dmseay

She told him time heals all wounds. Said he’d come around. Just a matter of waiting it out. Started talking to the kid as if he were a teenager getting over his first heartbreak. The boy listened. But, only a little. He’d heard this lecture before. Back in high school when he couldn’t get a date to the prom. Went stag. Just all by himself. Came home drunk that night. That was the beginning of things to come.

There was a ’67 Dodge Dart sitting out there in the driveway. It belonged to his dad. The old man took care of it. Washed and waxed it religiously. You’d think it was a Mustang or a Charger. Some kind of muscle car. A hula girl stood on the dashboard. Sundays they used to go for a ride. The old man would drive through the country with the windows down. It could be twenty degrees outside and he’d still have the windows down. Said the cold air was good for you. Said it made you healthy.

The old man never let the boy drive that car. Told him to get a job and save his money. Buy a junker. That’s what he had to do. They don’t make em the way they used to, the father said. Said kids today felt entitled.  Nobody ever gave him anything, he told him. This was before the old man went away. Hadn’t seen him in years. And that car just sat there. The boy didn’t wash it. Didn’t polish to make it shine. It just sat there in the driveway. The keys hung on a small rack in the kitchen. The boy would often look at them. Held em in his hand when his mom was asleep. She told him it was best to just forget about the car. Often threatened to sell it. Kept waiting for the old man to come back.

Time. When you’re young all you got is time, his momma said. And you can spend that time wisely if you choose. Start acting like an adult, she’d tell him. That girl will come around if you do. No one wants to play with a kid. Remember. Your days are numbered. You think you have all the time in the world, but you don’t, the boy would nod his head. You’ll wind up leaving her anyway, mom said. That’s what men do. They leave. Whether it’s running away, going to jail, or, dying; men leave. Just when you think you’re settled they take off. Then you gotta find a new one. That’s what you’ll do. Just like your daddy, she slurped her coffee. Added a little more Bailey’s. And you’ll leave me too, the old woman said. I’ll wake up one morning and you’ll be gone, she stirred her drink. Yeah. You’ll be gone.

In the middle of the night the moon shined down on him as he sat out on the front porch staring at that Dodge. Thinking about what his mother said. What kind of logic was that? he asked himself. Where’d she get all that from? he felt insulted. Maybe she was right. There was the moon, there was the car, the keys hung inside. He was going to prove her right.

Your daddy was a real son of a bitch, she told him. Left me here with nothing. Nothing, but this old trailer. Sure. I got some nice things. But, what do they really mean. I still got the ring he gave me. Probably not worth much. But, it’s pretty. Shines. Sparkles. Well, it used to. Haven’t had it cleaned in years, she mentioned. Momma poured another beer. Have one, she motioned to the refrigerator. Don’t make me drink alone, she said. Don’t be a party pooper. You think you’re better than me. Don’t you? he just shook his head. Looked at the pictures on the thin walls. They were all of her. Kind of like a shrine. It was all mom, all day, all night. He’d noticed this before. This time it really struck home with the kid.

Yeah. Time heals all wounds, she mumbled. Then a long stretch of drool fell from her bottom lip. Her eyes wide open. He was free.

He asked him where he went? Boy said, no where. Asked him where he was going to? No where, was his reply.

Well. You must’ve been somewhere. Look at you. You can tell. Your forehead is sweating. Those eyes. You can’t fool me. I been on to you since you were young. Caught your act. I’ve tried to keep you on the straight and narrow, the old man said. That’s my job. I’m gonna ask you again. Where you been?

Boy looked down at the floor. Swept the dust with his shoes. Told him, I been lots of places. Texas. New Mexico. Arkansas in the middle of the night. Smelled like alfalfa.Driving in the dark. Outside of Memphis. Heading towards El Dorado.

What were you doing that for? the old man looked at him. There was silence. Real quiet for a couple of minutes. Then the boy spoke.

Said, none of your business. 

It is my business, the father said. I’m making it my business. You been all these places. And what? You can’t tell me the what for? Again there was silence. The boy sat down on the sofa with plastic covering it. The old man got up to get another beer. You want one? he asked.

