Good Wood (Carved Hearts)

by L. G. Pace III

  “Any fool can make something out of true lumber,” Mr. Gasey, the woodworker that I had apprenticed to informed me. “It’s the sign of a true artisan when he can create something beautiful from what others consider trash. It takes heart to take the most twisted bit of scrap and make something from it as if it were good wood.”

  The box took less than half an hour to complete but once it was together my hands quickly found my carving tools. Inside the lid, I carved the stretching lines of the tattoos I’d observed on her shapely arms. The carvings flowed to the exterior of the box and wrapped around the letters of her first name. When I was done, I rubbed a mixture of mineral oil and beeswax into the box. By that time, it was really late, or really early depending on your point of view.

  Only when I was finished did I sit back and wonder at what I had done. Running my hands along the perfect lines of the box I felt a thrill run through me. I hadn’t been able to even look at my tools since that night. And yet now, sitting before me, was proof that my gift wasn’t gone. Tears blurred my vision and part of my soul shifted inside my chest. Something had been awoken inside me that had been sleeping. And I had missed it more than I had realized.

  Opening and closing the lid gently, I turned the box around. The carvings maintained smooth lines as they passed between the softer and harder woods. There was more detail than I remembered ever putting into a piece. Wrapping the box in soft cloth I left it on the table near the door. I crashed for a few hours and woke up feeling surprisingly refreshed. Showered and dressed, I retrieved the box and was out the door well before my usual departure time.

  I wonder if she’ll like it. The thought rang in my head and brought me to a complete stop. It’s just a birthday present. If she doesn’t like it, she can sell it or something. Shrugging, I began to turn the key then hesitated. Twisting to the side I put a seat belt around the box to hold it in place before heading towards the site.

  I hoped to give it to her before everyone showed up. Luck was with me and I was the first person to arrive. Molly pulled up with her minions a few minutes later. I took the cloth wrapped box and placed it under my arm. Suddenly, I started to wonder if this gift was a good idea. A spice rack is a stupid gift. If she wanted one, she’d have one. She is a pro, after all. It probably won’t even fit. I built it off a five second glance into the truck. Before I had a chance to retreat, Molly looked up and caught sight of me.

  “Hey there, Joe! What do you know?” Her smile lit the darkness in me like a full moon on a cloudless night. Helpless to resist her charismatic charm, my mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. Those muscles hadn’t been used in a long time, and I was caught off guard when the expression hurt a little. She looked at me expectantly, but the memory of her lips so close to mine left me speechless. Pulling the box out from under my arm, I slid it carefully onto the counter. I finally found my voice.

  “Hey there, little girl. Somebody let it slip that it’s your birthday today. I wanted to give you a present. So…I made you something. It’s not much.” Suddenly feeling idiotic, I decided to make a quick exit. I backed away from the window with a quick wave. “Happy birthday!”

  “Joe, wait!” I heard her call, but I didn’t have the nerve to look back. Part of me questioned my motives, but I tried hard to lose that part of me in work that day. I chose an outdoor task, deciding it would be the right day to fix the upper balcony. It would be a lot of solo labor. The work was monotonous, and instead of serving as the distraction I was hoping for, it afforded me way too much time to obsess over Molly’s reaction to my gift. The outside work in the sun gave me hope that if I worked hard enough I could get heat stroke and they’d take me away in an ambulance. At least then, I wouldn’t need to walk past her crack wagon. No such luck. And on my way to my truck, Mason caught up with me.

  “Dude. Come out with us tonight. We’re fixin to do a pub crawl. You can troll for ass while we toast the kid’s birthday.”

  “I’m sure she’ll have a better time without me tagging along, Mason.” I opened my truck door and tossed my hard hat onto the passenger seat.

  “Huh…well, she’s the one who sent me over to invite you. Come on, Man. You haven’t been out with us in forever.”

  I paused. I knew it was a bad idea. Hiding my interest in Molly from Mason and Mac would be a chore, especially after a couple of pitchers of beer. My brain told me to politely decline, but my inner caveman beat that nerdy little bitch down.

  “Fine. When and where?”

  “Holy shit.” Mac pulled off his cowboy hat and with a mile-wide grin, wiped some sweat from his brow. “The hermit Joseph Jensen fraternizing with his buddies twice in two weeks? Un-fucking-believable.

