More Pretty Little Love Song
I don't remember where i left off.
Pretty Little Love Song
The sounds from the Interstate calmed Sam and allowed him to sleep, but sometimes those sounds mixed with memories in his dreaming subconscious and jolted him awake. Mostly he couldn’t hear them at all. The viaduct splitting the tows in half could have carried water to Rome for all Sam knew, he never drove on it, even when he had his license. His tow truck didn’t have the pick-up nor the brakes to compete, so he avoided it.
“Sammy Knows Best,” was painted on the side of his cream colored rig. He considered it for a while before locking his front door and walking to the liquor store. He considered moving it, he didn’t want it reminding him of how everything was fucked up in a new and annoying way.
Maybe there was an element of Karma to it, he reposed cars from meth heads and drunks for many years in Medford until he himself was too broke to pay his own insurance, fines and rent so that soon someone else would impound his truck. There would be a bite to that thought if he were a more proud man.
It was hot. He had forgotten to put on deodorant before leaving his apartment. He felt weak and his drunk from the night before was wearing off. Soon a bottle of Evan Williams would restore the unreal stupor and he could watch TV all day and do it all again the next day. Waiting for the light to allow him to cross river street, a car honked making him feel vaguely uncomfortable.
Angie had left him that Spring. It took all spring. She had met him through a man who reffered impounds to him. She was his age, early thirties. She had tanned skin, so tanned it was wrinkling. It looked beautiful in sunlight like the kind making him squint and sweat. She made Medford beautiful. She was built for the place. She smoked in crappy dive bars, loved cheap Chinese food and would stay all night drinking white wine in a cheap lounge. She got excited in the morning and drug him out of bed to fish. She made Medford Beautiful. She left him when she realized Sam wouldn’t get her pregnant. They spent many quiet painful nights on her couch, each thinking of a way to make it work and each rationalizing they wern’t too old to start with someone else.
The light changed and Sam crossed the street and made his way into the liquor store. He bought the cheap stuff, paying with shaking hands.
He considered taking a drink while walking home, but decided against it in case he threw up. His apartment was sweltering. He turned on the TV and had his first drink of the day. It went down violently, but it cleared the horror of the day.
The drunker he got, the better the TV got. Perry Mason was a drag, always too long. The bes thing about it was the huge old cars. But thinking about cars made him think about the price of gas and thinking about the price of gas made him think about how little money he had. Thinking about how little money he had made aware of his looming rent payment which was eight four dollars more than he had after buying that bottle of whiskey. Thinking about that bottle of whiskey made him feel rich, and he drank from it.
This was a new thing to him, being broke. He had always been poor, but since leaving home at a young age he had always been busy. When he had his towing job, he was a lube mechanic at a garage, so at one point he was averaging about a seventy hour work week. Angie made him cut down on working, which was fun. They spent his savings driving to the coast. When they realized they wern’t going to work, he decided to be all the time. That was working for him, until he got pulled over. Failing to show up for any of the court proceedings, he lost his license .
The funny thing about Angie was he didn’t love her. She was beautiful and fascinating, but she never reached him. He would sit next to her in her car and feel liek there was so much he could say, but didn’t. In fact there was an element of anger to their relationship because he always felt like she should ask him why he was so quiet all the time. If it was really ment to be, she could have reached through that quiet and found the screaming man within him.
Sam decided to move his truck. It came to him just as Matlock came on the TV. He didn’t like Matlock and his folksy personae. As Sam was from the country, he knew goofy old men never had deductive powers. Scowling fat men in greasy overalls could look you over and figure out where you were from and what you wanted, not groomed smiling old men. It was all too improbable.
The keys to his rig were hanging on the wall next to the door. Unhooking them, he fumbled them and they fell to the floor. Bending down to pick them up, he hit his head on the door. He swore and left his room. The hallway of the apartment smelled like Mexican cooking and he felt jealous. Behind the adjoining apartment door with the cross on the outside was domestic bliss. Sober living and hard work, things he felt he wanted, but never could figure out how to keep.
The hot sun felt good on his drunk face. Wiping sweat from his brow, he realized he was bleeding. He found the scratch on his scalp and rubbed it, then looked at the blood on his hands and laughed. It seemed like a good day to piece of shit. He got in his rig and tried to start it. It spun, but didn’t turn over. He popped the hood.
With shaking hands he got the cover of the air filter and sprayed ether in it. He got back in the cab and started the truck and it turned over immediately.
It felt damn good to be driving again. The hot air blew through the window as he turned down side streets avoiding the police who no doubt recognized him and his rig. He approached one of his favorite bars from the back and parked.
The inside was dark and cool. There was a game on an old faded TV. He ordered a whiskey sour from an old Chinese man who gave him a funny look. Sam frowned back at him, then remembered the blood. He tried to rub it off while squinting into the back bar mirror. Looking at the clock he saw it was 4:17. he had seventeen dollars ro stretch until about eight when he figured he’d be drunk enough to sleep again. Drinks were two fifty a piece. He had got there with a healthy buzz, so he figured he’d make it.
The door to the bar opened. The figure looking in was back lit and indiscernible. It loomed in the door way for a moment, then closed the door without coming in. Sam shrugged and drank. He finished his sour and ordered another one. As he paid he thought of something. He sprang up, drink in hand and went out into the parking lot just in time to see his his tow truck being towed away by a newer larger blue rig with a perfect paint job.
Sipping his drink while standing in the parking lot of the bar, he felt calm an somewhat sober. He decided to go back and have another drink.
A heavy knocking awoke him. His mouth tasted filthy. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His boots were still on. It was warm, but not hit. He recognized his apartment. The knock came again. It was morning again. He rose and stumbled to the door. Looking through the peep hole he saw a cop. A wave of panic rolled over him. He froze and tried to remember what he had done the night before. When nothing came to mind, with shaking hands he unlocked the door.
“Does a Sam Waters live at this address,” an officer with what looked like a fresh hair cut asked.
“That’s me,” Sam said, his head swelling with pain all of a sudden.
“Sir, may I come in. I need to tell you something,” the officer said, tying to lock eye contact with him.
` Sam glanced back at his one bedroom apartment filled with fastfood wrappers and empty bottles. The though crossed his mind that he should hide something, but he couldn’t think what, and besides he didn’t really care. He opened the door and allowed the officer to pass.
The officer looked absurd standing amongst the crap in his apartment. He had his gaze locked on Sam. In his hands was a white piece of paper.
“Are you originally from Topenish, Washington?’ he said, taking time to pronounce the town’s name.
Sam’s interest was piqued. “Yeah.”
“Do you have a son?”
Sam furrowed his brow. He looked down at his clothes. His fly was open, he zipped it up. He ran his fingers through his hair. He saw a bottle was on it’s side on the couch. He righted it.
“Sir, do you have a son named Ryan? Goes by the name of Ryan Tillman?:
Sam nodded, as technically the correct answer to the question was yes, although e had never seen the boy. A rush of old emotions filled his heart.
“Sir, your son was killed in an explosion last Tuesday in rural Siletz county outside Topenish,” the officer said.
The officer seemed to be trying to lock eye contact with Sam, which was annoying. He wanted him to leave. He dry heaved and the officer extended a hand to comfort him. Sam pushed it away. He felt his knees shaking beneath him. He looked around the room untill his eyes settled on a bottle with some brown liquid still in it. Feeling as if he were about to collapse, he maneuvered over to it. It took both hands to get the bottle to his face, and once there he nearly chipped a tooth getting the lip of the bottle in his mouth. The warm liquid attacked the back of his throat and filled his nose. He stomach clenched like a fist causing him to run for the toilet.
He stared into the filthy bowl, salivating a steady stream. The whiskey stayed down and a calm settled over him. He was tired with an under current of scared. He couldn’t sleep and he needed another drink. He stood and was shocked to see the officer still standing in his living room. He picked up the bottle and sat on the floor. A long silence fell in the room.
“Finally the officer spoke again. “Were you in contact with your son at all?” Sam’s silence seemed to answer the question to satisfaction. “Memorial services are going to be held this Sunday at Christ Luthran Church on 2nd and Downing in Topenish. “
` Sam considered everything. He was broke, lonely and unemployed. His means of getting more money was impounded. A kind of fury grew inside him. He could smell the cologne of the officer standing there in his disgusting little apartment. He could feel his pity. He seemed so close Sam felt almost as if he could count the money in his wallet. Sam was desperate to run out the door and go somewhere, anywhere else. Maybe the ocean. Or maybe kill himself. He tried to hold the bottle in a way such that he didn’t shake so much. “What kind of explosion?” he foudn himself asking.
“Well, we believe he mave have had something to do with th emethamphetamine trade in the area,” the officer said.
Sam’s head roze and and his eyes met the officer’s. He made a solemn nod and looked down again. “I’d like to be alone,” Sam said.
“At times like this advize people to seek the comfort of friends family and his or her diety, Do you have church or spiritual advizer tou can contact?” Sam didn’t look up.
“Well, I’ll leave this paper on your... floor here. It has some numbers you can call...”
Finaly the officer left. Sam could hear his heavy footsteps going down the hall and later his radio in his patrol car. When the car pulled away, Sam stood. He looked around his little apartment. All the furnature was from thrift stores. His dresser was empty, all his clothes dirty on the floor. His kitchen was mostly empty, ecpt for empty cans and bottles. He drank the last of the whiskey and dropped the bottle. Under his mattress he kept a canvas bag full of tools. He opened it and let the contents fall to the floor. he then shoved a pair of pants, some underwear and a shirt in it. He put some toiletries in the bag and left the apartment. He stopped for a moment i nthe hall. With shaking hands he attempted to get the key for the apartment off the ring. He couldn’t manage. Looking at the ring he realized every key was to something he no longer had. One key was for his truck, one was for Angie’s garage, one was for the city impound lot. He threw the ring into the apartment and closed the door and left the apartment building.
Standing in the liquor store he weighed his options. He could get a fifth of whiskey, or a pint and travel light. Or he could get the half gallon and save money. If he got the fifth, he would be ok for a day or two. If he got the pint, it might lost last the day, but then again maybe this was a sign it was time to quit drinking. Something in him told his that was a stupid though. He picked up the half gallon which was in a plastic jug. The fat white woman behind the counter knew better than to make a comment.
It was going to be a milder day, Sam thought as he walked down the street. A powerful fatuige over came him. He identified it’s cause as starvation and stopped at a Taco Bell. There was no one in line and behind the counter was a lovely young Mexican girl. Maybe sixteen years old. She smiled at him with a kind of nativity that almost brought a tear to Sam’s eyes. His hands were shaking violently as he produced his wallet. He ordered a bean burrito, which was ready almost immediately.
Sitting with it in a booth he felt as if he had forgotten how to eat. He took a bite, but it seemed dry and ridiculous. The mechanism for chewing escaped him and he had to consciously direct his mouth to chew. Swallowing was an ordeal. The whole experience was alien and he only got half the thing down before throwing it away.
The bus station was packed. He wasn’t expecting that. People overflowed onto the streets. There were lines for the phone booths and ticket counters. What little picture in his head of his escape was of a stoic journey to an empty buss station. Where were all these people going. A young man sat cross-legged drawing the mob in a sketch book. Sam craned his head to see. He couldn’t quite understand all the lines and shading, but it seemed to capture what his own half drunk eyes saw.
A voice cme over the loudspeaker,” The bus South to Ashland, Redding, Shasta and Sacramento will be delayed another two hours. At that time three buses will take everybody waiting.” A groan came over the croud. Sam waited in line at the ticket counter. His own vuage plan was to go West to the coast, not South. His plans were not hampered.
The bus depot was reminded him of a horse barn. It smelled vuagely of feces and all these expresive young faces suffered the captivity of having to wait. Young is the urge to be free, as is the conundrum of being a horse. As a horse you are geneticly engineered to run and walk, but there’s no where for you to do it anymore. Sam always respected horses. Quiet, but full of rage. Obsolete too. Obsolete like rage.
After waiting some time in line, he finaly got his chance to speak to the tired old lady behind the counter.
“Gold beach please,” Sam said and with hands shaking to an almost dibilitating degree, he produced his wallet and managed to extract two twenties. A ticket printed and the old lady handed it to him. Sam nodded his thanks and walked into the bathroom.
He went into a stall and sat on the toilet with the lid down and produced his bottle and drank. A young man droned on and on a cell phone. His conversation was repetative and adjitated. It seemed to endlessly cycle. Sam peeked through the crack in the door and saw the kid. He was dressed in that urban ganster style, gaudy fake gold jewlry, the kinds you see for sale at the mall hung from all over his body. Finaly the kid shut up and closed his phone while looking at his hair in the mirror. Right away the phone rang again and the kid said, “what up G.”
Sam became aware of a groan comming from the stall next to him. Looking down he saw mud caked boots and jeans down araound the ankles. From the stall another young voice said, “Please shut the hell up.”
Sam’s eyes jumped over to the ganster talking on the phone who didn’t register the complaint. His annoying conversation cycled on. Sam took a drink.
“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’ll throw you the hell out of this bathroom,” the voice from the next stall said.
Again Sam watched the ganster for a reaction. He seemed to increase his volume to taunt the man in the stall next to him. Sam looked down in time to see the jeans rize and the cowboy boots leave the stall next to him. Sam took another drink. Amzingly the man in the next stall was more of a kid. He looked either part Mexican or indian. His clothes were worn and muddy and his face didn’t have a a lick of hair on it. That would come in a few years. He diliberatly and slowly grabbed the ganster kid by the jacket and led him from Sam’s view through the crack inthe stall door. Shortly there after Sam heard the door to the bathroom close. The kid with the boots returned, walked back into his stall and vomited wildly.
Sam noded with admiration, took another drink and left the stall. As he stopped to get a drink at the hand washing sink, the kid in boots emerged from the stall. He looked pale, skiny and preoccupied. Sam wiped his mouth with his sleeve and followed him out of the bathroom. The ganster kid was standing at the door of the depot with another ganster kid watching. Sam followed his new hero as he moved towards the ambush.
The kid with the boots held the door for Sam as they walked outside the depot. The two ganster looking kids stared at Sam, but didn’t say anything. Sam returned their stare for a moment before the two turned and walked away. It was a ridiculous interaction and the boy Sam followed out to protect didn’t even realize it happened. He was leaning against the wall of the depot, letting saliva drool out his mouth.
“Hey kid,” Sam said. Need a drink?”
