"What brings you to Dallas?"
"With all of these fucking vacuum salesmen too!"
"Roger!" she said. She placed her hand over his mouth, muffling his next profane outburst. "You'll have to excuse my husband. He suffers from dementia."
"Is it getting worse?" I asked.
"Yes, much worse. And who are these lovely people?" she asked, looking at Snaggle and Porcupine, my retarded companions.
"Oh, this is Ryan and Gina. Ryan is a coworker and Gina is..."
"A student," she said, completing my sentence. She had a sweet tone in her voice that sugar-coated her odd appearance. If she didn't have all of that shit stuck in her face, she wouldn't be so bad looking. Under all of the goth accessories was a pretty girl hiding from something. I just didn't know what she was hiding from. It's true. "I'm a student at the University of Oklahoma."
"Good for you, sweetheart. Well, Simon," she said, pulling the door wide open. "Why don't you and your lovely traveling companions come in for some coffee or a cold beer?"
"Is it Miller Time?!" asked Roger.
"Yes, dear. It is Miller Time."
"Great! Where is my Mavericks Koozie?"
The three of us entered their home. It was as lovely as I remembered. Selena led Roger to the couch where he plopped down in his favorite spot, a place at the end of the couch with a divot in the seat cushion in the shape of his ass and a worn-out armrest. He zoned in to what was on TV: Golf. The three of us sat down and watched Roger. What a character! All of a sudden, it was like we didn't ring the door bell and he didn't cuss at us and call us Mormons or salesmen or sons of bitches or whatever. His dementia seemed to have a tenuous stranglehold on his personality. It's true. Selena asked us if we'd like coffee or beer and our orders went as follows: I had coffee, Gina asked for a beer, Roger got a beer in his Mavericks Koozie, and Snaggle asked for a goddamn Coca-Cola (of course). The bastard couldn't go five minutes without coating his busted choppers with some kind of sugary treat. He was addicted to sugar! Selena brought over our drinks on a tray and sat down with us. She had a sweet smile on her face and seemed genuinely happy to see us, or me, that is.
"It is nice having some company. Roger can be a... hand-full, sometimes," she said, sipping from her coffee cup. "I don't get much time to myself to enjoy the company of others."
"He's sweet," Gina said, giggling.
"If cussing like a sailor is sweet, then Roger is a piece of strawberry pie with whipped cream on top," Selena said, also giggling. Roger was oblivious to the conversation. He stared at the TV like it was a portal into another dimension. He was mesmerized. It's true. "He can be a challenge. But, you know, I married for better or worse and unfortunately now is the time for the worse part."
"I don't think I'll ever get married," Gina said, lowering her head and running her fingers through her hair. It was an obvious softball comment tossed at Selena to respond to. Gina the Porcupine was shuffling her feet in a ghee-whiz fashion. It was a goddamn sight to see, a blatant ploy for attention. It's true.
"Why dear, every girl wants to get married. Didn't you dream of picking out your wedding dress when you were a little girl?" Selena asked, sipping her coffee.
"No. I played in the dirt with the boys."
"Well, even Tomboys want to find true love. Right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Gina said, smirking.
"Now, my sweet little Jessica always dreamed of getting married. It was something she talked about ever since I can remember, ever since she was a little girl. When she was four or five years old, she would line up all her dolls in her room and have a wedding ceremony for her Barbie and Ken dolls. It was the cutest thing. She would put Ken in this fancy little tuxedo and her grandmother made a little custom wedding dress for her Barbie, one that was made from silk and lace. She would dress her Barbie and do her hair and go on and on about honeymoons and happily-ever-afters. What can I say? It unfortunately didn't turn out that way," she said, glancing at me quickly then back to her cup of coffee in her hand. "I'm sorry, Simon."
That was the first time I heard Selena apologize for my divorce and it hit me in the gut like a sack of potatoes. The wind was knocked out of my sails. It's true. I didn't know what to say.
"Can you tell me how you and your husband met?" Gina asked Selena. She was genuinely curious, I could tell. Snaggle, on the other hand, didn't give a shit. The only thing he cared about was his goddamn Coca-Cola. He was slurping on his drink like it was the last Coke in the goddamn world.