  “Well…the bars are my regular hunting grounds.” I mused, aware that this comment would throw him off my scent. No stranger to thinking with the wrong part of my anatomy, I figured I’d tag along and pick someone up to get the pent up frustration out of my system. Self-destructive as I was, even I wouldn’t throw away a decade of friendship for a one-nighter. Besides, she’d ditched me at Mason’s daughter’s party, so odds were she had already written me off. Someone (most likely Mac) had probably leaked my reputation to her. The weather was still good, and downtown Austin was thick with uninhibited women. Abstinence was turning me into a total pussy, and I obviously needed to get laid. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination that I’d end up in some hotel room with some stranger tonight after all. Mac slapped me heartily on the back.

  “Right. You’d better stop by the drug store and stock up on Trojans. And rubber bands so they don’t fall off.” He turned and walked off laughing hard at his own joke. I laughed along with him, but my eyes drifted back to the food truck, hungrily searching for a glimpse of Molly.

  WE HAD A pretty good sized group turn out for my impromptu birthday drink-fest, and lord knows they were all in a partying mood. I was in fairly high spirits for an old maid with a fledgling business. The atmosphere on South Congress was fittingly festive. The SoCo neighborhood had always enchanted me. It was a trippy cultural district famous for its eclectic small retailers, restaurants, music and art venues and, more recently, food trucks. Street musicians peppered the sidewalks amongst the neon signs, mural covered buildings and my aluminum-sided culinary competition. I quickly realized that when I was ready to add a second truck, I’d need to do it here. With the post-college crowd flocking in this direction versus Sixth Street, it seemed like the perfect night time location for what Wrapgasmic had to offer.

  I’ll admit I was a little disappointed when Joe failed to show. I’d spent quite a bit of time getting gussied up just in case. I wore my long hair down for the first time in months and I’d even put on a dress. His handmade spice rack was unexpected. I hadn’t even realized he knew it was my birthday and certainly hadn’t expected anyone to give me a gift-let alone him. The carving he’d done on the rack was jaw dropping, and I really hoped to thank him properly. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off of his present all day. Stacy demanded to know what was going on between the two of us and when I insisted there was nothing to know, even Dirty S. didn’t seem to believe me.

  “Where’s Joe?” I asked Mason as we looked over our menus.

  He shrugged. “Knowing that boy he’s likely already prowling on Dirty Sixth.”

  Known locally as Dirty Sixth, East Sixth Street was a wildly popular entertainment district in Austin. The nine-block area was listed in the National Register of Historic Places. A bonafide tourist hotspot, as a kid I considered it the center of the universe. Dirty Sixth featured lots of bars with live music, tattoo parlors, and souvenir shops hocking ‘Keep Austin Weird’ t-shirts and ‘I’m from Texas-We don’t call 911’ beer koozies.

  “Dirty Joe’s very at home on Dirty Sixth.” Mac agreed and though they both laughed, they didn’t seem particularly amused. Robin’s expression looked sad at the mention of Joe. Stacy was eyeing me knowingly, so I decided to wait and ask questions later when I could get Robin alone.

  An
hour after we arrived at Guero’s Taco Bar, I’d made peace with the fact that he wasn’t coming. I was having a great time anyhow, watching my family and friends get to know each other better. A couple of my high school friends turned up for dinner, but soon had to beg off to relieve their babysitters. Thankfully, my mother was watching Mason’s kids, so I got to just kick back and be myself. Mac was hitting on Stacy hard and fortunately (or unfortunately) she didn’t seem to mind. Even Charlie the Plumber showed up.

  The mood was shifting from dining to partying once the twins got buzzed and that meant it was time to move out into the beer garden. Luckily, we had no trouble getting seated outdoors, because Mac and Stacy both insisted on chain-smoking. Our waitress was good, but she simply couldn’t bring the pitchers of beer and margaritas fast enough. Ganging up on me as always, Mac and Mason regaled the dinner party with stories of my misspent youth. Stacy eyed me with unveiled awe.

  “Molly!” She exclaimed, licking rock salt off her finger in a manner that had Mac ogling her. “I had no idea you were such a bruiser!”