One what?

A beer.

I don’t drink. ‘Sides. It’s Sunday. Keep the sabbath holy.

Know a lot about that do ya? the old man shook his head and stumbled into the kitchen. One left, he said. One Milwaukee’s Best left. I had a case in here. Bought it at the liquor store. It was on sale. Always buy what’s on sale. Can’t afford otherwise, he came back in and plopped in the old Lazy-Boy. Had flowers on it. Mom had picked it out years ago. Before the boy was born. It’d lasted all these years. The old man sat in it, slept in it, farted in it, lived in it. He did not move. Except to get another beer.

The old man pulled out his wallet and took out a twenty. Go get whatever is on sale, he held the money out in mid air. The boy did not take it. Come on now, dad said. Go get me some beer, he demanded. 

Keep the sabbath holy.

You little shit, the old man wadded up the bill and threw it at him. Who do you think you are? Billy Graham? Got a lesson to teach me boy? kid shook his head. I didn’t think so.

The money laid on the floor in a tight little ball. Old man kept staring at it. Again. There was silence. The boy just kept looking straight ahead. I was going to El Dorado to meet a girl, he said. Real pretty girl. With a golden soul. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you? the old man kept staring at the money. Said, you wouldn’t know anything about that would you? the father looked up at him. They locked eyes.

I’m going to give you ten seconds to pick up that twenty and go to the liquor store, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a knife. A folded knife. He pulled the blade out. Ten, the old man said.

Yeah she was pretty. She was a believer too.

Nine.

I met her a long time ago on the computer. We hit it off right away.

Eight.

Is that supposed to scare me?

Seven. Keep mouthing off boy. Keep it up. Six, he said.

You don’t scare me old man, the boy said. Don’t scare me at all. I got the Lord on my side.

Five.

Four, three, two, one. Keep counting. All you are is talk. All you ever been, the old man got out of his recliner. Stood up. He was slouched. Back was bent.

The boy stood up too. Kicked the money with his foot. The old man laughed. Held the knife in air above him. Boy punched him in the nose. Red blood began pouring out all over the brown carpet. He laid there on the floor covered in his own blood. The boy started kicking the old man like a bad dog. The old man began to yell. Calling him every name in the book. The boy continued kicking him. The old man wept. Screamed out in pain. Go get your own beer, the boy said. Kept on kicking him until there was silence. The old man’s beaten body just laid there. His eyes stared up at Heaven.

I’m going to El Dorado.

Noises throughout the night. Trains, semis, cars running up and down the highway, kept him up. Years of living there and he still wasn’t used to it. Made him think of moving. Always thinking of moving. Maybe out to the country; rural area. Get some chickens. Start a worm farm. Sell bait to fishermen. A quiet life.

Highway 30 ran through town. Vagabonds and folks down on their luck took it to Ohio, Western Indiana, always looking for opportunity. Sometimes they’d take 69 down to Indy, up towards Michigan. Looking for that elusive dollar. The American dream. All he wanted was peace and quiet. The city is a young man’s game. He played it for many years. Now was the time.

Thought of heading down to Arkansas; the place of his birth. Cheap land, rivers and streams. Green in the spring. Golden in autumn. Maybe go down there and live like Rip Van Winkle. Take a long, long, nap. Perhaps never to wake-up. His final destination. He thought about it. Thought real hard.

He wanted the easy way out. So, he started selling his possessions. Got rid of all his furniture; a table, chairs, a bed, TV, only took what he could get in his Dodge. A few albums, books, some blankets, a pillow. He was on his way to peace and quiet. On his way.

He waited for her at the train station. She was coming from out East. Long trip to the West. It’d been a long time since they’d seen each other. Years had gone by. He wondered if the two would pick up where they left off. An intense love affair that didn’t last long. Both were divorced. They were sowing wild oats.

She picked up the phone one day and called his number. She hoped it hadn’t changed.  Hoped that he had. Sitting in a coffee shop, the middle aged woman reached out to him. A long distance kiss. Told him she thought about him often.  Regretted the affair ending the way it did; sudden.

