The Squeeze

by Paul Schueller

  A big steepled church on a hill overlooked a downtown that was still. There were more storefronts filled with food and merchandise than he expected given big-box retailers now most assuredly occupied the nearby freeway exits. As he strolled the streets and circled back to the marina, he saw the stark beauty of the place for the first time. Empty boat slips speckled with the last bits of floating ice. Bare trees and rocky shoreline scrubbed clean by the beating waves of winter. A couple of small rotting fish added a gritty, natural ripeness to the scene. He smirked to himself, knowing friends in Chicago traveled to the East Coast to see the very same thing. Then he realized the joke was really on him as he had grown up with this right in front of him. “Dumbass,” he said to himself, but loud enough to hear if someone were there.

  Self-degradation was one of Tommy’s most prominent traits and a significant weakness. He thought it motivated him, kept him hungry and paranoid. That may have been good in business, but not for self-esteem, relationships, or anything else. As with most days, Tommy slipped in and out of daydreams. He was thoroughly convinced that if born later, he would have been diagnosed with ADD and drugged. Instead, he used his weakness to his advantage, creating businesses that thrived on quick decisions and the urgency that they created. The perceived ability to focus quickly on a variety of things was really the inability to focus on anything.

  Tommy stumbled up the steps from the boat slips to come face to face with his own image in the mirrored glass door of the marina.

  Tommy wasn’t short, but he felt that way if there was anyone taller than him in the room. His dishwater blond hair, turning gray, blended with his scalp to camouflage the thinning. He was built thick and strong with a flat stomach that defied his age. He ate well and exercised regularly, thinking that was a necessary offset to the inner decay caused by bouts with alcohol and pills.

  Tommy moved on from the door and his image to his real problems. How could he have been so greedy and stupid? He walked all over town for hours, repeating those words over and over in his head. He returned to the town center; activity had picked up impressively. He entered the same diner he had frequented in his youth. The glossy gray Formica tabletops and orange faux leather-covered chairs had held up quite nicely. He took a table by the window and ordered coffee, oatmeal, and a sandwich. It was late morning and a good time to get in his first two meals of the day.

  Tommy sat drinking his coffee and staring out the window when he heard a voice from behind him. “Hey, Tommy, is that you?” Tommy’s shoulders slumped slightly before he turned to see the face of one of their old neighbors. He looked to be about seventy, the same age as he looked to Tommy twenty years earlier.

  “Yep. It’s me. How are you?” Tommy had remembered the face, not his name. It was a neighbor who spent his summers sitting in a lawn chair on his driveway, usually wearing an unflatteringly tight tank top undershirt, too-short shorts, too-high socks, and too-dark shoes. Not an image that Tommy could forget.

  “Yeah, seen you in the papers lately. Good thing your dad’s not around anymore to see that.”

  “My dad or my stepdad?” Tommy asked. His mom had remarried a local divorcee a year after his dad died.

  “Either one, since they’re both dead,” The man bluntly said.

  “Well, they’d probably be glad that I was at least out there trying, not critiquing and watching the world go by,” Tommy shot back.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. Nice seeing you again. Excuse me. I have to use the bathroom,” Tommy said, even though he really didn’t need to. His plan worked; by the time he returned to the table, his food was there and the man was not.

  Tommy finished breakfast and lunch and headed back out on the street. Fortified and enjoying the sun that had melted away the early day fog, he welcomed the mile or two walk to Pat’s house. As he walked, he had trouble shaking images of his stepdad. Bill was someone to be tolerated, grudgingly accepted, but not loved.

  Bill’s only hobbies that Tommy could remember were sarcasm and verbal abuse. As far as Tommy knew, Bill never hit his mom. He was short and slight except for a funny-looking bowling ball-sized beer belly, and wasn’t intimidating. His indifference toward his mom was almost worse than if he would have hit her.

  Although Tommy could not have cared less what the rest of the town thought, he still felt badly for his mom about not coming back for Bill’s funeral. At that point well over ten years had passed since he left, and he couldn’t face Jenny, and he didn’t know how to deal with a funeral. He still hadn’t done either.

