Heep!
Pamila:
From the minute Mervin announced Billy’s arrival, and Danny welcomed him into our home, I noticed that a slice of Billy’s personality was not available. Flittering around him as usual, were not the butterflies that teased all in their play of presented openness. He seemed an invited guest. The Billy-with-us did not walk through the door.
He greeted Danny with almost delicate politeness. The always-supple honor to the more diminutive sex was my welcome. Both of our greetings were… I don’t know… reserved? As I took the bottle of Pinot Noir to be kept chilled, I thought his choice to be both observant and sweet. Yet, it was presented to me with prom-date awkwardness. Part of Billy that I so delighted in was clearly hiding. Wondering of this, I questioned asking him of it. Then I did not. It was a not-the-right-time halt. A so-awkward pause that I wondered if my head jerked to a stop.
Regardless, letting the moment pass was leaving it well alone. Over the proper amount of time, and given enough space, men in emotional imbalance will always seek stability on their own. If a man slices enough golf balls in to the woods, eventually he will seek professional instruction. Maybe that is too simple. But with my man, it is simple enough.
Socially, pre-dinner, and throughout our meal, all was good. The chitchat was enjoyable and the topics were ones that left thought tucked away in the coat closet. Often with Danny, and anyone a mental match for Danny, this was not always the case. Sociologically, and only my opinion, no single dynamic more clearly displays the separation of the genders than group conversation. Women like to talk about tangibles. Things that they can touch, things they can deal with, things that matter. Men, men want to talk about stupid things. Things they have no control over, things they cannot fix, things that they act like they know more about than they really do.
(Reader, I am sorry but I have to veer here. I believe it may have previously been termed digress. I want to clear one of your understandings. I do read Danny’s work. All of it, completely. I know what he does. Idiot!)
But he is my idiot and I love him. He does try. He selectively can guide the conversation to or fro. ‘The ‘to’ is mostly of my liking. The ‘fro’ is always of his liking. God love him he does try. But sometimes… With me involved, he does not fro as much as he use to. Still, he does frustrate me. I wish I could say that it was not as much as it use to be.
Again, gender separation; I do not believe that Danny can help himself. Most times, it is not a problem, but in this light, it is glaring. The problem is that Danny is articulate, knowledgeable, and can carry many topics. I was drawn to it, family is scared careful with it, friends are engrossed by it, and new acquaintances are overwhelmed by it. Danny, however, does not grasp how dominating it can be. Danny not only has it, he is it. Since he is it, we all get to see it. The gift of gab.
However, a brain-straining side effect does come with his gift. Not so subtle pinpricks can pierce into the souls of others. Daniel Opinions. He has them, and in a not so objectionable way, he feels that you want to hear them. He believes that for your safety, for your wellbeing, you need to hear them. Our son-in-law of two years Wade can tell you all about them.
Very much enjoying a conversation that was rolling through topics of no great importance, I recognized calm anxiousness holding him reserved. It was as if he held words within, thinking that a particular one might open a conversation that he did not want. That I was aware of, there were few conversations that he would wish unopened. Waiting, he seemed to be waiting.
One or the other, courtesy or anxiousness, he rose and started clearing the table. I let him. Rationalizing, I enveloped it as pure courtesy. Billy lifted in his chair with a gentle rubbing of his full belly and fussed delightfully about the delicious meal. With a distant eye and a near ear, I watched Danny and listened to Billy. My head looked slightly to the kitchen with each clink of fragile china and each ring of Family Crystal. Cringing with each, I fought the pushing instinct to help. More realistic, my fight was against completely taking over.
Curiously, Billy rather wormed around in his seat. Finishing, he sat rigid and upright. In a voice that was intended to be heard in the kitchen, he said; “I have some news. It’s about Jim Winster.” Its tone was to inform without exciting.
Instantly, excitedly, in a deep voice forced by a pushing of air, I pulled evil from my bowels. “Heep!” My stomach ached by anger. The bile of my anger was hate. Purest hate. Hate total and consuming. Hate that thickens blood black. This hate within me, I fear threatens my final judgment. Heep!
Considering my deep-throated reply, Billy looked hard in me. His face was a dim that I had not seen before. From the kitchen, a plate counter-top dropped and slowly wobbled down to settled. The tap of Danny’s soles on tile ended with the carpet.
“Winster? What about him?” Danny asked. His questioning was dusted by startled-by-the-name. Now standing, my anger driven adrenaline was pumping black blood through a stone heart. Billy lifted his eyes to the question and then they returned to me.