The kid looked up with eyes that seemed on the verge of tears. He shrugged like he was willign to try anything. They walked down a narrow alley between the depot and the next door warehouse. Sam couldn’t remember being that hung over when he was a teen. He remembered being drunk, but not looking or feeling that wasted. He handed his big bottle of whiskey to the kid, who braced himself, then took a drink. He held it in his mouth for a moment, then spit it all over the wall. Sam chuckled and drank a little himself. Whiskey tasted like wood smelled, and he liked that.
The kid walked away from sam, down the alley, without saying a word.
Chapter II
Sam’s bus didn’t leave for another three hours. There was nothing to but sit and watch the faces in the depot. The gansters had returned, but they left Sam alone.
Latino girls sat quiet, trying to nap. They had eight times the patcience of the white girls who talked and talked. There were a few college girls in cotton hoodies and sweaters. They seemed so clean and erotic.
There were a few older men, like him, in their thirties, maybe looking for the next gig. They were meeker, orbiting the fringe of the depot, smoking and laughing togetheroutside, or admiring the vending machines.
Sam was feeling reflective. He could feel the drunk moving up his spine. He found an empty part of the floor next to a vending machine and let his eyes un-focus.
If he were younger, he’d be in the same damn position, he thought. No where to go, no real future. Just a hasty retreat on a bus. He had made the decision to escape before, some seventeen years earlier.
It was spring in Topenish. His mother had married a man with a horse barn a few years earlier. They were having trouble keeping the horse boarding buisness afloat and Sam sorta disapeared to his mother. He went to school on his own schedule and dated girls.
Sam stood sudenly and checked the time. He didn’t want to dose off and miss his bus. There was a big map of Oregon on the wall. There was graffiti scratched into the surface all along the Interstat Five corridor which reached up the West part of the state. The coastal towns dotted the shore. Some had indian names, some had generic sounding names. He wondered why the town he was headed to was called, ‘Gold Beach,’ and what kind of work he would find there. He wondered too if he’d have to improvize a place to sleep for a while. A good way to find a place to sleep, a job or a woman was to find a bar and make friends quick. He could stay drunk on cheap whiskey, he thought, and buy cheap beer. It would work out. He sat down again.
He looked at his callused hands. They were ugly, foreign and old looking. It mildly amused him to try to accomplish small tasks with them like touching his thumb to pinky. The shaking made it impossible. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Giving up was a relief. WHen he was in his twenties he amlost daily thoguht of suicide. Now in his thirties, he rarely thought, which was a relief. A few years ago he sometimes worried about his future. He felt weak next to men his age with some semblance of establishment. Pot bellied men in line at the supermarket on there way to play golf made him feel meek. Drinking made him feel like he was getting somewhere. And that somewhere was drunk.
Giving up did take a daily work. There were a few moments of panic during the day. They came like waves in a dream, drowning in an irrational situation. Thinking about these moments of panic often brought the panic on, as it was doing at that very moment. Sam stood to pee and take another drink in the bathroom.
Getting comfortable in his stall again, he became aware of a rustling in the stall next to him. Looking down he saw two pairs of feet this time. One pair of shoes were smaller and of a daintier style. The other pair were muddy work boots. Sam made some noises to make it seem as if he wern’t listening.
“Fuck it,” he heard a man whisper. “This ones for you.” He then heard a snorting noise. There was a pause and then another snorting nosie. Sam assumed they were snorting coke. He took the cap off his bottle and drank.
Then to his astonishment he thought he heard a zipper openning an erotic moan. He looked down at the feet again. The woman was on her knees.
This sent a chill of terror down Sam’s spine. It was such a vile place to do such a thing. Sam gathered himself, and as he was about to leave the stall, he paused ot take another drink.
Out in the waiting area again he felt uneasy. Looking at the younger girls again he felt vuagely depressed. He sat down again in his spot. His eyes watered briefly. A young girl strode confidently from the men’s bathroom. Sam tried not to stare. Soon after her an man his age followed. He was skinny like a skeleton. He left the depot dirrectly. The girl sat on chewed gum wildly. Sam wondered if they were doing Meth in there. It was such a vile thought to picture that bneautiful young thing, someones daughter, doing such vile things. Sam leaned his head back agains tthe wall and closed his eyes. He remembered girls that young when he was that young. There was April, the girl he had left years before. She had big eyes and always wet lips. She had just turned sixteen when he left. She hadn’t told him she was pregnant, but he knew. It was a simple decision. Go or blow his brains out with the shotgun in the barn. Leaving in his old datsun truck early that dawn felt like he was flying and the more distance between him and that town, the more the guilt seemed to melt. He felt his mouth fall open and sleep overtake him.
Chapter III
Sam’s eyes openned. He remembered he was at a bus station and he had the feeling a great deal of time had passed. He saw a line forming and he stood and joined it. He felt very weak and not at all awake. The line moved quickly onto the bus. The driver tore the tickets without looking and they filled in the seats quickly. Sam melted into his and closed his eyes. The busses idling engine vibrated him back to sleep. He vuagely felt the bus begin to move.
Some time later as the bus was hurtling through some stretch of the interstate, Sam awoke freezing. The busses airconditioner had finaly beat the heat and was now revelling in it’s victory. He took his bottle out and drank more, spilling some down his chin. He pulled his arms back into his sleeves and tried to sleep more. The cold subsided quickly as the whiskey filled his spine. He fell back into oblivion.
The sun was down and they were pulling into a city. Sam had a mild head ache. He saw good looking healthy people leaving a resturant. Some kids were dressed like punks and walking proudly down the street. Sam blinked his eye and sat up. The buss was benieth giant buildings. It occured to Sam he had no idea where he was. He squinted at signs on buildings, trying to get a clue.
Finaly the bus driver spoke over theintercom, “In a few moments we will be ariving in Portland, Oregon.” Please check around you for your personal belongings.”
Sam tried to absorb his error without getting angry or scared. Portland was clear on the otherside of the state and no where nearer to the ocean. He thought he could try to swing it in Portland, maybe find work in the morning. he looked out the window again. He saw another couple. They were arguing and pointing cell phones at eachother. Something about them seemed more vile than the girl giving head to a stranger for drugs in a public toilet in Medford. Sam reached for his half gallo nand drank. He was doing ok. He wasn’t stupid drunk and he hadn’t made a huge indent in the liquid.
Getting off the the buss he imediatly detected the urban smog smell. The night air was better than the airconditioning of the bus. Sam walked over to the ticket line to find out what busses were leaving soon. The line was long and full of kids in their teens. Maybe going to college or switching parents for the weekend, Sam wasn’t sure as city people were a little foreign to him.
Dirrectly in front of him was a girl with no bagage. She stared dirrectly forroward durring the long wait. She was dressed modestly, jeans and a hoodie. She anxiotusly bit at her lip. It seemed as if maybe several people were arguing in her head and she was waiting for a moment to jump in. Sam wasn’t sur eif she was sixteen or twenty six.
A sasy white woman was yelling at the lady behind the counter and holding up the line. Sam shook his head and sighed. The girl in front of him said, “I’m going to fucking kill her.
Sam smiled at this brutal threat. The sassy loud woman seemed satisfied and left the counter, then turned and stormed back. The strange woman in front of Sam seemed crushed.
“Are you in a hurry?” Sam said.
“I am in a hurry to get the fuck out of here,” she said without looking at him.
“Is Portland that bad?” Sam asked.
She turned her body as if her neck or eyes were stuck and that was the only was she could see him, “yes. yes it fucking is.”
“Oh, wont stay then,” Sam said looking down at his bag cotaining his bottle. “Where is good?”
“I don’t know. Everywhere is ok a for a few months...” she said turning her body to face the counter.
When finaly she made it to the counter Sam was amused to hear her buy a ticket to Medford. She walked stifly away. Sam walked up to the counter next.
“I’d like to go...” Sam looked at the arival and departure bord like a menu, then blushed as he realized he was being rude. “I’m sorry. I’d like to go to the nearest Ocean town.”
“We have a bus going to Astoria Oregon at 6am.”
“That’ll do it,” Sam said taking his wallet from his back pocket. He found by using his fingers as little as possible he could get the thing open easiest. He often didn’t have the dexterity to put change back into the wallet, so his pockets filled as he spent the money.
He took his ticket and bag and walked outside to get a breath of fresh air. Seven people stood smoking by the door, making this a ridiculous desire. But one of them was the strange girl from earlier. He stood near her.
“You going to Medford?” He said.
“Looks like it,” she said, not facing him.
“Would you like to join me for a beer... I got time to kill,” Sam managed.
“I would, I would. But I’m too young to get in the bar. I am old enough to go to jail and die in a war, but drink a bottle of budweiser or a wine cooler on a Saunday...” she turned to face Sam to finish the thought, “no fucking way.” This made Sam smile and look down at his hands.
“Well, I got a bottle... too,” he said.
She looked mildly disgusted and Sam was about to apologize when she said, “Ok, lets go down by the river.”
It was a quiet brisk walk, she seemed to know where she was going. They passed what looked like a homeless shelter. Sam looked for a guy like himself amungst people waiting in line for something. A few of them looked like him. Maybe he’d escape that fate by getting murdered by this girl. Or he could go to jail for murdering her. No, she was too young and had a decade or two of pure hell to look forward to if she was anything like him.
Confidently she strode by a sign that said, “Warning, no tresspassing,” and had a graphic of a stick figure being hit by a train. They passed some trailroad tracks and walked down an embankment of stones that led to the thick smelling water. It seemed like a good place to get murdered. Sam quickly produced the bottle and offered it to the girl. She held the unweildly thing up to her lips and filled her mouth. With a petite dry heave, she downed a mighty drink.
“How old are you?” Sam finaly asked from behind the bottle he raised to his own lips.
“Wait a second,” she said, leaning over the water and letting a stream of saliva pour out. “I got the spits.”
Sam waited and wondered what he could do for her. Soon she righted herself and shuddered.
“Eighteen, why? Are you a census taker?” she said as if his question were more idiotic than it actualy was.
“Just wondering,” Sam said, shuffling his feet.
“Where are you headed?” she asked with an air of disinterest.
“The coast.”
“A vacation?” She asked.
“Sure,” Sam said. A cool breeze blew across the river. Sam couldn’t think what good a river was, surrounded by rusted steel and railroad bridges. Maybe thats why kids went bad in cities, nothing to do. But in the country, there was nothing to do either.
“What do you parents do?” Sam suprised himself with the question.
“Work. Nothing special.” She sighed. They both seemed to realize there was nothing to talk about.
A wave of emotion came over Sam. Out of no where, he wanted this girl to hug him, slap him, somthing. His eyes welled. “My son died last week,” Sam said tohimself for the first time.
“Shit,” the girl said. “Sorry. How old was he?”
“Seventeen, I guess. I don’t know,” a snotty sob escaped Sam’s mouth.
“I’m sorry. How did it happen?” She took another drink.
“I don’t know. I guess he was involved in drugs and there was an explosion or somthing.” Sam looked out over the expanse of water. He grit his teeth.
“That’s fucked up,” the girl said and handed the bottle back to Sam. A kind of weakness came over him. He had heard the expression, ‘sit right down and die,’ he felt that desire to do so too. He looked up at the girl. She briefly met his gaze, then looked away. He took a deep breath.
“I’m going to do something,” Sam said.
“What,” the girl said, looking at Sam to do something strange.
“I don’t know. I’m going to do something about it. All of it.”
“Well, maybe you should,” she had a drink and turnned towards the bustation. The conversation had obviously taken a weird turn in her eyes. She looked so young to Sam. He walked ahead of her to show her he was ok.
The Local buss to Pulman out of Portland stopped near Toppenish, Sam quickly found out. Once he made the decision to return, things seemed to gain momentum. Realistic plans filled the voids the panic left. He thoughtfully sipped from his bottle in the urnial of the bus headed East. Changing tickets was easy, the bus was nearly empty. The lights above the reading passengers had the warm glow of Christmas lights. Sams heart beat heavily in his heart and his mind raced as he tried to remember the layout of his old town.
The bus stopped to pick up passengers and the bus driver went to use a real toilet at a gas station. Sam walked outside to stretch his legs. The air was drier, like he hadn’t felt in years. A few birds were chirping in the night. Sam senced the sun was going to rize in about an hour over brushy country, not douglas firs and concrete highways. It stirred something in him and he felt no desire to sleep.
Sitting back down on the bus, he noticed across the isle from him an old lady had fallen asleep while reading. Her purse had fallen open allowing her pill bottles to spill. Her mouth was open like she were dead. There was a child like inocense to drugged slumber.
Dawn began with a distant line of color appearing benieth the sky of stars. The stars reminded Sam of th estars he saw sometimes for reason. But now he was noticing stars on purpose. Seeing stars after coughing or puking scared him at first, but it blended into the scenery of living drunk. Now noticing stars, he wondered who had the time to look at stars but kids and men hell bent on drinking themselves to death. Cops dont pull over and say to themselves, ‘hot shit, look at them stars.’
Sam considered a stragety for his return to town. He knew he wouldn’t be noticed, so perhaps the best plan was not seek anyone out. He’d find out what he could about his son and take it from there. He probably had enough cash for a pay by the week room above the vacuum store on Alpine street, providing it was still there.
Maybe he could pose as someone who wanted to buy drugs, find his son’s killer, strangle him and that would be that. Something simple like that. If that didn’t work he could beat up a few of his son’s old friends, then take it from there.
Well, none of those plans were too plausable, but the rage he was feeling filled out his frame. He felt like a big guy again for the first time in months. HE used to be quite scary, he was almost six foot six. When he impounded cars people would come out of their houses with a fighting attitude. Sam would slowly turn and look at them and that would usualy be enough to turn them away. Ever since he really started drinking he felt smaller, but this new rage inflated him.
I mean fuck that town, he thought. It almost killed him, and now he knew it wasn’t an irrational escape he had made. He wasn’t a criminal, that town was bad for the health. He would hit that town running, not take shit from anyone, find out who killed Ryan, and get the hell out.
The bus left Sam at a gas station outside of town. The warm dawn air made him feel clean. He hadn’t properly slept in some time and he felt fatuiged, but alive. The gas station didn’t open for several hours and there was nothing left fo rhim to do but get to walking. He passed a sign that read, ‘six miles, Toppenish.”
