by L. J. Lahage
***
Driving across town, Eli chewed over his conversation with Bitty. They were both drunk that night, forgive and forget. Would it be that easy? He was responsible for killing my brother. Eli stopped his Lincoln at the four-way crossroad out by the train tracks. He sat there for a moment and recalled a poem his father spoke of: “You can give someone another chance, or you can forgive, let go, and give yourself a better chance.” By the time he reached twenty-two Harrison Street the words seemed to take on a towering meaning.
Sig’s doe-eyed girlfriend Melanie greeted him at the front door.
“Eli, I didn’t know you were coming by, sugar.”
“Hello doll, how you been?”
“Super. You smell like weed, did you bring me some?” she asked with her hands on her hips.
“No, sorry honey. Where’s your boy at?” Eli wiped his work boots on the doormat and stepped inside.
“He’s in the TV room, you want a beer?”
“No, thanks doll.”
Eli stepped into the TV room. Sig’s tanned six-two frame was sprawled out on a shabby brown leather recliner. He was wearing gray shorts and a black tank-top with the word EverLast printed in bold face across the chest. Sipping a bottle of Thomas Hardy’s Ale, he looked up at Eli, “Hey.”
“What are you watching, dude?” He took a seat on the checkered blue Denim couch, slouched back and crossed his legs. Eyeing Sig’s chair Eli wondered, how does Melanie allow him to keep something so beat-up? As laid back as Bitty was, she still insisted all of their furniture look decent and not from the junkyard.
“Night of the Living Dead. I love this movie.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen this, fucking zombies,” Eli replied patting for his cigarettes.
“Yeah, fucking zombies. Where would you go, the attic or the cellar?”
“The cellar.”
“No man, the attic! It’s gotta be the attic.” Sig snickered emphatically.
“Whatever dude. Plague, zombies, the government, either way you cut it, you’re fucked.”
Sig took a quick sip of his beer, put the bottle down, shifted to face Eli and brought his oversized hands together. “So, you’re picking him up huh?”
Eli rolled his head back with the cigarette hanging from his lips.
“Sounds like Melanie’s been rapping with Nessa?” he replied running the thumbwheel over his thigh.
“Yeah, she filled me in.”
Eli took a drag before speaking. “I stopped by Nessa’s house yesterday, she told me. What can I say, she‘s gotta let that shit go. I told her, Hubble’s done his time, it won’t bring back Matt. Holding on to that anger won’t do her or Sam any good.”
“Wasn’t it ten to twelve, why only eight years?”
“Who the fuck knows. Good behavior or so Hubble says. Hell, it’s been three years since I’ve even seen him, although he calls the house every six months or so. He asked me to pick him up.”
“What are you gonna do?” Sig asked flexing his calf like a big cat.
“I’m gonna live by my own words, forgive and forget. I’m hoping Nessa and Sam will follow.”
***
Eli continued to turn the knob but was getting no reception from his car radio. The most likely culprit, he thought looking out the windshield at the prison tower diagonally across from him. His eyes trailed the sharp thorny barb wire running along the top of the building’s fence. A loud bell, which reminded him of high school, began to ring from behind the wall. Eli got out and stood by the pitted chrome bumper on his Lincoln and watched the main gate roll open.
An older man with thick sideburns and long slicked-back salt and pepper hair emerged. As the man's long strides brought him closer, Eli realized it was Hubble. A large green, military duffel bag was flung over his right shoulder. Eli could see that Hubble had been taking full advantage of the weight room. He appeared muscular and very lean for a man of nearly sixty. Hubble’s face was tanned, and the long scar running down his cheek had grown darker with age. Ironically, it now looked more like a crucifix. The flicker in Hubble’s once charming brown eyes was gone, like a cold hand had reached in and snuffed out the flame. He stopped within three feet of Eli and dropped his bag on the ground.
“As I live and breathe, it’s been a long time Elijah. You look good,” Hubble said with a wide grin. Eli stepped in to hug him.
