The Devil and Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey)

by Jason Jack Miller

  I didn't tell her not to, and let myself get good and angry.

  This would be my chance to tell her we were through and I rehearsed my lines the whole time I waited. But back in her apartment we picked up right where we left off. She had my pants off by 5:30. By six I had a good buzz going. And when Pauly called at seven and again at seven fifteen I'd gotten so drunk that hitting IGNORE got to be as easy as hitting snooze on my clock radio.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Anytime I dreamed anymore somebody I'd admired died. At this rate I wouldn't have any fathers left by the time spring got here.

  I'd seen my unalterable future. Saw the cheap tattoos, the speed bumps all over his arms, the meth mouth. Now I just had to accept that I couldn't escape my white trash dreams. Meant to say genes, but they both fit. Seeing my dad confirmed it. It felt like I was on rails.

  "Good morning," Dani said as I stumbled out of the bathroom. I washed, showered and brushed my teeth and still couldn't get the sick off of me. She worked at the kitchen table, laptop open, papers spread all over. "I made you a tea." She said it like she'd given me a kidney. "Of course it's cold now."

  If I accepted misery as my destiny, then Dani became one of the best things that ever happened to me. I sat down.

  She put a pen to her lip, and leaned back. "Preston," she said, "Do you think you're in the right place now?"

  At some point last night Dani looked on my phone and saw Katy's number and some texts. Too pathetic to be mad, I told her all about Katy, where she came from, where she worked. I was very drunk and stupid. Part of me thought Dani was gloating. So I didn't say anything. Like I said, it was stupid. My will to say anything different evaporated. I said, "If you say so."

  "Don't be sad," she said. "Or maybe getting caught with your fingers in the cookie jar has embarrassed you, hmm? It doesn't sound like your little bluebird will be sad for long."

  The small table felt like a prison, like doing homework in grade school.

  Dani said, "If it's any consolation I've been fucking somebody else, too. We aren't exclusive, right?"

  "I wasn't sleeping with her."

  "You should've been." Dani blew me a kiss and went back to her work. I went back to not existing. She yelled into her phone and banged on her laptop's keys. I sat on the couch with my guitar next to me. But I just flipped through my notebook. All my songs sounded silly now. I'd never be Springsteen or Robert Hunter or Jeff Tweedy or Kurt Cobain. I could never come up with anything like "Blinded by the Light" or "The Wait" or "Sweet Melissa" or "Jesus, Etc.."

  I didn't even know if I had a hey-ho, let's go in me.

  My life had become a Chinese take-out fortune, a receipt for a guitar that cost way too much money, a thirty character text, a name on a faded concert flier stuck to a light pole with rusty nails, footprints disappearing with the melting snow, a black and white picture in a high school yearbook. I'd never been to Europe, never tasted wine that didn't come with a screw top until I met Dani. I actually thought a Big Mac tasted good. I liked to watch TV, when we still had cable. I thought Theater of Pain was a good record. The only book I ever read on my own was Hammer of the Gods back in high school. I wore Dickies or Carhartts from Sears, flannel shirts from Gabe's. I cried when I heard Mr. Rogers had died. There was nothing special about me. I wasn't extraordinary in any way. I wasn't the best at anything.

  When my belly started to rumble I went into her kitchen and helped myself to red wine. She asked me to play something. So I sang her "The Sad Ballad of Preston Black" the whole way through. Hearing my name over and over like that from my own mouth had the same effect on me as a eulogy.

  By four Dani finished working, putting her papers and binders into neat piles on her desk. She brought the bottle of red in with her, and we finished it. She said we should eat somewhere. I said I should see Pauly tonight. She said that was fine, she had things to do in the library.

  We ate at the classy place on High. It used to be a tapas bar. Now it was just out of my range. She asked why I didn't have a lot to say, and I told her I wasn't dressed right. It didn't require a jacket or tie, but I knew I didn't fit in. I didn't even know what some of the things on the menu were so I got a steak. She ordered beef Carpaccio and asked if I wanted to try it. I didn't. We had more wine.

