dmseay

I watched her in the garden; picking radishes. Singing songs. Her voice was like a bell. Ringing out. Definitely an alto. Could’ve swore she was an alto. She sang old songs. Old pop songs; Carole KIng, Carly Simon, even some Joan Baez. Her wisdom was past her age. She was an old soul. Maybe her second or third life.

Watching from the kitchen window, I was amazed by her beauty. Long brown hair and dark skin. I couldn’t make out her eyes. They were a mystery. She was a mystery. I knocked on the window to wave hello to her and there was no response. The tall woman just kept bending over, pulling radishes, singing.

God I wanted to touch her. Imagined it would feel like magic. But, it was clear that she did not want that. She did not want any interference from her time in the garden. She just kept singing, moved over to the grape vines where she pulled on the white fruit, washed by the morning’s rain, and placed it in her mouth. Singing and laughing with a mouth full of grapes. Her white dress flowed in the wind.

Turning to watch the sky, I noticed a cloud dancing to her voice. It seemed happy. Happy to be with her. I turned again to look at her. She was walking to the heavens. Step by step. Ascending a golden staircase. Maybe this was her time.

Wasn’t going to listen anymore. His ears had grown deaf to her voice. Her shrieks and hollering was too much. It would begin in the morning with yelling at high decibels. Nothing was ever good enough. She blamed him for her downfall. My parents raised me better than this, she screamed. I deserve better, she told him. He’d light a cigarette and cover his ears. He knew she was telling the truth.

He’d leave her in the morning. Sometimes in mid-sentence. Most days he’d just fill his Thermos with coffee and head on out the door. Didn’t used to be that way. There was a time when they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. The young man would walk up behind her as she washed dishes and swat her behind. He’d grab her with both arms and kiss the back of her neck. She fell back against him and let him catch her. They’d make love right there in the kitchen. Shades open, lights on, up against counters and the kitchen table. Early in the marriage that came to a stop. So did a lot of things.

The first miscarriage happened one night when he came home drunk and an argument took place. Arguing turned into fists flying. She threw the first punch. And, the second. Accused him of cheating on her. She was always kind of paranoid about that. He swore he never did. She wasn’t buying it. He got a couple of hits in as well. Struck her across her freckled face, pulled on her blonde hair, and swung hard into her belly. They told the doctor she fell.

Her second miscarriage came in a car wreck. The two of them were yelling about who was at fault for her pregnancy. He blamed her and she blamed him. Screams became blows. She pushed him and he pushed her. He did not see that the light was red. Never saw the truck in front of him. They both bounced off the dashboard. Cuts and scrapes on him. Broken ribs in her. Another child lost.

And now they didn’t talk. She yells and he watches TV. At night it’s silent. He sleeps on the couch. She cries in the bedroom. He knew she deserved better than this.

He slept for a few hours. Mattress on the floor. A bed roll for cover. He looked up at the ceiling. Dark. Little light coming from a bathroom’s cracked door. Kept looking at the fan. It used to work, he whispered. Used to, he lit a cigarette from a pack sitting on a folding chair beside his bed along with eye- glasses and a cheap lighter. Shadows were cast on walls. He made a pair of bunny ears with two of his fingers. Here comes Peter Cottontail. Hopping down the bunny trail, he sang in a hushed tone. The house was quiet.

The folding chair was used to pull himself off his bed. His fat body struggled to get to his feet. He stood unbalanced. Always thought his weight would tip him over. Inhaled smoke and blew it out quickly. Felt dizzy in the head. Remembered when his dad died. Said he was feeling dizzy. And then fell to the floor. The man paused. Began walking to the kitchen. Walking in darkness.

Light from the refrigerator revealed some items he’d bought awhile ago. Out of date sliced turkey. A jar of vinegar that once had pickles in it. A day old pot of pasta. Four beers; Pabst Blue Ribbon. He opened one. Took a long drink. Crispness of the liquid tickled the back of his throat. Took another drag from his cigarette and opened the shades. A harvest moon lit the sky. He smiled. It was no longer dark.

He killed a man. Shot him in the back of the neck. Lit his room on fire to hide evidence. All that was left were ashes. Gray and black ashes with smoke coming from them. They used dental records for identification. Bones were placed in bags.

They said he owed money to a lot of people. Always borrowing. Never paying back. Had several folks angry with him. Men, women, kin folk, lovers, landlords, all of them wanted their pay. They were going to get it one way or another. Penalties applied.

The young man moved around a lot. Always leaving people behind. Taking off in the middle of the night. Hoping no one would catch him. Years went by. Never a trace of him. He was like a ghost; invisible to the naked eye. The kid had escaped all his debtors. All except one.

He found him in Ohio. A small town off 30. Found him in a rented room above a bar on Main Street. The young man passed out there every afternoon. Never came out till sunrise. That’s when he found him. In his bed. He didn’t even knock. Just came right in.

You got my money? he asked. Five grand? the young man shook his head. He asked him again. Do you have my money? The young man nodded this time. Pulled out the drawer of his nightstand and grabbed his pistol. Pointed it at the man. Said he meant business. Shot him when he turned around. Twice in the neck. Lit a match and left town. They ain’t found him yet.