"Oh, what a great story," she said, a sparkle appearing in her smile as she placed her hand on Roger's knee. Her touch disturbed Roger's attention from the TV. He was a tad perturbed by that. It's true. "We met at a dance."
"A dance? Like a high school dance?" Gina asked.
"No, when I was a girl, a teenager that is, we used to go to these dances. I guess they were at night clubs or town halls or whatever you call them. I'm not sure what you call them but all of my friends would go with our parents. All the kids from my neighborhood would go and get together, the boys on one side and the girls on the other side while the parents sat at their tables near the bar. Our parents would watch us dance and that's where I met my husband, Roger." She patted his knee with her hand, smiling affectionately at him. He didn't smile back. He just stared at the goddamn TV. "We were just teenagers but he was SO handsome! Do you remember, sweetheart?"
"Remember what?" he asked.
"Meeting me at the dance?"
"What dance? I don't like to dance?!"
"You used to love to dance with me. You were such a good dancer, darling."
"Dancing is for morons," he said, annoyed. It was obvious that this memory eluded him. He had no idea what she was talking about. It was a sad goddamn sight to see. It's true. "Dancers are morons. Morons!"
"Roger!" she said, embarrassed to no end. "Excuse my husband. He doesn't mean what he says. Anyway, that's where we met and we fell in love and the rest is history."
"That's a nice story," Gina said, smiling.
"Oh, that's enough about me. What brings you all here to Dallas?"
"We're going to a funeral," Snaggle said, snapping out of his sugar daze.
"A funeral? Who died?" Selena asked.
"Simon's grandmother," Snaggle said. And that was that. The cat was out of the goddamn bag. I knew it was going to be hard to keep the cat in the bag but leave it to good ol' Snaggle, fucking things up like only he knew how to do.
"I'm so sorry, Simon," Selena said, patting my knee. "It's always hard when a family member passes on. Doesn't she live in Oklahoma City?"
The "cat" was in full escape-mode now. There was no looking back. Snaggle sat up with a confused look on his face. Porcupine noticed him too. It was all turning out to be a goddamn mess. Hiding lies upon lies always leads to disastrous results. Just keeping your lies straight was a monumental task in itself. I was royally fucked. It's true.
"Yes, ma'am, she does."
"Then you just stopped by on your way through Dallas?" she asked.
"No, actually..." It was now or never. I had to fess up to my real motivation. I knew Snaggle would be upset being that he was a sensitive son of a bitch and I didn't know Porcupine from shit so I didn't really have to explain myself to a goth hitchhiker with low self-esteem. But it was all getting to be too much to handle and I knew it was time to just tell the truth. So I did. "...I came here to get my children."
"Little Jessica and Sammie?"
"Yes."
"But they are not here. They should be in Austin."
It was at this point that Snaggle got up and stormed his nerdy ass out of the house. Porcupine looked pretty confused and, seeing that I was in a pretty personal dilemma, decided to make her exit too. Either she was going to comfort Snaggle or give him a testicular cancer exam out front. Anyway, they were both gone and I was there to finally resolve my own personal issue. It was one of those defining moments. It's true.
"Look, your daughter told me she was moving to Dallas an
d bringing the kids with her so I assumed she would be here. I couldn't think of any place else she would go. She relies on you guys for support."
"I couldn't agree with you more about that but I spoke to her yesterday and she was still in Austin at her new apartment. Why would you think she was in Dallas?"
"Like I said, she told me she was bringing the kids here."
"Well, Simon, I love my daughter to death. You know this. But she does have a tendency to not tell the truth. Or say things to mislead people. I love her deeply but she does have her issues."
"I see."
"Why didn't you talk to her first before coming here?"
"She wouldn't return my calls."
"And you REALLY thought she'd be here?"
"Yes."