“Looks like you’ve been staying fit in there.”
“Ah, just did what I could in that corrupt toilet, you know, brother. Let’s get outta here, I’m fucking itch’n to move on.”
***
“Damn it feels good to be out. Would you mind if we stopped at the state store? I need to grab some chew, this is the last of what I got,” he said, tucking the tobacco between his lower lip and gum.
“Sure,” Eli replied lighting a cigarette.
“Cool man. How’s the family doing? Vanessa, her daughter Samantha?”
“Nessa and Sam are doing fine, saw them a few days ago.”
“She must have told you I called. I wanted her to know so we can...ya know...both go forward.” Eli’s eyes remained fixed on the road while Hubble spoke.
“People are gonna form their own opinions about you, you gotta show’m you’ve changed.”
Hubble rolled down the passenger window to spit out some of the tobacco juice. “You mean reformed.”
“Call it whatever you want man. I rapped with Bud. He doesn’t want any bullshit around the hall. Says you’ve been paying your union dues, so you’re still an active member and able to work. As far as a ride goes, you can use my old pickup.”
“Thanks brother.”
***
The drive up I-93 north was clear. After crossing the state line, Eli got off the highway and turned into the state liquor store. Hubble extended his arm over the seat into his bag and removed his wallet. “You need anything Eli?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
Hubble got out of the car casually. Strolling toward the store entrance he glanced back to see if Eli was watching. He wasn’t. Catching a nod from a young kid with acne-scarred cheeks sitting outside on a bench, Hubble ever so slightly nodded back. Standing up, the young white male pulled his green Celtics hoodie over his head and followed Hubble inside.
***
Bitty was in the kitchen cooking sticky rice for sushi when Eli entered through the front door. He could smell the hint of vinegar used in her traditional recipes, along with spicy ginger and soy sauce. His mouth watered thinking about the variety of rolls she was preparing.
“Hi babe, Hubble’s hanging out in the driveway and I need to rap with him before he leaves. I’ll be in a few minutes.”
Bitty nodded and forced a small smile.
Hubble was hovering over the Harley when Eli returned. “Damn, you still have this. She looks boss.”
“Yeah, just finished restoring her last year. She doesn’t get ridden all that much, but she still shines.”
“Whose Karmann Ghia?”
“Bitty’s. The key for my pickup is under the floor-mat. Use it as long as you need.”
“Thanks dude.” Hubble looked up to the sign hanging over the work bench. When we do right, nobody remembers. When we do wrong, nobody forgets. “Still living by the code huh, where’d you get that?”
“Nah man, Sig made that for me.”
“Siggy huh. How’s that beast doing? Still bodybuilding?”
“No, he’s done with that crap. He’s doing fine.”
“Vanessa says you’re restoring your dad’s house?”
“Yeah.” Eli knelt down and wiped dust off the bike’s exhaust with his index finger.
“Did ya gut it?” Hubble asked running his hand over the hood of the apple red Karmann Ghia.
“Yup, took most of it down to the studs. I got a kid from Rhode Island helping me.”
Hubble grinned, his scar blending in with the deep-brown creases traveling across his face. “Oh, are you doing the boathouse, too?”
“Yeah, ev
entually,” Eli replied handing Hubble a key. "That's the key for the garage, it's the only one, so don't lose it.”
“Cool man. Thanks for picking me up, I better be getting on. Gotta start living in the present. I’ll get ya truck back fast enough.”
“No worries, no one’s using it anyway. Why don’t you come ovah on Saturday? I’ll call up a few of the guys. Be like old times,” Eli said walking him out.
“That’d be fucking great,” Hubble replied getting in the truck. Eli waved as the balding white-wall tires kicked up dirt.
***
As Hubble shifted into second gear, so did the thought in his head. It's still there, just waiting, waiting for me to come and take it. There's no need to rush.
The gravelly parking lot at the union hall was deserted when he pulled in and drove around back. He parked in front of the large aluminum sided roll-up door and hoisted his duffel bag from the truck bed. There was only one key. Smiling like a jubilant child on Christmas morning, he placed it in the lock and opened the door. Perfect.