Just wait here, he said. Don’t move. Or, make a sound. Sit quietly. Silently. Don’t let your feet make any noises. If you think you’re going to cough then cover your mouth, he told him. They’re out there waiting for us to make a mistake. One wrong move could mean the end of this. This thing we have. Here, he grabbed a blanket. Cover yourself with this. Go-on. Do it, sirens could be heard out in the streets.

They coming for us? the boy said.

The man just put his finger to his mouth and whispered, Not a word. Shhhh. I’ll be back soon, he said. We need things. We’re running low. You like bologna, the kid nodded his head. Want some Mountain Dew? again the kid nodded. The sirens were getting closer. Just wait here. Don’t move. If you hear anybody come in, don’t make a sound. They’ll leave soon enough. I’ll be back real quick, the man said before he crawled out of the hole in the basement leading him outside where he ran like a deer being chased.

Sirens were turned off. Just red and blue lights swirled around on top of police cars. The boy could hear voices and the front door open. It creaked. Flashlights shined through cracks in the hardwood floors.

Anybody here, a cop said. Come out if you are, the boy held onto the blanket a little tighter. You take the upstairs and I’ll take the downstairs, the cop told his partner. We’re not gonna hurt you, he said. We want to help you. Get you out of here, the boy held his breath. The basement door was opened.

Man walked through the gas station placing items in his pockets. Mountain Dew, Beef jerkey, they didn’t have any bologna. He grabbed some bread and made a bee-line to the front door. The kid behind the counter told him to stop. Yelled he’d call the cops. The man just kept running till he was out of sight. Down back streets and alleys. Places where there were no street lights. He stopped to light a cigarette.

Lights were criss-crossing each other in the basement. The cops saw a lump under a blanket in the corner. Again, the boy held his breath. A police officer walked over to the bawled up blanket and kicked it. The boy let out a noise. Quickly the cop took the blanket off the boy. They looked at each other.

I’m not gonna hurt you, the cop said. Come with me, he extended his hand. Where’s your dad? he asked. The boy shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. Come on now. Let’s get you home to your mom.

The man saw his son being taken away from him. Took a swig of Mountain Dew. Said, I told him to be quiet. I told him. He never saw his son again.

He showed her a trick. Nothing up his sleeves. Said magic words. Then presto; a quarter was pulled from behind the child’s ear. The old man gave the shiny piece to the little girl. She showed the coin to her mother who sat there on the park bench beside her. Thank you, she said to the stranger. Thanks, but, no thanks, told her daughter to give the quarter back to the old man and go play on the swingset. The kid frowned. Go on, give it back to him, mom said. He stuck out his hand and she placed the quarter in his palm. Told him thanks anyway, and went off to swing high in the autumn sky.

I didn’t mean any harm, the old man said to the mother. I guess sometimes I get carried away. I’m very sorry, the mother moved down the bench a foot or two.

You shouldn’t do that, she said. Teach children magic. That things come easy in life, she lit a cigarette. Now she’s gonna want a quarter from me all the time. I ain’t got that much money to be giving her quarters mister, she took a long drag.

I’m very sorry, he put the coin in his pocket. I see you two out here every afternoon, he said. I guess I felt it was OK. I guessed wrong, he smiled.

You sure did. It’s creepy, she said. Magic tricks with little girls. It’s not right. How do I know you ain’t got no record. You some kind of child molester.

Oh I’m not that. Not anything really. Just an old man sitting on a park bench. Looking at leaves. Watching children play. Thinking of my younger days.

That’s your problem right there, she said. You looking backwards instead of forwards. I guess that’s what you do when you get old, she moved even further away on the bench. Stood up and crushed out her cigarette. Well, stay away from my daughter. You hear? the old man nodded. She began walking away; mumbling, Ain’t no such thing as magic anyway.

They were talking about sin. We’re all sinners, the old man said. Every last one of us, he turned the sound down on the television. The Andy Griffith Show was on. Andy was telling his son that sometimes you gotta stick up for yourself. They both continued watching with the sound down.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve sinned, said the old man. All too many times. Of course, that’s between me and God. I don’t care about what those crazy Catholics say. About confession to a priest and all that. It gets down to your relationship with Jesus. He paid the price so we don’t have to, he said.

Jesus knows all your sins? boy asked. He knows what you’ve done?

Let’s not get into that boy.

Momma didn’t know, but, the Lord did. Right?

I’m not gonna talk about it, he grabbed a beer from the ice box.

She didn’t know about your galavanting around town? Told her you were at work. Doing something on the third shift. Making over time.

That’s long over boy. Why bring that up? It was in her best interest. It would’ve hurt her too bad. Now. That’s all I gonna say on this topic, he turned the sound back up.

I followed you one night. Saw you leave the bar and walk down Main Street. Then you turned up State. Went into a house with a red light on over the porch. Big sign in the front yard that said Doll House. Waited across the street in Kroger’s parking lot.

That’s enough.

The place was a whore house dad. Saw you go in and an hour later I saw you come out. You walked back to the bar. And, the whole time I was following you, I was crying. Felt like someone punched me in the stomach.