"There's nobody here but us chickens, you bastards!" Roger blurted out. At that moment, that outburst was one of the funniest things I'd ever heard. I almost started to laugh my ass off. Almost. It was just all too sad to laugh at though. I realized I was a pretty pathetic loser at this point. A real fucking loser. It's true. "We're just chickens! Cockadoodle do!"
"Yes, Roger. We're chickens," she said, patting his knee. Then she turned to me with a very concerned look on her face. I could tell she felt really sorry for me. "Look, all I can say is that you need to go back to Austin and talk to her. Work it out."
"Will you call her for me? Put in a good word? I love my kids dearly. The thought of not seeing them just kills me."
"I know you're a good father. I'll talk to her. I promise." She stood up and pulled me toward her. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big hug, a tight "I love you" kind of hug. It was nice. Honest. It's true. "I wish the two of you had not gotten a divorce but all I can do now is support the both of you. You're the parents to my beautiful grandchildren."
"Thank you," I said. And that was that. I thanked her for the coffee and the drinks for my friends and wished her good luck. I said goodbye to Roger but he didn't give a shit if I was coming or going. All he cared about was watching golf on goddamn TV. So I decided right then and there that it was time to leave. I said goodbye to Selena and left.
Out front, Snaggle and Porcupine were sitting in Clint the Caddy, staring off into space. I knew it was going to be uncomfortable in the car but at least I knew the truth was out there and that I could deal with it. Sometimes, it's best just to tell people the truth. The whole truth. It's true.
I got in the car and sensed the tension but as soon as Snaggle started to say something, I raised my hand for him to zip it and drove off. We drove passed the well-manicured yards and drove under the overarching oak tree canopies and drove off to somewhere, anywhere. It was getting too late to drive back to Austin so I figured we had to do something. I just didn't know what.
17.
Lies are a funny business to get into, and it seems us dumbass humans have a propensity to lie, even though we know it can get us into a lot of trouble. We all lie about something or another at some point in our day, all day, every day. If someone tells you that they never lie about anything, then they are lying to you. It's true. Even I have lied about some things, lots of things actually. I'm not proud to admit that but it's the truth. A couple of years ago, I laid a doozy of a lie on my kids. I had to. See, they had this hamster that they named Harry Houdini like the magician. They named him Harry Houdini because he always escaped from this glass aquarium-type thing without any evidence of where he escaped from. That little fucker would be there in his glass house, running in his hamster wheel, working off some of his hamster food, and the next minute he would be gone. He just vanished. So we would look high and low throughout the house and we'd always find him in the strangest of places like the pantry or in the laundry room. One day, when the kids were still at day care, I got home early from my shitty job and that little bastard had escaped and eaten some ant bait that I had under the kitchen sink. There he was on the kitchen floor dead as dead could be, his little hamster legs sticking straight up in the air like he was reaching up to Jesus Christ, a trail of ant bait leading to him from the cabinet under the sink. So before the kids got home, I ran to the nearest pet store and bought another little bastard that looked just like Harry Houdini (or at least I thought he looked like the original Harry Houdini). Anyway, when my kids got home with their mother, they didn't notice the difference. The new Harry Houdini ran in the hamster wheel just like the original Harry Houdini and he escaped from his glass home with the same skill and dexterity as the original. It was a remarkable switch-a-roo on my part. It's true.
One day, good ol' Sammie boy came up to me with the new Harry Houdini in his hands and he started asking me all of these goddamn questions like why did Harry all of a sudden have a small white spot on his stomach and why did Harry have one ear that stuck up and the other laid down and why did Harry seem to be fatter all of a sudden? Kids are very observant and very inquisitive about stupid shit, you know? It's true. So I told him something or other about how Harry was getting older and things change about people or animals when they get older. And that little son of a gun believed it. He never asked me another thing about his goddamn hamster. There really would have been no point for me to tell him that the original Harry committed suicide by stuffing his face with ant poison. That would have traumatized my little boy and his big sister to no end. So I lied about it and that was that.