  Pauly never called me back after last night. So I figured I could just meet him up at Ruby. Dani dropped me off just like before. I told her to give me an hour. Before I got out of the car she asked for a kiss. The way she looked at me made me believe she really loved me. My heart softened a bit, and I kissed her. I got my guitar out of the back seat to show Pauly. It was the only thing left. It anchored me to the world and I realized it'd never left my side since I'd gotten it.

  Coming in to the lobby from the cold night felt like jumping from February into August. I unbuttoned my old pea coat and loosened my scarf and headed to the gift shop to get Pauly a bottle of Mountain Dew and a Snickers bar. When I got to the room where they held the meetings I went right in and sat down. When George came in I nodded.

  He returned the gesture, got himself a cup of coffee and went to the center of the room. At about five 'til an attendant pushed the big door open and flipped the doorstop down with his foot. A couple of guys from Pauly's ward came in, the identification bracelets on their wrists the only thing separating them from everybody else in the room. When the attendant wheeled Pauly in, I nodded. He asked his attendant to be placed right next to me.

  "Hey man," I said, "Sorry about last night..." As I fumbled for an excuse Scratchy Black came in with a big, down-to-brass-tacks looking dude. Scratchy Black looked at me, but I put my head down and got real close to Pauly.

  "You smell like booze, you know that?" He gave me a look of disappointment.

  "Dani took me out to dinner just now."

  "So you just ditched the other girl? The one from Sunday? Just like that?" He shook his head. "Why don't you wheel me up to the group before the meeting starts? If you're here after we can talk about it."

  He spun himself with his good hand. I pushed him up to the end of a row of folding chairs. Before I sat back down I slid my guitar case flat beneath my seat. I considered getting some coffee when the secretary started the meeting. I scolded myself for not thinking of that sooner and talking to Pauly with coffee breath instead of wine breath. Like clockwork we got the Serenity Prayer then the Steps and Traditions. When the secretary asked for new members or out-of-town guests, Pauly's head cocked a little, like he wanted me to introduce myself.

  At about quarter after my phone vibrated. I ignored it for a moment, figuring it might be Dani. Then I figured it might not be, and I'd better make sure. I slid my hand into my pocket to check it. Katy.

  I stood up and bolted for the door. "Hello? Katy?"

  But she wasn't there.

  I went into the bathroom across the hall and called her back, and it rang and rang. When it went to voicemail I hung up, figuring maybe she was leaving a voicemail for me. I waited for the new voicemail alert, and when it didn't come I called her back. Straight to voicemail. "Katy, please pick up. I don't know what happened yesterday, but I need to see you. Things are crazy, something's happening and I really can't explain it. I need to try to talk about this. Please, please call me back. I'm starting to get a little freaked out, to be honest with you. You're the only person I can talk to. Please...."

  I hung up and felt really empty. Like I should've fucking jumped into the river yesterday. I splashed cold water on my face, the closest I'd get to drowning tonight. I hated seeing my reflection in the mirror above the sink.

  I went across the hall and slowly turned the knob to get back into the meeting. The pneumatic arm pulled the door shut with a little hiss. I put my hand between the door and the jamb to keep it from making noise when it shut. Somebody was sharing when I sat down. He didn't really pause, or give an indication that my return disturbed him, so I felt okay about that. Pauly held his head in his hand, listening, thinking. George leaned back, his empty
Styrofoam cup clasped in his hands. His eyes were shut, but he nodded while he listened. Scratchy Black wasn't there and I almost laughed, like I no longer felt the presence of evil or whatever. But his parole officer was still sitting on the other side of the room, texting somebody or playing Tetris on his phone.

  I knew the bastard would see me when he got back from the bathroom, so I tried to make myself small. I listened to the speaker, but couldn't settle in. I couldn't figure out why my mind replayed the seconds like they were a skipping record. If he'd been in the bathroom I would've seen him. It didn't make sense to me that the parole officer would just let him come and go.