Again, I went deep and air forced. “Heep!” An anger tremble held me to these four letters. The name used loud and deep was therapeutic. In mind, in spoken, I had used it for years. It pushed me firmly from physical violence. It kept a law enforcement officer reporting on the seven o’clock news; ‘In my twenty six years on the force, I have never seen such a gruesome scene.’
Heep! A loathsome person from my past. A person that stole from me a part of my life never to be regained. Heep! He stole from Danny a childish trust of people. It made Danny gain some wise, but lose some special. Heep! He hid in Danny some child’s kindness. A wonderful unpretending kindness that I fell in love with. A kindness that I at times miss. Heep! From my family, from my children, he stole years of security. This, for this, if available, I fear I might be on the seven o’clock news.
Danny and I, our lives together, at times have not been a free ride. Perhaps more than others, perhaps less, we have had challenges. However, we have always weathered. We have always gotten stronger. We have, and will continue to survive Heep! However, what he did will always be there. One day. There will come that one day.
Heep! Charles Dickens, David Copperfield’, the 19th century, they had Uriah Heep. Winster! Rengaw, moving to Colorado, the 21st century, we had Jim Winster.
Building static and left hanging were Billy’s words engulfed in a storm cloud. Though not all-inclusive, I was a Winster! victim. Billy knew this, and so his attention and words flowed to me. Billy knew most of what had transpired. I had told him years ago. He knew of my felt wrath, and he knew of Wintster’s deep cut that was still festering shallow in my life. The slice rarely hurt anymore. However, there were times, times just like this, when the pain was a ten.
Billy looked concerned at my pumping cheeks that were clenching a jaw. He went to Danny and Danny to him. “What about him Billy?” I mellowed a bit with Danny’s unconcerned tone. Finally, the stress of the silence was broken. Billy did not look toward the question. He held to the direction of its answer
Billy wanted to speak with words that were informative. I begged him to speak with words that were supple. Whatever it was going to be, he began. “Well Pamila I have… I have some news of him. Information that if pushed in the proper direction would knock him off his ass.” Danny chuckled. Billy continued; “You know… a little payback.” Revenge was what I wanted. Revenge is what I heard. A word that when considered left me feeling unclean. But a word that often was synonymous with Winster in my thoughts. And a word, at least in my understanding of Danny, an action he was cautious with. A word he would never inflict if it involved family security. But it was a word that if it involved only him, a word he would wield without thought. This was Danny of what Heep! stole from him.
I took Billy’s words in after I wanted them out. Anxiety energy needed to be burnt. As I often do in moments that are less ov
erwhelming than this one, I angered to the kitchen. “Pami?” I heard Billy’s soft word as I turned away. Aggressive cleaning and passive listening would be my attempt at therapy.
A brief quiet followed my kitchen departure. Even if I could have seen them, I would not have seen the two shared looks. Since then, I have often imagined what they showed. Ensuring that he could be heard by Danny before him, and me not there, Billy created. I don’t remember the cleaning, but I will never forget the listening.
With need-to-know-only details kept to himself, Billy spent the next dozen or so minutes laying out his proposed plan. However long it did take, when he finished his scenario, revenge seemed a cleaner word. I warmed to the word. It all seemed quite legal and more possible. What worried me were the need-to-know-only details. What Billy was not sharing, how close did they skirt the legal edge.
Speaking my thoughts, Danny said; “Billy, look, I don’t want you to get in any trouble.”
“Trouble!” Billy forced a fake chuckle. “I’m always in trouble. Don’t you worry Danny boy.” His lightly saying was attempting to settle our worries.
Without the details that we did not have, the basic scenario was this. A second-generation 75 acre farm northeast of Longmont was about to be foreclosed. The current owner was less than ten years from paying off the bank note. Thus, the farm was worth many times more than the bank held. However, since the bank was what bank’s seem to have become, they did not wish to help refinance. The owner had been trying to sell the farm for its appraised worth. For whatever reason, the owner could not sell it. Now close to losing everything, he was willing to sell for a dime on the dollar. This all seemed quite strange to me, but it was unimportant. Winster, being the Devil’s shit, and doing what he does, saw an opportunity. An opportunity to take advantage of someone in desperate straits. But what Winster did not know, because he was… Billy put it this way; ‘The stupidest fart that our Lord’s intestines ever released.’ Winster was clueless that a Denver gang was growing marijuana on 20 acres of the farm. It was unclear if the owner was involved. Again, for this scenario it didn’t matter. Billy, could, through the friend of a friend of a friend, ensure that Winster was able to purchase the property. How the money was going to work was one of those details that we did not have. Billy did not want us to have. Plausible deniability I thought. The sale closed, the fun would begin.