He passed large open properties with broken cars being overwhelmed by weeds. Pick-up trucks passed him on the road. He didn’t look at them until they had passed. He could use a ride, but something about it all made him want to avoid human contact, and as he remembered the town wasn’t the, ‘give a ride to a stranger,’ kind of town. Infact he could picture himself as kid eying someone on the side of the road, but not stoping for them. When he was a kid you had to fight and work for a truck, and those without a ride just didn’t work hard enough. Sam wondered if Ryan a truck. Sam’s was an orange Datsun. He bought it from an idian named Miles who did tack work at the barn. It was a solid truck, not American made so it worked regularly.
An old horse saw Sam coming from nearly a half mile down the road. He walked to the edge of the fence and waited. It was a nice feeling noing someone was waiting for him. When Sam finaly made it to where the old horse was waiting, he stopped and pulled up some long grass, just out of reach of the old nag. He offered it on an open palm. THe horse sniffed it and gnawed on it with giant old teeth. Sam figured the horse was old enough to have seen him when he was younger. This horse probably never noticed him though, more interested in picking fights or mounting mares. Sam tried to touch the old horse, but he stepped back and threw his head around to fight the flies. Sam put down his pack and sat for a minute and had a drink. There was a trace of dew on the grass and it cooled the sweat he had going from his walk. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
He awoke to a kick in his gut. He opened his eyes to see a black figure looming infront of the sun. Then a shower of shooting stars came from the dark figures head as if he were a religious figure. Sam tried to shake the delirium so he could fight back, but the blow to his gut left him weak.
“This is private property, move on or go to jail,” the figure said.
Sam caught his breath and stood. The horse had his back to them as if embarassed. Getting his wits back, Sam realized a cop had kicked him. He was short, but had a wide stance like a wrestler. Sam imagioned he could incompasiotate his despite all the guys training if Sam could find something good an dblunt to throw at him. Maybe a rock. He didn’t want to waste his bottle on the guy. The silence grew and the cop didn’t flinch. Sam decided to move on. He could feel the cop staring at him as he continued to walk down the road. After a while the cop drove slowly past him, staring at him from behind large aviator sunglasses. Once he had disapeared over the horizon, Sam vomited.
The properties he passed got smaller and smaller until soon they turned into single home properties. SOme of them looked liek they were indian owned as they bore the remnants of long defunct road side souveneir shops. He passed an overgrown billboard that had been haistily panted over. The lettering benieth bled through and read, ‘Indian Heritage Museum.’ Sam vuagely remembered a casino openning somwhere near Yakima right befor ehe left. There were signs along the highway opposing and supportign it. April was for it because she heard it would get rid of the indians. She had alot of hate in her. It was ugly.
April had a running comentary on the world, glaring out the window of Sam’s truck. It suited Sam as Sam didn’t like to talk much and he had no casset player. If she saw the Indians downtown she’d frown and say, “They are like opossums that come out durring the day.” April always glared,e xcept when they were having sex. Then she frowned like she were concentraiting on something. She was skin and bones.
She lived in a double wide a couple of miles north of town where the roads turned to gravel. Sam would drive to pick her up everyday to go to highschool. There were those few blissful hours each day they had the house to themselves. Sam cooked breakfast and April would pace and talk. Sam liked those moments the best and was sad when April wouldn’t skip school with him and hang out.
Sam sometimes wondered if April was ashamed of him. She really never talked to him during school. April made Sam feel alone, but she fucked, and that was that. In hindsight, Sam realized he was kind of a chaufer service with a dick. But that didn’t make leaving right.
The town had a few main streets lain out along some railroad tracks. It was much like most small towns Sam had seen. It had it’s stores, bars, churches, police stations and a complete sence of desolation that made him feel right at hime. The landmarks in this town were the first ones of their type he had ever known. These were the models of grocery stores against which he had compared better and worse ones too. But he had never been to a bar in Toppenish. That seemed like the most logical first stop.
Tom’s ‘Vern was hidden inbetween to vacant store fronts. The front was dark green and the only thing that gave it away as a bar was it’s ‘no minors,’ sign. Walking in Sam smelled that sweet stale beer smell. There was one old guy sitting like a snuffed cigarette on a stool. Sam sat an apropriate distance from him and waited for a bartender to apear. Sam fidgeted. He took his wallet out and aranged his waning fortune with shaking fingers. About four huinder dollars remained, a good amount to drink away. He figured he could find lodging for a week for about a hundred dollars. He would save a hundred for a buss ticket out of town once he had finished his task. Sam became aware the guy at the bar was staring at him.
Finaly a large woman came out of the women’s bathroom. She noticed Sam and hurried over to the bar. “Sorry baby, I didn’t hear ya come in.” The guy next to him snickered.
Sam noticed a large sign for tall cans of Raneir beer for a buck. He ordered one. She put it infront of him and poped the top. holding it with two hands, he brought it to his lips. It tasted thick and nourishing, which nearly made him vomit. Dry heaving made him see stars. They dropped from the top of his field of vision and slowly drizzled to the bottom. It was beatiful. Like christmas.
The lights receded to expose a different bar. It was now familiar. The drabness disolved into a place he felt he could consider his own. The scond sip went down easy.
Presently, Sam became aware the man sitting next to him was staring at him. Sam casualy turned away from him and took in his surroundings. The man made a hideous cackle. Looking in th eback bar mirror, Sam saw the man was a hunched old thing. If he had a problem, Sam was sure he could solve it by throwing a firm fist in his face. Sam made that fist in anticipation. It shook in his lap. With his other hand he finished his beer. It made a hollow clank when he set it down. The man laughed again.
Sam paused, then motioned for another beer. The bartender said, “The best part of waking up, huh?”
Sam pased for a while, produced money with his free hand, accepted the beer, opened it, drank from it, then said, “Sure.” The man laughed hideously.
Sam spun, “Listen you son of a bitch, if you think something is funy, I beat give you punch line you wont fucking forget.” Sam loomed over him. The bar was silent. Sam could barely hear the TV as he stared at the figure.
“Skunk! Say your sorry,” the bartender leaned in. The man turned his head towards her. In the red light of a Budweiser sign sam saw this man had no eyes. Maybe buried in his twitching eye lids were somthing that began as eyes, but what remained were two holes. “Skunk laughs like that all the time. Perry Mason is on, he loves that show.”
Skunked turned his head up toward the budwieser sign and laughed again. He had few teeth. Sam sat. “I’m sorry, can I buy him a beer?”
“Sure honey,” the bartender said and got a tall can from the fridge behind her. She put it infront of Skunk, then put his hand on the can so he’d know it was there. Skunk smiled and nodded exasgeratedly.
Time and beer seemed to fight the akwardness of coming to his home town. As sam drank, he became heavy and thoughtful. Perry Mason was on TV and although Sam couldn’t hear it, it was nice to have something familiar from his life just a few days ago.
Urinating in the bathroom of the place, Sam had a panoramic view through bars of an alley that led to a store front church, down the way. The warm summer air rushed in and Sam was happy he wasn’t squinting in the sun. He returned to the bar where the bar tender was avoiding him after his last explosion. Sam tried to hide his intoxication with a reserved pose as he bekonded the bar tender over.
“Hi. Is there still that hotel on Avery street?” Sam asked, hoping the bar tender didn’t interperate the question as solicitation for sex.
“Yes there is. Are you new in town?” The bar tender answered while restacking napkins and coasters on the bar infront of Sam.
“Kind of. I am in town for a few days,” Sam tried to think of a good question to ask her to get some momentum going on his quest.
“Buisness or pleasure?” she asked absently.
“A funeral.”
“I guess that doesn’t fit into either. Unless your an undertaker or something,” she said, trying to make light.
“It was my son,” Sam felt a stupid anger well up in him. Stupid because it made him want to throw a violent childish fit, the kind a todler could throw, if that todler were huge and weilding a machete.
“Oh.” The bar tender leaned towards sam with her elbows on the bar top.
Sam looked up and into her rather large breasts. He looked down again. “My kid dies a few days back, I guess.”
“I am sorry to hear about that,” she said.
A moment passed between them. Sam spoke, “Buisness.”
“What now?” she asked.
“I hope to find out a few things about his death,” Sam said, finished his beer, then met ehr gaze.
“Well I should think so. My name is Darci, by the way,” She said, extending a pudgy hand.
“My name is Sam Waters.”
“I heard about your kid. I read about it in yesterdays paper. He died in an explosion up in the hills, no?”
“Do you still have that paper? I just got here, I don’t know much.” Darci turned and retreived the paper from benieth the bar, looked at it, then pointed out the picture on the front of a smoking fith wheel trailer. Sam took it and read.
“...Authorities suspect this accident was linked to methamphetamine use. They are using caution in aproaching the scene due to the danger of harmful chemicals being present. The body of Ryan Waters was identified by his girl friend, Mirna Troy. She told authorities a fight broke out causing the explosion. Police are looking for Cody Brown in connection with this incident for questioning. Police are considering this a homocide. Services are planned at New Beginnings Church this Saturday.”
Sam put down the paper. He then picked up a bar napkin. Darci took a pen from behind her ear and handed it to him. Sam wrote down the names, Mirna Trow and Cody Brown. He knew he needed an address to find Mirna Troy. He coud find that from the phone book, but it would likely be old and useless. Doing impounds in Medford taught him that meth heads were harder to track down and public record wouldn’t help much.
Darci spoke, “do you need another beer?”
Sam noded yes. It was thursday. He had untill this Saturday to find this Cody Brown, or who ever sold him drugs last. Once he had them in his hands, he’d figure out what to do next. If the police caught the guy before him, he’d just leave. He took his beer and napkin over to a phone booth. Settling in on the stool, he manouvered the confounding rotating hinge on the book cover to allow him to open it. There was no phone book inside. “Fuck,” he said and leaned against the wall for a moment.
Darci walked over to him and began wiping down a table near him. “The nearest phone book is in a booth infront of the Lutheran Church down the street. Look for the food bank line, its running today.”
Sam nodded. He’d some adresses, get a room at the inn, then maybe stop by the food bank. That night he’d start pursuing his leeds. He finished his beer as the credits rolled on Perry Mason. Skunk laughed.
The sun was warming the concrete. In a few hours Sam would be sweating. He found the phone booth, but it was occupied, which was strange. The young girl in the booth seemed to be the first pedestrain he’d seen in this otherwise deserted town. Sam noted the booth had a phone book and walked by.
He walked over to the Inn, which was on Broad street. Sam remembered buying cocaine from a man who used to live there. Sam dreaded buying that drug, because April, who already spoke a mile a minute, would kick into overdrive and start to talk two miles a minute.
Trying the front door, he discovered it was locked. Through the dirty glass he saw a hand writen note, ‘No Vacany.’ This was a blow. Sam put down his pack and leaded agains the brick of the building. He tried not to think about where he would sleep. He had already discovered the cops in town wern’t too friendly towards folks sleeping where they could. A man came out from the Inn, coughing violently as he locked the door behind him. He eyed Sam, stopped and lit a cigarette.
“You looking for a room?” he finaly said.
“Yes I am, in fact,” Sam said. The puffed thoughtfully on his cigarrete. He wore blue sweat pants and smoked with an impossible air of importance.
“The sign says no vacancy,” the man said.
“I can see that,” Sam said, picking up his pack.
“But dave upstairs might have a room. They just don’t want anylocal meth heads tearing up the place,” the man said.
“Dave?” Sam asked.
“Dave,” the large smoking man said. A silence grew between them as the sweatpants wearing man waited to be proded. “Dave,” he said again.
“Dave,” Sam said. “How do I get in touch with Dave?”
“Dave,” the fat man began as if Sam had brought him up out of the blue. “Dave will be here after seven or so. He owns a few buisnesses in town. He might have a room.”
“Well, thank you very much. I’ll come back tonight then,” Sam was glad to be walking away. Sam hadn’t remembered this town being so coy.
The phone booth was still occupied as he walked by. The same girl was talking rapidly with a nervous edge to her voice. She had short dark hair and wasno larger than her skeleton. Sam tried to catch her eye to let her know he was waiting. He leaned against a wall near by in clear view of her, but she never seemed notice him.
Sam’s stomach growled angrily. He realized he hadn’t eaten since Medford. The prospect of eating didn’t apeal to him, but he knew he had to do it, so he continued down the street looking for the food bank. It was easily recognizable as it was the only building on the sun bleached street exhibiting any life, if you could call it that. A line of figures solemly waited theri turn. Sam took his place in line at the rear.
Having never been to a food bank, Sam wondered if they would ask for proof or residency or something. He was even considering leaving the line and seeing how far he could make it on beer alone. A general feeling of fatuige kept him in line. Presently the line advanced into the building. A few older men took their places in line behind him. On the walls were schedules for prayer meetings and serives. A few pamplets were tacked to the wall about adiction recovery. Sam took the one down with a picture of a young man looking dejected. In grey letters above his head read ‘Meth, The Path To Living Hell.’
The plamplet claimed an equal exhuberance and euphoria to the use of meth could be attained by letting God into one’s life. Neither meth nor Jesus flowing through Sam’s veins seemed too appealing. As he scanned the pamphlet, his turn in line snuck up on him.
“Any dietary restrictions?” Sam looked up to see a pale faced woman with a clip board staring up at him with mild itnerest.
“No,” Sam muttered.
“Can you cook?” she asked.
“I can, but I don’t know if I have a kitchen.”
“You don’t know?” She asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sam added.
“Not sure?” she looked up.
“I’ll know soon,” Sam tried to explain.
“How about now?” she said after waiting a second.
“Let’s say I don’t have a kitchen,” Sam said.
“Ok, but if you change your mind...” she said filling a cardboard box full of boxes of macaroni and cheese. “You can cook this, can’t you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam said unconvincingly.
“Cheese?” she said holding up a yellow block of it.
“Yes it is,” said Sam.
“Are you sure?” she said.
Sam leaned in and squinted at it. “I’m prety sure it is.”
She looked down and noticed the pamphlet he was holding. Sam held it behind his back. She shrugged and continued to fill the box.
“Do you have a phone book?” Sam asked.
The woman looked skepticly into his eyes. “Yes, but you’ll have to wait until I finish with the gentlemen behind you,” she said pointing at the last few men in line. Sam took his box of food and stood to one side of the line. He put the box on the floor and cleared his throat as he tacked the pamphlet back up on the wall. The woman distributing food noticed with a quizical air.
When the last man had left with food, she brought up a phone book and slapped it on the counter. With shaking fingers, Sam began looking up the names he had writen down at the bar, concious that the woman was staring at him. He found the adress of Mirna Troy, but not the second name, Cody Brown bore no results.
