South of Main Street

by Robert Gately

  “It’s okay to stretch the truth a little bit if it makes the story more interesting.” He paused, looked at Mrs. Murphy and smiled gently at her.

  “Crying does not mean you’re weak.” He looked up again. “This next one was very important to Mary. BE ON TIME.”

  Henry turned to Robin who nodded in agreement. “Love your spouse – even when he frustrates you.” He revealed a clown face. “Or she, but Mary really meant me.” He waited for a few chuckles to die down and continued reading. “If you don’t have a Halloween costume, put a raisin in your belly button and go as a cookie. Be loyal to your friends. Keep glancing in your rear view mirror when you drive. Have respect for animals. Work hard. You can never have too many Dunkin Donuts. Education doesn’t necessarily mean intelligence. Keep your promises.”

  Henry looked out past the congregation to the back where Dixie sat. He pointed to her and said, “Here’s a piece she quoted a lot.

  “Work like you don’t need the money. Love like you’ve never been hurt. Dance like nobody’s watching. Sing like nobody’s listening. Live like it’s Heaven on Earth.”

  He glanced at the paper one last time. “And this is probably the most important one of all. Be thankful you were born in the USA.”

  A series of ‘Amens’ emanated from the room. Henry wanted to cry and looked out to Robin for help. She instantly rose and walked up to the podium. Henry turned to her and she calmly took his arm and, as they quietly walked towards the front row pew, a tear ran down his cheek and he whispered to Robin, “She’s not coming back, is she?”

  “No, Dad. She’s not coming back.”

  Henry looked out at the congregation. A boy’s chuckle echoed through the chapel and then a quiet prevailed except for a few sniffling sounds that stole the silence from the room.

  “Get a mammogram,” Henry said to Robin as they walked back to their seat.

  “Okay, Dad. I will.”

  “Make sure Sharon gets one, too. Promise?”

  “I promise.” Robin said.

  An older lady pulled out a tissue from her pocketbook and wiped her eyes. Then she blew her nose. “Amen!” she shouted.

  In the back, Judge Brady sat with his wife. He smiled politely at Henry.

  Asa Adler, the pharmacist and Robin’s old baseball friend, hung his head.

  * * *

  DIXIE POUNDED her chest a couple of times and pointed to Henry, a street of respect. “God bless you, Henry Wolff,” she whispered. And then she quietly left.

  Chapter 6

  HENRY SAT on the curbside bench by Adler’s Pharmacy watching the people shop. Main Street was bustling with more people than usual for a Tuesday afternoon. The upcoming holidays certainly had something to do with it, but so did the weather. It was still mild for a December day in eastern Pennsylvania - a colorless landscape with barren trees and empty gardens with the exception of some perennials fooled into poking their buds out from their manicured beds.

  He loved watching people shop especially during the Christmas season. He was always fascinated during this time when the holidays brought out scores of shoppers of all sizes, shapes and colors. Everyone seemed courteous, lively, like a thousand bees that buzzed around with a purpose and bumped into each other every once and a while.

  He watched some women who were being wooed by the fashionably dressed mannequins at the shop’s windows; these women stood poised holding their chins, obviously imagining their plump bodies fitting into a larger rendition of the display. Others had more determined holiday shopping attitudes. They walked with quickness; entered the shops without a second glance at the catchy window dressings.

  “Hello, Henry,” Mrs. Marshall said as she walked close by. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is, Mrs. Marshall,” Henry replied, still looking out into the street and beyond, giving the illusion of not wanting to be disturbed. But he looked at her askance and noticed, as he had always noticed, her demeanor was carried in the shoulders and back, a woman who had seen thinner, younger days. She walked purposefully and with a slight waddle. The nicest thing anyone had said of Mrs. Marshall’s form or carriage, or any of her physical parts, was that she ‘might’ have had a nice figure when she was younger. Much younger, Henry thought. To visualize her now with a youthful, toned-down body in a bathing suit required more imagination and determination than he could muster at the moment.

