by Jody Pardo
“Are you a blessed man?”
“Oh, don't misunderstand me for one minute. I'm a pain in the ass, and Kim puts up with me. Marriage is finding a great friend who puts up with your crap and can deal with your biggest flaws. Find someone who can sleep through your snoring, and if you don’t mind waiting two hours for her to get ready just to go to the feed store, you're a match.”
“That’s it? That’s your best advice?”
“Yup. It’s that simple. Find a woman that likes your brand of farts.” He laughed and spit over the railing.
“Got it.” I shook my head and chuckled as I stared up at the stars. They were so clear out of town. There was only one big lamppost by the barn but it didn’t take away from the majesty of the night sky. My mind drifted to Afghanistan.
I laid on my back and stared at the sky. It was the middle of the night but our base was lit up like Times Square, even in the dead of night it was bright. It made it hard to sleep, and I had bought one of those face masks to block out the light, but Pierson teased me about it, so I never used it. It's not like it was pink or anything, but he ribbed me and asked me if I wanted some cucumber slices and a pedicure after my beauty rest. Pierson was an asshole.
The bright flood lights drowned out the night sky, and it was hard to see the stars. Even on a clear night, the constant traffic kicked up clouds of dust and muddled the view. The moon was a sliver in the sky, and the only reminder that the sky was real and not just dust. I hunted the sky for any stars that might be visible.
I heard the booms before I saw the flashes. Like bottle rockets, the RPGs lit up the sky and descended upon our camp with a whistle in the air. It wasn’t going to be a small bang when they hit, though.
“Peter, you okay?” Lance placed his hand on my shoulder, and I jumped. I felt my eyes dilating and constricting as I tried to focus on my surroundings.
I wasn’t in Afghanistan.
I was on my parents’ front porch.
I scrubbed my hand across my face. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just got lost in thought for a minute.”
“You were in la-la land for sure. Left me here talking to myself.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day of traveling.”
“I’m sure it has. If you ever want to talk, my door is always open.”
“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate that.”
“Let me go get Kim and head on home so you all can rest. If not, she will be gabbing for hours. You have no idea.”
He gave me a pat on the back and went back in the house leaving me on the porch.
I looked up at the sky again and outlined the constellations I could recognize. Stars, not flares—not bombs, just stars.
As much as I was still unsure which direction I was going to take with my future, I fell into a routine quickly at home. Life was just as simple there as it was in the military, minus the gunfire. I woke up every day and ran five miles, did some PT, ate dinner with my mom, and then joined my dad down at the shop. I helped lift large sides of beef, load the bins of scraps to the grinder for hamburger, and wrap my dad’s cuts. I had no desire to learn the art of butchering, but Ronnie lingered on every word and watched intently as he mimicked each of my dad’s strokes at the adjacent workstation. Ronnie would have to do at least a three-year apprenticeship to earn the title of butcher; even then, it would be at my father’s discretion.
There was no school to attend or degree to acquire, it truly was an art. You just did it. I suppose one could study anatomy or veterinary science, but in the end it was you and the meat. One with the blade. My dad prided himself on his work. He gave the customers the perfect amount of fat crusts to rim their steaks and the leanest hamburger around. There were no fillers, no fluff, just beef. He butchered chickens from time to time, but primarily it was beef and pigs when they were plump and ready.
It was a comfortable routine. I guess I had grown accustomed to routines and working with Dad was just another itinerary. My sister, on the other hand, was a glaring reminder there was more. She bounded through the door of the shop and made her way to the back cutting room. I was wrapping the last of the latest grind of lean hamburger when she called my name.
“Peter? Hey, Daddy, where is brother?”
“He’s by the grinder. What are you doing here?”
“Busting him out. Peter. Come on. Let’s go.”
I wiped my hands on my apron after clamping the roll of hamburger I was filling shut and placing it on the stack of one-pound packages I had on the workbench.
“What’s going on?”