“Sam Waters?” The woman sad, staring at his face.
“Yes,” Sam said, meeting her gaze.
“I was reading about your son. I’m very sorry. I was wondering if you would come back,” sha said. Sam tried to remember the woman. “Electra, Elie Nevile. We went to highschool together. You were a year older than me...”
Sam remembered now. She was a small tomboy who lived near his parents barn. Sam had given her riding lessons in exchange for her doing chores right before he left. He remembered everything he said to her made her blush, which made him akward. “I remember,” Sam half grinned.
A silence fell over them. Sam finished writing the adress of Mirna Troy down. Elie sized him up. “Lets get a drink,” she said when she was finished. “Come on, I’ll buy. I just got my social security check.”
Sam hesitated. Ellie started turning off lights and closing books before he could object.
Back at Toms, there was beginign to be an actual crowd. Darci brought Ellie a glass of red wine without being asked. Sam asked for a beer, and they waited for it in silence. When it arived, Sam inhailed much of it at once. Putting dow nthe can, he noticed Ellie’s glass was empty too. Their eyes briefly met, causing Ellie to hail down Darci and get another round.
When the dirnks arived, Ellie spoke, “Well.” Sam noded. Sam considered bolting for the door. He was a little delerious. He wondered if he stank to high hell haivng not had a proper shower in a few days.
“Well, why are you here?” Ellie asked with a sudden startling directness.
“What do you mean,” Sam asked.
“Are you here for good?”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to check into a few things and hit the road again. Never was much here...” Sam said looking down. Skunk cackled at nothing. Darci shook her head and turned up a local AM country music station. The sound was welcome reprive to was was turning into an interogation by Ellie.
“You know April is dead?” Ellie said.
“I didn’t know that, no,” Sam said.
“She was hit by a drunk driver about eight years ago,” Ellie said. She seemed to know a lot. “When it happened I looked for you. I guess you never knew.” She lit a cigarrete. “i read the paper,” she finaly said.
“What do you know about Ryan, I mean, is there someone I can talk to about him?” Sam asked.
“Well, the Town has Changed a lot since you left. There aren’t many Indians left in the down town. And the war on Meth has slowed the meth trade quite a bit. The town is kind of worn out,” Ellie said settling into her chair. The red light of a Budweiser neon colored half her face. She had held her looks far better than Sam had. “I have a condition, so all I really can do is watch the town... watch it change.”
“Cody Brown, do you know who he is?” Sam asked.
“Just what I read. Are you looking for him?”
“Honestly, I’ll kill him if he was involved in anyway with Ryan’s death,” Sam said, looking off to the TV. A court TV show was on. His eyes welled up with tears. It wasn’t a rational sadness, he knew that.
“Lets find him,” Ellie said.
Sam heard the word ‘lets,’ and it jared him. He looked at Ellie. She still seemed young and incapable somehow, even though she was in her thirties like him. He decided to let it slide.
Ellie ordered another round and when Darci returned with them, she knelt next to the table. “So you two know eachother?”
“Old school friends,” said Ellie, extinguishing her cigarette.
“That’s nice,” said Darci. She lingered for a minute, staring off at nothing, then stood and left.
“Bitch,” Ellie said, lighting another cigarrete. “Whore.”
Sam looked up at a neon beer clock. It read five fourty five. He figured he’d stay with Ellie for a few more drinks, then go to the hotel.
“What have you been up for the last fifteen or so years?” Ellie asked.
“I was driving a tow truck in Medford Oregon. Not all that exciting,” Sam said.
“Any family there?”
“No. Hell, just before I left, my truck got towed. Impounded. It was time to go, I guess,” Sam said.
“I guess, yeah. The tow truck man got his truck towed. That’s great. Well, everybody has to start over sometimes,” she concluded. “I remember you in your pick-up, driving around all quiet in this town. Frowning, really. I remember that.”
This was the first time the time aknowledged he had lived there, but as the aknowledgement came from someone he hardly remembered, it felt strange. Sam tried to remember more about her. All that remained were snap-shot memories. She remembered she wore her father’s clothes at the time. He remembered that because April wore pink things, second hand things bought from malls in big towns, and it had an air of fake femininity to it. Ellie wore drity clothes like a boy, but rarely spoke.
“I hated high school,” Ellie began without being prompted. “I never talked to anyone. I hated it. I hated the way everyone seemed to deal wiith it, you know? They acted like it wasn’t artificial, like it would last for ever. I hated that. I was quiet then. Do you remember when I fell off the horse?”
Sam looked down into his can. The memory came to him.
“I fell off Thora, your horse...”
Sam remembered Thora bleeding from her nose after a run.
“I landed and I didn’t cry because I thought I had broken something. I was laying there. You sorta noticed it because Thora’s hoofs stopped making noise, so you looked over from the hay loft above the arena. You jumped down, kinda slow and bored, picked me up from under my arms like a baby, and put me back up on Thora.”
Sam remembered it because he could smell Ellie sweating. And lifting her in the air gave him an erection. He smiled at that thought.
“I had a crush on you after that,” she finished. She then finished her fourth glass of wine. “You know, if I fell off a horse now, it would kill me? Maybe not literaly, but I have this thing called Fibro Myalsia. It’s this syndrom where I constantly feel pain. I hate it. I really do.”
Sam made mental note of term Fibro Myalsia. He had never heard of it, or heard of it and forgoten. His mind was swaying back and forth like a ship at sea and he wanted to keep hold of a few fact from the day before he became blacked out drunk. “You are constantly in pain?” Sam asked. The word ‘pain’ gave him a little pang of panic.
“It started when I fell off a ladder at work. I broke a few ribs and stuff. But after that I always had this nagging pain. It wouldn’t stop. I had to go on disability. So I’m trapped. I’m trapped in this town and in my pathetic body. You left and came back. That’s because your not trapped,” she said with a weird smile.
Sam ordered another beer.
“So. tommorow we go to the police. You can get more information by looking at their files or what ever on the explosion. Maybe you can get some last know adresses not in the phone book. We can go knock on a few doors and see what we can find, ok?” She said all this not looking at him.
Sam noded. Another beer was set infront of him.
“Do you need to eat? I mean I don’t eat much so I forget,” she said. Her eyes seemed glassed over. It was relaxing.
“No, I don’t need to eat,” Sam said. He had left his box of food on the street outside the bar.
It was dark. Sam need to vomit, but didn’t know where he was. He flailed his arms and they knocked heavily on something. Throwing a blanket from his body, he could see a little more. He stood and rubbed his eyes. There was a huge heavy feeling fighting it’s way up his throat. He saw something that resembled a door and threw it open. He hit his head hard on a low door way and fell a few feet onto cool dirt. He let the vomit escape in mighty heaves while laying on his side. When he stopped vomiting a cloud of shooting stars lit his vision. He caught his breath and watched them dance. As they fadded, he saw by the light of a light hung from a tree he was in a trailer park. The trailers sat in no aparent order. All bathed in a light yellow, they seemed calm and old. Sam closed his eyes.
Sam pulled his blanket up over his sholder to keep out the cold. His head pitched and rolled. He wasn’t hung over, still drunk. Reluctantly he stood to go pee. This made him realize he had no idea where he was. He had been laying at the foot of a trailer. he wondered if he could go in and use the bathroom. He decided against it. He walked down the gravel road between the trailers that led out of the park. The first lights of dawn were raising over the adjasent hills. In the landscaping by the sign naming th etrailer park there was a tree. Sam peed behind it. While going, he saw a cop car drive slowly by, it’s lights proving a swath of ugly detail. It rolled slowly into the trailer park, stopping at one point to shine a bright light on one trailer door. The car then drove on and out of the park.
Sam waited a moment, then walked over to the trailer the cop car had stopped by. Shivering from the mild chill, but mostly the shakes, Sam tried the door. It was locked. He listened at the door for a moment, then walked around back of the trailer. He peeked in a window. The light hanging in the tree bled through the windows on the other side of the trailer. Sam could barely detect what looked like a mad scientists lair inside the trailer. There were tubes headed in everywhich direction. He check the three other windows on his side of the trailer and detected no signs of life within. The trailer seemed gutted to house this aperatus. Sam put his sholder against the side of the trailer and gave it a good shove to disturb who ever might be sleeping inside. A few moments passed and Sam was satisfied the the trailer wasn’t occupied. There was a broom handle on the ground. He picked it up and used it to pry open a cracked window.
Crawling in the window wasn’t an easy task. Suporting the weight of his body with his arms was hard as the exertion caused his to shake violently. He fell in the trailer head first. Weilding his broom handle as a weapon, he ran his hands on the wall to find a light switch.
A pale neon light flicker on and revealed a trailer lined on the inside with aluminum foil. There was the remnants of what looked like a lab, hastily looted. Tubes and broken glass lay on the floor. It stunk. Sam turned off the light and crawled back out through the window. He figured he had seen his first meth lab.
Returning to the trailer he had woken up infront up, he tried the door of a pick up parked next to the trailer hitch. It was unlocked. he crawled over to the passenger seat and closed his eyes. When the sun was up, he’d figure out where the hell he was and if he had a friend in Ellie anymore.
The door next to Sam opened, startling him. He was having that rare deep sleep. Ellie was standing in a loose fiting men’s shirt. Sam rubbed his eyes and confirmed it was not his shirt. She was holding a steaming cup of coffee. She gustured for him to take it.
With wobbling hands he tried get hold of it. It was too dificult.
“Here,” Ellie said and held the cup out at an angle. Sam shook his head and blushed. She insisted. Sam monouvered his shaking head to the cup. When the liquid hit his lips he recognized the rough flavor and smell of whiskey. With his teeth banging against the cup, he sucked down a mouthfull.
“I forgot to crack the window when I went into Wal-Mart. I coulda fried your little brains out. Come in and eat something,” she turned and walked into the nearest railer.
Sam got out of the truck and slammed the door. The truck was a seventies Ford F-150. It was fairly well taken care of, no flats or rust and the tags had only recently expiried. It was a guys truck and it had a trailer hitch. Sam followed Ellie into the trailer.
It wasn’t too cramped. If Sam were shorter, it could even seem comfortable. It was one room with a small table and chair unit, a bed and a kitchen area. Sam recognized it as where he had woken up the first time. His pack was on the floor as if he had used it as a pillow. The boxes of food they had taken from the bank were stacked on the floor infront of the sink. There were bills, and papers on every flat surface. Boxes of wine sat on the floor next to the bed. It seemed cozy.
Sam spied his mug of coffee at the table and sat with it. Ellie unpacked the food boxes and put a kettle on for hot water. “That truck wont run without the keys, or the battery hooked up again,” she said.
“Who lives in the trailer down the way on the right,” Sam struggled to make accurate diriections in a trailer park.
“Which one? The fifth wheel?”
“No, it was a pull trailer. Big, about thrity feet.”
“No one has lived there as long as I have been here,” she siad.
“How long is that?” Sam’s shakes were considerably better and he could opperate the mug alone now.
“Robin went to jail about two years ago,” she said absently while reading the instructions on an oatmeal packet.
“I didn’t do anything too stupid last night did I?” Sam asked.
“Nope. We just talked at the bar until you looked like you were going to fall over so I had you come home with me. You fell asleep right there on the floor the second we got it. I had to step over you to go pee liek eight times. You didn’t move. II even kicked you once to make sure you were alive. At some point you stormed out of here,” she said.
Ellie began mashing the hot water and the oatmeal together. It was a little comical as the bowl was so large, as was her shirt, and she was so small. She then ladeled the thick brown goo into two bowls, putting one infront of Sam. He noded his apreciation. She sat infront of hers. A silence came over them.
“What’s our first move?” she said.
Sam considered his food. “We could go knock on some doors, see what happens. then I could talk to the authorities. I kind of want to see where it happened.”
Ellie looked down ant her food. She picked up her fork, then put it down. “I’ll make a list.” She picked up an envelope and a pen. There was already a list on it, but by crossing the old list out, she found enough room for the new one.
“Knock on doors, talk to cops... find trailer,” she said. She put down her pen and stared at the list like it were a gift.
“Do you run the food bank today?” Sam asked.
“One day a week,” she said, picking up her bowl and putting it in the sink. Sam put a spoon ful in his mouth. It was heavy and warm like someone had chewed on cardbord, then spit it out for him. He forced himself to swallow some. He was hungry, but food didn’t seem like the right thing.
There was a window that looked out onto the aluminum outside wall of the next trailer over. Unfocusing his eyes, Sam saw their reflection in the glass. A bolt of panic shot through him. He felt absurd. He felt like any moment it would occur to Ellie how ridiculous he was and her attention would turn to indifference. He felt welcome and alive now, but to be in her trailer again as a stranger would be unbareable. It was probably unavoidable. People and circumstances were like that.
“I should take a shower,” Sam said staring into his coffee cup. Ellie nodded agreement and walked over to the corner of the trailer the shower stood in. She pulled back the curtain and removed a large plastic container.
“You might have to sit, you’re a big guy,” she said, sniffing a near by towel.
The idea of bathing with her in the room frigtened Sam, so he did not move. Ellie slowly became aware of this, “Oh. I’ll go check my mail and things,” she said. Before ducking out, she took several orange pill bottles from the shelves above the sink and took a few pills from each. Once she had closed the door behind her, Sam stood and opened the Fridge. There was an expired carton of whipping cream in it. He poured in into a pint glass until it wa shalf full. He then filled the rest of the glass with whiskey. With both hands he manouvered the glass to his face and messily gurgled the concotion down. A rush of intoxication came over him. With drunk courage, he stripped naked it the cramped trailer amungst ther belongings. He steped into the shower and turned on the water. Finding it easier to sit, he did. A sence of ease came over him and he laughed out load, fetal nude and drunk in his old home town.
When he emerged from the shower, Sam was good and drunk. He dried himself and put his clothes back on with swiftness and ease. It was strange to dry himself with a woman’s drity towel. Rummaging through Ellie medicine cabnet, he founf a stick of deoderant and put it on. He was fully encased in foreign clean smells and it invigorated him.
While considering taking a shot, he noticed an empty cough syrup bottle in the trash. he briefly washed it out, then filled it with whiskey. His big bottle of whiskey was nearly to it’s half way point, which seemed liek a good pace. Putting the cough syrup bottle in his back pocket, he stepped out into the sunshine. Ellie sat on the trucks hood smoking a cigarrete.
“Let’s get going,” she said.