The older man told her he felt the same. He stood on the back porch smoking a cigarette. Rain was coming down. This old man with a paunch sticking out, said he missed her as he exhaled; crushed out the butt with his cowboy boot. I’ll buy a ticket and come to you, she said. Where are you these days? she asked. As fast as he could he told her. She was on her way to Albuquerque. 

The brunette sat in the bar car staring out at the West Texas red clay. Soon she’d be in New Mexico. She wondered what he looked like these days. Sure, he’d gotten a bit older probably, but, older men are sexy, she thought. It wasn’t fair, she whispered to herself. How men got sexy and women were just discarded. She still could hold her own. But, she had her doubts. She was a little wider in the hips these days. A little extra weight. She blamed her kids. Said she never recovered. 

He hoped he’d recognize her. Remembered running his hands through her thick hair. Thought of how she kissed. They were like two teens. Couldn’t get enough of each other. Then one day she stopped calling. Left him dead in the water. He remembered that too.

The train came into the station at three in the morning. He anxiously looked for her. She saw him first. His jaw. She remembered his jaw. He used to be clean shaven. Now he had a five day beard. She walked towards him. Thinking the whole time, maybe he’ll change. Maybe. And, he thought the same. Maybe this time she’d stick around. He had his doubts.

Some things are best left alone. They did not kiss. A friendly hug was all. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, he thought. She had her doubts. Were they desperate for each other, or, just somebody? No one wants to admit they’re lonely.

He didn’t say anything. Stood there. Mute. Kept looking down at the floor. They told him his public defender would be there soon. Meanwhile he waited in the cage. Black and brown men stared at him. A white man came over to him and whispered, it’s us against them. He continued looking at the concrete floor. His head did not move.

Dressed in orange, the boy had already accepted that his freedom was stripped. He kept thinking of the night in question. It wasn’t his idea to go down to the river. She wanted to. Said she liked the sound of running water in the dark. Said she liked to wrestle in the tall grass.

And he did. He took her down to the river and they made love in the brown weeds. Winter was ending and spring was on its way. He felt the full moon on his back; inside his head. Telling him to kill her. The moon told him to place his hands on her neck. Said to squeeze the life out of her. The sound of the water got louder. The moon shined brighter.

They said he didn’t mean to do it. Said it was an act of passion. He sat there and thought about it for a long, long time. Years went by. He felt remorse. Wanted to pay for his sins. The moon glowed that night. Through prison walls he could feel it’s dark magic. Right down to his bones.

The boy was found the next morning with a white sheet ’round his neck. He was pronounced dead at seven a.m. The following night, the moon did not shine.

He used to call her at three in the morning.  Just to hear her voice. Sitting in the factory’s lunch room on his break, he’d speak to her on the payphone. Other guys would drink their coffee and talk about home runs hit on a softball field, their mother’s cooking, the truck they just bought, while he stood in the corner talking to her. All for the cost of a quarter.

She’d tell him how her day went. Talk about going to the grocery store, what she made for dinner; a plate was put in the refrigerator for him. She made some kind of Hamburger Helper dish. He liked those.

The young mom would tell him she wanted to see him as soon as he got off work. Always said she had a surprise for him; a deterrent from going to the bar. He’d go straight home.

And there she’d be. Playing a Charlie Rich tape. Dressed in a silk robe. Watching him eat at the table. The kids were in school; they had all day.

The blonde would draw the curtains, blocking out the sun. It’d be pitch black. She’d grab his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. The sound of trucks going by on the highway put him to sleep. The wife would hold him up to her, tight, not letting go. Never letting go.

She loved him.

He spent hours looking at photographs. Old black and whites, some colored, snapshots of his past. Wedding pictures, family vacations, his mom and dad, he sifted through them one at a time. Each one meant something to him. He knew the history behind all the pics. Could tell you when his son broke his leg playing baseball. Remembered his daughter on prom night. How beautiful his wife was.