Billy knew that the authorities were aware of the illegal crop, but for whatever reason they were not acting on it. This also was unclear; Billy said that he knew one particular authority that would act on it. This authority would also put together an allegation that Winster knew of and promoted the crop. The hopeful result; the seizing of the land and Winster in prison. How, I wondered, but then I did not. I didn’t, and I didn’t care that I didn’t.
Billy’s information and the possibility that it presented now given to us, he said with a tone that was slightly shrouded in guilt; “It’s just a thought.” I found the statement awkwardly out of place. With a single laugh, Danny found it comical. Billy paused, then added while taking to his feet; “Let me know. I will do it if you want. It is up to you.” Billy wanted to be done with the topic, but couldn’t be yet. He finished; “If you do want it done I will need to know soon, very soon. Forty-eight hours. Okay?” Instead of speaking, I listened for Danny. Wondering if his face was speaking to Billy, he said nothing.
Billy’s volume was directed away. “Danny boy can we move into the living room?” I sensed… perhaps I imagined, that Billy thought the dining area to be uncomfortably tainted. For Billy the topic was now ended. Apparently tight from what Billy thought was due us to know, he wanted to loosen on a couch. Danny had taken it all very well. Billy so forcibly inviting himself over to speak of Winster, much loosened Danny as well. Very much.
Slowly warming, blood re-reddening, my anger was also loosening and I wanted to again join the conversation. My senses now released to other than intent listening, I became aware that only small details of my kitchen cleaning were left undone. I joined the boys.
Danny was in his happy-place recliner. Billy across from Danny on the couch seemed comfortable. “Does anyone need anything?” My words ended with a slight chuckle. I realized my thoughts were released and once again were mine. My relieved laugh caught Billy. His face lifted to me. Danny appeared not to have noticed my coming out. Billy’s look was not mere chuckle questioning. I saw every sign on every tree fort ever built. NO GIRLS ALLOWED. “Is it… can I join you fellas?” Billy, awkward and trying for sincerity, fumbled his way to a standing position. His words tried their best to make me believe.
“Oh Pamila, certainly, please join us.” Passing in front of him my eyes caught his. They reflected that he knew that I knew of his insincerity. I felt a bit empowered that William Keefe was temporarily uncomfortable. Wondering if Danny had seen what I had, I questioned a look to him as I slid down next to Billy. Danny showed nothing. Neither welcome nor not. I did not care either. I was welcome. Tree forts had been integrated.
Something being not quite right knocked twice. Perhaps I was thinking too much, but I was thinking. Perhaps Heep! was still distantly wandering about.
Billy retook his seat but he did not sit deep into the couch. If awkward is understood by you as I use it, this moment was both. The room was brutally loud with nothing from anybody. I heard the music from ‘The Twilight Zone’. With intent to bump the stylus forward, I slapped Billy on the back. Still with tree fort adrenaline, the slap was harder than intended.
“Well boys what are we going to talk about?” Billy was instant with an answer.
“I want to talk about our conversation from last night Danny.” Billy had been waiting for the moment that I just gave him.
“I knew it!” Danny snapped back.
“What conversation?” I asked. Billy turned to me. William Keefe addressed me.
“I’m offering Danny an opportunity. An excellent one that he doesn’t seem to want.” His words pushed me to an asking look of Danny. Locked, Danny’s eyes held firm on Billy. “Pamila, Danny and I have an opportunity to write a column, a twelve week run in the Trib.” ‘Trib’; he inflected with the respect of Mecca. This led me to believe that I should know ‘Trib’. My face did not show the same respect. Billy clarified; “The Trib! The Chicago Tribune Pami.” Danny’s face slid to appalled at my naiveté. I did not look at Danny, but I am certain his face showed disgust. Separation.
Oh my God. Yes! I should have known. The Trib. Shit! I will hear about this in future renditions. And no doubt, there will be future renditions.
Danny’s disgust, real or imagined, drifted through me. It was not quite a chill, but it certainly was not a tropical breeze.
Danny’s attention down and slightly left, mouth slivered, he waited. Billy to me; “We can do this. It would be perfect Pami. The story, the topic, people will want to hear it. Read it.” Billy turned to Danny. “Danny will want to tell it.” Danny’s head lifted.