“Okay, you have been home two weeks now. It's time to start living. Daddy, is he done?”
“Are you, son?” my dad asked for confirmation.
“I finished up the rest of the hamburger. Got anything else for me?”
“There is always stuff to do around here,” he said flatly. Ronnie’s pleading eyes from behind him peered at me around my dad’s shoulder.
“Ronnie is here. Right, Ronnie?” I gave him a chin lift, and his face lit up with a smile.
“I’m here Mr. Toledo. I don’t have anything going on. I can stay as long as you need me.”
My father deliberated and shook his head slowly no doubt counting the tasks he hoped to accomplish the rest of the day. “I suppose Ronnie and I can manage here. Go on, have fun.”
“Ronnie. Take care of the old man for me.” Ronnie beamed with pride and gave me a half-assed but very excited salute at attention.
“That’s how you get blood in your hair. Get back to work; we got four more sides to get through before quitting time.”
“Yes, Sir.” He slumped back into his work before him on his workbench, and I took off my apron, hung it on its respective hook on the wall, and washed my hands.
My sister waited not-so-patiently by the door trying not to look at my dad as he drew his blade across the intercostal space removing the loin in one beautiful piece. The grimace on Beth’s face was priceless. I wondered if she would be as fond of chicken parmigiana if she saw dad cut up some chickens.
“Ready?” My voice broke her gaze, and she happily tugged me to the door.
Once on the sidewalk I asked, “Where are we going?”
“Out. Get in.”
She hit the door unlock button on her remote to the Beetle, and I climbed into my sister’s car and fastened my seatbelt. I needed all the protection I could get with her behind the wheel.
“Are you gonna tell me where we are going?”
“First, you're gonna go home and take a shower because you smell like death. Then, you are gonna put on a nice shirt and some pants and we are going out dancing.”
“Sis, if you haven’t noticed, I haven’t done much dancing lately.”
“Well, it’s time you started, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
She wasn’t wasting any time getting to the house, either. She trimmed at least five minutes off a ten-minute ride. How she was still alive was incredible. She must have gotten driving lessons from Dale Earnhardt himself.
“Pick you up in an hour.”
“Geez, sis, I won’t nearly have enough time to do my hair.” I pawed at my short high and tight and made duck lips at her.
“Whatever, diva. One hour. See you in a bit.” My sister was on a mission. I wasn’t sure exactly what that mission was, but I would be ready in an hour. I only needed maybe fifteen but I would humor her.
Funny how my sister was perpetually late for everything else except when she needed or wanted to be somewhere. Then, it was an emergency, and you better be ready. I climbed into her Beetle and braced myself for the ride.
“Don’t you have any dress clothes?”
“What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? You said a shirt and pants. I am wearing a shirt and pants.” I took inventory of my attire, and I was wearing a solid, royal-blue, button-down, that I was always complimented on when I wore because it brought out the blue in my eyes, and a clean pair of khaki chinos. I even wore dress shoes and not my req
uisite duty boots, which were a hell of a lot more comfortable than the loafers I found at the bottom of my closet.
“You look like you are ready for country club social. We are going dancing not high tea.”
“If you don’t like how I’m dressed, you should have given me orders in writing, a detailed itinerary and outlined what was required.”
“Whatever. It’s gonna be dark anyways. You will be fine.”
We drove about twenty minutes out of town and took a right onto a dirt road. It was bumpy and not really well-equipped for the little, low-to-the-ground Beetle, but it was obvious she knew the road well as she weaved around each pitfall and pothole. She pulled into this little honky-tonk bar with neon lights that spelled out “Craw Dad's Bar” on top of a thatched roof. It looked like a bayou fire hazard. The band blared from within, and Cajun two-step music spilled off the porch and into the parking lot as people danced with their beer bottles in hand.
“Is this place even legal?”
“Of course, they have a liquor license and all that. Why?”
“Just asking.”