  “That was a long, long time ago.” I replied, and then turned to the group at large. “I’ve totally mellowed with age, y’all.”

  “Hey, Mac. Tell them about that time she got suspended.” Joe’s gruff voice sounded from directly behind me. I turned to see him blocking the path of our waitress. By the way she surveyed his ass, she sure didn’t seem to mind the view. I couldn’t blame her. He looked flawless, as always. He tossed his leather coat on the bench next to me casually straddling it so he was turned to face me and the rest of the gang. I couldn’t help envying that bench.

  “Ha! Oh my god! I can’t believe I forgot about that.” Mason chortled like a fool. Mac choked on the cigarette smoke he’d been inhaling and Robin patted him on the back evidently on nurse’s instinct.

  “Ok…don’t leave us hanging.” Sanchez demanded, but in his usual genteel way.

  I wadded up my napkin and threw it playfully at Joe. He dodged it easily, a twinkle gleaming in his eye. Both the twins laughed for a good two minutes before Mac launched into the tale. “So lil’ sis’ had quite the growth spurt during the summer between eighth grade and freshman year, if you know what I mean.”

  “Went from being completely flat chested to a C cup.” I offered for the women at the table who both nodded in understanding. Joe swiveled his head in my direction. I felt his eyes drop to my cleavage, and I quickly looked away.

  “So this muscle-head corners her in the back of the pep bus at an away game.” Mac continued. He directed his story to Stacy, who was a rapt audience.

  “He was a wrestler. Big-ass mother. Huge dude.” Mason murmured with a small laugh.

  “Yeah, he was.” Mac proceeded seamlessly.

  “So he just helps himself to a handful.” Mason blurts, topping off his glass. Stacy scoffed and I rolled my eyes.

  “Yep. He just feels me up. It was like two giant crab claws pinching you. Douchebag.” I snatched up the pitcher and poured a glass for Joe. He took it, eyeing me thoughtfully. “I told him to leave me alone and he said ‘not until you give me a kiss.’”

  “Ugh. What a pig.” Robin stirred her margarita with a perfectly French manicured hand. “This is not a funny story so far.”

  “Not yet.” Mason cracked, his lips quivering with a smile.

  “So what did you do?” Joe asked me. I looked at him over my shoulder. He was close enough that I could smell his spicy masculine scent. Remembering the last time we’d been that close made me bashful and I looked away. Naturally, Mac had no issue with telling the rest of the story.

  “So she tells him ‘sure, big boy’ and when the dumbass moves in to stick his tongue down her throat, she drops him with a knee to the groin and a throat punch.” Mac slapped the table with his hand and guffawed.

  “Right on.” Sanchez nods, a broad smile overtaking his face.

  “Oh, that’s not all.” Mason tipped back his hat and threw his arm around Robin’s shoulder. “She hate-stomped his ass. When Mom and Dad went in to meet with the principal and superintendent, they had pictures of his face and Dad said you can see the imprint of her Doc Martens on his cheek.”

  Everyone laughed and chattered at once, but I shook my head emphatically.

  “He’s exaggerating. I did not hate stomp him.” I giggled, hiding my eyes. “I might have kicked him a couple of times when he was down…but that’s it.”

  “Then how’d he get the boot print?” Joe asked, clearly amused by my flimsy version of events. I took my hand away from my face and glanced at him.

  “Well?” He demanded seriously, glancing at my brothers. They both snickered like kids misbehaving in church.

  “I tripped trying to climb over him out of the bus.” I confessed.

  Sanchez and Charlie dissolved into fits of laughter, which set the twins off again. The girls just looked at me sympathetically. I turned to Joe, who sipped his drink with a poker face firmly in place.

  “Thanks for bringing that up.” I said, shaking my head. He didn’t laugh or even smile, just seemed to study me quietly. I couldn’t decide what his complicated expression was about. Frowning, I turned back to my drink. There was no denying that he’d changed dramatically. I wasn’t sure what was different exactly. But it was like the playful spark in him was flickering, when it once had blazed like a wildfire.

  Our waitress arrived with a tray of gooey looking double shots.

  “Yay! Blow jobs! Whoo hoo!” Stacy jiggled as she hopped to her feet. “Come on, birthday girl.”