  She drifted over to Henry with a bit of a wiggle. “I’m so sorry … about your wife, Henry.”

  He just nodded and continued to look out into the street. Mrs. Marshall seemingly exhausted her repertoire for sympathy and small talk and moved on.

  A few passers-by nodded to Henry or said hello, and he only grunted while his attention was fixed across the street upon Dixie. As usual, she carried her portable CD player. He could tell that the music from the headset was blocking out the rest of the world because of the way she was walking, which seemed to be slightly out of step with the direction and purpose of the people around her. She glided, danced down the street, aimlessly, in step with a melody no one else could hear.

  Dixie spotted Henry and quickly shut the CD off, and in a single motion, pulled her headset from her ears and dashed across the street. She stood in front of Henry for a beat, then plopped herself next to him. They smiled at each other, casually, and then Henry continued to watch the town in motion.

  “It’s like watching TV,” Henry commented. “Instead of changing channels, you only have to turn your head this way or that way.”

  He motioned to the left where a thin man with long hair walked with wide, rhythmic strides. “He looks like a rock star. Probably looking for a leather jacket.”

  “Or guitar picks, or something like that,” Dixie chimed in.

  “Exactly,” Henry said, and then motioned to the right where a large, round lady glided along the pavement measuring each step carefully. “See that large lady over there?”

  Dixie nodded, then Henry pointed to the short man wearing a sports coat a few stores down. “Watch this, Dixie. They’re on a collision course. In a couple of seconds … BAM!”

  The man with the sports coat closed the gap on the large, round lady and just before they met, he altered his path slightly and tried to get around her by walking sideways but he got clipped on the shoulder and was turned completely around.

  “Wow. You called that one. Cool. You like watching people, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I betcha watching me is like watching MTV or something, right?” Dixie took the CD out of the player, put it in the plastic cover and then inserted another. She turned up the music a bit and they both listened while the people across the street seemed to be marching in tune with the music.

  They watched for a few beats, then Dixie said, “This is my …”

  “… favorite CD,” Henry interjected. “I remember from yesterday. Forget who they are, though.”

  “Talent Pool,” she said. “Awesome tunes.”

  She handed Henry the plastic cover and he studied it for a beat. “I’ve heard of them,” he said and gave it back to her.

  Dixie chuckled. “I should hope so. They’re only the greatest group alive today.”

  “Groovy,” Henry said.

  “Groovy,” Dixie mimicked and then chuckled.

  “Groovy,” Henry repeated, feeling hip – no gap between the generations.

  Dixie stared at the ground and Henry noticed her taking quick shallow breaths, like she wanted to say something, but was nervous. He continued watching the people across the street while looking askance at Dixie.

  Finally, Dixie said, “Hey, listen, Henry, I wanted to express my darkest feelings about your loss. You know, about your old lady. I feel like I didn’t describe myself to you with the proper respects. I think I didn’t give it the proper … importance.”

  Henry laughed loudly.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, seemingly taking offense because she wasn’t trying to be funny.
<
br />   “Why are you talking that way? You’re talking funny.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife, man. You know?”

  “That’s better. That sounds more like you. And thanks,” Henry said, letting her off the hook.

  They sat there for a spell, then Henry confided, “She was my best friend, you know? I think I talk to Mary more now than I ever did when she was alive.” Henry pointed to his head. “In my mind, you know. I talk to her a lot in my head.”

  “Ah! That’s nice. Does she talk back to you?”

  “Sometimes. When I’m paying close attention.”

  “What does she say?”

  Henry looked at Dixie, smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. She says, be nice to Dixie. All she needs is a little helping hand to make it in this world.” He smiled at her and she smiled back.

  “Nice try,” she said. “I appreciate the sentiment. Hey, look at the suits over there.” Dixie pointed across the street at two men walking with a purpose. “FBI agents.”

  Henry nodded, and then stared at Dixie for a moment.

