dmseay

It’s dark in here.

Yeah

I can’t see.

Nope.

Could you help?

How?

A flashlight. Candles. Something.

I haven’t got any.

Nothing?

I do not.

What time is it?

Not sure. Maybe midnight. Maybe four in the morning. Put your hand to your face. Do you see it?

No. It’s too dark. I’m scared. Like when I was a child, and mom turned out the lights at bedtime. Or underneath covers at night. Trapped in a closet. I always wondered what was under the bed. Some kind of monster. A spirit. Ghosts.

Soon, there will be light. Keep believing that. Light is on the way.

Right.

The darkness will be gone. You’ll be able to see.

I hope so.

Hope is all we have.

It’s dark in here.

A candle smelling like a Mr. Goodbar burns in the window. Another one with the fragrance of Tennessee pines holds a flame as well. This reminds him of his childhood in the South. Cool autumn mornings walking through the woods. Deer and squirrels crossed his path. Candy wrappers mixed in with fallen brown needles. A stream flowed in the distance.

It was in the forest where he questioned God. A superior being creating all of mankind; the good and the bad. Those that would help and those that would hinder. People who caused wars and folks who fought against injustice. These thoughts would be left behind in being a man. Mortgages , life insurance, car payments, medical bills, student loans would take over his train of thought. He left philosophy behind years ago. The questioning of God. The purpose of man.

These wicks burned as he sat there in his home. An old man now. His life spent on a marriage, kids, family. He has regrets.

Why didn’t he go to Tibet? Travel to India? Take a journey? And then he thought, Maybe I did. Perhaps my time amongst nature was my spiritual trip.

It’s funny how we always return to childhood. Candles burning. Alone and at peace with ourselves. The constant questioning of God. And then the acceptance of a greater power. That is when the journey begins.

He got home at five in the morning. Birds chirped, dark sky broke. She put on a pot of coffee. Grass wet from dew.

She asked him where he’d been all night? Said she waited up for him. He told her he was thinking. Smelled like a distillery. Thinking and drinking, she said. Thinking and drinking.

A metal chair was pulled out from under the table. He took a seat. His wife placed a cup in front of him and poured out a jet-black liquid. A couple of scoops of sugar were added. The young man lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. The heels of his boots dug into the linoleum. He tried to talk but wasn’t making any sense. Said he loved her. And, he didn’t know why he did the things he done. She reached for his hand.

You wanna talk about it? she asked. I can handle anything.

I don’t know, he told her. That’s asking a lot.

For me or for you, she smiled. He let go of her hand. Took in a cloud of smoke. Blew rings out into the air. They traveled to the ceiling and then disappeared. Look at me, she grabbed his hand again. Where have you been?

Can’t tell you. Tell you then you’re involved. You don’t want that, he stood up, wobbling, took a sip of coffee. I’m going to miss that, he pointed at the cup. They give you brown water where I’m heading, she looked at him.

Where’s that?

Huh?

I said, where’s that? they both smiled.

I gotta get going.

Stay here and sleep it off, she said.

They’ll be here soon.

There was a knock on the door.

There was a weather emergency for Jasper County. High winds, hail, rain, and possible tornadoes were expected throughout the night. Thunder boomed from the west.

Nobody knew what he was thinking. Neighbors looked on as the old man carried a lawn chair out to his front yard along with a six pack of Old Style; talking to himself. Speaking in tongues. Telling God to come get him. Said he was ready.

Rain came in at an angle. Hard. Slapping the old man in the face. Hail fell as well. Made a noise as it hit the aluminum cans. His gray eyes squinted. Looked up at the sky. Shook his fist at the devil. The winds picked up.

In the south, a funnel cloud formed. Sounded like war. It came up behind him. The old man did not flinch. He rode the wind; yelling and singing, Hallelujah, Hallelujah. Lord, take me home. And, the Lord did.

The old man was born in Jasper County. And, he died there. His body was found on up the road amongst bricks and shingles. It laid there. Still. Life had left it years ago.

He was buried with the paupers of Jasper County. No tombstone. No marker saying Rest In Peace. His body returned to the earth. His soul far, far away.

Red blankets covered the windows. No one could see inside. Siding was falling off. Shrubs overgrown. Weeds had taken over the front yard.

It’d been years since anybody lived there. Stayed in the O’Reilly family for years. Handed down from one generation to the next. A torn Irish flag still waved.

Kids used to throw rocks at the house as they made their way home from school. Made up stories about the home. Said it was haunted. Told folks that old man O’Reilly died in that house. And, he did.

He was the last O’Reilly to live there. Had no one to hand it down to. No sons or daughters. Nieces and nephews didn’t want it. Brothers and sisters had passed on. No family. No friends. A true loner. Never went to the neighborhood pub nor to church. He had given up faith in God and whiskey long ago. The old man just sat in his chair each day drinking tea and listening to The Clancy Brothers on his record player. He tapped his long fingers to the music. Sometimes, he would pretend to be dancing with a beautiful woman right in the kitchen; like in his younger days. He laughed and cried, but mostly stayed silent as the needle touched the wax. Remembering. Remembering.

Brought out on a stretcher for all to see. Had a heart attack. Died in his sleep. That’s what they said. The body was cold. It had been in decay for weeks. It was by chance that his nephew found him. A pot of tea was on the stove. He raised a cup to his uncle. Cheers, he said. God be with you.

Red blankets covered the windows.

There was an old bathtub he used to sit in when he was a kid. Toys floated on water; tug boats, fire engines, plastic men wearing life jackets. He played with them until the clear water turned cold.