  “You can’t be serious.” I muttered as Robin reached out and plucked her shot from the tray. Stacy took the remaining two and sat one in front of me.

  “As a heart attack. Hands behind your back.”

  “What the hell?” Sanchez turned to Mason.

  “Blow jobs shots. Watch and learn, kid.”

  Reluctantly, I climbed to my feet. I dutifully put my hands behind my back and Mac counted off to three. Robin, Stacy and I all bent down, wrapped our lips around the tall shot glasses, and flipped our heads back. I choked down the Coffee liquor, Bailey’s, and whipped cream with a bit of an effort.

  “Holy shit.” Dirty S. blurted and Mason slapped him on the back heartily.

  “Uck. That sweet shit makes me gag.” I wiped my lips with the back of my hand.

  “That’s what she said.” Mac chimed in, wiggling his cigarette like a modern day Groucho Marx.

  “Want another? I’m buyin’.” Charlie winked at me.

  “I’m good.” I sat back down, realizing that Joe had moved a bit closer down the bench toward me. I glanced sideways at him and saw him lick his lips nervously. I picked up my beer to wash the syrupy taste away.

  As story time continued, he kept invading my personal bubble. Once when I reached for the pitcher, he brushed his hand against mine, and his knee rested comfortably against my thigh. His nearness was driving me insane and buzzed like I was, I couldn’t decide whether to leave or jump him there in the middle of the restaurant.

  Right as the band began tuning on the small stage, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and was surprised to see Francis standing behind me. He’d obviously gone somewhere to clean up and was wearing a new button up shirt. His normally disheveled hair was carefully combed to the side. He held out some wildflowers to me that he must have picked out of a nearby ditch himself. Thinking of the effort that he’d taken made my eyes sting.

  “Francis! Aren’t you handsome?” I slipped my legs out of the booth practically climbing over Joe to stand and offer Francis a hug.

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He replied, displaying a broad grin.

  “I’m so glad you came!” I cried cheerfully, sliding my arm through his.

  “Impressive! He can’t get himself to a job every day, but he can show up for free food.” Joe quipped, the smirk on his face far from friendly. I shot him a deadly glance. Francis just laughed it off, but I was livid. In a hurry to dispel an awkward situation, I guided F
ran over to an empty spot next to Charlie and joined him at that end of the table.

  I flagged down the waitress and asked her to bring Francis a menu. I was so angry I could feel the heat rising in my face and I couldn’t even look in Joe’s direction. I quietly asked the waitress to bring me a new glass. As I made small talk with Charlie and Francis, I tried to get my temper under control. Joe’s attitude regarding Fran had seriously offended me and seemed so out of character for the man I’d always thought he was.

  He had always been the guy that all the girls loved: hardworking, funny, handsome, kind. The benchmark that I held all men to, which probably accounted for my unrealistic expectations and string of brief failed relationships.

  The shift in his nature not only broke my heart, it crushed me. It may sound childish, but I grieved a little for the old Joe. The loss of my fantasy Joe was akin to watching your favorite horse break its leg. The Joe I used to know would never have disrespected anyone the way he’d just disrespected Francis.

  As the night progressed, conversation became more challenging due to the volume of the band. It looked more and more like my brother was going to take my cashier home. Francis wandered away with Charlie to the bar and I saw Mason sit down by Joe.

  “I wonder what ole’ Francis is going to do when they open that hotel.” Mason glanced over his shoulder as if checking that Francis was still out of earshot.

  Joe looked down at his beer unhappily. “I don’t know. But Graham said we’re going to have to tear down that one-man tent city of his soon.”

  Sanchez ditched out a few minutes later, probably because watching Mac with his hands all over Stacy’s ass was a little hard for him to stomach. Every time the band started a slow song, Charlie kept asking me if I wanted to dance, but I just shook my head.

  Joe worked the crowd, chatting up every pretty girl in sight. Watching him in action was slowly killing my buzz and I had the distinct vibe that Charlie had a bit of a crush on me. I was going to have to shoot him down soon. Mason and Robin begged off, explaining that the kids had soccer in the morning. I was seriously considering sneaking off and calling a cab when Francis offered me his hand. I quizzically tilted my head at him.