  Why visit a dead guy? he rationalized. Just reminded him of dying.

  He thought about that enough on his own, which led to a pretty active case of hypochondria. A couple of times a year growing up, and until about the time Bill died, Tommy would end up in the doctor’s office.

  Sometimes convinced he was having a heart attack, he wove in a variety of other ailments, from a brain tumor to MS to ALS. He was particularly good at conjuring up dying of some of the scariest and most debilitating diseases. Maybe real dying, by comparison, wouldn’t seem so bad.

  Tommy wasn’t sure how he had crossed streets without getting hit, but he was back at Pat’s. Everyone was gone. He went up to his room and fell asleep. All of the fresh air and bitterness had taken it out of him as he slept soundly until his own cold, wet drool sandwiched between his cheek and pillow woke him up. He thought maybe he was still sleeping because Jenny was sitting in the corner of the room. “Good morning!” Jenny said sarcastically.

  Tommy couldn’t have made a worse new first impression as he patted down his hair with one hand and dried his face with the other. “Not quite how I pictured reconnecting,” Tommy said.

  “Well, at least you were planning to reconnect. It’s been, um, quite a while,” Jenny said.

  Tommy started to regain his composure and focus. He could see that Jenny was still striking. She had gotten up from a creaky, old chair in the corner of the bedroom and moved in a semi-circle around him from the dresser to the window and back. He always loved to watch her move. She flowed more than she walked. Her ears flared slightly at the top, framing her Latin-skinned face. Her nose was as long, narrow and flowing as her body, her lengthy black hair pulled in a ponytail. Jenny’s voice was plain and slightly rough in tone, her words meaningful and concise. Jenny’s eyes were soulfully deep, dark, and penetrating, sometimes leaving the rest of her face desperate for attention.

  Jenny was nearly six feet tall with small breasts that fit with her flat stomach and narrow hips. Her gait was graceful and somehow showed off the subtle curves of her body, but Tommy remembered how that walk and her posture would change with her mood. He instantly felt the old physical draw, but knew she couldn’t feel the same, given that he had forgotten to call for nearly two decades.

  They had always flirted, but were just friends except for one night at the end of college. They had agreed that was a mistake, but he remembered that to be more her take on things than his. They never spoke of it again, but it had made college graduation and the start of summer awkward before Tommy’s dad died and he left for Europe.

  “Sorry I haven’t been in touch.” It felt as lame for Tommy to say as for Jenny to hear.

  “You’re here now. Come downstairs when you’re ready. Pat and Mary want the four of us to go out, you know, to catch up.”

  “Great.” Tommy finally stood up and they shared an awkward, distant friend hug. Tommy listened to the patter of Jenny’s flip-flop sandals as she left down the hall, and he smiled. She wore them all of the time in college; she claimed that her feet were too pretty to keep bottled up.

  Tommy knew it was to avoid wearing heels and appearing taller.

  12

  Jenny had sat there, in the bedroom of Pat and Mary’s house, staring at Tommy as he slept. She fidgeted uncomfortably in the stiff, old wooden chair that may have been there as long as the house. Her mind was racing. Since Pat told her that Tommy was back in town,
she didn’t know what to think or how to feel.

  She smirked to herself for a moment as saliva started to run from the corner of his mouth, but he did not stir. She knew, however, this was no laughing matter. This visit, this time with Tommy finally home was the last chance, even after eighteen years, that they would have.

  Jenny realized when she saw him lying there, even drooling and disheveled, that she still might love him. As an independent woman, she lamented the feeling as weak and pathetic. How or why could she still love a guy who walked away? But, as the mother of their son, the son who Tommy knew nothing of, she was comforted that she still cared about him.

  It’s not like she thought of Tommy constantly over the years, but it was hard not to think of him more lately as their son grew and took on more and more of Tommy’s tendencies and mannerisms. He was also starting to ask more about his father, and Jenny had already agreed to introduce them whenever he was ready. She knew that time would be coming soon, but with Tommy here, now, maybe they had one last shot to be together.