“Don’t be a party pooper. Come on, let’s go get a drink.”
The music was even louder inside, but the open air frame of the bar made it bearable. Sawdust, straw, and peanut shells riddled the floor of the bar but provided a smooth glide to the dancers on the floor. My sister saw friends and greeted them on the way to the bar that was bustling with customers. We found an opening in the crowd and waited to place our order.
“What are you having?” my sister leaned over to yell in my ear above the music.
“Just get me a beer,” I hollered back.
“Just a beer? What kind of beer?”
“I don’t know, just get me a beer.”
“They have like fourteen different beers. What do you want?” My blood began to boil, and I could feel the flush of my skin. I took a few slow breaths to keep the fire under control.
I ground through my teeth, “Surprise me.” Turning, I took in my surroundings while we waited. I didn’t want to snap on my sister. Why couldn’t she just get me a beer? Any bar overseas you ask for a beer, they give you a beer. Whatever it was, you drank it. I took a few more breaths and pushed the turmoil brewing in my head to the back burner.
I listened to Zydeco Bayou Band—according to the name painted on the bass drum—play their unique blend of Cajun Bluegrass and direct the crowd in line dances. I could two-step, but it had been years since I had danced. In fact, I think the last time I ever danced was my high school prom. I couldn’t recall a time after that where I had done more than sway in place or tap my foot.
A finger in the gut caught my breath. “Hey, Mr. Tall, Tan and— Ow, that hurt my finger.”
I looked down to see Beth’s friend Christina looking up at me with her injured finger in her mouth.
“Hey, Shorty. What’s up?”
“You, apparently. And it’s not Shorty, it’s Munchkin if you don’t want to be rude.” She wiggled her injured finger at me.
“I wouldn’t want to be rude then, Munchkin. Whatever you prefer.”
"I’d prefer if you would take me for a twirl around the dance floor.”
“I was waiting for my beer.” I motioned to the bar where Beth was leaned against the cool granite surface watching for the bartender’s return.
“It will be here when you get back. Beth will guard it.” The bar was still a blur of people. It might be a while, I thought, so I agreed.
“Okay then. Lead the way.”
“I better follow you. You make a better battering ram than I do.”
She got behind me and pushed me forward toward the dance floor.
On the dance floor, I followed Christina’s lead as she fell into the line of female dancers in one row opposite the males as they two stepped toward each other and back again. Christina obviously knew the pattern, and I just followed along and was thankful to have men on either side of me to mimic.
When the next song came on and things took a swirly route, Christina took the lead and twirled herself off of me and back again. Her smile was infectious, and I was happy to be her twirling pole. She reminded me of one of those music boxes where the little ballerina twirled on a string from the lid. My arm acted as her lid and she spun on my finger, ebbing and flowing from me on a grooved path like the tiny dancer.
Six songs later, my feet were protesting and my throat was parched. I needed a drink. Christina was going to follow me or dance by herself. I started to make my way to the bar whose crowd had thinned out some since I left, and Beth was perched upon a stool talking to some guy.
“I thought you were getting me a beer?”
“And I thought you were hanging out. I gave it to Scott here.”
“Hi, I’m Scott.” He extended his hand for a shake, and I met his grasp.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Peter, Beth’s brother.”
“She was telling me.”
“What else was my baby sister telling you while you drank my beer, Scott?” I didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, but I was very thirsty and I was one beer short.
“I’m sorry, man, let me get you a beer. Bartender, can we get two more, please?” The bartender gave him a nod and was quick to bring back two long-neck bottles and place them in front of us.
“Happy now?” my sister chided.
“Yes, I’m thirsty. Munchkin over here dragged me onto the dance floor before I was even able to hydrate. I was not prepared for this.”
“Oh, stop being a sissy. Live a little. Life isn’t all plans and missions, Peter.”
