As an Old Memory

by Vic Kerry

  His friend Harvey claimed that he ran into one of the girls killed that night at the old drive-in restaurant. Aunt Charlotte talked about that girl before. Her name was Sue something or other. She would say that Sue—Sue Browning, that was it—carhopped at the Cardinal. Charlotte told stories about how jealous she was of Sue, especially in the summertime because Sue got to make money, hone her roller-skating skills, and eat malts and French fries at a discount. Harvey needs to come over, Josh decided.

  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Alan walked into the emergency room. Only a couple of people sat in the lobby, a big difference from his last visit when the place was standing room only. He walked to the counter where a nursing assistant sat.

  “Sign in,” she said not looking up.

  “I’m not here for services,” he answered. “I got a call that my father is here. He’s had a possible heart attack.”

  She looked up at him. “What’s his name?”

  “Simeon McAdams.”

  She looked down at her computer screen. “Walk to that door over there, and I’ll buzz you in. He’s in room eleven.”

  Alan hurried to the double wooden doors. The lock buzzed and a small green light flickered on. He pushed his way into the emergency room. The staff were spread here and there, but no one looked in a giant rush. He walked down the hallway past the nurse’s station until he came to room eleven. It was little more than an alcove with a sliding glass door to cut it off from the hallway. His father sat in the bed, propped up with pillows. His eyes were closed. An IV drip was attached to one of arms. A heart monitor beeped occasionally.

  “Dad?” Alan walked into the room.

  “What?” Sim kept his eyes closed.

  “How are you feeling?”

  The old man’s eyes popped open. They looked a little bloodshot, but not weak or tired. Alan was surprised at how strong the gaze was.

  “I’m fine. These idiot doctors think I had a heart attack, but I ain’t had a durn heart attack.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it in here,” Sim said. “I’m afraid if they catch wind of my story, they’ll throw me in the looney bin with Charlotte.”

  A black nurse, wearing bright blue scrubs came in. She smiled at Alan. Her nametag read Rita.

  “Are you Mr. McAdams’s son?” she asked.

  “One of them,” Alan said.

  “The only one who even tries to help me,” Sim said.

  “The police called the paramedics to bring your dad in after he fainted out on Harrington Road,” the nurse said.

  “Blacked out,” Sim corrected. “Only ladies and queers faint.”

  “Daddy, there’s no need for that.”

  Rita gave Sim a sour look. She had no idea how bad it could be. Alan smiled for her to continue.

  “They believed he had a heart attack. The doctors have run all the tests, and he’s clear. They think it was a giant anxiety attack. He’s good to go, if you want to take him.”

  “What does that mean?” Sim said. “He’s my son. Of course, he’ll take me.”

  “Get him ready. I’ll get him out of here for you.”

  “I’ll be back in a minute to pull out the IV and bring the discharge paperwork and a few prescriptions the doctor wrote,” she said.

  She left the room. Sim sat up and started to get off the bed. Alan walked over to him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Putting on my clothes. Hand me my pants and pull that curtain.”

  There was no point in arguing. He walked to a chair where a pair of pants lay and pulled the curtain across the door before handing the pants to his dad. The old man pulled the pants on under the gown and started to tug the heart monitor pads. The machine started to beep and made a long, high-pitched buzz. The bleeping line on the screen went flat. Rita rushed back into the room.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “He pulled off his monitor pads,” Alan said. “He’s not the most patient, patient.”

  She rolled her eyes very noticeably and grabbed some latex gloves from a counter. Pulling them on, she walked to Sim’s side. A cotton ball came out of her pocket. She removed the tape holding the hep lock against Sim’s hand. The cotton ball went over where the needle entered his vein. She pushed on it and slipped the needle out, tossing it into a red trash can. A Band-Aid covered the cotton.

  “You can sign the paperwork at the nurse’s station,” she said, “since you’re in such an all-fired hurry to get out of here.”