  Jenny knew that was as far-fetched and naïve as it sounded and doubted Tommy felt much for her. How could he possibly if he hadn’t returned for eighteen years? Whatever miniscule chance existed to reconnect, it would have to happen before Tommy knew about their son, or Jenny simply wouldn’t let it happen. She had waited this long for Tommy to love her because he wanted to, not because he felt like he needed to.

  She knew the window of opportunity would be small since she couldn’t wait much longer to tell her son about his father. Jenny knew what it was like for her son. She had been adopted. One look at her rather short and very white parents made that clear. Her creamed-coffee skin and stature didn’t come from that gene pool. Unlike her son, she would never know who her parents were.

  Jenny continued to fidget. The old chair creaked and popped stirring Tommy slightly. She thought more about how she should react to the uncomfortable initial moments after so many years. Pat had always maintained that he and Jenny shouldn’t take it personally, that Tommy leaving was just about his dad’s suicide and Tommy not being able to face the desperate act and the circumstances surrounding it. Jenny had a hard time with that, given that she was confident her reaction would have been the opposite, embracing family and friends to help get over the loss. She wanted to forgive Tommy, but really didn’t understand his actions. He threw away their friendship just to avoid any shame or embarrassment.

  Pat had always defended Tommy in their discussions over the years. He was fond of saying Tommy would come back someday as the same misunderstood ass that they used to know. Pat was okay with that and wanted Tommy to have a chance to correct his mistakes and meet his son.

  Jenny continued to struggle with Tommy’s decision. She wondered if she would ever get an explanation that would justify his actions.

  Jenny could see Tommy’s eyes flutter open slightly, so she rose from the chair and started to pace in front of the bed as Tommy started to fully wake. His skin was pale and gaunt yet still took a turn for the worse when the embarrassment of Jenny seeing him like this spread over his body. Jenny was surprised that she got a perverse bit of pleasure from seeing Tommy so embarrassed.

  13

  It was early evening when the foursome arrived at a local tavern. It was over sixty degrees, so they decided to be the first patrons of spring on the deck overlooking the marina. The remaining ice chunks from the morning had melted, and the first two charter boats of the year were in their slips. Soon the marina would be alive with half-drunk, half-seasick fishermen watching with excitement as the day’s catch was cleaned for them by their charter boat captain. For now, it was still beautifully stark.

  Tommy and Pat sat down first. Jenny and Mary had gotten distracted at the bar talking to friends. Tommy started. “There’s something different about Jenny.”

  “How so?” Pat asked.

  “She was always pretty, but there’s more. Maybe it’s how she listens to people, how she holds herself. I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

  “True, you don’t know what the fuck you are talking about. She’s not different, nimrod. You just finally opened your eyes. You’re so damn dense. You never knew that she loved you, did you?” Pat said.

  “In college? No.” Tommy offered, dejected.

  “Seriously, you always were clueless to signals from women. You didn’t know until this very minute. Amazing.” Just then, Jenny and Mary joined them. Tommy could see their mouths moving, but couldn’t hear them talking over the ringing in his ears. He was further distracted by his stomach spasming.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Mary asked Pat.

  Pat smirked. “I’ll tell you later. He should snap out of it soon enough.”

  They ordered a pitcher of beer and some appetizers. Tommy swallowed hard several times to keep his stomach contents down and for a few more seconds sat still, staring at the horizon, processing the information Pat had shared with him.

  “You back?” Pat asked, starting to feel a little guilty.

  “Yeah, sorry. Should we order something?” The other three laughed as the pitcher of beer arrived.

  Tommy continued to run scenarios through his head. What if he had known? Would they be married? Divorced? Would they have kids?

  Would he, they, still be living in town?

  Mary and Jenny got up to put some money in the jukebox. “Dude, didn’t mean to send you over the edge,” Pat said. “It was a long time ago. She’s over it.”