Pretty Little Love Song
The sounds from the Interstate calmed Sam and allowed him to sleep, but sometimes those sounds mixed with memories in his dreaming subconscious and jolted him awake. Mostly he couldn’t hear them at all. The viaduct splitting the tows in half could have carried water to Rome for all Sam knew, he never drove on it, even when he had his license. His tow truck didn’t have the pick-up nor the brakes to compete, so he avoided it.
“Sammy Knows Best,” was painted on the side of his cream colored rig. He considered it for a while before locking his front door and walking to the liquor store. He considered moving it, he didn’t want it reminding him of how everything was fucked up in a new and annoying way.
Maybe there was an element of Karma to it, he reposed cars from meth heads and drunks for many years in Medford until he himself was too broke to pay his own insurance, fines and rent so that soon someone else would impound his truck. There would be a bite to that thought if he were a more proud man.
It was hot. He had forgotten to put on deodorant before leaving his apartment. He felt weak and his drunk from the night before was wearing off. Soon a bottle of Evan Williams would restore the unreal stupor and he could watch TV all day and do it all again the next day. Waiting for the light to allow him to cross river street, a car honked making him feel vaguely uncomfortable.
Angie had left him that Spring. It took all spring. She had met him through a man who reffered impounds to him. She was his age, early thirties. She had tanned skin, so tanned it was wrinkling. It looked beautiful in sunlight like the kind making him squint and sweat. She made Medford beautiful. She was built for the place. She smoked in crappy dive bars, loved cheap Chinese food and would stay all night drinking white wine in a cheap lounge. She got excited in the morning and drug him out of bed to fish. She made Medford Beautiful. She left him when she realized Sam wouldn’t get her pregnant. They spent many quiet painful nights on her couch, each thinking of a way to make it work and each rationalizing they wern’t too old to start with someone else.
The light changed and Sam crossed the street and made his way into the liquor store. He bought the cheap stuff, paying with shaking hands.
He considered taking a drink while walking home, but decided against it in case he threw up. His apartment was sweltering. He turned on the TV and had his first drink of the day. It went down violently, but it cleared the horror of the day.
The drunker he got, the better the TV got. Perry Mason was a drag, always too long. The bes thing about it was the huge old cars. But thinking about cars made him think about the price of gas and thinking about the price of gas made him think about how little money he had. Thinking about how little money he had made aware of his looming rent payment which was eight four dollars more than he had after buying that bottle of whiskey. Thinking about that bottle of whiskey made him feel rich, and he drank from it.
This was a new thing to him, being broke. He had always been poor, but since leaving home at a young age he had always been busy. When he had his towing job, he was a lube mechanic at a garage, so at one point he was averaging about a seventy hour work week. Angie made him cut down on working, which was fun. They spent his savings driving to the coast. When they realized they wern’t going to work, he decided to be all the time. That was working for him, until he got pulled over. Failing to show up for any of the court proceedings, he lost his license .
The funny thing about Angie was he didn’t love her. She was beautiful and fascinating, but she never reached him. He would sit next to her in her car and feel liek there was so much he could say, but didn’t. In fact there was an element of anger to their relationship because he always felt like she should ask him why he was so quiet all the time. If it was really ment to be, she could have reached through that quiet and found the screaming man within him.
Sam decided to move his truck. It came to him just as Matlock came on the TV. He didn’t like Matlock and his folksy personae. As Sam was from the country, he knew goofy old men never had deductive powers. Scowling fat men in greasy overalls could look you over and figure out where you were from and what you wanted, not groomed smiling old men. It was all too improbable.
The keys to his rig were hanging on the wall next to the door. Unhooking them, he fumbled them and they fell to the floor. Bending down to pick them up, he hit his head on the door. He swore and left his room. The hallway of the apartment smelled like Mexican cooking and he felt jealous. Behind the adjoining apartment door with the cross on the outside was domestic bliss. Sober living and hard work, things he felt he wanted, but never could figure out how to keep.
The hot sun felt good on his drunk face. Wiping sweat from his brow, he realized he was bleeding. He found the scratch on his scalp and rubbed it, then looked at the blood on his hands and laughed. It seemed like a good day to piece of shit. He got in his rig and tried to start it. It spun, but didn’t turn over. He popped the hood.
With shaking hands he got the cover of the air filter and sprayed ether in it. He got back in the cab and started the truck and it turned over immediately.
It felt damn good to be driving again. The hot air blew through the window as he turned down side streets avoiding the police who no doubt recognized him and his rig. He approached one of his favorite bars from the back and parked.
The inside was dark and cool. There was a game on an old faded TV. He ordered a whiskey sour from an old Chinese man who gave him a funny look. Sam frowned back at him, then remembered the blood. He tried to rub it off while squinting into the back bar mirror. Looking at the clock he saw it was 4:17. he had seventeen dollars ro stretch until about eight when he figured he’d be drunk enough to sleep again. Drinks were two fifty a piece. He had got there with a healthy buzz, so he figured he’d make it.
The door to the bar opened. The figure looking in was back lit and indiscernible. It loomed in the door way for a moment, then closed the door without coming in. Sam shrugged and drank. He finished his sour and ordered another one. As he paid he thought of something. He sprang up, drink in hand and went out into the parking lot just in time to see his his tow truck being towed away by a newer larger blue rig with a perfect paint job.
Sipping his drink while standing in the parking lot of the bar, he felt calm an somewhat sober. He decided to go back and have another drink.
A heavy knocking awoke him. His mouth tasted filthy. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His boots were still on. It was warm, but not hit. He recognized his apartment. The knock came again. It was morning again. He rose and stumbled to the door. Looking through the peep hole he saw a cop. A wave of panic rolled over him. He froze and tried to remember what he had done the night before. When nothing came to mind, with shaking hands he unlocked the door.
“Does a Sam Waters live at this address,” an officer with what looked like a fresh hair cut asked.
“That’s me,” Sam said, his head swelling with pain all of a sudden.
“Sir, may I come in. I need to tell you something,” the officer said, tying to lock eye contact with him.
` Sam glanced back at his one bedroom apartment filled with fastfood wrappers and empty bottles. The though crossed his mind that he should hide something, but he couldn’t think what, and besides he didn’t really care. He opened the door and allowed the officer to pass.
The officer looked absurd standing amongst the crap in his apartment. He had his gaze locked on Sam. In his hands was a white piece of paper.
“Are you originally from Topenish, Washington?’ he said, taking time to pronounce the town’s name.
Sam’s interest was piqued. “Yeah.”
“Do you have a son?”
Sam furrowed his brow. He looked down at his clothes. His fly was open, he zipped it up. He ran his fingers through his hair. He saw a bottle was on it’s side on the couch. He righted it.
“Sir, do you have a son named Ryan? Goes by the name of Ryan Tillman?:
Sam nodded, as technically the correct answer to the question was yes, although e had never seen the boy. A rush of old emotions filled his heart.
“Sir, your son was killed in an explosion last Tuesday in rural Siletz county outside Topenish,” the officer said.
The officer seemed to be trying to lock eye contact with Sam, which was annoying. He wanted him to leave. He dry heaved and the officer extended a hand to comfort him. Sam pushed it away. He felt his knees shaking beneath him. He looked around the room untill his eyes settled on a bottle with some brown liquid still in it. Feeling as if he were about to collapse, he maneuvered over to it. It took both hands to get the bottle to his face, and once there he nearly chipped a tooth getting the lip of the bottle in his mouth. The warm liquid attacked the back of his throat and filled his nose. He stomach clenched like a fist causing him to run for the toilet.
He stared into the filthy bowl, salivating a steady stream. The whiskey stayed down and a calm settled over him. He was tired with an under current of scared. He couldn’t sleep and he needed another drink. He stood and was shocked to see the officer still standing in his living room. He picked up the bottle and sat on the floor. A long silence fell in the room.
“Finally the officer spoke again. “Were you in contact with your son at all?” Sam’s silence seemed to answer the question to satisfaction. “Memorial services are going to be held this Sunday at Christ Luthran Church on 2nd and Downing in Topenish. “
` Sam considered everything. He was broke, lonely and unemployed. His means of getting more money was impounded. A kind of fury grew inside him. He could smell the cologne of the officer standing there in his disgusting little apartment. He could feel his pity. He seemed so close Sam felt almost as if he could count the money in his wallet. Sam was desperate to run out the door and go somewhere, anywhere else. Maybe the ocean. Or maybe kill himself. He tried to hold the bottle in a way such that he didn’t shake so much. “What kind of explosion?” he foudn himself asking.
“Well, we believe he mave have had something to do with th emethamphetamine trade in the area,” the officer said.
Sam’s head roze and and his eyes met the officer’s. He made a solemn nod and looked down again. “I’d like to be alone,” Sam said.
“At times like this advize people to seek the comfort of friends family and his or her diety, Do you have church or spiritual advizer tou can contact?” Sam didn’t look up.
“Well, I’ll leave this paper on your... floor here. It has some numbers you can call...”
Finaly the officer left. Sam could hear his heavy footsteps going down the hall and later his radio in his patrol car. When the car pulled away, Sam stood. He looked around his little apartment. All the furnature was from thrift stores. His dresser was empty, all his clothes dirty on the floor. His kitchen was mostly empty, ecpt for empty cans and bottles. He drank the last of the whiskey and dropped the bottle. Under his mattress he kept a canvas bag full of tools. He opened it and let the contents fall to the floor. he then shoved a pair of pants, some underwear and a shirt in it. He put some toiletries in the bag and left the apartment. He stopped for a moment i nthe hall. With shaking hands he attempted to get the key for the apartment off the ring. He couldn’t manage. Looking at the ring he realized every key was to something he no longer had. One key was for his truck, one was for Angie’s garage, one was for the city impound lot. He threw the ring into the apartment and closed the door and left the apartment building.
Standing in the liquor store he weighed his options. He could get a fifth of whiskey, or a pint and travel light. Or he could get the half gallon and save money. If he got the fifth, he would be ok for a day or two. If he got the pint, it might lost last the day, but then again maybe this was a sign it was time to quit drinking. Something in him told his that was a stupid though. He picked up the half gallon which was in a plastic jug. The fat white woman behind the counter knew better than to make a comment.
It was going to be a milder day, Sam thought as he walked down the street. A powerful fatuige over came him. He identified it’s cause as starvation and stopped at a Taco Bell. There was no one in line and behind the counter was a lovely young Mexican girl. Maybe sixteen years old. She smiled at him with a kind of nativity that almost brought a tear to Sam’s eyes. His hands were shaking violently as he produced his wallet. He ordered a bean burrito, which was ready almost immediately.
Sitting with it in a booth he felt as if he had forgotten how to eat. He took a bite, but it seemed dry and ridiculous. The mechanism for chewing escaped him and he had to consciously direct his mouth to chew. Swallowing was an ordeal. The whole experience was alien and he only got half the thing down before throwing it away.
The bus station was packed. He wasn’t expecting that. People overflowed onto the streets. There were lines for the phone booths and ticket counters. What little picture in his head of his escape was of a stoic journey to an empty buss station. Where were all these people going. A young man sat cross-legged drawing the mob in a sketch book. Sam craned his head to see. He couldn’t quite understand all the lines and shading, but it seemed to capture what his own half drunk eyes saw.
A voice cme over the loudspeaker,” The bus South to Ashland, Redding, Shasta and Sacramento will be delayed another two hours. At that time three buses will take everybody waiting.” A groan came over the croud. Sam waited in line at the ticket counter. His own vuage plan was to go West to the coast, not South. His plans were not hampered.
The bus depot was reminded him of a horse barn. It smelled vuagely of feces and all these expresive young faces suffered the captivity of having to wait. Young is the urge to be free, as is the conundrum of being a horse. As a horse you are geneticly engineered to run and walk, but there’s no where for you to do it anymore. Sam always respected horses. Quiet, but full of rage. Obsolete too. Obsolete like rage.
After waiting some time in line, he finaly got his chance to speak to the tired old lady behind the counter.
“Gold beach please,” Sam said and with hands shaking to an almost dibilitating degree, he produced his wallet and managed to extract two twenties. A ticket printed and the old lady handed it to him. Sam nodded his thanks and walked into the bathroom.
He went into a stall and sat on the toilet with the lid down and produced his bottle and drank. A young man droned on and on a cell phone. His conversation was repetative and adjitated. It seemed to endlessly cycle. Sam peeked through the crack in the door and saw the kid. He was dressed in that urban ganster style, gaudy fake gold jewlry, the kinds you see for sale at the mall hung from all over his body. Finaly the kid shut up and closed his phone while looking at his hair in the mirror. Right away the phone rang again and the kid said, “what up G.”
Sam became aware of a groan comming from the stall next to him. Looking down he saw mud caked boots and jeans down araound the ankles. From the stall another young voice said, “Please shut the hell up.”
Sam’s eyes jumped over to the ganster talking on the phone who didn’t register the complaint. His annoying conversation cycled on. Sam took a drink.
“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’ll throw you the hell out of this bathroom,” the voice from the next stall said.
Again Sam watched the ganster for a reaction. He seemed to increase his volume to taunt the man in the stall next to him. Sam looked down in time to see the jeans rize and the cowboy boots leave the stall next to him. Sam took another drink. Amzingly the man in the next stall was more of a kid. He looked either part Mexican or indian. His clothes were worn and muddy and his face didn’t have a a lick of hair on it. That would come in a few years. He diliberatly and slowly grabbed the ganster kid by the jacket and led him from Sam’s view through the crack inthe stall door. Shortly there after Sam heard the door to the bathroom close. The kid with the boots returned, walked back into his stall and vomited wildly.
Sam noded with admiration, took another drink and left the stall. As he stopped to get a drink at the hand washing sink, the kid in boots emerged from the stall. He looked pale, skiny and preoccupied. Sam wiped his mouth with his sleeve and followed him out of the bathroom. The ganster kid was standing at the door of the depot with another ganster kid watching. Sam followed his new hero as he moved towards the ambush.
The kid with the boots held the door for Sam as they walked outside the depot. The two ganster looking kids stared at Sam, but didn’t say anything. Sam returned their stare for a moment before the two turned and walked away. It was a ridiculous interaction and the boy Sam followed out to protect didn’t even realize it happened. He was leaning against the wall of the depot, letting saliva drool out his mouth.
“Hey kid,” Sam said. Need a drink?”