  My heart stuttered and I couldn't figure out why. With every muscle twitch I felt it. I felt for my phone and my wallet. The guy next to Pauly turned around. I mouthed, "Sorry." Figuring I'd just go wait in the lobby, I leaned over for my guitar. It was gone.

  My guitar.

  I slammed the door wide open and bolted down the hall and through the lobby. I ran into the parking lot. Milan Puskar Stadium greeted me with its hands outstretched. Crows screamed from beneath the concrete stands. A steady rain of noise filled my head. Big lights lit up the green field. Some students were sledding on the old snow to the right.

  He'd go toward town. I had to be right about this or I wouldn't have anything left. I knew he ran toward the Coliseum past the old frats and their beer-soaked couches. I followed, head down, fighting to keep the cold air from making me cough. I got down by University Avenue and panicked. I stopped. That guitar was my way out of here.

  I went up University for a block then made a right onto Oakland. There was no way he could've gotten this far. I had to be faster than him. I cut across a parking lot and ran toward the PRT station, looking for a guitar case in the big field between the Towers and the rec center. At the PRT station I turned around and followed the tracks back toward the hospital.

  I ran my hands back along my scalp and spun around.

  On the track above, a PRT car rolled from the Towers up toward Medical. I watched it roll away.

  When I saw him I couldn't believe it at first. He cut across the tennis courts right next to the Towers, staying close to the building and creeping real slow. I picked a small river rock out of the landscaping by the sidewalk and followed him at a fast clip. Confident he'd shaken his tail, he moved casually. He turned a corner back toward University, and I ran after him.

  He heard my footsteps and turned as I came around the corner. He dropped my guitar case right before I hit him. He raised his arm causing the rock to glance off his forehead. Blood dripped down the bridge of his nose, and I hit him again. He fell onto the guitar case.

  White light flashed in my eyes, my brain ran hot. No thoughts. No remorse. I cut my fingers on his broken teeth and tossed the rock aside. A couple of students came around the corner. One said, "Oh, shit," and egged me on.

  I stood up and kicked Scratchy with my heel. I kicked him again in the same spot. Cars slowed down on Evansdale Drive to watch.

  I kicked him again and one of the kids said, "You proved your point, man. Let him up or I'm calling the cops."

  I was going to tell them what Scratchy'd done to me. How he left my mom, how that fucking meth freak stole my guitar for a fix. But when I took a step they each took a step back. "Stay the fuck out of it," I said.

  I kicked him again.

  From one of the cars on Evansdale I heard my name.

  My breath came in loud rasps. I didn't look up.

  "Preston!" It was Dani. Her passenger-side window was down. "Get in."

  The top of my guitar case had a depression in it from when Scratchy fell on it. I pushed it into the back seat of her car and got in. She drove away fast. Down University toward the downtown campus. A campus police car, lights ablaze, came up University from town.

  "What was that?" she asked.

  I tried to catch my breath. "That was my dad. The fucking devil. The songs said I'd meet the devil and I met him. I looked right into his face and saw myself. All these years I've been thinking he'd be something great and he'd save me or whatever." Adrenaline made my stomach a little sick.

  She pulled a Lucky Strike from a new pack, lit it, and blew smoke out a sliver of open window. She offered me one.

  The first thing I did when we got back to her apartment was set my case on her table and flip the latches. The top of the guitar had a crack running from the neck, through the sound hole down to the bridge. The force on the strings pulled the bridge up and away from the top. I told myself it was an easy fix.

  When I pulled the guitar all the way out of the case the neck hung limp. When he fell, the neck must've acted like a lever, cracking the top and blowing out the rosewood at both sides. If I pushed the neck forward far enough I could read the serial numbers through the back of the guitar.

  The cracks continued into the rosewood near the strap plug at the bottom. The back had been splintered and crushed a thousand different ways. I put the pieces back in the case.

  Dani gave me a drink. Rye whiskey.

  She sat next to me on the couch. She didn't touch me or say anything. She just sat there and lit a cigarette. I had to ask for one. When she finished her drink she said, "You still have a key to Mick's."