  “You sure?” Tommy asked.

  Pat rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, we see Jenny all the time.”

  “Maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what? You can’t be in love with her. You’ve seen her for all of an hour. You’re not in love with her.”

  “Maybe . . .”

  “Nice timing. You have to be the slowest son of a bitch on the planet,” Pat said.

  The women came back. They drank, ate, talked about old times and enjoyed each other’s company. Three hours passed. It got cold. No one cared.

  Tommy spent several more days strolling around town, eating and drinking with his three friends and relaxing. They talked openly and freely about everything except that one secret that Tommy couldn’t know about.

  “So, Pat, did you and Mary have a good time before coming out tonight?” Tommy asked.

  “Huh, what do you mean?” Pat said and turned knowingly to Mary.

  “Hey, I didn’t say anything to him about this afternoon.”

  “You didn’t need to, you just had that “I just had sex” look on your face. I took a shot,” Tommy laughed.

  Jenny jumped in. “That’s pathetic, you’re both pathetic! But I guess it’s kind of true. You guys are a little less edgy and competitive afterwards!”

  “See, you know what I mean,” Tommy said. “Hey, I have an idea.

  Each woman on the planet should take a guy and screw his brains out every day. We’d be so docile that women would control the world.”

  Jenny pondered the idea for a moment, glanced at Mary for an unspoken confirmation and then giggled, “Every day? It wouldn’t be worth it.”

  Tommy was surprised he was finding a calm and comfortable place in his mind reconnecting with these special friends that embraced, not judged, him. Maybe he should just move on with his life, forget about who did what with the business. What good could come of it anyway?

  The next morning, with nothing to do, Tommy went with Pat making some deliveries for his job. Pat had gotten them lost. After about ten minutes, Tommy grew a little agitated. “Why don’t you use the GPS?”

  Tommy asked. “They build them into these vans for a reason.”

  “Fine idea. Go for it,” Pat replied. Tommy turned it on, then started pushing hard on the screen, trying to get the “home” function to work.

  “This goddamn thing isn’t working.” Tommy said. “Fuck it. I’ll use my phone.”

  “Whoa there, big guy. It’s a touch screen, not a smash your finger through
the front of the car screen.” Pat gently touched the screen in two spots, and they were on their way home. Pat continued, “Man, that was like an anecdote or metaphor or whatever for your life.”

  “Oh, really?” Tommy huffed. “Enlighten me.”

  “Think about it. A light touch and observing what you were doing would have gotten you further than trying too hard and pushing too hard. You were clueless with Jenny after college. Too busy plowing ahead, fixating on your career and what to do next.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me if it was so obvious?” Tommy asked.

  “Because Jenny asked me not to. She wanted you to stick around because it was your idea, not mine or hers.” Pat continued, “So, back to my metaphor or euphemism . . . pushing the shit out of something, like the screen, or in life, isn’t going to help.”

  “Enlighten me even further,” Tommy said sarcastically.

  “Well, it’s like a Zen or Taoist thing. Observe, go with the flow. You can’t push or control everything.”

  “So, how is this supposed to help me now?” Tommy asked.

  “You’re a control freak. Ease up or die. Oh, yeah, and as it relates to Jenny, don’t push her.”

  “Ah, Master, you are wise beyond your looks.”

  “Damn right. A regular Dalai Lama,” Pat responded.

  They drove quietly for a while. Tommy pulled out his cell phone and decided to check his voicemail for the first time in days. There was a call from his old office receptionist who was still doing the same thing, except now for McKinstry. She tearfully informed him that George had died in a skiing accident. The funeral was going to be on Thursday morning at St. Patrick’s in Chicago. It was late in the afternoon on Wednesday.

  Tommy didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes lightly and rhythmically tapped the side of his head against the passenger door window. He hadn’t attended his old business partner Paul’s funeral and had felt guilty for that. Hiding from funerals, and death, wasn’t an option this time. He needed to face his fear and convey his respects.