  “What?” Dixie inquired.

  “I like you,” Henry said.

  Dixie’s mouth dropped. “You do? How come?”

  “Because you dance like nobody’s watching. You don’t seem to care what people think of you.”

  Dixie laughs. “You should talk. You’re the weirdest … I mean, not weird but …”

  “I know what you’re trying to say.”

  “No. No. ‘Weird’ is a good word. Like turd. I used to call my last boyfriend Turd-man. It’s an endearing term, a charming weird.”

  They both continued watching the townspeople for a few seconds.

  “Dancing … you like me because I dance like nobody’s watching?” Dixie asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Okay. Then I guess I like you, too.”

  “Doesn’t count. I said it first.”

  “Does too count.”

  “Then tell me why you like me.”

  “I like you because you sing like nobody’s listening.”

  After a hesitation, they both giggled childishly, as if nobody was watching.

  “Wow,” Henry said. “You were paying attention yesterday.”

  “Yeah. That was a very nice poem. Did your wife make that up?”

  “No. It was from Mark Twain. Mary used to recite it all the time.”

  Henry looked toward the sky, closed his eyes, and from the heart he recited, “Work like you don’t need the money. Love like you’ve never been hurt. Dance like nobody’s watching. Sing like nobody’s listening. Live like it’s Heaven on Earth.”

  He turned to Dixie. “You like that poem?”

  “Yes. I do. I mean, I heard you singing when you were coming down the street the other day, and you said I dance like nobody’s watching, and … well, you sing like … hell, man, you do everything like nobody’s watching. You don’t seem to give-a-shit about anything.”

  Henry groaned, and then looked Dixie square in the eyes. “Do me a favor, will you?” he mumbled like Marlon Brando in the Godfather. “Stop with the mouth, already. You got my attention. You don’t need to curse, lady.” He pointed with his index finger and touched her lip, tapping it. “You talk nice, else I’m gonna hafta kill ya.”

  * * *

  DIXIE PUFFED out a breath, a start of a laugh. She cracked a half smile and then realized that Henry was trying to be serious. She nodded. “Listen, Henry, I got something to tell you. What I want to say is that … I … um … I’m sorry that I shook you down the other day for money.”

  “I only have about twenty dollars on me, today.”

  “I’m not asking for money now, Henry. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m just trying to tell you … the guy I owed money to, well; it wasn’t really for a loan like I said. It was sort of a loan.” Dixie stopped. “You know, now you pissed me off … you think I’m trying to hit ya up or something?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not asking for money. I’m just trying to be … truthful right now. I don’t want to tell any more lies. I’m trying to tell you that I owed Jason money for drugs. There. I said it.” Dixie grimaced, expecting something bad to happen.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I’m trying to get my act together and stop with the drugs already. I don’t want to bull … I mean, I don’t want to lie to you. Actually, that’s not true, either. I guess I don’t want you to find out from someone else that I do drugs. That’s it, I guess. I don’t want you to find out from anybody else that I owed money for drugs.”

  “Okay. But I already know you do drugs.”

  “How do … never mind.”

  “It’s in your eyes and the way you twitch. It’s not normal.”

  They sit there for a while not saying anything. Finally, Dixie can’t take the silence. “Don’t you want to say anything to me? Yell at me, or something?”

  Henry shook his head.

  “Well, say something. You gotta say something.”

  “Okay. Don’t do drugs anymore.”

  Dixie rolled her eyes. “Duh...”

  “This drug guy, is he a mean guy?”

  Dixie’s nod was a big one.

  “Would he hurt you?”

  Her silence told more than she was willing to admit. She felt a muscle twitch in her face.

  “Well, drugs can kill you in a lot of ways, I guess,” Henry said.

  “Yeah, well, he was my boyfriend, you see, and he doesn’t exactly want me to quit. He’s a … turd.”

  “Is that good?”

  No. Turd-man is good. He’s just a turd.