The pictures were put away in his cedar chest. He turned off the lights and drew the curtains; walked down the hallway. Those pictures haunted him as he tried to sleep. These people were one time a part of his life. Now there was no contact at all. Just memories. He didn’t know who was dead and who was still alive. Cut off.

She let him go. He wanted out and she gave him the green light. That was so long ago. There was always talk of him leaving. Never in front of the children. Just when they slept in opposite rooms towards the end. She’d go to bed. He’d sleep on the couch. Every night a whispered argument. He’d want to go out. Drink away the problems. She wouldn’t allow it. They began to hate each other. There never was any love really. Just two room mates with kids. They faked it well.

And now he sat on his bed at midnight. Wondering if he could’ve loved her. Maybe he did for a split second. Maybe a half hour. He just got married ’cause it was expected of him. It’s what you did back then ; lie. Tell her you loved her. Get a job on an assembly line. And do all you’re supposed to do. He did that. Until he couldn’t anymore.

It’s hard to live a lie. People see through it. Family, friends, co-workers, bartenders, they all see who you truly are. Everyone saw it in him.

She gave him the photo album. Forced it on him. She didn’t want it. The ex-wife told him, keep it or burn it. She didn’t care. And so, half a life was placed in a cedar chest. He never took it out again.

He turned a light on to see in the dark. There was garbage bags and debris all over the floor. A mud trail from dirty shoes; she always asked to take them off before entering the house.

In the corner there were stacks of clothes marked, Salvation Army. These were clothes that no longer fit him; too small. There were jeans and shirts in the piles. An old tee-shirt that said Generals on it in red. It was from his high school days long ago. He handed it down to his son, who, just wanted to get rid of it. The boy threw away everything the father had given him.

Another light was turned on. This one in the spare bedroom. He opened the door.There was graffiti on the wall. Blue words spray painted on cream white. They were curse words. Words often said around the house. The Lord’s name taken in vain. Pictures of stick figures being stabbed. Words coming from their mouths; ouch and hahaha.

The old man took it all in. He didn’t see the purpose for it. Just anger. Madness. He always knew there was a mean streak in that boy. He tried to raise him right, but, the kid never listened. He’d stay in his room all day. Blasting music. Some kind of rap songs. That’s what he listened to.

The father shut the door. He never opened it again.

She didn’t expect to see him. Standing there next to his pick-up in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly. At first she didn’t recognize him. Beard, mustache, gained a little weight in the midsection. She didn’t know whether or not to approach him.

It’s been years, she said. You look healthy, the housewife admitted. What have you been up to? she reached out to touch his arm.

A little of this. A little of that, he said. You look good, he told her. You always did, she blushed. You and your husband still live in town? she nodded. Kids must be in college I guess, she smiled.

One’s at State and the other a senior this year. You ever get around to having kids? he shook his head no. Where you living these days? she inquired.

He hit his truck with his hand. Right here,he stated.

In your truck?

Yeah. I like it. I’m free.

You always were a wondering spirit, they laughed. He moved into kiss her cheek. She backed away. No. I’m sorry. I just can’t.

Just a goodbye kiss? she whispered, no. They just looked at each other. She pushed her cart to her car. He stood there. She never turned around.

Rain washed the snow away. Blacktop streets shined. Brown grass in front yards exposed. So was dog shit.

The old man kept an eye on the neighborhood. Watched as the paper boy threw his goods up on the front porches. Riding along on his bike. Being chased by the mutt across the street.

Streetlights glowed in the early morning hours. The sun was coming up over the city. Joggers ran their usual course. Right past him while he looked on with a cup of coffee in his hand.

Women spoke as they ran. Talking about husbands and children, grocery lists and errands to run. You could see their breath. A few cars would pass. Men going to work. Whistling at the housewives. They were flattered. But, kept face by calling them pigs.

He put on his sweater and went out to the front porch. Smoke poured from chimneys. A new pope had been elected. The old man said his morning prayers. He was thankful. Glad to still be alive.

The morning sun shined down on him. It warmed his soul, his face. These were his days.