Once inside he flipped on the light switch. Nearly all of the fluorescent overhead lamps were out, giving the interior a somber feeling. Hubble took a whiff, the air smelled like a combination of fertilizer and spray paint. An old yellow Kaelble snow plow was parked in front of the roll-up door, rusted to the point it looked like a small breeze would cause it to crumble. Areas of the floor were strewn with kitty litter, which was used to suck up oil. It stuck to the soles of Hubble’s boots. The bedroom door was at the far end of the garage. It was wrapped in a reflective sheet of steel, obviously put on there in case of a fire. Hubble stepped inside and locked the door behind him.
The room was fairly clean and not much bigger than Hubble’s former six by eight cell. Knotty Pine covered the walls and cheap linoleum which was lifting in one corner of the uneven floor. Opposite the door was a three foot square inch window which faced the woods, below it, a folding roll away cot with a blue button tufted mattress. Separating the rusted shower head and toilet was a single white bed sheet. About the only thing appealing was a working circular neon clock hanging on the wall. Hubble read its bright blue and red face, Delicious and Refreshing Drink Coca Cola.
Flopping down on the cot Hubble ripped open his duffel bag. Wasting no time he pulled out a miniature black leather case and unzipped the side of it. He took out a syringe, a glass, a butane lighter and a badly burned silver spoon. From his pocket he produced a white tootsie roll size baggie which he’d scored from the kid at the state store. After removing the twist-tie he carefully drew out a teaspoonful of the white powder and propped the spoon across the top of a glass. Like a chemist, he placed the flame from the lighter under the spoon. The powder began to liquefy into a milky white broth and bubble. With his other hand Hubble reached for the syringe and drew in the liquid off the spoon. Putting the syringe down he eagerly took off his boot and sock. Half the thrill for him was watching the cold metal needle penetrate his vein. He fed the thin, sharp point into it and pulled the plunger back. A deep red mixed with the milky white liquid, he winced while pushing down on the plunger. The rush was instantaneous. Hubble’s eyes fixed on the white sheet, it began to swirl and float like a ghost. It’s just a matter of time. After eight fucking years of waiting, I’m closer than ever to it.
A Harley and Family History
The sun was just beginning to set over the White Mountains when Bill got back to his new home. He had spent the better part of the day doing errands. Having moved to town with only as much as would fit in his Jeep, which was everything he kept after Laurie died, he went shopping. Plopping the bags down on his kitchen counter he noticed the red blinking light on his answering machine.
“Bill, it’s Eli. Listen dude, if you don’t have any plans mañana come on by. I’m having a few people ovah, later.” Bill pressed the delete button before opening the fridge and opting for a Heineken. He popped the cap off and took a swig of the cold pale lager. His mind began to wander, he thought about Sam and possibly the chance to talk to her tomorrow.
***
Bill could hear the faint sound of music as he strolled past a line of American muscle cars on Eli’s street. Sixty-eight Shelby, sixty-three Pontiac GTO, seventy-one Plymouth Road Runner, sixty-seven Stingray. In the near distance he spotted Vanessa and Sam, they were standing next to the same blue Buick Riviera he’d seen a few days earlier. Vanessa was tensely smoking a cigarette, every drag more animated than the last. Sam’s hazel eyes had a look of uncertainty, like she was debating something. Bill could tell they were having a serious conversation and tried to go unnoticed, until Sam called his name.
“Bill.” He stopped short and turned to face her.
“Hey, you two looked like you were in the middle of something. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“No, that’s OK, we were done,” Sam said opening her pocket book and removing her lipstick. Bill made eye contact with Vanessa, noticing her clenched jaw. Clearly she was somewhat distraught.
“Mom, remember what we talked about. Let’s get to the party.” Feeling awkward by the tension, Bill dug his hands down deep into his jeans and started walking with them.