The kid looked up with eyes that seemed on the verge of tears. He shrugged like he was willign to try anything. They walked down a narrow alley between the depot and the next door warehouse. Sam couldn’t remember being that hung over when he was a teen. He remembered being drunk, but not looking or feeling that wasted. He handed his big bottle of whiskey to the kid, who braced himself, then took a drink. He held it in his mouth for a moment, then spit it all over the wall. Sam chuckled and drank a little himself. Whiskey tasted like wood smelled, and he liked that.
The kid walked away from sam, down the alley, without saying a word.
Chapter II
Sam’s bus didn’t leave for another three hours. There was nothing to but sit and watch the faces in the depot. The gansters had returned, but they left Sam alone.
Latino girls sat quiet, trying to nap. They had eight times the patcience of the white girls who talked and talked. There were a few college girls in cotton hoodies and sweaters. They seemed so clean and erotic.
There were a few older men, like him, in their thirties, maybe looking for the next gig. They were meeker, orbiting the fringe of the depot, smoking and laughing togetheroutside, or admiring the vending machines.
Sam was feeling reflective. He could feel the drunk moving up his spine. He found an empty part of the floor next to a vending machine and let his eyes un-focus.
If he were younger, he’d be in the same damn position, he thought. No where to go, no real future. Just a hasty retreat on a bus. He had made the decision to escape before, some seventeen years earlier.
It was spring in Topenish. His mother had married a man with a horse barn a few years earlier. They were having trouble keeping the horse boarding buisness afloat and Sam sorta disapeared to his mother. He went to school on his own schedule and dated girls.
Sam stood sudenly and checked the time. He didn’t want to dose off and miss his bus. There was a big map of Oregon on the wall. There was graffiti scratched into the surface all along the Interstat Five corridor which reached up the West part of the state. The coastal towns dotted the shore. Some had indian names, some had generic sounding names. He wondered why the town he was headed to was called, ‘Gold Beach,’ and what kind of work he would find there. He wondered too if he’d have to improvize a place to sleep for a while. A good way to find a place to sleep, a job or a woman was to find a bar and make friends quick. He could stay drunk on cheap whiskey, he thought, and buy cheap beer. It would work out. He sat down again.
He looked at his callused hands. They were ugly, foreign and old looking. It mildly amused him to try to accomplish small tasks with them like touching his thumb to pinky. The shaking made it impossible. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Giving up was a relief. WHen he was in his twenties he amlost daily thoguht of suicide. Now in his thirties, he rarely thought, which was a relief. A few years ago he sometimes worried about his future. He felt weak next to men his age with some semblance of establishment. Pot bellied men in line at the supermarket on there way to play golf made him feel meek. Drinking made him feel like he was getting somewhere. And that somewhere was drunk.
Giving up did take a daily work. There were a few moments of panic during the day. They came like waves in a dream, drowning in an irrational situation. Thinking about these moments of panic often brought the panic on, as it was doing at that very moment. Sam stood to pee and take another drink in the bathroom.
Getting comfortable in his stall again, he became aware of a rustling in the stall next to him. Looking down he saw two pairs of feet this time. One pair of shoes were smaller and of a daintier style. The other pair were muddy work boots. Sam made some noises to make it seem as if he wern’t listening.
“Fuck it,” he heard a man whisper. “This ones for you.” He then heard a snorting noise. There was a pause and then another snorting nosie. Sam assumed they were snorting coke. He took the cap off his bottle and drank.
Then to his astonishment he thought he heard a zipper openning an erotic moan. He looked down at the feet again. The woman was on her knees.
This sent a chill of terror down Sam’s spine. It was such a vile place to do such a thing. Sam gathered himself, and as he was about to leave the stall, he paused ot take another drink.
Out in the waiting area again he felt uneasy. Looking at the younger girls again he felt vuagely depressed. He sat down again in his spot. His eyes watered briefly. A young girl strode confidently from the men’s bathroom. Sam tried not to stare. Soon after her an man his age followed. He was skinny like a skeleton. He left the depot dirrectly. The girl sat on chewed gum wildly. Sam wondered if they were doing Meth in there. It was such a vile thought to picture that bneautiful young thing, someones daughter, doing such vile things. Sam leaned his head back agains tthe wall and closed his eyes. He remembered girls that young when he was that young. There was April, the girl he had left years before. She had big eyes and always wet lips. She had just turned sixteen when he left. She hadn’t told him she was pregnant, but he knew. It was a simple decision. Go or blow his brains out with the shotgun in the barn. Leaving in his old datsun truck early that dawn felt like he was flying and the more distance between him and that town, the more the guilt seemed to melt. He felt his mouth fall open and sleep overtake him.
Chapter III
Sam’s eyes openned. He remembered he was at a bus station and he had the feeling a great deal of time had passed. He saw a line forming and he stood and joined it. He felt very weak and not at all awake. The line moved quickly onto the bus. The driver tore the tickets without looking and they filled in the seats quickly. Sam melted into his and closed his eyes. The busses idling engine vibrated him back to sleep. He vuagely felt the bus begin to move.
Some time later as the bus was hurtling through some stretch of the interstate, Sam awoke freezing. The busses airconditioner had finaly beat the heat and was now revelling in it’s victory. He took his bottle out and drank more, spilling some down his chin. He pulled his arms back into his sleeves and tried to sleep more. The cold subsided quickly as the whiskey filled his spine. He fell back into oblivion.
The sun was down and they were pulling into a city. Sam had a mild head ache. He saw good looking healthy people leaving a resturant. Some kids were dressed like punks and walking proudly down the street. Sam blinked his eye and sat up. The buss was benieth giant buildings. It occured to Sam he had no idea where he was. He squinted at signs on buildings, trying to get a clue.
Finaly the bus driver spoke over theintercom, “In a few moments we will be ariving in Portland, Oregon.” Please check around you for your personal belongings.”
Sam tried to absorb his error without getting angry or scared. Portland was clear on the otherside of the state and no where nearer to the ocean. He thought he could try to swing it in Portland, maybe find work in the morning. he looked out the window again. He saw another couple. They were arguing and pointing cell phones at eachother. Something about them seemed more vile than the girl giving head to a stranger for drugs in a public toilet in Medford. Sam reached for his half gallo nand drank. He was doing ok. He wasn’t stupid drunk and he hadn’t made a huge indent in the liquid.
Getting off the the buss he imediatly detected the urban smog smell. The night air was better than the airconditioning of the bus. Sam walked over to the ticket line to find out what busses were leaving soon. The line was long and full of kids in their teens. Maybe going to college or switching parents for the weekend, Sam wasn’t sure as city people were a little foreign to him.
Dirrectly in front of him was a girl with no bagage. She stared dirrectly forroward durring the long wait. She was dressed modestly, jeans and a hoodie. She anxiotusly bit at her lip. It seemed as if maybe several people were arguing in her head and she was waiting for a moment to jump in. Sam wasn’t sur eif she was sixteen or twenty six.
A sasy white woman was yelling at the lady behind the counter and holding up the line. Sam shook his head and sighed. The girl in front of him said, “I’m going to fucking kill her.
Sam smiled at this brutal threat. The sassy loud woman seemed satisfied and left the counter, then turned and stormed back. The strange woman in front of Sam seemed crushed.
“Are you in a hurry?” Sam said.
“I am in a hurry to get the fuck out of here,” she said without looking at him.
“Is Portland that bad?” Sam asked.
She turned her body as if her neck or eyes were stuck and that was the only was she could see him, “yes. yes it fucking is.”
“Oh, wont stay then,” Sam said looking down at his bag cotaining his bottle. “Where is good?”
“I don’t know. Everywhere is ok a for a few months...” she said turning her body to face the counter.
When finaly she made it to the counter Sam was amused to hear her buy a ticket to Medford. She walked stifly away. Sam walked up to the counter next.
“I’d like to go...” Sam looked at the arival and departure bord like a menu, then blushed as he realized he was being rude. “I’m sorry. I’d like to go to the nearest Ocean town.”
“We have a bus going to Astoria Oregon at 6am.”
“That’ll do it,” Sam said taking his wallet from his back pocket. He found by using his fingers as little as possible he could get the thing open easiest. He often didn’t have the dexterity to put change back into the wallet, so his pockets filled as he spent the money.
He took his ticket and bag and walked outside to get a breath of fresh air. Seven people stood smoking by the door, making this a ridiculous desire. But one of them was the strange girl from earlier. He stood near her.
“You going to Medford?” He said.
“Looks like it,” she said, not facing him.
“Would you like to join me for a beer... I got time to kill,” Sam managed.
“I would, I would. But I’m too young to get in the bar. I am old enough to go to jail and die in a war, but drink a bottle of budweiser or a wine cooler on a Saunday...” she turned to face Sam to finish the thought, “no fucking way.” This made Sam smile and look down at his hands.
“Well, I got a bottle... too,” he said.
She looked mildly disgusted and Sam was about to apologize when she said, “Ok, lets go down by the river.”
It was a quiet brisk walk, she seemed to know where she was going. They passed what looked like a homeless shelter. Sam looked for a guy like himself amungst people waiting in line for something. A few of them looked like him. Maybe he’d escape that fate by getting murdered by this girl. Or he could go to jail for murdering her. No, she was too young and had a decade or two of pure hell to look forward to if she was anything like him.
Confidently she strode by a sign that said, “Warning, no tresspassing,” and had a graphic of a stick figure being hit by a train. They passed some trailroad tracks and walked down an embankment of stones that led to the thick smelling water. It seemed like a good place to get murdered. Sam quickly produced the bottle and offered it to the girl. She held the unweildly thing up to her lips and filled her mouth. With a petite dry heave, she downed a mighty drink.
“How old are you?” Sam finaly asked from behind the bottle he raised to his own lips.
“Wait a second,” she said, leaning over the water and letting a stream of saliva pour out. “I got the spits.”
Sam waited and wondered what he could do for her. Soon she righted herself and shuddered.
“Eighteen, why? Are you a census taker?” she said as if his question were more idiotic than it actualy was.
“Just wondering,” Sam said, shuffling his feet.
“Where are you headed?” she asked with an air of disinterest.
“The coast.”
“A vacation?” She asked.
“Sure,” Sam said. A cool breeze blew across the river. Sam couldn’t think what good a river was, surrounded by rusted steel and railroad bridges. Maybe thats why kids went bad in cities, nothing to do. But in the country, there was nothing to do either.
“What do you parents do?” Sam suprised himself with the question.
“Work. Nothing special.” She sighed. They both seemed to realize there was nothing to talk about.
A wave of emotion came over Sam. Out of no where, he wanted this girl to hug him, slap him, somthing. His eyes welled. “My son died last week,” Sam said tohimself for the first time.
“Shit,” the girl said. “Sorry. How old was he?”
“Seventeen, I guess. I don’t know,” a snotty sob escaped Sam’s mouth.
“I’m sorry. How did it happen?” She took another drink.
“I don’t know. I guess he was involved in drugs and there was an explosion or somthing.” Sam looked out over the expanse of water. He grit his teeth.
“That’s fucked up,” the girl said and handed the bottle back to Sam. A kind of weakness came over him. He had heard the expression, ‘sit right down and die,’ he felt that desire to do so too. He looked up at the girl. She briefly met his gaze, then looked away. He took a deep breath.
“I’m going to do something,” Sam said.
“What,” the girl said, looking at Sam to do something strange.
“I don’t know. I’m going to do something about it. All of it.”
“Well, maybe you should,” she had a drink and turnned towards the bustation. The conversation had obviously taken a weird turn in her eyes. She looked so young to Sam. He walked ahead of her to show her he was ok.
The Local buss to Pulman out of Portland stopped near Toppenish, Sam quickly found out. Once he made the decision to return, things seemed to gain momentum. Realistic plans filled the voids the panic left. He thoughtfully sipped from his bottle in the urnial of the bus headed East. Changing tickets was easy, the bus was nearly empty. The lights above the reading passengers had the warm glow of Christmas lights. Sams heart beat heavily in his heart and his mind raced as he tried to remember the layout of his old town.
The bus stopped to pick up passengers and the bus driver went to use a real toilet at a gas station. Sam walked outside to stretch his legs. The air was drier, like he hadn’t felt in years. A few birds were chirping in the night. Sam senced the sun was going to rize in about an hour over brushy country, not douglas firs and concrete highways. It stirred something in him and he felt no desire to sleep.
Sitting back down on the bus, he noticed across the isle from him an old lady had fallen asleep while reading. Her purse had fallen open allowing her pill bottles to spill. Her mouth was open like she were dead. There was a child like inocense to drugged slumber.
Dawn began with a distant line of color appearing benieth the sky of stars. The stars reminded Sam of th estars he saw sometimes for reason. But now he was noticing stars on purpose. Seeing stars after coughing or puking scared him at first, but it blended into the scenery of living drunk. Now noticing stars, he wondered who had the time to look at stars but kids and men hell bent on drinking themselves to death. Cops dont pull over and say to themselves, ‘hot shit, look at them stars.’
Sam considered a stragety for his return to town. He knew he wouldn’t be noticed, so perhaps the best plan was not seek anyone out. He’d find out what he could about his son and take it from there. He probably had enough cash for a pay by the week room above the vacuum store on Alpine street, providing it was still there.
Maybe he could pose as someone who wanted to buy drugs, find his son’s killer, strangle him and that would be that. Something simple like that. If that didn’t work he could beat up a few of his son’s old friends, then take it from there.
Well, none of those plans were too plausable, but the rage he was feeling filled out his frame. He felt like a big guy again for the first time in months. HE used to be quite scary, he was almost six foot six. When he impounded cars people would come out of their houses with a fighting attitude. Sam would slowly turn and look at them and that would usualy be enough to turn them away. Ever since he really started drinking he felt smaller, but this new rage inflated him.
I mean fuck that town, he thought. It almost killed him, and now he knew it wasn’t an irrational escape he had made. He wasn’t a criminal, that town was bad for the health. He would hit that town running, not take shit from anyone, find out who killed Ryan, and get the hell out.
The bus left Sam at a gas station outside of town. The warm dawn air made him feel clean. He hadn’t properly slept in some time and he felt fatuiged, but alive. The gas station didn’t open for several hours and there was nothing left fo rhim to do but get to walking. He passed a sign that read, ‘six miles, Toppenish.”