  Rita walked out. Sim walked past Alan and grabbed his shirt off the chair his pants had been on. He pulled it on.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here. This place is nothing but jigaboo nurses with too much attitude. They need to remember their place.”

  “Their place is the same as yours.”

  Sim said nothing else. He left the room. Alan followed him to the nurse’s station where a very young orderly handed him his paperwork, which he signed with a quick flourish. Sim shoved the prescriptions into a pocket and walked out of the emergency room, not even giving Alan a side glance.

  “I’m sorry, everyone,” he said loud enough to be heard by the staff at the station. “I’ve only been here a few minutes, but I’m sure you didn’t deserve whatever kind of abuse he gave you.”

  Alan followed his father out of the emergency room. It wouldn’t have surprised him if the workers had applauded after their exit.

  Sim was not in the lobby. Alan found him standing by his car, smoking a cigarette. His father looked at the prescriptions in his hand. He took the lit cigarette and set the edge of the squares of paper on fire. They flamed up and curled into black ash. When the heat touched the old man’s fingers, he let them drop to ground. The remaining paper succumbed to the fire. The ash blew off on the wind.

  “What did you do that for?” Alan asked.

  “I ain’t taking that.”

  “Did you even look at what it was?”

  “Xanax and Prozac. I don’t need no crazy pills. Let’s get out of here. Take me back to Harrington Road. I need to get my truck.”

  “Why is it there?”

  “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  “Put out the smoke,” Alan said. “You can’t smoke in my car.”

  Sim gave him a sour look and took a draw off the cigarette. Alan could actually see the paper receding back into a long tail of ash. The old man flicked the butt onto the ground and got into the car.

  Alan started out of the parking lot and headed to the far side of town where Harrington Road headed out to the old Harrington place. His father told him what had occurred as they went. Sweat beaded in Alan’s hairline. He flipped on the air conditioner. It had been Charlotte’s car involved in the accident. He told Sim about finding it stolen.

  After that they rode in silence all the way to Harrington Road. Sim’s old truck sat on the shoulder. The police had moved it and removed the Mercury. Sim sat in the car for a moment before opening the door.

  “Did Charlotte do it?” he asked.

  “I checked on her. She’s still safe and sound in the psychiatric unit.”

  “Nobody could have driven that car in its condition when I last saw it. As smashed up as it was, nobody could have survived the crash.”

  “I know.”

  Sim looked at his son. Alan had never seen such an expression on his father’s face. It was a mixture of borderline terror and complete perplexity. He didn’t like it.

  “What did?” Sim asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Sim nodded his head and got out of the car. Alan watched him until he got into his old pickup, start it up, and pull away. He had lied to his father. He had an idea what might have done it, but he was afraid to say it out loud. Sim told him that the car was parked exactly as it had been the night he and his friends had caught Tobias Abernathy. It was even at all the same angles.

  Alan looked at the clock on the radio. He had to get to the schoo
l meeting.

  Harvey arrived an hour after Josh called him. His friend looked like he’d been enjoying his day off. All of his clothes were wrinkled like he’d been wallowing in bed, which he probably had been. His blond hair stuck up at all angles. Josh got in his friend’s car before Harvey could get out.

  “Couldn’t you have spruced up?” Josh asked.

  “What, is this a date?” Harvey asked. “Because I need to let you know, I put out on the first date.”

  “No one wants what you’re giving.”

  “What did I need to get over here for? I was having a good nap.”

  “I can tell.” Josh made a hand gesture for Harvey to drive. “Tell me about that ghost at the old Cardinal Drive-In.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Have you seen a ghost?” Harvey asked. “Because you made fun of me something fierce when I said I had.”

  “Tell me about it, and take us out there.”

  “I said I wasn’t ever going back there again,” Harvey crossed himself despite not being the least bit religious and especially not Catholic.

  “It’s daylight, and I’m with you. Plus, you go there all the time.”

  “It was daytime that time.”

  Josh smiled to himself. He hoped they’d get lucky today and see this supposed ghost again—exactly why, he didn’t know. They drove away from his neighborhood toward downtown.