“I know, let’s just get this over with.” Vanessa removed her sunglasses and kept eying the crowd.
Bitty and a group of people were gathered in Eli’s driveway. They varied in age, some looked to be in their early twenties while others appeared close to seventy. Bill could see a few men were wearing the same black leather vest with the initials OMC stitched in heavy block lettering on the back. The O and the C were white, while the M was in red.
Glancing up, Bitty’s oval face broke into a doll-like smile. Excusing herself from the conversation she began walking towards the three of them. Bill shook her hand.
“Hi Bill, Eli is out back, help yourself to anything,” she said in a soft voice. Her perfectly shaped almond eyes were kind and rather shy.
“Thank you.” Bill eyed Sam, “I guess I’ll see you in a few.”
“For sure,” Sam replied with a smile.
Reading the sign he’d seen a few days earlier Bill made a connection. When we do right, nobody remembers. When we do wrong, nobody forgets. The sign on the wall was written in the same color and block style lettering as the initials OMC on the bikers’ vests.
***
A seven foot scalloped wooden fence with French gothic posts enclosed Eli’s backyard on all sides. Bill could smell the freshly cut lawn, the tire marks from the mower still visible in the green grass. A variety of trees and large boulders dotted the property, including several Japanese maples and one giant oak tree sitting in the center. Clusters of people were scattered across the yard, either standing or sitting in Adirondack chairs, talking and drinking. Bill figured there were close to thirty people hanging out. Standing under a pergola running off the house, he took the whole scene in.
A small audience was huddled around someone standing nearby. Bill recognized the man in the center of the circle. It was the same guy in the photo with Eli that he’d seen at the union hall last week when he moved to town. There was no mistaking the scar on his face.
Eli was standing next to Sig and a few other people under the oak tree sharing a joint when he spotted Bill.
“The boy from the Island,” Eli shouted waving him over.
“Guys this is the kid I was telling ya about. He’s helping me with the lake house. Bill, these are a few of my friends, Donnie, Oscar, John and Peter.” Bill shook their hands.
“You remember Sig,” Eli asked passing the joint off to Bill.
“Totally, the muscle from Maine.”
“How’s Conway treatin’ ya?” Sig asked before sipping his beer.
“Copacetic, so far.”
“Bill, this is my girlfriend Melanie,” Sig said wrapping his beefy arm around her.
“Nice to meet you,” he said coughing from the toke he’d taken off the joint, all the while thinking how much Melanie resembled Hugh Hefner’s girlfriend Barbi Benton.
“Same here.”
“There’s chips and finger food if you’re hungry and beer in the cooler. Help yourself,” Eli said letting his hair down.
“Thanks.”
A sweet euphoria began to creep over Bill as he sauntered off. With the music playing and the warm sun shining he relaxed his shoulders and enjoyed it. He combed the yard, searching for Sam until he spotted her with her mother. They were standing in the doorway, glaring at the man with the scar on his face. Bending over, Bill opened the Coleman-chest-cooler and pulled out a Schlitz. He popped the top off and took a sip of the ice cold beer. Satisfying. Making his way back to Eli and Sig he unnoticeably stole a few glances at the two ladies.
Vanessa fidgeted with her hands. Bill could read Sam’s lips. She was repeating the same words over and over, it’s all right. After several minutes they reservedly drifted towards the man with the scar. Eli must have been observing as well, he quietly bowed away and joined them.
The face on the man with the scar grew sad, his brow heavy. He hands were held up, his palms open like he was about to deliver a sermon. The words, I’m sorry for what happened, falling from his lips. They spoke for a short while before Eli waved Bill over.
“Bill, come on ovah.”
“Bill this is Hubble. Hubble, this is the kid from Rhode Island I was telling ya about. He’s helping me do the demo work on the lake house.”
“What it is kid?” Hubble said taking Bill’s hand and grasping it like one of those new V-shaped hand grippers you see advertised on TV every day. Bill squeezed back with the same equal force. Hubble grinned and yanked his sweaty hand away.