“Billy are you talking about…” I paused, looked to Danny, and finished my question. “The Incident? Is that what you mean?” Danny’s head stayed on Billy, but his eyes sought mine.
“Yes Monticello!” Billy said this as if he was about to reveal a living Bigfoot. What did Billy know? What of The Document? What of Ben? What of everything told me by Danny? Flashing to Danny my eyes silently asked.
“He doesn’t know anything.” Danny heard my silence.
“I know about the document. I heard about Daniel Sheridan. There is the FBI and the CBI. You visited-” Danny cut off Billy.
“Any High School paper journalist with an Etch-a-sketch can get that information Billy.”
“Etch-a-sketch?” I asked under my breath.
Billy eased back and clasped his hands on his chest. Slowly and confidently, Billy began listing what he should not know. “Danny. I know about a plasmic event. T
wo of them. Plasma? I know of your 1:20 a.m. visit. Two of them. Benjamin Rush. Marge. Three of them.” He chuckled. “Danny I know so much more than you think.” He paused briefly. Danny sat forward. “And what I don’t know, I am pasting together.” Billy looked long into Danny’s spinning thoughts. “The rest, what I do not know, what I can not paste together, Danny I want you to tell me.”
Seeking to enclose Billy’s knowing into my understanding, I sat back into the enveloping sofa. Danny’s Dream, who had he told? Rojer I knew. I did not think there was anyone else. Had Rojer told anyone? No! Rojer being who Rojer is, would not do that. He hadn’t even told me.
Billy no longer cared that a girl was in the room. He was all about Danny. A social therapist reading everything Danny was displaying. And what he was trying not to display. Motionless and not speaking, Danny’s gaze at Billy held only questions. As if they were coated with dried mustard, Danny wiped his lips clean with a brisk hand. Danny scooted to the edge of his now uncomfortable place. “Billy. My visit, My Dream, how do you-”
“Another time Danny. It doesn’t matter how. We can talk about that another time.”
Danny’s hands white knuckled the arms of the recliner. Staring, he slowly eased backwards. Staring, staring hard in thought, Danny had questions. But these questions were for himself. Thumb and Index pinching together his upper lip, Danny started rocking short and quick. His eyes lit searching in this. This same inner searching posture was not new to me. However, lately, it had been often.
“Danny?” I said softly. “Danny!” Not as soft. His eyes met mine. “You okay?” He nodded to me but did not speak.
Billy, in the most calming voice that he had; “Look Danny, I will tell you all I know, but I don’t think tonight is the time. I know a lot. Almost all.” I heard that strange. Billy continued; “But it is that all that all that you need to tell me. Without it, this will be just another hack with words that are too long and syntax that is over dramatic.” I laughed one hard chuckle. Danny forced an amused grunt from his chest.
Billy seemed to have Danny’s attention as he continued; “Danny I think you want to tell this. I think you need to tell this.” Billy now seemed to sense this as well and continued with a new found enthusiasm. “This can be great I know it. Danny you have twelve weeks, twelve columns to tell your story. I know it is not a story, way more than a story. Danny this will give you a national audience. This will make you famous. It is the God damn Chicago Tribune Danny.”
“Billy!”
“Sorry Pamila. I’m a little fired up. But Pami it is a good thing.”
“I don’t want to be famous.” Danny paused and then added a distinction. “But it is the Trib.” Danny’s face swelled into a childish grin. He looked to me. I shrugged a whatever you want to do Honey. He looked back to Billy and asked; “I get a by-line?” Quite hard Billy slapped his hands together once.
“Whatever you want Danny.” Billy smirked and added; “Below mine of course.” He laughed gently but I was sure he meant it. “It’s not much money Danny, only two thousand per article. I’ll give you half.”
“I will take it. He’ll do it.” I answered for us both. A questioning look mixed with a tinge of disgust is what I got from my husband. “What? Why not Danny? This is your forum. This is what you’ve been searching for. Your questioning from yesterday. Remember? This is your answer.” His look was that I was right but he didn’t want me to be. “You’ve got nothing going that can’t wait. Danny, this thing has you all wrapped up. Let it go! Let it go to the God damn Chicago Tribune.” Billy laughed hard. I smiled at Danny. Danny’s body language said yes as he quickly swung back to Billy.
“Okay!. Let’s do it.” Danny wanted to get it out quickly. He knew once said, there was no going back.