I refused to complain about my feet. My sister was already calling me a sissy about the whole dancing thing. I had survived worse. Long walks with bleeding blisters on my feet but still had to march on and suck it up. I couldn't whine and bitch about my feet in front of my men. I marched right beside them, bleeding feet and all. If I could survive those long marches through desert mountains, I could survive one night in dress shoes.
Scott was a sloppy drunk, and even though he stayed upright, his words began to slur, and whatever aspirations my sister had with the guy were over a few beers later. Beth’s mood soured as his drunkenness progressed and Scott burned his bridge.
“I’m gonna go home,” she blurted out after Scott told yet another dry joke.
“Hold on, let me tell Christina goodbye and we can go.”
“No, you stay. She needs a designated driver anyway. Make sure she gets home.”
“I’m ready to go.” My feet were ready to go two hours ago.
“Can you please be a gentleman and make sure she gets home?” I really was ready to go, but I couldn’t leave Christina by herself. She wasn’t done yet and was still dancing with a group of girls in an organized line dance resembling a modified electric slide.
“And how am I supposed to get home?”
“Just drop her car off tomorrow. I’m exhausted, and I have to work tomorrow. Please?”
She peered up at me with a pouty mouth—her lip hung low and she batted her eyelashes. She looked so pathetic, she needed a paper clip to hold her saggy lip up.
“Fine, but you owe me.”
“Whatever. Love you, muah.” She blew me a kiss and left me on DD duty.
I found Christina back on the dance floor and joined her and the other females dancing. I didn't realize it was nearly the end of the song and the next was a slow number. The music was quieter and gave me the opportunity to tell Christina Beth had left me to assure she got home.
“Hey, Beth took off,” I told her leaning close to her ear so she could hear me.
“What? Why?” She looked around frantically for Beth to stop her.
“She was tired and has work tomorrow. I suspect she was just upset that guy Scott got wasted.”
“Scott is always wasted. I don’t know why she bothers with that guy. He is super clingy.”
“I have no idea, but it is my job to make sure you get home.”
“I haven’t had that much
to drink.” We moved off the dance floor to a side table, but when we reached the table she kept moving and stumbled.
“Okay, maybe I did. I was fine until I tried to stop moving.” I reached out to help steady her and she leaned into my chest. “That’s a little better.”
Her gait steadied, and when she was comfortable, she pulled away and stood opposite me.
“I just want to see something,” she said cocking her head to the side. “Come here.” She wiggled her finger in a come hither motion, and I leaned down to meet her. She cupped my cheeks with both her small hands and planted her soft lips on mine. Nibbling at each lip, she followed each pinch with a swipe of her tongue to soothe it. I opened my mouth in a gasp, and she took full advantage and massaged my tongue with hers. Instinct took over and my body reacted; I pulled her closer deepening the kiss.
She squeaked, and I thought I squeezed her too tight. I loosened my grip and ended the kiss with a peck on the lips.
She looked up at me in bewilderment.
"Why are you acting surprised?"
"I don't know. I didn't expect you to kiss back."
"Why did you kiss me? Do you always kiss strangers?"
"We are not strangers anymore. Besides, we are practically family."
"Please don't say that." Being from a small family, my first thought was my mother's sister, my Aunt Virginia, dripping in Jean Nate cologne trying to stick her tongue in my mouth. Just the thought made my stomach roll.
Without missing a beat, Christina replied, "I always wanted to kiss a soldier. Now I can say I have."
I kissed her again.
"Yeah, you're right, I don't kiss anyone in my family like that," she said, breathless.
"Let me take you home."
"I don't go home with strangers in bars."
"I thought we weren't strangers anymore."
"Touché, Peter."
As promised, I drove Christina home. She had a little Chevy Cavalier that I had to jack the seat all the way back just to drive it, and it felt like I was driving from the back seat. I took it nice and slow through the dirt road from the bar back to town trying not to hit every dip and pit in the road and possibly break an axle. Christina lived a few short blocks from my sister, and I thought about crashing at Beth’s, but she surely was asleep by then.