When I told my boss Rod that my grandmother had died and I needed to go to her goddamn funeral, I didn't think it would turn into this dark cloud hanging over my trip to Dallas. I just thought it would be an easy way to get out of work. Boy, was I wrong. I had no idea at the time when I told the lie that Snaggle would convince me to tag along or that we would pick up a goth hitchhiker in Waco or that they would both be with me when I went to my ex-inlaws house so I could get my children. But things have a funny way of not working out the way you think they will. If I had known these two knuckleheads would have been with me, then I would have told a completely different lie. I would have come up with something that was foolproof. It's true. What that lie would have entailed, I have no idea. I'll get back to you on that one.
Anyway, like I said, it was getting too late to drive back to Austin so after a quick pow-wow between the three of us, we all decided it would be best to get a good night's sleep and decide what to do in the morning. It seemed to me that Snaggle and I would be heading back to Austin and that Porcupine would find another sucker to hitch a ride with or get a cheap bus ticket or something, anything to get her to Norman, Oklahoma. What a shithole, Norman, Oklahoma. Norman made Waco look like a goddamn mega-metropolis. It's true. And all of the Sooner bastards that went to school there, what a bunch of goddamn idiots. Porcupine must have stuck out like a sore thumb in the little redneck, shit-stained town. And I'll tell you this much, there aren't any famous writers from Norman, Oklahoma. No way, no how. Just saying.
When we got on the highway from my ex-inlaws neighborhood, I immediately saw a Holiday Inn so I parked Clint the Caddy out front and made my way inside to see about getting a room for the night. Snaggle and Porcupine stayed behind in the car, probably to give each other colonoscopies or breast exams or whatever, the filthy bastards.
The lobby for the Holiday Inn was remarkably nice with a high ceiling that went up all three stories and glass elevators reaching to the ceiling. The remnants of a low-cost happy hour were scattered about, plastic cups here and bar napkins there, some of those little plastic swords scattered on the floor. The cleaning crew was most likely gone for the night, an underpaid crew smart enough to know that tomorrow was another day and there was no point working harder than they should. It's really difficult to care about your work when you only get paid minimum wage to clean up after some stingy, goddamn travelers who could give two shits about cleanliness and courtesy. It's true.
Standing behind the reception desk was a VERY tall woman, looking mopey and disinterested, straightening her name tag in case someone cared to look at it. The name tag said, "Lydia." Lydia was at lea
st 6 foot five, lanky, and at some point in her recent adolescence was probably a so-so center on her unranked high school girls' basketball team. She was literally the tallest woman I had ever seen in person in my entire life. I had to remind myself in the morning to lookup in the Guinness Book of World Records who the tallest woman in the world was because I had a feeling Lydia was pretty close, if not taller. It's true.
"Hi. Welcome to Holiday Inn. How can I help you?" she asked, her voice drained of all life. Have you ever seen the look on a cat's face that had endured a life of physical abuse from the family dog? Lydia had that look on her face. She looked like life had given her a one-two punch. She looked defeated.
"Can I get a room, please?"
"How many guests will be staying in the room?"
"Does it really matter?"
"Well, if you have more than one guest with you, then I would need to ask you how many beds you would like. One or two beds?"
"Do you have a room with three beds?" I asked. I know that may seem like a stupid question to you but there was absolutely no way I was going to share a bed with either of those filthy bastards in my car. I was positively sure that both Snaggle and Porcupine had some kind of venereal disease or, at the very least, cooties. It's true.
"No, sir. The rooms either have one king size bed or two full size beds."
"Well, that just won't do," I said, frustrated.
"I take it you have three guests in your party?"
"Yes."
"Then you could either get two rooms or we have roll-out beds that you can get for an additional charge..." Lydia had this droll voice like the actress Annie Potts. Remember her from the movie Ghostbusters? She was the woman who the Ghostbusters hired as their receptionist who didn't, at first, believe that ghosts existed and she had this monotone voice that sounded like the hum a photocopier makes during a large print run. Absolutely irritating. It's true.
As I stood there, about ready to scratch my eyes out, I didn't realize that someone was standing behind me until I heard the sound of pocket change and keys and Skittles being tossed in a pant pocket. And you know what that means, don't you?
The Spectacular Simon Burchwood Page 14