Billy rose to his feet. “Danny boy I’m gonna make you famous.”
“I already told you I don’t want that.”
“Tough shit. You are gonna be on Letterman. You will be a smile on every woman’s face in America.”
“Billy?” I said. Apparently, I was not in the room again.
Billy continued; “Everybody will want to interview you. You’ll have speaking engagements. Danny you’re gonna be bigger than The Beatles.”
“Billy! Stop!” I shouted. I was done!
“Okay okay. Sorry Pami.” Billy faked a deep breath and waggled his head. “I’m sorry Pamila.” Billy reiterated. A pause for fake composing. “But I am telling you Danny, you better polish up your public speaking. Are you still in Toastmasters?”
Danny, now standing; “I write, I think well, public speaking I pretend.” Billy turned to me. His excitement was overwhelming all else.
I said; “Easy Billy. Easy!” He would not let go of the gaze he had on me. “I would love to work on him Billy.” Danny caught what I was hiding in meaning. He smiled. “Billy I will work on his public speaking.” I toyed a wink to Danny.
Billy; “I saw that Pami! I’m not kidding! If you can, you better get on him.” Danny laughed hard.
With a tone that Billy was not following, I agreed. “Whatever you say Billy.” Danny was one enjoying smile. Billy’s look showed that something was amiss. The lite bulb suddenly popped to glow. Billy’s face went warm in blush. I smiled lightly at Billy. Danny’s smile said too much.
I had to save struggling Billy. I went to monotone factual. “Billy, have you ever seen my husband without words?”
“Hmm?” I did not want to read too much into Billy’s non-word.
With little time passed, the room’s energy moved out. No one knew what was next. And seemingly, next did not want to be next. The rhythmic tink tink of the Grandfather clock was loud.
Danny had had enough. And he was not just full of this conversation. “Okay Billy we’ll get together two days after we get back from Sparta.” Danny’s words traveled to the end of evening. Billy followed them this way. As if by some primal instinct, the two headed to the Foyer. Danny handing Billy his coat said in a calm and sincere voice; “Billy I am not delusional, I can not come off that I am. I have bills to pay. Do you understand?” Billy smiled and grasped Danny’s upper arm.
“Oh me boy, no need to worry about that. I will do it right. You can make sure I do. Don’t worry Danny boy.”
“You know that is impossible Billy.” Billy smiled first to Danny and then at me. To me he lifted the brow of his hat. A hat that was not there and never was.
“Pamila my love thank you for a wonderful meal and a pleasant evening.” I nodded.
“Good night William Keefe. Please drive safely.” He looked back to Danny.
“See you soon Danny. I am pumped.” ‘Pumped’ was an odd choice for William Keefe. He turned to the door and then came back to Danny. More importantly to you reader, it was not to me. Billy tried to say it without sound. “Winster. Soon?” Danny’s nod was so tentative that it nearly was not.
Billy was several steps onto the path. “Two days Billy! Two days after we get back.” My scold was meant to be one. Billy turned around. Hands on my hips, square in stance, I was Danny’s protector. Hemingway’s Pillar. Without objection, Billy continued to his silver GS in silence. I had no doubt that Billy would want to start sooner than immediately. I did not. Danny should not. I knew he would need a day or two. Time necessary to selectively stack his thoughts into a perfectly neat pile. Time to turn them into Digi’s. Then finally, time to file away the interview that would now be history. It was my role.
Danny’s long performed and regimented securing of the house now began. This routine, and several if not many like it, I hoped came from his time in the military. I did not want to believe that he was always this anal. (Please do not tell him that I used that word.) The kitchen details that had been left undone, I did. Secure and clean, we headed to bed.
Lying next to each other in that settled moment
when one lets the day’s happenings slip from a tiring grasp, I had one last shoe to drop. I wanted it to be a question. However, because I thought I knew the answer, it did not come out sounding like a question. “What would you think if I took a leave of absence?”
“From work?” His reply was stupid. However, the question did come from left field. I granted him the benefit of the doubt.
“No! From seeking the meaning of life.” That is what I did want to say. What I did say was; “Yes Honey from work.” It did sound a bit sarcastic to me. But only because it should have been. Sarcasm tempered is not my best thing. I waited for him to answer shorter than I should have. “I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of weeks. I think I would like to. Our finances are settled. Your books are doing well. Why not?” He still did not speak. “Well what do you think Danny?”