I don’t have to talk about this. I knew you were following me. I felt it. And I prayed for forgiveness. That’s all I had to do. Didn’t owe you any explanation. People make mistakes. Are you perfect?

No. I am not. But, I would never cheat on my wife if I was married. Standards dad. This is about standards. Character. What makes you a man.

How ‘come you never brought this up before?

Tried to forget about it.

And, you never told mom.

No sir. I did not. Same reason as you. I knew it’d break her heart.

That was smart of you, the old man lit a cigarette.

The two sat there watching another episode of Andy Griffith. The old man turned the sound up. Crickets could be heard outside. Boy went to the front door and looked at the moon. The old man just sat there in his chair with his eyes opening and closing. No one sleeps with a clear mind.

There was a shooting star last night. Some would call it a falling star. A million miles away. Shiny thing up in the sky. Moving. We watched till it diminished into nothing. Maybe it burned out. Perhaps it landed over in a field in Nebraska. Maybe China. I held her hand as it moved across the sky. A yellow moon shined down on us. I knew it’d be the last time.

The river glistened in the early morning light. I woke up on the banks of the Ohio. A bottle of wine was knocked over on it’s side in the tall grass. Two glasses. We drank wine in glasses. We had some class about us. A Mexican blanket covered us both; colors of aqua, blue, orange and yellow. I tried to wake her. I tried. She laid there with spit coming from her mouth. Forehead was cold.

I checked her pulse. Nothing there. Tried to listen to a heart beat. There was no rhythm. Her eyes looked up at God. I closed them. Green eyes never to see again. A needle stuck in her arm.

There was a shooting star last night. Some would call it a falling star. She was now a million miles away.

How long you been here? In this place. This. This place, the two men looked at each other. It’s not good. In fact it’s frightening. Both of us here. Maybe forever. Do you believe in eternity? they looked at each other again. Count to ten and close your eyes. When you open them you’ll still be here. We’ll still be here. Did you see a door? he shook his head. No? Nor did I. Have you ever seen such white? Not a cream colored. Just white. Muy blanco, they both laughed. There’s no food. Where can I find food? the one man looked at him and shrugged his shoulders. How long have you gone without it?

I forgot, he said. It’s been so long. You forget about things like food, comfort, the blanket your grandmother made for you. You forget all that.

I suppose so.

Yes. I had a dream last night about food as a matter of fact. A juicy steak. Porterhouse. With the bone in it. I ate every bit of it.

I thought you said you forget all that.

You still dream.

Right.

You just don’t talk about those things. I wouldn’t be talking about it, but, you asked. I don’t long for anything. It was just a dream.

Dreams mean something, he said. It is a wanting. A pure wanting. A desire. You don’t miss anything?

No. I don’t. This is my fate. Our destiny. You’ll accept that. Soon. And one day will be like all the rest. All the same. That’s what you get. That’s what you get. A lifetime of hard work and now this. Maybe I didn’t work hard enough.

What did you do?

Little bit of everything. I moved from job to job. Town to town. Then I wound up here. This place.

I was a….

I don’t want to know what you were. I know what you are now. Here with me. That tells me a lot.

Haven’t the least bit of interest in…

No. I really don’t.

So. We’re stuck here.

Yes.

In this place.

Yes.

There was silence between the two men. Neither spoke again. An eternity in silence. In a white room. Sins being atoned for. In this place.

There’s noise. It’s coming from down the street. Hedge trimmers and lawnmowers. Awakened by hedge trimmers and lawnmowers. Early morning and he was already sweating. No air-conditioner. Windows opened and a warm breeze blows into the rented room. Sheets are soaked. Pillow has salt marks on it. The old man takes a drink of warm beer in a can beside his bed. Vommit is in the trash can.

That noise, he said to the woman beside him. Why must they make that noise? the whore laughed.

I remember when I was a kid in the suburbs. Saturdays those same noises would wake me up. It’s nice, she said. Feels like home.

Autumn will be here soon, the old man scratched his groin. Leaf blowers. Mexicans running leaf blowers, he took another drink of beer. Want some? she shook her head.

How can you drink this early in the morning?

How can I not? he got up and ran water from the faucet in his room. Splashed himself. Used a dirty tee-shirt for a towel. The world is a shit hole, he said. I face it better when I’m drunk. A constant drunk. Never ending, he grinned and then poured water into a small coffee maker. Don’t worry, he said. Salvation is on it’s way, he jumped back into bed and held the woman by the hips from behind. Wrapped his arms ’round her big belly. Started feeling her breasts.

Didn’t you get enough last night? Most guys do it once and then fall asleep.

Not me. No not me, he said. I always have a hard-on. Even in my sleep. It’s always there. It’s like a statue, she laughed.

I wouldn’t go that far, he kissed the back of her neck. You’re the only guy I don’t charge. Does that make us lovers? he held on tighter.

Yes. Yes it does.

I was just wondering, they both smiled.

Life is funny, he said. You never know who you’re gonna wind up with. An artist, a business woman, a stay at home mom, some whore.

What am I?

A business woman, he slapped her on the ass and said, Now go make me some money.