He passed large open properties with broken cars being overwhelmed by weeds. Pick-up trucks passed him on the road. He didn’t look at them until they had passed. He could use a ride, but something about it all made him want to avoid human contact, and as he remembered the town wasn’t the, ‘give a ride to a stranger,’ kind of town. Infact he could picture himself as kid eying someone on the side of the road, but not stoping for them. When he was a kid you had to fight and work for a truck, and those without a ride just didn’t work hard enough. Sam wondered if Ryan a truck. Sam’s was an orange Datsun. He bought it from an idian named Miles who did tack work at the barn. It was a solid truck, not American made so it worked regularly.
An old horse saw Sam coming from nearly a half mile down the road. He walked to the edge of the fence and waited. It was a nice feeling noing someone was waiting for him. When Sam finaly made it to where the old horse was waiting, he stopped and pulled up some long grass, just out of reach of the old nag. He offered it on an open palm. THe horse sniffed it and gnawed on it with giant old teeth. Sam figured the horse was old enough to have seen him when he was younger. This horse probably never noticed him though, more interested in picking fights or mounting mares. Sam tried to touch the old horse, but he stepped back and threw his head around to fight the flies. Sam put down his pack and sat for a minute and had a drink. There was a trace of dew on the grass and it cooled the sweat he had going from his walk. Before he knew it, he was asleep.
He awoke to a kick in his gut. He opened his eyes to see a black figure looming infront of the sun. Then a shower of shooting stars came from the dark figures head as if he were a religious figure. Sam tried to shake the delirium so he could fight back, but the blow to his gut left him weak.
“This is private property, move on or go to jail,” the figure said.
Sam caught his breath and stood. The horse had his back to them as if embarassed. Getting his wits back, Sam realized a cop had kicked him. He was short, but had a wide stance like a wrestler. Sam imagioned he could incompasiotate his despite all the guys training if Sam could find something good an dblunt to throw at him. Maybe a rock. He didn’t want to waste his bottle on the guy. The silence grew and the cop didn’t flinch. Sam decided to move on. He could feel the cop staring at him as he continued to walk down the road. After a while the cop drove slowly past him, staring at him from behind large aviator sunglasses. Once he had disapeared over the horizon, Sam vomited.
The properties he passed got smaller and smaller until soon they turned into single home properties. SOme of them looked liek they were indian owned as they bore the remnants of long defunct road side souveneir shops. He passed an overgrown billboard that had been haistily panted over. The lettering benieth bled through and read, ‘Indian Heritage Museum.’ Sam vuagely remembered a casino openning somwhere near Yakima right befor ehe left. There were signs along the highway opposing and supportign it. April was for it because she heard it would get rid of the indians. She had alot of hate in her. It was ugly.
April had a running comentary on the world, glaring out the window of Sam’s truck. It suited Sam as Sam didn’t like to talk much and he had no casset player. If she saw the Indians downtown she’d frown and say, “They are like opossums that come out durring the day.” April always glared,e xcept when they were having sex. Then she frowned like she were concentraiting on something. She was skin and bones.
She lived in a double wide a couple of miles north of town where the roads turned to gravel. Sam would drive to pick her up everyday to go to highschool. There were those few blissful hours each day they had the house to themselves. Sam cooked breakfast and April would pace and talk. Sam liked those moments the best and was sad when April wouldn’t skip school with him and hang out.
Sam sometimes wondered if April was ashamed of him. She really never talked to him during school. April made Sam feel alone, but she fucked, and that was that. In hindsight, Sam realized he was kind of a chaufer service with a dick. But that didn’t make leaving right.
The town had a few main streets lain out along some railroad tracks. It was much like most small towns Sam had seen. It had it’s stores, bars, churches, police stations and a complete sence of desolation that made him feel right at hime. The landmarks in this town were the first ones of their type he had ever known. These were the models of grocery stores against which he had compared better and worse ones too. But he had never been to a bar in Toppenish. That seemed like the most logical first stop.
Tom’s ‘Vern was hidden inbetween to vacant store fronts. The front was dark green and the only thing that gave it away as a bar was it’s ‘no minors,’ sign. Walking in Sam smelled that sweet stale beer smell. There was one old guy sitting like a snuffed cigarette on a stool. Sam sat an apropriate distance from him and waited for a bartender to apear. Sam fidgeted. He took his wallet out and aranged his waning fortune with shaking fingers. About four huinder dollars remained, a good amount to drink away. He figured he could find lodging for a week for about a hundred dollars. He would save a hundred for a buss ticket out of town once he had finished his task. Sam became aware the guy at the bar was staring at him.
Finaly a large woman came out of the women’s bathroom. She noticed Sam and hurried over to the bar. “Sorry baby, I didn’t hear ya come in.” The guy next to him snickered.
Sam noticed a large sign for tall cans of Raneir beer for a buck. He ordered one. She put it infront of him and poped the top. holding it with two hands, he brought it to his lips. It tasted thick and nourishing, which nearly made him vomit. Dry heaving made him see stars. They dropped from the top of his field of vision and slowly drizzled to the bottom. It was beatiful. Like christmas.
The lights receded to expose a different bar. It was now familiar. The drabness disolved into a place he felt he could consider his own. The scond sip went down easy.
Presently, Sam became aware the man sitting next to him was staring at him. Sam casualy turned away from him and took in his surroundings. The man made a hideous cackle. Looking in th eback bar mirror, Sam saw the man was a hunched old thing. If he had a problem, Sam was sure he could solve it by throwing a firm fist in his face. Sam made that fist in anticipation. It shook in his lap. With his other hand he finished his beer. It made a hollow clank when he set it down. The man laughed again.
Sam paused, then motioned for another beer. The bartender said, “The best part of waking up, huh?”
Sam pased for a while, produced money with his free hand, accepted the beer, opened it, drank from it, then said, “Sure.” The man laughed hideously.
Sam spun, “Listen you son of a bitch, if you think something is funy, I beat give you punch line you wont fucking forget.” Sam loomed over him. The bar was silent. Sam could barely hear the TV as he stared at the figure.
“Skunk! Say your sorry,” the bartender leaned in. The man turned his head towards her. In the red light of a Budweiser sign sam saw this man had no eyes. Maybe buried in his twitching eye lids were somthing that began as eyes, but what remained were two holes. “Skunk laughs like that all the time. Perry Mason is on, he loves that show.”
Skunked turned his head up toward the budwieser sign and laughed again. He had few teeth. Sam sat. “I’m sorry, can I buy him a beer?”
“Sure honey,” the bartender said and got a tall can from the fridge behind her. She put it infront of Skunk, then put his hand on the can so he’d know it was there. Skunk smiled and nodded exasgeratedly.
Time and beer seemed to fight the akwardness of coming to his home town. As sam drank, he became heavy and thoughtful. Perry Mason was on TV and although Sam couldn’t hear it, it was nice to have something familiar from his life just a few days ago.
Urinating in the bathroom of the place, Sam had a panoramic view through bars of an alley that led to a store front church, down the way. The warm summer air rushed in and Sam was happy he wasn’t squinting in the sun. He returned to the bar where the bar tender was avoiding him after his last explosion. Sam tried to hide his intoxication with a reserved pose as he bekonded the bar tender over.
“Hi. Is there still that hotel on Avery street?” Sam asked, hoping the bar tender didn’t interperate the question as solicitation for sex.
“Yes there is. Are you new in town?” The bar tender answered while restacking napkins and coasters on the bar infront of Sam.
“Kind of. I am in town for a few days,” Sam tried to think of a good question to ask her to get some momentum going on his quest.
“Buisness or pleasure?” she asked absently.
“A funeral.”
“I guess that doesn’t fit into either. Unless your an undertaker or something,” she said, trying to make light.
“It was my son,” Sam felt a stupid anger well up in him. Stupid because it made him want to throw a violent childish fit, the kind a todler could throw, if that todler were huge and weilding a machete.
“Oh.” The bar tender leaned towards sam with her elbows on the bar top.
Sam looked up and into her rather large breasts. He looked down again. “My kid dies a few days back, I guess.”
“I am sorry to hear about that,” she said.
A moment passed between them. Sam spoke, “Buisness.”
“What now?” she asked.
“I hope to find out a few things about his death,” Sam said, finished his beer, then met ehr gaze.
“Well I should think so. My name is Darci, by the way,” She said, extending a pudgy hand.
“My name is Sam Waters.”
“I heard about your kid. I read about it in yesterdays paper. He died in an explosion up in the hills, no?”
“Do you still have that paper? I just got here, I don’t know much.” Darci turned and retreived the paper from benieth the bar, looked at it, then pointed out the picture on the front of a smoking fith wheel trailer. Sam took it and read.
“...Authorities suspect this accident was linked to methamphetamine use. They are using caution in aproaching the scene due to the danger of harmful chemicals being present. The body of Ryan Waters was identified by his girl friend, Mirna Troy. She told authorities a fight broke out causing the explosion. Police are looking for Cody Brown in connection with this incident for questioning. Police are considering this a homocide. Services are planned at New Beginnings Church this Saturday.”
Sam put down the paper. He then picked up a bar napkin. Darci took a pen from behind her ear and handed it to him. Sam wrote down the names, Mirna Trow and Cody Brown. He knew he needed an address to find Mirna Troy. He coud find that from the phone book, but it would likely be old and useless. Doing impounds in Medford taught him that meth heads were harder to track down and public record wouldn’t help much.
Darci spoke, “do you need another beer?”
Sam noded yes. It was thursday. He had untill this Saturday to find this Cody Brown, or who ever sold him drugs last. Once he had them in his hands, he’d figure out what to do next. If the police caught the guy before him, he’d just leave. He took his beer and napkin over to a phone booth. Settling in on the stool, he manouvered the confounding rotating hinge on the book cover to allow him to open it. There was no phone book inside. “Fuck,” he said and leaned against the wall for a moment.
Darci walked over to him and began wiping down a table near him. “The nearest phone book is in a booth infront of the Lutheran Church down the street. Look for the food bank line, its running today.”
Sam nodded. He’d some adresses, get a room at the inn, then maybe stop by the food bank. That night he’d start pursuing his leeds. He finished his beer as the credits rolled on Perry Mason. Skunk laughed.
The sun was warming the concrete. In a few hours Sam would be sweating. He found the phone booth, but it was occupied, which was strange. The young girl in the booth seemed to be the first pedestrain he’d seen in this otherwise deserted town. Sam noted the booth had a phone book and walked by.
He walked over to the Inn, which was on Broad street. Sam remembered buying cocaine from a man who used to live there. Sam dreaded buying that drug, because April, who already spoke a mile a minute, would kick into overdrive and start to talk two miles a minute.
Trying the front door, he discovered it was locked. Through the dirty glass he saw a hand writen note, ‘No Vacany.’ This was a blow. Sam put down his pack and leaded agains the brick of the building. He tried not to think about where he would sleep. He had already discovered the cops in town wern’t too friendly towards folks sleeping where they could. A man came out from the Inn, coughing violently as he locked the door behind him. He eyed Sam, stopped and lit a cigarette.
“You looking for a room?” he finaly said.
“Yes I am, in fact,” Sam said. The puffed thoughtfully on his cigarrete. He wore blue sweat pants and smoked with an impossible air of importance.
“The sign says no vacancy,” the man said.
“I can see that,” Sam said, picking up his pack.
“But dave upstairs might have a room. They just don’t want anylocal meth heads tearing up the place,” the man said.
“Dave?” Sam asked.
“Dave,” the large smoking man said. A silence grew between them as the sweatpants wearing man waited to be proded. “Dave,” he said again.
“Dave,” Sam said. “How do I get in touch with Dave?”
“Dave,” the fat man began as if Sam had brought him up out of the blue. “Dave will be here after seven or so. He owns a few buisnesses in town. He might have a room.”
“Well, thank you very much. I’ll come back tonight then,” Sam was glad to be walking away. Sam hadn’t remembered this town being so coy.
The phone booth was still occupied as he walked by. The same girl was talking rapidly with a nervous edge to her voice. She had short dark hair and wasno larger than her skeleton. Sam tried to catch her eye to let her know he was waiting. He leaned against a wall near by in clear view of her, but she never seemed notice him.
Sam’s stomach growled angrily. He realized he hadn’t eaten since Medford. The prospect of eating didn’t apeal to him, but he knew he had to do it, so he continued down the street looking for the food bank. It was easily recognizable as it was the only building on the sun bleached street exhibiting any life, if you could call it that. A line of figures solemly waited theri turn. Sam took his place in line at the rear.
Having never been to a food bank, Sam wondered if they would ask for proof or residency or something. He was even considering leaving the line and seeing how far he could make it on beer alone. A general feeling of fatuige kept him in line. Presently the line advanced into the building. A few older men took their places in line behind him. On the walls were schedules for prayer meetings and serives. A few pamplets were tacked to the wall about adiction recovery. Sam took the one down with a picture of a young man looking dejected. In grey letters above his head read ‘Meth, The Path To Living Hell.’
The plamplet claimed an equal exhuberance and euphoria to the use of meth could be attained by letting God into one’s life. Neither meth nor Jesus flowing through Sam’s veins seemed too appealing. As he scanned the pamphlet, his turn in line snuck up on him.
“Any dietary restrictions?” Sam looked up to see a pale faced woman with a clip board staring up at him with mild itnerest.
“No,” Sam muttered.
“Can you cook?” she asked.
“I can, but I don’t know if I have a kitchen.”
“You don’t know?” She asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sam added.
“Not sure?” she looked up.
“I’ll know soon,” Sam tried to explain.
“How about now?” she said after waiting a second.
“Let’s say I don’t have a kitchen,” Sam said.
“Ok, but if you change your mind...” she said filling a cardboard box full of boxes of macaroni and cheese. “You can cook this, can’t you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam said unconvincingly.
“Cheese?” she said holding up a yellow block of it.
“Yes it is,” said Sam.
“Are you sure?” she said.
Sam leaned in and squinted at it. “I’m prety sure it is.”
She looked down and noticed the pamphlet he was holding. Sam held it behind his back. She shrugged and continued to fill the box.
“Do you have a phone book?” Sam asked.
The woman looked skepticly into his eyes. “Yes, but you’ll have to wait until I finish with the gentlemen behind you,” she said pointing at the last few men in line. Sam took his box of food and stood to one side of the line. He put the box on the floor and cleared his throat as he tacked the pamphlet back up on the wall. The woman distributing food noticed with a quizical air.
When the last man had left with food, she brought up a phone book and slapped it on the counter. With shaking fingers, Sam began looking up the names he had writen down at the bar, concious that the woman was staring at him. He found the adress of Mirna Troy, but not the second name, Cody Brown bore no results.
“Sam Waters?” The woman sad, staring at his face.