  The Cardinal was literally on the wrong side of the tracks, in the part of town that had become run down sometime in the 1970s and attracted the least acceptable citizens. The street changed when they crossed the railroad track. The pavement was rougher, with potholes here and there. Ridges, like that of a washboard, left the surface uneven. Harvey’s car started to jitter along this stretch of street as if he was driving on four flats. He hummed with his mouth open. It sounded like he was speaking into a fan.

  “Pretty soon you’ll need a tank to drive over here,” he said, his voice sounding almost mechanical due to the vibrations.

  “Why would you want to come over here?” Josh asked.

  “You know good and well why I come over here. It’s why I was here the day I saw that ghost.”

  The old Cardinal Drive-in came up on the right. The once bright-red head of a bird on the large sign had faded pink. Someone had painted the part below the bird white. Black letters spray painted on with a stencil said, Red Bird’s Wings and Things. Someone had attempted to make a go of a soul food restaurant at the location. Josh had eaten there twice—one time with Harvey on one of his pot runs, the other because his dad wanted to try something different for takeout. Both times had been disappointing, probably the reason it had closed.

  The car entered the parking lot. The cement was a bit smoother than the road, but the entryway gave both of the boys a jolt. Harvey parked in one of the old berths. A black guy with a green bandana tied around his head like Tupac came from behind the building. His right pant leg was rolled up.

  The butterflies in Josh’s stomach acted up. He looked over at Harvey, who seemed very nonchalant. “Are we safe?”

  “Yeah, that’s Peanut. He’s cool. You usually have to honk the horn three times, but he knows my car.”

  “Are you going to score some dope while we’re here?” Josh asked.

  “I’m here. We’ve not got class, and one of our dear classmates died. I’m depressed. I need something to help me out.”

  “You’re going to Hell for using that as an excuse,” Josh said.

  “Okay, I like to get high,” Harvey answered, getting out of his car.

  “You’re going to Hell for that too.”

  Josh sat for a minute, watching his friend walk around the car and move toward Peanut. The two slapped hands and did some histrionic and elaborate handshake that ended in a loose man-hug. Harvey waved for him to get out. He always hated going with Harvey on a pot run. He’d sworn the last one way up in Jasper, with a redneck guy who seemed to be on crack, would be his last. He got out of the car and walked to his friend and his friend’s drug dealer.

  “Peanut, this is Josh Mc—

  “Josh,” he interrupted. “You understand.”

  Peanut nodded his head and looked from shoulder to shoulder. “Cops. It’s cool man. That’s why I go by Peanut. Only this fool is stupid enough to use both his names and write me a rubber check that time.”

  “You got me back for that,” Harvey gave him the thumbs up. “We’re cool now. No reason to rehash the past.”

  “Is that how your thumb got broken last year?” Josh asked.

  “No need to rehash the past,” Peanut said. “Speaking of rehashing, I guess you’re in need of some.”

  Harvey had his cash already in his hand visible for Peanut to see. “Sure enough, and my friend wants to snoop around a little bit.”

  Peanut took the money, counted it, and dug into his pocket. He handed Harvey a baggie of pot. “What kind of snooping? We don’t like nosy people around these parts. Long noses end in long snoozes.”

  “We’re cool,” Harvey bent over and shoved the baggie into his sock. “He wants to see if we can knock that ghost back up.”

  “Why would you want to do that?” Peanut asked.

  “Curiosity,” Josh said, feeling strangely more comfortable with the pusher.

  “She’s usually around back,” Peanut said. “I’ve already seen that creepy bitch today.”

  “Really?” Josh asked.

  “She’s getting to be as regular as Harvey. I’m thinking hard about shifting store locations. I can’t take too much more of her creeping around.”

  “Can I walk back there, or do you need to go with me?” Josh asked.

  “You can go by yourself, but I’ll go with you,” Peanut said.

  “I’ll be waiting in the car,” Harvey said.