  I took her glass and went into the kitchen for refills. I put four fingers in my glass, put it down with a cough and refilled it again. After I handed Dani her glass, I said, "I do. I forgot to give it back to him," and threw my third double down.

  It finally occurred to me what she'd been implying all along. "Fuck. I'm not going to rip Mick off."

  She took my glass with her into the kitchen. She refilled only mine. "You don't think it was unfair that he fired you?"

  "I'm not going to steal from Mick."

  "You don't have to, you know. Isn't your old guitar there?" She gave me back my drink.

  I dropped it and said, "I have to go."

  "Again?" She smiled and leaned back into the couch. "Like a little boomerang."

  "Good bye." I picked up my guitar case and left.

  I carried the guitar all the way across Deckers before I realized how stupid I looked carrying a corpse around. I threw it into the dumpster behind Black Bear Burritos. But before I even crossed Pleasant a wave of remorse hit me.

  Holding my breath to keep the smell of garbage and old food out of my nose, I flipped the lid open. I set my guitar case in the alley and flipped the latches. Tears started to come, and I forced those back, too. I held my throat shut until my jaw hurt. I held my breath until I thought I'd pass out. I took the strap Pauly got me off of the guitar, closed the case and threw it back into the dumpster.

  As I made my way up High I pulled out my phone and started to compose a text.

  I kept my phone in my hand while I walked.

  The apartment was dark and cold. I could see my breath. My bed remained unmade. I laid down and tried to call Katy. She didn't answer. I got undressed and tossed all of my clothes into a pile on the floor. I went into the bathroom and started the hot water for a shower. Steam rushed into the hallway, into the kitchen.

  Water scalded me. I turned the cold water up a hair. I hung my head and waited. No music remained in me. "The Sad Ballad of Preston Black" had taken it out of me. In two weeks I'd lived a whole other life. Maybe I should've enlisted back when Stu did. Maybe it should've been me instead of him. I wished it was. Then I could've proven to everybody I was decent. I'd tried for so long to just be decent. Maybe I should've set my goals a little higher than just decent.

  The water got cooler and cooler.

  I despised myself, and what I'd become. Consorting with the lowest of the low. But I'd been born this way. DNA don't lie.

  When the hot water ran out I stayed in the cold. The steam disappeared. After a few minutes I shivered, my arms felt little, my shoulders curled inward. I took a towel off of the rod and threw it around my shoulders and went to lie down. When I looked at the time on my phone I saw I had a message.
/>   I dialed voicemail. Katy said, "Some woman called the daycare and said I was sleeping around with married men. I don't want to dislike you, but you're not making it easy."

  I called her back immediately. "Katy, please, it... I just want to talk." The words fell like snowflakes when I needed thunder.

  I tried to compose myself and called her back. "Katy, being with you and making music with you gives me faith. The few hours I had with you made me believe. You converted me. You made me feel like my music meant something. I never meant to disrupt what we had, but the circumstances... The circumstances are bigger than me. I don't know how I ended up here, but it all goes back to the song. That day in the record store is the day everything changed."

  That day in the record store is the day everything changed.

  My time had run out. I turned the light on and stood there. I'd sold everything. After twenty-seven years I had some clothes and some CDs. My notebook. Stu's letters from boot camp. The record. I pulled it out of my bag.

  I slid the record out of its sleeve and snapped it in half. I ripped the sleeve in half. I broke each of the halves into quarters. I broke one of the quarters into an eighth. I ran my finger along the sharp edge down to the tip.

  My phone rang.

  I threw the shard onto the floor and went to my nightstand, and flipped open my phone.

  The record and the song were easy to blame for the stuff that'd been happening. But inanimate things didn't give you opinions or suggestions.

  My phone rang again.

  I typed, and hit reply.

  I sang, "Tried to make the devil a deal but the devil said he didn't have a soul to steal."

  My brain screeched to a halt. Thoughts disappeared. I found the tiniest little bit of myself hiding in a dark corner of my head. I grabbed my notebook and a pencil and fell back onto the bed. Inside the front cover, at the top, I scribbled Preston Black wrote his own sad song.