“Yes,” Sam said, meeting her gaze.
“I was reading about your son. I’m very sorry. I was wondering if you would come back,” sha said. Sam tried to remember the woman. “Electra, Elie Nevile. We went to highschool together. You were a year older than me...”
Sam remembered now. She was a small tomboy who lived near his parents barn. Sam had given her riding lessons in exchange for her doing chores right before he left. He remembered everything he said to her made her blush, which made him akward. “I remember,” Sam half grinned.
A silence fell over them. Sam finished writing the adress of Mirna Troy down. Elie sized him up. “Lets get a drink,” she said when she was finished. “Come on, I’ll buy. I just got my social security check.”
Sam hesitated. Ellie started turning off lights and closing books before he could object.
Back at Toms, there was beginign to be an actual crowd. Darci brought Ellie a glass of red wine without being asked. Sam asked for a beer, and they waited for it in silence. When it arived, Sam inhailed much of it at once. Putting dow nthe can, he noticed Ellie’s glass was empty too. Their eyes briefly met, causing Ellie to hail down Darci and get another round.
When the dirnks arived, Ellie spoke, “Well.” Sam noded. Sam considered bolting for the door. He was a little delerious. He wondered if he stank to high hell haivng not had a proper shower in a few days.
“Well, why are you here?” Ellie asked with a sudden startling directness.
“What do you mean,” Sam asked.
“Are you here for good?”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to check into a few things and hit the road again. Never was much here...” Sam said looking down. Skunk cackled at nothing. Darci shook her head and turned up a local AM country music station. The sound was welcome reprive to was was turning into an interogation by Ellie.
“You know April is dead?” Ellie said.
“I didn’t know that, no,” Sam said.
“She was hit by a drunk driver about eight years ago,” Ellie said. She seemed to know a lot. “When it happened I looked for you. I guess you never knew.” She lit a cigarrete. “i read the paper,” she finaly said.
“What do you know about Ryan, I mean, is there someone I can talk to about him?” Sam asked.
“Well, the Town has Changed a lot since you left. There aren’t many Indians left in the down town. And the war on Meth has slowed the meth trade quite a bit. The town is kind of worn out,” Ellie said settling into her chair. The red light of a Budweiser neon colored half her face. She had held her looks far better than Sam had. “I have a condition, so all I really can do is watch the town... watch it change.”
“Cody Brown, do you know who he is?” Sam asked.
“Just what I read. Are you looking for him?”
“Honestly, I’ll kill him if he was involved in anyway with Ryan’s death,” Sam said, looking off to the TV. A court TV show was on. His eyes welled up with tears. It wasn’t a rational sadness, he knew that.
“Lets find him,” Ellie said.
Sam heard the word ‘lets,’ and it jared him. He looked at Ellie. She still seemed young and incapable somehow, even though she was in her thirties like him. He decided to let it slide.
Ellie ordered another round and when Darci returned with them, she knelt next to the table. “So you two know eachother?”
“Old school friends,” said Ellie, extinguishing her cigarette.
“That’s nice,” said Darci. She lingered for a minute, staring off at nothing, then stood and left.
“Bitch,” Ellie said, lighting another cigarrete. “Whore.”
Sam looked up at a neon beer clock. It read five fourty five. He figured he’d stay with Ellie for a few more drinks, then go to the hotel.
“What have you been up for the last fifteen or so years?” Ellie asked.
“I was driving a tow truck in Medford Oregon. Not all that exciting,” Sam said.
“Any family there?”
“No. Hell, just before I left, my truck got towed. Impounded. It was time to go, I guess,” Sam said.
“I guess, yeah. The tow truck man got his truck towed. That’s great. Well, everybody has to start over sometimes,” she concluded. “I remember you in your pick-up, driving around all quiet in this town. Frowning, really. I remember that.”
This was the first time the time aknowledged he had lived there, but as the aknowledgement came from someone he hardly remembered, it felt strange. Sam tried to remember more about her. All that remained were snap-shot memories. She remembered she wore her father’s clothes at the time. He remembered that because April wore pink things, second hand things bought from malls in big towns, and it had an air of fake femininity to it. Ellie wore drity clothes like a boy, but rarely spoke.
“I hated high school,” Ellie began without being prompted. “I never talked to anyone. I hated it. I hated the way everyone seemed to deal wiith it, you know? They acted like it wasn’t artificial, like it would last for ever. I hated that. I was quiet then. Do you remember when I fell off the horse?”
Sam looked down into his can. The memory came to him.
“I fell off Thora, your horse...”
Sam remembered Thora bleeding from her nose after a run.
“I landed and I didn’t cry because I thought I had broken something. I was laying there. You sorta noticed it because Thora’s hoofs stopped making noise, so you looked over from the hay loft above the arena. You jumped down, kinda slow and bored, picked me up from under my arms like a baby, and put me back up on Thora.”
Sam remembered it because he could smell Ellie sweating. And lifting her in the air gave him an erection. He smiled at that thought.
“I had a crush on you after that,” she finished. She then finished her fourth glass of wine. “You know, if I fell off a horse now, it would kill me? Maybe not literaly, but I have this thing called Fibro Myalsia. It’s this syndrom where I constantly feel pain. I hate it. I really do.”
Sam made mental note of term Fibro Myalsia. He had never heard of it, or heard of it and forgoten. His mind was swaying back and forth like a ship at sea and he wanted to keep hold of a few fact from the day before he became blacked out drunk. “You are constantly in pain?” Sam asked. The word ‘pain’ gave him a little pang of panic.
“It started when I fell off a ladder at work. I broke a few ribs and stuff. But after that I always had this nagging pain. It wouldn’t stop. I had to go on disability. So I’m trapped. I’m trapped in this town and in my pathetic body. You left and came back. That’s because your not trapped,” she said with a weird smile.
Sam ordered another beer.
“So. tommorow we go to the police. You can get more information by looking at their files or what ever on the explosion. Maybe you can get some last know adresses not in the phone book. We can go knock on a few doors and see what we can find, ok?” She said all this not looking at him.
Sam noded. Another beer was set infront of him.
“Do you need to eat? I mean I don’t eat much so I forget,” she said. Her eyes seemed glassed over. It was relaxing.
“No, I don’t need to eat,” Sam said. He had left his box of food on the street outside the bar.
It was dark. Sam need to vomit, but didn’t know where he was. He flailed his arms and they knocked heavily on something. Throwing a blanket from his body, he could see a little more. He stood and rubbed his eyes. There was a huge heavy feeling fighting it’s way up his throat. He saw something that resembled a door and threw it open. He hit his head hard on a low door way and fell a few feet onto cool dirt. He let the vomit escape in mighty heaves while laying on his side. When he stopped vomiting a cloud of shooting stars lit his vision. He caught his breath and watched them dance. As they fadded, he saw by the light of a light hung from a tree he was in a trailer park. The trailers sat in no aparent order. All bathed in a light yellow, they seemed calm and old. Sam closed his eyes.
Sam pulled his blanket up over his sholder to keep out the cold. His head pitched and rolled. He wasn’t hung over, still drunk. Reluctantly he stood to go pee. This made him realize he had no idea where he was. He had been laying at the foot of a trailer. he wondered if he could go in and use the bathroom. He decided against it. He walked down the gravel road between the trailers that led out of the park. The first lights of dawn were raising over the adjasent hills. In the landscaping by the sign naming th etrailer park there was a tree. Sam peed behind it. While going, he saw a cop car drive slowly by, it’s lights proving a swath of ugly detail. It rolled slowly into the trailer park, stopping at one point to shine a bright light on one trailer door. The car then drove on and out of the park.
Sam waited a moment, then walked over to the trailer the cop car had stopped by. Shivering from the mild chill, but mostly the shakes, Sam tried the door. It was locked. He listened at the door for a moment, then walked around back of the trailer. He peeked in a window. The light hanging in the tree bled through the windows on the other side of the trailer. Sam could barely detect what looked like a mad scientists lair inside the trailer. There were tubes headed in everywhich direction. He check the three other windows on his side of the trailer and detected no signs of life within. The trailer seemed gutted to house this aperatus. Sam put his sholder against the side of the trailer and gave it a good shove to disturb who ever might be sleeping inside. A few moments passed and Sam was satisfied the the trailer wasn’t occupied. There was a broom handle on the ground. He picked it up and used it to pry open a cracked window.
Crawling in the window wasn’t an easy task. Suporting the weight of his body with his arms was hard as the exertion caused his to shake violently. He fell in the trailer head first. Weilding his broom handle as a weapon, he ran his hands on the wall to find a light switch.
A pale neon light flicker on and revealed a trailer lined on the inside with aluminum foil. There was the remnants of what looked like a lab, hastily looted. Tubes and broken glass lay on the floor. It stunk. Sam turned off the light and crawled back out through the window. He figured he had seen his first meth lab.
Returning to the trailer he had woken up infront up, he tried the door of a pick up parked next to the trailer hitch. It was unlocked. he crawled over to the passenger seat and closed his eyes. When the sun was up, he’d figure out where the hell he was and if he had a friend in Ellie anymore.
The door next to Sam opened, startling him. He was having that rare deep sleep. Ellie was standing in a loose fiting men’s shirt. Sam rubbed his eyes and confirmed it was not his shirt. She was holding a steaming cup of coffee. She gustured for him to take it.
With wobbling hands he tried get hold of it. It was too dificult.
“Here,” Ellie said and held the cup out at an angle. Sam shook his head and blushed. She insisted. Sam monouvered his shaking head to the cup. When the liquid hit his lips he recognized the rough flavor and smell of whiskey. With his teeth banging against the cup, he sucked down a mouthfull.
“I forgot to crack the window when I went into Wal-Mart. I coulda fried your little brains out. Come in and eat something,” she turned and walked into the nearest railer.
Sam got out of the truck and slammed the door. The truck was a seventies Ford F-150. It was fairly well taken care of, no flats or rust and the tags had only recently expiried. It was a guys truck and it had a trailer hitch. Sam followed Ellie into the trailer.
It wasn’t too cramped. If Sam were shorter, it could even seem comfortable. It was one room with a small table and chair unit, a bed and a kitchen area. Sam recognized it as where he had woken up the first time. His pack was on the floor as if he had used it as a pillow. The boxes of food they had taken from the bank were stacked on the floor infront of the sink. There were bills, and papers on every flat surface. Boxes of wine sat on the floor next to the bed. It seemed cozy.
Sam spied his mug of coffee at the table and sat with it. Ellie unpacked the food boxes and put a kettle on for hot water. “That truck wont run without the keys, or the battery hooked up again,” she said.
“Who lives in the trailer down the way on the right,” Sam struggled to make accurate diriections in a trailer park.
“Which one? The fifth wheel?”
“No, it was a pull trailer. Big, about thrity feet.”
“No one has lived there as long as I have been here,” she siad.
“How long is that?” Sam’s shakes were considerably better and he could opperate the mug alone now.
“Robin went to jail about two years ago,” she said absently while reading the instructions on an oatmeal packet.
“I didn’t do anything too stupid last night did I?” Sam asked.
“Nope. We just talked at the bar until you looked like you were going to fall over so I had you come home with me. You fell asleep right there on the floor the second we got it. I had to step over you to go pee liek eight times. You didn’t move. II even kicked you once to make sure you were alive. At some point you stormed out of here,” she said.
Ellie began mashing the hot water and the oatmeal together. It was a little comical as the bowl was so large, as was her shirt, and she was so small. She then ladeled the thick brown goo into two bowls, putting one infront of Sam. He noded his apreciation. She sat infront of hers. A silence came over them.
“What’s our first move?” she said.
Sam considered his food. “We could go knock on some doors, see what happens. then I could talk to the authorities. I kind of want to see where it happened.”
Ellie looked down ant her food. She picked up her fork, then put it down. “I’ll make a list.” She picked up an envelope and a pen. There was already a list on it, but by crossing the old list out, she found enough room for the new one.
“Knock on doors, talk to cops... find trailer,” she said. She put down her pen and stared at the list like it were a gift.
“Do you run the food bank today?” Sam asked.
“One day a week,” she said, picking up her bowl and putting it in the sink. Sam put a spoon ful in his mouth. It was heavy and warm like someone had chewed on cardbord, then spit it out for him. He forced himself to swallow some. He was hungry, but food didn’t seem like the right thing.
There was a window that looked out onto the aluminum outside wall of the next trailer over. Unfocusing his eyes, Sam saw their reflection in the glass. A bolt of panic shot through him. He felt absurd. He felt like any moment it would occur to Ellie how ridiculous he was and her attention would turn to indifference. He felt welcome and alive now, but to be in her trailer again as a stranger would be unbareable. It was probably unavoidable. People and circumstances were like that.
“I should take a shower,” Sam said staring into his coffee cup. Ellie nodded agreement and walked over to the corner of the trailer the shower stood in. She pulled back the curtain and removed a large plastic container.
“You might have to sit, you’re a big guy,” she said, sniffing a near by towel.
The idea of bathing with her in the room frigtened Sam, so he did not move. Ellie slowly became aware of this, “Oh. I’ll go check my mail and things,” she said. Before ducking out, she took several orange pill bottles from the shelves above the sink and took a few pills from each. Once she had closed the door behind her, Sam stood and opened the Fridge. There was an expired carton of whipping cream in it. He poured in into a pint glass until it wa shalf full. He then filled the rest of the glass with whiskey. With both hands he manouvered the glass to his face and messily gurgled the concotion down. A rush of intoxication came over him. With drunk courage, he stripped naked it the cramped trailer amungst ther belongings. He steped into the shower and turned on the water. Finding it easier to sit, he did. A sence of ease came over him and he laughed out load, fetal nude and drunk in his old home town.
When he emerged from the shower, Sam was good and drunk. He dried himself and put his clothes back on with swiftness and ease. It was strange to dry himself with a woman’s drity towel. Rummaging through Ellie medicine cabnet, he founf a stick of deoderant and put it on. He was fully encased in foreign clean smells and it invigorated him.
While considering taking a shot, he noticed an empty cough syrup bottle in the trash. he briefly washed it out, then filled it with whiskey. His big bottle of whiskey was nearly to it’s half way point, which seemed liek a good pace. Putting the cough syrup bottle in his back pocket, he stepped out into the sunshine. Ellie sat on the trucks hood smoking a cigarrete.
“Let’s get going,” she said.
Labels: Blues on Meth, penis
posted by Bloodnock at 3:01 PM
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