  Josh started walking toward the back of the building, “Crack a window. I’m already grounded. The last thing I need is to get covered up in your sticky bud stink and get a contact high.”

  “You need to mellow,” Harvey said, “but I can dig it. Be careful, Peanut, he’s suspended right now for beating up three dudes by himself.”

  Peanut slapped Josh on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “You that guy? You interested in joining a gang? We need some tough guys.”

  “I’m good,” Josh said.

  “Don’t matter none if you’re white,” Peanut said.

  “I’m fine. Can we go back there?”

  Peanut shrugged his agreement. They walked to the shady area behind the building. A lawn chair sat at the edge of the pavement. A small Sony portable radio sat on a tin television tray. An ashtray with a smoldering blunt sat beside the radio. A Biggie Smalls rap whispered from the speakers. A sweating Pabst Blue Ribbon rested on top of a red igloo cooler.

  Peanut sat down in his place and picked up his blunt. He inhaled the smoke and let it go in a long S curl before turning up the music. “She hates Biggie,” he said. “Come over here and stand by me. Look back toward the street. She’ll come rolling by.”

  Josh walked closer to Peanut. He stood upwind and the cigar and marijuana smoke drifted away from him. The easy flow of Biggie’s “Big Poppa” drifted from the speakers. He stared back toward the street. The whole rear cinderblock wall of the drive-in’s building was tagged with different symbols. He recognized them as the signs of the Folk. This particular branch preferred the pitchfork and the Star of David.

  “You said that she’s been showing up more frequently?” Josh asked.

  “Two or three times a day. It’s driving some of the customers away. It’s been getting on my nerves too. I don’t care too much for ghosts. It’s a bad sign. It’s like a harbinger of death.”

  Josh looked over at the dealer as another curl of pot smoke drifted from his mouth. Peanut’s use of the phrase “harbinger of death” surprised him. He composed himself and reminded himself not to judge a book by its cover. That was what Sim did.

  “There she is,” Peanut said.
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br />   He looked back toward the street. Between him and the building, a perfectly formed female figure floated. She wore clothes straight from Grease and stood on roller skates. She was in profile. Her curly hair stood up on her head and moved as if in a wind. Iciness crept up through Josh. His mouth went dry like he’d taken a toke off of Peanut’s blunt.

  “Sue Browning,” he croaked at the apparition.

  The ghost turned her head. The other side of her face was gone. The whole half was a skull grinning with missing teeth. Holes pockmarked the facial bones, left by shotgun pellets.

  “Can you understand me?” Josh asked.

  “What are you doing?” Peanut asked.

  The ghost nodded. She moved closer. The movements looked like she skated. Josh took a step back. His heel hit the edge of the pavement, and he stopped.

  “Can you talk back to me?”

  She stared him head on, one eye completely normal, the other a hollow socket in bone.

  “Why have you been coming back more frequently?” he forced the words out of his mouth. “Is it related to Hazel’s curse and the Homecoming dance?”

  Biggie suddenly quit singing. The song became an old 50’s tune Charlotte played on her bad days. The chorus said sha boom or ka boom. It had been a long time since he’d listened to it.

  “I ain’t got time for this,” Peanut said.

  He tried to walk off, but the ghost of Sue Browning turned and stared at him. He sat back down and took a long puff off his blunt.

  “Charlotte,” a voice crackled over the speakers in heavy interference as the singers definitely sang sha boom, sha boom. “Tobias. Baby blue crepe paper. Mercury Monterey. Corey Aaron.”

  Josh trembled at the unearthly sound. The ghost started to glow orange. He reached to turn off the radio. Sue Browning’s ghost looked him dead in the eyes. An eyeball with an emerald green iris floated in the empty socket.

  “Sim McAdams,” the ghostly voice screamed on the radio.

  The speakers exploded like the sound of a shotgun blast as the ghost flared a bright red and disappeared. Peanut nearly flipped out of his chair as he fumbled for the pistol he had tucked in his waistband. Josh’s ears rang from the reverberation.