by Chris Fraser
“Come on, slow poke,” she said, reaching out her hand. I grabbed it eagerly and I felt her electricity surge through me. We made the half-mile walk in no time. The smell grew stronger as we got closer, then I reminded her that she said she didn’t know what the smell was when I asked her before.
“Yeah, I lied. We weren’t so sure about you yet—we were waiting on Papa’s word. But your nosy ass found them all by yourself, aren’t you resourceful?”
The crops looked more impressive coming through the trail—smelled better too. Corynne led me to a small hill that overlooked the fields and we sat down on the soft grass.
She sat Indian-style, facing me, and grabbed my hands. Her sun-soaked legs glowed in the waning afternoon light. God, I wanted to touch her soft warm skin, follow the sunlit line that beckoned the eye to follow up her skirt to the carnal bend where leg meets torso. I wanted to move toward her core, feel the heat emanate from beneath her panties.
“Trent, Trent, you in there, anyone home?” she asked, breaking my daydream.
Then she met my eyes with an unwelcome sadness. “You’re not going to leave here, are you?”
“No immediate plans. Why?”
She let go of my hands and then leaned back on hers, “I don’t know,” she said, searching for an answer. “Things have been better around here ever since you arrived.”
I leaned back on my hands in a copy-cat motion. “That’s nice of you to say.”
“Well, yeah, it’s like you brought this…energy with you.”
“Energy?”
“I don’t know what to call it, youth might be a better word. Whatever it is, it’s what we needed around here. Ever since Papa got sick it’s been a sad place.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes watching the dragonflies swoop through the crops and the Japanese beetles buzzing around the purple and orange buds—they're big enough to frighten, but we knew they were harmless and actually quite beautiful. She smiled and played with the grass, while I took the time to psyche myself up.
“Do it man…do it…you always puss out, and you always regret it. She’s given you more than enough signs. If she’s truly interested, she’s going to think you’re either gay or not into her. You don’t want either. Come on man, do something, say something—she called you out here for a reason.”
Overlooking the precipice of a leap I didn’t want to make, but had to, I closed my eyes, took a few steps back, and ran for the edge.
“Corynne, we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well since I’ve been here, right?
“Right,” she said, leaning forward and grabbing my hands again.
“Wow, this is harder than I thought,” I said aloud, wishing I hadn’t.
“What is it? Talk to me.”
“I’m just gonna lay it on the line. I’ve fallen for you—you’re so easy to be with, so, so beautiful. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable, but it’s gone way past friendship with me.”
Her eyes welled up with tears, I didn’t know if this was going to be good or bad for me, but I went on the defensive just in case. “Look, I know you may not feel the same way about me and that’s cool. We can still be friends, I promise. I just had to tell you what I’ve been feeling. I had to get it off my chest.”
Tears were now rolling down her cheeks as she pulled me closer to her. The kiss was pure passion. When our tongues met, rather than dart about quickly, they stayed together and danced slowly as one, moving rhythmically with our bodies. It was a happiness I had never known. It was exactly what I wanted, and she wanted me too. The world shut off, it was only us, and then…it was gone.
She abruptly pulled away. I watched her as tears of joy became tears of pain. “No, not now, I can’t.” She stood up and moved away from me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked desperately.
“I can’t…I’m damaged goods. I can’t be with anyone. I’m sorry, Trent. I can’t do this. It’s not you. I do care for you, I do, I swear. But I can’t do this right now. Please understand.”
“I don’t understand. Why do you keep calling yourself damaged goods, you’re not, and if you care for me then why—?”
She wasn’t listening, and took off running back down the path. I didn’t bother to follow her. I just laid back into the grass and never wanted to get up.
17
I don’t know how long I laid there, I didn’t care. I was finally roused from my self-pity when I heard the familiar voices of Matador and Jay moving along the path toward the fields. They were jawing back and forth like old friends, laughing and bullshitting away. I didn’t want to explain my presence there so I disappeared into the woods, and once they were lost in the crops, I slipped away down the path back to my guesthouse.
