe?

Yeah.

Out of fear?

Yes.

That’s no way to live.

Let’s talk present. Not past. You’re always talking about the past.  And, if I might add, your past is not always accurate.  It’s kind of a made-up past, he said. One that paints you out to be this real American hero. A friend to the working man, he lit a cigarette and ran his hand through his hair.  Is that true?

What?

These stories you tell.

Stories? You call them stories? When I think of stories, I think of fiction. These are not made-up tales. Truth. These are true, the old man took a drink of scotch. You wanna talk present? What have you done for me lately? That is what you want? the young man nodded. I watched this neighborhood grow. Watched from the very beginning,  the mensch said. I knew and know every family that has lived here.  Used to have turkey giveaways at Thanksgiving.  Bought toys for their kids at Christmas time. Would stop by homes at Easter and Passover. Gave away jobs to those who needed them. And those who earned them.

That’s past. Now is a different story. You’re indicted. Selling jobs, accepting bribes, all this, he told him. That’s the present.

Fundraising, the committeeman said. Someone has to keep this city running.

Machine.

Of course it’s a machine. Cause that’s how we were taught. That’s how things get done.

What things?

The building of communities.  The building of a city. You want transparency? You want to put a stop to nepotism? If a man is starving, do you help him?

Yes, but….

Damn right. You give that man a job.

And he becomes a slave to you.

Slave? No. Loyal? Yes. All the dirty secrets and back room deals. You think you know. But, you don’t. And you’ll never stop it. This is how things work. Don’t ever forget that. It’s all for the greater good. It’s like I say, democracy is too important to be left to the people.

He looked at the brick wall. Cans of black and red spray paint in his hands. The young man shook them like a bartender shakes martinis. Took the caps off and began his work.

With the black paint, he wrote a sentence on the rust colored bricks. The sentence read, Take back the power.  He looked at it; studied the structure. And began diagramming.

The kid used the red paint to make lines over and under words. Slants were used. The complete sentence  broken down for all to see. He knew then what his mission was; tag every brick wall in Queens with diagrammed sentences. This was his calling.

It was his grandmother who taught him how to diagram.  The two would sit at the kitchen table for an hour each day, working on various sentences; short sentences, and long statements as well. This time together was cherished by both.

Each day, as he diagrammed on buildings, public housing, subway trains, and sidewalks, the young man thought of his grandmother. The work was a reminder of her love. And with each word, every mark, he felt her presence. 

Funny. Things you say these days. No filter. Just out with it. Really speaking your mind, as if nothing else mattered, but your opinion, the wife said. I remember when you were more careful with words. More articulate. Now you’re just an old dog barking at cars as they drive by, she held his hand.

He looked at her. This companion of fifty-five years stared at her. The old man no longer felt her words. His wife’s love was no longer important to him. As much as she tried, the grandmother could no longer comfort him. At seventy-five, he wanted to move on.

You never settled, did you? she asked. The house, kids, and career were never enough. You’ve always wanted something else. Something out there, she pointed out to the open sky. Was I ever good enough for you?

The retired attorney got up and poured himself a drink. A whiskey. Wild Turkey. He always liked the bird on the bottle. The old man pointed the bottle at his wife. She shook her head, no. He sat down on the porch swing. Rocked slowly back and forth. At one time, he said. I was in love with you. I really felt something in my heart, he smiled. And the kids came along. I was proud of both of them. Their accomplishments.  But now I feel hollow inside. Nothing is there anymore. No love. No pride. I just want to die.

Don’t say that. You must never say that. We’re here as long as God intends us to be here and not a second less or longer, she scolded.

Yes. You’re right, he downed the whiskey and placed the bottle under his arm. The old man walked down to the grass. He tipped his fedora to his wife. See you around, kid. I’ll see you around.

And off he walked. Almost marching. She watched until he got to the street corner and turned. The wife did not call out for him. She did not contact the police. She just let him be.

I didn’t mean to, she said. Sweet words were spoken and magical spells cast. And he fell. Headfirst. Deep into my soul. My love. He couldn’t find his way out, the brunette ran fingers through her hair. See this. He gave this to me as a sign, a symbol of his love.

I’d say that’s a rock, he said. Let me take a look at that. How many carats?

One. One whole one. Said he spent all his savings on it, she leaned back in her chair. I don’t know if that’s true or not. Probably.  Then again,  he could’ve taken it.

From where?

His mother’s jewelry box. She wouldn’t know the difference.

Why’s that?

Dementia. I doubt if she even knows he exists. She clocked out years ago. Sits in a rocking chair all day long watching TV. She doesn’t laugh or cry. She just sits there till it’s time for bed around seven at night.