“I don’t know! I mean it seems okay. But… won’t you miss it?” Thinking briefly, probably stalling, I didn’t know if I wanted to say it. Would saying it admit something? Something I was not sure I wanted to. “I’m… Danny, my work… it is hard work. I’m tired. I think I want to quit.”
“Quit!”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed Honey, but I have put a couple of rings on the old tree trunk.”
Knowing it was a good play, he kissed my forehead and said; “Honey you are as young as the day I met you.”
“That’s a bunch of crap!” That said, and knowing it was the only right answer he had, I did appreciate it. His marital requirement complete, he laid back and laughed.
“I’ve been nursing for almost twenty-four years. I know I will miss it. At times. But I think I want a break. I have things I need to do.” Danny rolled his head to me.
“Leave of absence, it sounds like more than that.” He said this with a questioning inflection. I knew he was awaiting my… for my anything. I had nothing. Nothing I wanted him to know.
“Hell, if I’m gonna be bigger than the Beatles, you just want to make sure all those young female fans are kept off me.”
“If you’re gonna be bigger than the Beatles, I want to make sure I keep track of all that money.”
As thoughts of Ringo and the boys laughed us into a settled end, I had one more thing. “I love you.” I kissed my husband. Whom I did.
Next Morning
Not waking but surely motivating, a pot of fresh brew inspires me to begin yet again. This yet is before the cock crows three times. Legs and back dormant from a night’s rest strain to loosen on the first of twelve downward steps. Bubba, inspired by mine, beats feet past me and to his first stop of every dog day. His stop, a dog duty search and barking protection of the front outside. His act as family protector is almost always to show off. Street toughs, dogs leashed and walking, mothers pushing baby strollers, all best beware.
The window that runs up the left side of the front door, the seven-foot 2X6 size pane, pours in the morning sun. The sunrise for this day over an hour gone, the light is painting its stripe past the foyer and ends in the living room. It is geometrically perfect light. Like a wide white-yellow ribbon, it is draped to, up, over, down again, and beyond the couch. Its chosen path is protracted exactly this once, once every three hundred and sixty five days. Every cloudless day Mervin steps within its perfection and is striped with an irregular line that is a warm shade of black.
Having spoken to you much too long without coffee, I end our conversation and pour myself a cup. Two heaping teaspoons of sugar and more than a splash of creamer, I make it so. (No, not a Star Trek reference.)
My phone in the pocket of the jacket that is helping to warm me, the mug’s handle grasped with two curled fingers, I pull the door clear and move onto the back patio, placing more than several feet between me and the closed door. Mervin bolts to catch a squirrel that he never will and never wants to. The well fed squirrels play with him like a friend. Not a close friend, not too close.
I am not sure if it is Billy time yet. I wonder if he is taking calls yet. It is not a long wonder. For me, it is time. For this, voice mail is fine. Maybe better. Awake probably for hours and energized by caffeine, Billy is in fine voice. “Morning to ya. You are about to speak with William Keefe. Billy if preferred.”
Less exuberant, I choose to speak with Billy. “Good morning Billy.” He sounds a muffled noise that I understand as recognition.
“My friend, oh you must have missed me surely.” He enjoys a chortle.
“Who would not miss you Billy.” Again he enjoys my words.
Billy; “Your voice I did not expect to hear so soon. But it is always much welcome.”
Not wanting to lose the resolve of the call, I quickly interject; “Billy last night, what we discussed.”
“The column?” he asked. I did not answer. My lack of, prompted him to. “No! You mean the other topic.” ‘Topic’ was the only word that I chose to have meaning.
“Topic. Yes the other topic.” I paused. It turned into stop. Whatever it was, it hung silent for far too long. “Billy, do it. I want you to do it Billy.” There was more in the new silence. As I imagined it, Billy’s face could have been more than a dozen expressions. Included in that dozen, he imagining what my face showed.
Another moment to consider my choice was offered. A tone softened and asking of my sureness, Billy offered; “Okay. If you are certain that is what you want. Is that… is it what you really want?” I had considered long in my restlessness of a night’s sleeplessness.
“It is! Billy, bury the bastard.”
No longer tentatively asking, but still in a voice offering one last understanding of his words, Billy notarized the oral document. “Okay, consider it done.”
I think it was only for his comfort, Billy asked; “Danny, is Danny with you on this Pamila?”
“For me! This is for me Billy.” My next words could not have sounded sincere. I did not believe them myself. “He’ll be fine with it.” Now, Billy’s imagined, was no doubt, doubt.
Two Lost Souls Page 6