As I walked back, I talked myself into feeling a little better about what happened with Corynne. It wasn’t a flat out rejection. She was interested, hell, she kissed me. And she did claim she cared about me. This could have been worse, I convinced myself. What bothered me more was Corynne’s self-image issues. Why did she think so little of herself? What was with the damaged goods crap? I’d heard her say that twice now. Who’s filling her head with this shit? Didn’t she have a mirror? She had to know the reaction she got from men. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and starting feeling sorry for her.
The banging at my door was incessant. I was half asleep and ignored the banging, but whoever was out there wasn’t going away.
“Open up, T, open up!” Jay was manic when I let him in. “They gave me my own key, said I could stay as long as I want!”
“That’s great, man.” I grabbed my smokes off the nightstand. “So, you gonna do it, you gonna stay?”
“Hell yeah, it’s a pretty sweet deal they’re offering, I just need to run it by Dayla. But I told them about her and they said she could come and stay too. These guys are awesome, T. Thanks for hooking me up.”
“No problem, man. I’m just glad you’re gonna be out here with me, just like it should be.”
“Come on, show me my place.”
“Sure, probably gonna be exactly like mine, let’s go.”
Jay was very pleased with his new home—going through every room taking it all in, even opening drawers and turning the water on and off.
Then it occurred to me. “If you’re moving out here too, what are we gonna do about our place back home?”
“Fuck it, that’s Nate’s problem now. We’ll give him one more month’s rent then he can find two more suckers.”
“What about Wade Boggs? What about all our shit?”
“Look man, I’ve already thought this through. They’re gonna fly me back in a couple days. Hopefully, I can convince Dayla to come back with me. Then I’ll pack up my truck with the essentials: TVs, stereos, CDs, clothes, all the shit we can’t live without, then I’ll grab whatever shit you left behind, and Dayla can drive your truck out here with Wade. Sound good?”
“Actually, it sounds perfect.”
“By the way, that Corynne is smoking; I think she’s got a thing for you, bro. You gotta get moving on that, single mom or not.”
“I wish,” I stammered.
“Oh shit, T, you like her. And let me guess, it’s gonna be classic Trent—you like a girl and then you don’t do shit about it and regret it later. Just like Denise Gessner, just like Stephanie Klamath, just like—“
“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m a loser.”
“No man, just the opposite, chicks dig you, you just got no game. You’re too worried about being rejected—you gotta learn to say ‘fuck you’ to rejection. That way of thinking will only hurt, it will only hold you back from what you want, it never helps.”
This wasn’t what I needed to hear, not after what happened to today. “Thanks, bro,” I said.
“No problem, now get ready, we're going out. Preston and Matador are gonna meet us at the front of the house in about an hour.”
Matador was going to drive us into town. Corynne wouldn’t be coming along.
> “She’s not feeling well.” Preston didn’t bother turning around in his seat. “This one will be a boy’s night out.”
That was fine with me. Our destination was Johnny Rebs—the same bar I walked to when I left the hospital a few days ago. I learned this was Preston and Matador’s local bar. Preston led the way and we all bellied up to the bar. Matador helped Preston get up on his stool. The same bitchy bartender softened up when she saw I was with Preston.
“Welcome back, honey, no blue laws today, order whatever you want. How you doing Preston, Matador?”
Preston gave her a smile. “Hey there, Rhonda, how’s about we start off with four shots of Jack with a scotch rocks back, Blue Label.”
“Sure thing.”
Jay was having a blast, talking up a storm with anyone who would listen. I’m pretty sure he was new to scotch too, but he took right to it, not even a wince. You could tell Preston and Matador liked Jay. He had a way of ingratiating himself with people when he really wanted to—he could be a charming bastard. We all sat at the bar like we’d been working at the same factory together for years and were getting a drink after work. The talk grew louder with each drink. Preston and I talked football; Matador and Jay talked horticulture. Next thing you knew, three hours had passed and we were all three sheets to the wind. Preston brought up that it might be a good time to head out before Matador became too intoxicated to drive, which was funny because he’d been keeping up with us all night.