  “Um, I don’t know what you mean, then. A turd? I get an image of very dirty person. Is that a turd?”

  “He’s an idiot, okay. What’s with you and bad words, anyway?”

  “It’s not becoming, especially from a woman.”

  “Becoming?” Dixie snickered through her nose. “Yeah. Right? It’s unbecoming.”

  Across the street, Jason Spector, the “turd,” came into view from an alleyway and Dixie spotted him instantly.

  “Oh, hell …” she said, and looked down and away, trying to avoid Jason’s detection. A bolt of adrenalin shot through her like a dagger. She picked her head up and peeked across the road. Henry followed her gaze to Jason, a tallish, imposing man who wore a lot of bling. He swaggered towards the intersection.

  “That’s him?” Henry inquired.

  Dixie’s nod was barely perceivable. “That’s him, the turd. This is his … turf. I should’ve known. It’s his time of day to patrol the area. He looks for targets. The turd.”

  “Okay. Now, I have an image of a turd. A hoodlum. Mean. Nasty. A person you would want to stay away from.”

  Jason spotted Dixie and ventured towards her. Dixie fidgeted with the on-off button of the CD while looking up and down Main Street for an escape route. Running was an option, she thought, but then realized that she was going to be a part in this unpleasant moment, like it or not. She stood up, nevertheless, just in case she needed to make a quick getaway.

  Jason flounced his way over to Dixie and Henry. “Well, well, if it’s not my little girl.” Jason said when he was close enough to speak without yelling.

  “I’m not your little girl, Jason. I’m twenty-eight years old.”

  Jason leaned a little closer to Dixie. “More like thirty something, you mean.”

  “Whatever. Listen, Jason, I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Hey. Can’t a guy say hello?”

  Dixie didn’t respond. She knew all too well that Jason had a hair-trigger temper and she didn’t want to ignite it and put Henry in harm’s way. She didn’t want to put herself in jeopardy either. Not that Jason would hit her in public. Dixie knew he was too smart for that. There was always another place and another time to settle any differences. She didn’t want to create a scene because, eventually, he would find a place alone, away from crowds - that was his gutles
s style.

  “Got something you want,” he said.

  “No, thanks,” Dixie responded.

  “I’ll stake ya. You’ve always been one to pay me back, one way or another,” he cackled, which had the same effect on Dixie as fingernails screeching down a blackboard. A cold, soulless chill sped down her spine.

  Dixie sat back down with Henry, drawing courage from him. “No. I don’t do that anymore.”

  * * *

  JASON LOOKED at Henry, a careful once-over from bottom to top. There was something sobering about Henry’s face, something different about him that Jason couldn’t put his finger on. He had seen Henry around town, but never talked to him and had never been this close to him before.

  Henry looked up and Jason noticed something in his eyes. It spoke volumes to him. He has seen that look before in the face of judges and prosecutors. A condemning look. Still, there was more in Henry’s eyes – a kind of understanding, like he was looking through Jason, not at him, as if Henry could see his soul, almost. Jason faced Dixie. “Whuddya mean you don’t do that anymore?” he asked. “What’s changed since last week?”

  She didn’t respond. Jason looked back at Henry and realized her sudden display of courage was due to him.

  “Hey, I don’t want to intrude on you two,” Jason said to Dixie. “I can get you a good wheelchair if you want to take this old buzzard for a walk.” Jason gave another hearty chuckle, but only a short, abrupt one. His insecure feelings needed to be obscured. He didn’t want to tip his hand and appear weak.

  “She has,” Henry said.

  “She has what?” Jason responded.

  “You asked what changed since last week. SHE has changed.”

  “What are you, a wise guy?” Jason took Henry’s remark as a challenge, a threat to his manhood. He moved forward to make his presence felt, a tactic that had worked well for Jason in the past when he felt a little threatened. He noticed Henry was looking towards the south side of Main Street, not engaging him - a good sign his intimidation was working. “I wouldn’t stick my nose in where it doesn’t belong, old man.”