Blood, Dreams, and Olive Drab (Pride & Promise)

by Michael Meissner

  An old black man sat on a chair. His body was crinkled over like a piece of aluminum foil. A bar stool sat beside him. A tin ashtray in the shape of the state of Florida was on top of it with a lone cigarette that created a thin stream of smoke that blended into the hazy placid cloud that partially hid the wood beams of the ceiling.

  "Excuse me," Angela said timidly. She clutched her small bag in both her hands, holding it just above her waistline. The old black man tilted back his fedora and glanced up with a wry smile. A tiny bit of tight curly gray hair peaked out from under his hat. His forehead was as smooth as a hardwood floor and just about as shiny.

  "Yes, ma’am?" he answered. His voice was gravelly and harsh. He reached over and picked up the cigarette and took a long drag off the butt. Then carefully he placed it back in the panhandle of the ashtray, delicately flicking off the long ash with the tip of his ring finger.

  "I’m here to apply for the dishwashing position," she inquired. "Who should I see?" The old man was still intimidating with his gruff aloof manner.

  "The manager is in the back. Go through that curtain." He nodded his head with indifference as he began to strum his bony fingers over the cords of a guitar that sat across his knobby knees.

  "Thank you. You stay here, Sarah. I’ll be right back," Angela directed nervously as she hurried through the curtain.

  "Mama, don’t leave me here." Sarah tried to grab her mother’s arm but missed and stood awkwardly in the center of the room. The black man stared at her with his ghostly bloodshot eyes.

  "I won’t bite, child," he said with a low chuckle that didn’t exactly make Sarah feel more comfortable. "My name is Liem-- Liem Cass. What‘s yours?" he asked politely. A kindness suddenly revolved in his deep eyes.

  "I’m Sarah--Sarah O’Grady."

  "Oh," Liem said with a bit of reservation, "your sister’s the one who can’t walk, right?"

  "Yes," Sarah said, feeling foolish. She dropped her head and swallowed hard.

  "Do you like music, child?"

  "Yes."

  "Sit down a spell. I’ll try and play something for you." He intertwined his fingers and cracked his knuckles, which sounded like someone stepping on peanut shells. He started to pluck the cords of his guitar. He closed his eyes as if he could feel the music in his body. He slowly leaned forward and bent backwards, almost falling out of the chair.

  The guitar became part of his arms and his hands were the strings. His lips split open, stretching the skin of his chin as his slightly yellow teeth glowed bright against the sullen darkness of the room. The guitar was coming to life. His face warped with every pluck of the strings till all the smoothness fled from his face and his entire mask was rippled in wrinkles. Each note was rising out of his soul, pushing past his neck and surging from his frail body. He tapped his left foot in rhythm to the beat and the sound chased the shadows out of the rafters.

  "Can you dance, child?" he asked, his voice still low but his face now bright and congenial.

  "I guess," Sarah shrugged.

  "Get up and try. Close your eyes and let your heart feel the rhythm," he suggested. Sarah stood up out of her chair, closing her eyes. She could feel the melody filling her soul. She started to sway back and forth like the switches of a sapling birch. Her hair flowed over her shoulder, fluttering behind her as she started to spin around. A giggle started to spout from her throat—and she was dancing.

  "There you go. There you go!" Liem twittered. He may have been happier than she was.

  "Now, child. Now, child," Liem beckoned. Sarah stopped twirling.

  "Can you sing?" he asked.

  "No, oh, no!" Sarah felt her face getting warmer. "I’ve never tried," she confessed, spinning slightly like an innocent schoolgirl talking to an actual boy.

  "Well, how do you know then?" Liem teased. "Let’s give it a try, okay?"

  "Ah, geesh, I don’t know," Sarah hesitated, but a sheepish grin cracked across her face.

  "Oh, just try. I’ll play something and you sing whatever words come to your mind. Sing from the soul, child. How about it?" Liem nudged.

  "Oh, I’ll try," she charged.

  Liem gently, lovingly stroked the cords and a low calming sound exuded from the guitar. Sarah closed her eyes, feeling the melody caressing her body, wrapping a milky blanket around her. She opened her mouth and a bold sultry voice came powerfully from her modest body. She filled her lungs with the spirit of the sound. Her large full breasts expanded as she belted out the words of her heart. Liem smiled with pride as his fingers danced across the neck of the guitar, picking the notes of his own soul. When he stopped playing, Sarah stopped singing, but the haunting aria of her voice faded into the woodwork like the vague memory of an old lover.