At the end, when he heard his mother calling, he would say, Death to sin and alive to Christ, before submerging his head under the clear water. He would come up from the depths of cleanliness back into a world of sin.

One day, he prayed, he would be baptized at church. Wear the pure white cloth, and be applauded by a whole congregation of people; happy to see another soul saved. Another life that shall not perish.

Mother would put him to bed and ask if he’d said his prayers. Yes, he replied. If the Lord takes me tonight, I’ll go straight to Heaven.

Well, mom said, You better be good. God doesn’t take just anybody.

The kid worried himself to sleep. Kicking under covers, he dreamed, Am I good enough? Does Jesus want me?

Tears rolled down his face. He prayed immediately for more forgiveness. Forgiveness for lying, for thinking unpure thoughts, for swearing, for calling his neighbor a fool, a host of sins. He named them all. A complete confession. His stuffed animals looked on.

Amen.

Have you ever been alone in the city? he asked her. There’s a million people around you, but you feel lonely. Folks crossing streets in herds. Walking against red lights, he told her. Just a mass of humans. Acting like animals. Some push and shove to get where they’re going. Others just run right over you, he lit a cigarette, stirred his coffee.

Both of them looked out onto 8th Avenue. The diner had a few people in it. Mostly drinking coffee and eating sweet rolls. They shared a slice of cheesecake.

People say this is the best cheesecake in the world, she said. Perry Como came over the speakers. I’m glad we splurged and got cherries, he looked at her.

Special occasion, he said. The waitress came over and poured more coffee. Yeah, New York cheesecake is pretty good. Never had it till I got here. Looked at it in the spinning case and said, that looks pretty good. Cut me a big old slice, they laughed. How long you been here?

Going on three years, she said. I forget. It’s all gone by so fast. One minute, you’re on a bus, then you’re dumped out into the streets. You know the routine, she stabbed at dessert.

I do, he said. You miss home?

I miss having my own bed.

Yeah. Me too. Me too.

They looked at each other. Tony Bennett was singing. Taxis drove up and down the avenue. There was one bite of cheesecake left.

You take it, he said.

No. It’s all yours.

They both stared at each other some more. Left the small bit on the plate. She rolled her fork in the red goo. The boy and girl walked out together. The sun was coming up over Manhattan.

They talked on the phone for hours. Long distance. He was four hours ahead.

She told him about her night. Waiting on truckers and folding highchairs. Pouring coffee, serving pie, and smiling the whole time. She threw away dreams.

And, he said he wanted to move there. See her in person. Told her he liked her pictures; the ones in the swimsuit. He carried a polaroid in his wallet. Showed her to men at work in the lunch room. Said, that’s my woman. They were all impressed.

On the phone, you can be anything you want to be. He wanted to be a country singer. Said he wrote songs in her honor. He’d put the phone on speaker and sing to her from his rented room. Sang about loneliness and heartache. Told stories through songs about loving her for eternity. She smiled on the other end. A kid cried in the background.

She rocked her baby asleep. Whispered into the speaker, I love you, babe; pulled the pacifier gently from the child’s mouth and told him it was time for her to go.

They kissed from a long distance. Told each other goodnight. And then softly touched the phone to hang up. He strummed a few chords, and she put the baby back to bed.

The sun was coming up in Nashville.

I was glad to have known you, she said to the tombstone. Wildflowers and weeds grew around it. The woman placed a coffee mug in front of the marker.

Brought your favorite cup, she said. Pictures of her grandkids were on it; the boy on one side, girl on the other. Missing teeth. Smiling. I brought flowers too, she told the piece of concrete. The daughter placed them on top. They kept falling off; her hands trembled. There, she told the rock, pushing the yellow tulips down, Hope you like these, a cardinal flew by.

The woman kissed the tombstone and hugged it. She held it with her two hands. I miss you, mom. You went too soon, she said. Oh, well. God has a plan, she said. Don’t know what that is sometimes. I never do, really. Things just kind of happen. Like you getting sick with cancer. Never saw that coming, she patted her mother’s name. Traced the letters with her bony fingers. I’ll see you one day, mom. Streets of gold. A mansion on the hill.

She waved goodbye to the tombstone.

Brick walls with graffiti on them. Painted in blue and red. Crowns and pitchforks. A crack pipe on a sidewalk made of tin foil.

The Arab store trades in food stamps for cash; sixty will get you forty. A transaction is made. Now he can buy his goods for the night; a forty ounce, dime bag, pack of smokes. Later, in the midnight hour, he will purchase a Big Mac. Maybe fried chicken at Kennedy’s on the boulevard. Before the sun comes up, his money will be spent.

And he sits on the corner the next day with the other bums, junkies, crazies, runaway teens and whores. Waiting for someone to walk by with mercy. He begs for a dollar. Dimes and quarters are dropped in his hat. This is their church; a collection must be taken.

But, it’s not one for all all for one. It’s every man for himself. America has taught them well. All profit. No overhead.

The fat man sits in his pants filled with piss and shit. The smell is horrendous. He sings out songs as people walk by. His voice cracks and sputters. They keep walking.

He tells Jr. tales from Bellevue. Strapped to a bed. Isolation. Meds handed out like candy. Talked about the woman who used to bring in pizza for everybody. Everyone got a slice. She was an angel. Then, one day, she stopped coming. Nobody knew why. She just stopped. Maybe she went to Heaven, Jr. said. The fat man nodded his head. That’s it. Maybe she died and went to Heaven. Do you think we go to Heaven? he asked. Fat man was silent. Started singing again. A dollar was dropped in his hat.