Shouldn’t the mother be in a home?

He won’t do it. He won’t do that.

She’s going to wind up getting hurt.

Who knows?

Do you know where he is? Where we could find him? she shook her head. The detective took a swig of coffee.

Aren’t you going to offer me a cigarette? On those TV shows and movies cops offer cigarettes to suspects.

We’re not allowed to smoke in here anymore. Used to. Long time ago. Hollywood. They get everything wrong.

Why did you ask me to come in?

Procedure. Guy comes up missing. We question everyone.

I understand.  Like I said. He fell deeply in love with me. Then, one day, he was gone. Nobody knows where he went to.

That seems to be the case.

Can I go now?

Sure.

The tempest went out to her car and lit a cigarette. Smiled, put it in drive, and laughed all the way home.

The harvest came through this year. Who would have thought this last spring when we planted, the minister said. We nursed these sprouts until they became full and rich. They’re not green anymore.

No. No, they are not. Full bloom. Some think they can make it on their own, said the elder. They believe it’s OK to rebel. This flock of young ones. Looking outside. Seeing the evil in this world. I dare say they want a part of it.

We can’t let them. There is God and nature, the Puritan said. They all tend to be weak. We’ve done all we can do.

Tonight, they’ll leave us for the world. Wicked ways. We can only pray they’ll come back.

Amen.

Amen.

All kinds of things were going on there. Real kinky stuff. Accusations,  promises, declarations. You couldn’t get a word in. They cut you off as soon as your mouth was open. No talking on my part. Just sat there in silence. Waiting. Just waiting.

For what?

My moment.  A split second to leave. Quietly exit, he lit a cigarette. No sense in staying when they want to abuse you like that. Like I said, real kinky stuff.

How many people were there? he asked, poured himself a whiskey.  Just a round about number. A guess.

Let’s see. There was myself, some bloke from God only knows. An Indian fellow. And those hideous men, telling us what to do.

What to do?

Yes. Bossing us around.

What did they tell you?

I’d rather not say. I was scared for my life. Real bona-fide fear. Pulled out a whip and was swinging it around like some kind of king, keeping his peasants in line. This was not what I paid for.

Real kinky stuff?

Yes. Real kinky stuff.

What’s with the visit?

Thought I’d stop by.

Haven’t seen you in months.

Been busy.

Not too busy, I hope.

No. Just enough.

Did you ever get that girlfriend situation figured out?

Sort of.

How’s that?

I left town.

Oh. That’s why I ain’t seen you. Left town? Sounds like you in your younger days.

Yeah. I suppose.

Something didn’t agree with you, you’d leave. Take off in the middle of the night. Had us worried sick, his father told him. Still got the trailer?

Lost it. Stopped paying rent. Left all responsibilities behind.

Where’s your truck?

Sold it.

What’re you? Some kind of bohemian? they both laughed. Where you sleeping at night?

Shelters. Parks. Canyons out West. Fresh cool air at night. Colorado, Utah, Wyoming. Different life, the old man smiled.

I’m jealous. You’re free. Where you off to now?

Going to the East Coast. New York, New Hampshire,  Maine, Massachusetts. Want to get there before winter. Enjoy the colors.

What about us?

I’ll be back for Thanksgiving.

Good. We’ll smoke a turkey together.

I’d like that.

Yeah. Why don’t I drive you out East?

Sure.

We could talk. 

Talk.

I’ll go get my keys. I’ll let you drive. We can stop at gas stations and get corn dogs.

OK, pop.

An adventure.  A real adventure. 

Yeah. A real adventure.

Why are you tired? You don’t do anything, he said. Sit around. Lie around. Never moving. No movement. A constant state of rest, the old man told him. Examine the possibilities. Look around you. What do you surround yourself with? Bare walls. A chair. Twin mattress. Paper plates. Is this what you want? the young man just looked at the floor. You’re not going to find anything down there, he said. Look at me. Look, the old man cupped the kid’s chin with his right hand. You see this? All these wrinkles? They’re well deserved. I’ve seen good times, and I’ve seen bad, he said. But I always looked forward. Always.

I’m tired, the boy said. I’m always tired. I’ve had enough. I want to end it. Be done with it. Move on to the next life.

There is no next life. This is it. All you get.

Bones just rot in a box? Soul goes nowhere? That’s not what they told us in Sunday school, he laughed.

I don’t know what’s true and not true. I just know you have to make the most of this life. Otherwise, you wind up dead way too soon. Life will kill you. If you let it.