Before we even got off the stools, Duane walked in with the moron twins.
I was about to say hi when Preston yelled, “Hey, fat boy, get over here!” The sight of a six-foot-four, three-hundred-fifty-pound behemoth shitting his pants because a sickly septuagenarian called him over was comical.
“Yessir.”
“Duane, right?” Preston rolled his empty glass in his fingers with calm menace. Jay watched on with a sinister smile in eager anticipation.
“Yessir.”
“So my granddaughter tells me you’ve been giving her a hard time and now you go hittin’ my boy Trent here.”
Duane started his stuttering explanation, the twins began backing away. I tried to jump in, “It’s cool Preston, he apologized, it’s all good between us.”
Once Jay heard he’d hit me, he was in the mix with Duane, dwarfed but unfazed. “What the fuck, you punched my boy you fat motherfucker!”
Duane was still stammering for answers, looking back to his friends for help. They were gone.
“Easy, Jay, it’s cool, just a misunderstanding.” I stood up and tried to get between them.
“Yeah, we good now,” Duane muttered. “Trent and I talked it out a few days ago.”
“Fuck that man!” Jay said.
Preston managed to get off the bar stool and put his arm in front of Jay. Jay backed down. I had never seen anyone have that kind of influence on Jay before.
“Now explain yourself, boy. First you start talking rumors about me and my family and that piece of shit that left my granddaughter and their baby, and now you’re roughing up my guests?”
Then Duane became emboldened. “Yeah, well what did happen to Trigger? It ain’t like him to leave like that.”
The bottle violently broke over his head, shards of glass spread in all directions, except for one large piece embedded in his forehead. Duane didn’t go down easy. He just stood there dazed and bleeding. The next bottle that Matador bashed against his head dropped him. Once he was down, Matador kicked him hard in the ribs, but it was pointless. Duane was out.
“Jesus Christ, man, that was fucking nuts!” Jay yelled, giddy with admiration.
Preston nodded to Duane’s two buddies and they came over and dragged him outside. Rhonda turned back around and went back to work, pretending it never happened.
Once things calmed down a bit I said, “Preston, that wasn’t necessary.”
Preston sat back down on his bar stool and turned to me. “Trent, you don’t need to be telling me what is and isn’t necessary. When it comes to my family, I’ll decide what’s necessary.”
That shut me up and I sat back on my stool. Jay, practically jumping up and down, was patting Matador on the back. He couldn’t have been more impressed.
“Howsa ‘bout another drink?” Matador said, wiping beer off his face.
I didn’t remember crawling into bed, but that’s where I woke up with my shoes still on. My mind was lost in a smoky haze of boozy violence, partial memories came and went—the sound of bottles breaking was preeminent in my mind. I decided it was too early and I was too hung over to analyze the situation, so I made some coffee—it was 9:30am. I mustered the energy to put some clothes on and head next door to check on Jay.
The note stuck to my shoe as I closed the door behind me. It was on simple college-rule paper and read one word, Sorry, written in typical big and loopy girl-script—all girls wrote the same. I crumpled it up and threw it as far as I could.
I knew Preston wouldn’t be up for anything, and Matador would either be busy in the fields or sleeping it off, so the day was free. I hadn’t been here long, but I was getting a good idea of how things went. Preston called it a southern pace—I took right to it.
Jay and I were both worn out. He wanted to see the town, so we took the convertible in for a greasy breakfast at the Oxford Café then lazily walked the downtown square. Jay wasn’t too interested in a history lesson and I wasn’t in the mood to give him one and by noon, our hangovers were raging, so we decided to slip into a bar for a little relief. The bar was The Oxford Blue. We chose to avoid Johnny Rebs. The couple of beers we had weren’t much help so we headed back to my house and watched Fletch on cable until we both nodded off.
The next day the heat and humidity made for a sticky ride back to the airport. Once we got out onto the highway, Jay laid out his plan. He’d spend a few days back home packing up our stuff and loading everything onto our trucks. He’d then inform Nate that he was on his own and give him next month’s rent in advance to give him a free month to find new roommates. Dayla, always up for an adventure, had agreed to temporarily come out and stay with Jay, but she’d still keep her place in downtown Huntington Beach, just in case. And Jay said he’d swing by Otto’s and pick up the money he was holding for me. That was it, it was that simple. In three days Jay and Dayla would be packed up and headed east. Dayla also agreed to take Wade back with her, so before I dropped him off, I gave Jay $100 to buy the nicest cat carrier he could find.
18
By 3:00 that afternoon I was back in Preston’s office. He wasn’t happy with the progress we’d been making—too much dilly-dallying, he complained. Actually, I was eager to get back to work as well. I wanted to hear the rest of his story regarding the destruction of his family. It had to be juicy if it caused the man to go on a killing spree. He asked me to make us some drinks. I made his stiff and watered-down mine, promising myself I would take it easy this time. I rolled him a joint and we eased back onto the couches, facing each other.
Preston took a slow hit from the joint. “I got to tell you, that Jay character is something else. He may look different, but he is definitely one of us. Just goes to show ya...”
“Goes to show you what?” I asked, trying not to sound defensive.
He looked a little annoyed and quickly answered, “You know, judging a book by its cover and all that.”
“Yeah, he’s real excited about coming out here and getting those crops up and running. He’s already been telling me his plans.”
He placed the joint in the ashtray. “Your boy’s got more tattoos than a Maori tribesman. How come you’re not lit up like that? You got a moral objection to tattoos, or you can’t handle the needle?”
“What about you?” I snapped back. “I thought all you old-timers got a little ink back in the day.”
“Us old-timers, huh?” he lifted up his right shirtsleeve, exposing a faded and greened-out tattoo that I couldn’t make out. I looked closer, it was that same symbol I‘d already grown
tired of looking at that hung over our heads above the fireplace. The circled parting of the Red Sea with the words “Rebellion to Tyrants is Obedience to God” framing the image.
“That same seal is right on the wall behind us. What does it mean?”
“You can call it my motto, how I’ve lived the last fifty years of my life.”
“But what does it mean?”
He looked at his arm then back at me. “My take on it is, if you do what you know is right, but it just happens to be against the law, then the law is irrelevant. I choose to answer to a higher source and He knows and condones what I do.”
“Interesting philosophy,” I said.
“I mean, look who they got on the Supreme Court nowadays. We got a porn-loving nigger and a couple bleeding-heart liberal broads, and one of them is a Jew. I mean, come on.”
In an attempt to not start an argument, I said, “Well, your tattoo’s pretty cool looking.”
“You’re goddamn right it is. So what about you. You got any?”
“I got a couple.”
“Well shit, I showed you mine. Let’s have a look.”
I took my shirt off to show the entire tattoo on my back. I noticed him staring an instant longer than necessary; I stood up and turned around.
“Well goddamn…would you look at that? I’ll tell you what, son, that might be the largest consonant I have ever seen. How long that take?”
“Four, five-hour sessions. It was the filling it in that took so long.”
“What’s that other one on your shoulder? That black hollowed out skull? I noticed Jay had the same one.”
“That’s the Crimson Ghost. It’s the symbol for the punk band The Misfits.”
“So is that what you boys are? A couple of punk rockers? Where’s the mohawk, the green hair, the pins through your face, all that shit?”
“I don’t think we classify ourselves as anything. We’re just fans of the band and like the skull. Nothing more.”
“The Misfits, huh?”