  ".........., child! I do declare you sure have got a set of pipes!" Liem shouted. Sarah smiled crazily, clapping her hands. Off in the cloaked shadows of the still curtains Angela leaned back against the wall. Her eyes were closed and a broad smile broke wildly across her face. A lone tear rolled through her long lashes and down her tired weary face. Finally, a sense of goodness was in her life.

  "Mrs. O’Grady," the manager’s voice shattered the blessed silence, "is everything all right?"

  "Oh. Oh, yes," Angela stammered, wiping the glee from her smirking cheeks. She turned, striding through the crease in the curtain and into the dull light of the smoky room.

  "Mama, Mama!" Sarah gushed. "Did you hear me sing?" She charged towards Angela, grabbing desperately to her arm.

  "No. No, I didn’t," Angela said.

  "I was good, Mama! Real good! Wasn’t I, Liem?" Sarah gabbed. The tone of her voice was high and flighty.

  "Yes. Yes, ma’am. Ma’am, she was," Liem winked. He took another long drag off his cigarette, leaving it to hang precariously from his plump lips.

  "That’s nice, dear. That’s nice," Angela said with reservation. "Let’s not bother the nice man," she lectured graciously.

  "But, Mama," Sarah started.

  "Let’s go, dear," Angela said forcefully. She ushered Sarah towards the door.

  "Bye, Liem," Sarah shouted. The front door cracked open and a stream of light shot into the room.

  "Come back and sing whenever you want, child," Liem hooted. He brushed his fingers over the cords and they echoed his goodbye.

  "We’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. O’Grady," the manager grinned evilly as he stuck his head out from behind the waving curtain. The small features of his face were creepy and disturbing.

  "Mama, I was good!" Sarah beseeched. She struggled to get loose from her mother’s grip as they marched down the street. A whisper floated through the people that they passed on the street.

  "Sure, sure, let’s just go home," Angela uttered.

  Sarah’s heart sank. She wanted badly to escape from this one-road town and see the world. She dreamed of towering buildings and soaring planes, a place where the waiter spoke French, the beaches were covered with white sand, and when men grinned, they made you swoon. She didn’t know why her mother wouldn’t listen. She could sing. She really could. She fell a few steps behind Angela as they started out of town. She kicked a few stones across the dry path and bowed her head.

  Angela could feel the disappointment in Sarah. She was all too familiar with that emotion. Angela had wanted out, too. She dreamed of trips on steamboats, horses prancing through fields, and a life of no regrets, but now, her world felt like all regret. She had heard the beautiful tranquil tones of Sarah’s voice, but she didn’t want her to get her hopes dashed like Angela had before. A mother wants her daughter’s dreams to come true, but she also doesn’t want to see her destroyed by lost dreams. Angela would rather her daughter climb to mediocrity than fall to a life of desperation. Sarah trudged through her bitterness and soon walked beside Angela.

  She broke her stubborn silence by saying, "Did you get the job?"

  "Yes," Angela answered angrily.

  "Then why are you so upset?" Sarah asked.

  "Mr. Davidson, the o
wner, was rather inappropriate to me," Angela said strongly.

  "What do you mean, Mama?" Sarah asked innocently, as her face suddenly turned empathetic.

  "He was just a little forward, that’s all." Angela held her head up high and walked a little quicker.

  "What did he do, Mama? Did he touch you?" Sarah gasped. She stepped up her gait and caught up to her Mama. Angela had a tear in her eye. "Did he?"

  "He tried," Angela said bravely, her lower lip stuck out a little.

  "That little weasel," Sarah snapped. She ground her teeth together. "What did you do?"

  "There was nothing I could do. He told me if I didn’t relax, as he put it, I wouldn’t get the job. I hate him," she raged. She scrunched her eyes together and squeezed out one more tear and then bit her lip in spite.

  "I hate him, too," Sarah railed. She glanced at her mother and wrapped her arms around her in sympathy. Angela tossed Sarah’s arm away in a huff.

  "We need the money, that’s all, or I would have smacked that man into next week. You can bet I would have!" Angela hissed.

  "I know, Mama, I know," Sarah concurred.

  They walked without saying a word for a while. The rooftops of the town faded into the trees and only the blue window of the sky stretched behind them, reaching to the hazy horizon off where the birds were disappearing. Angela took Sarah’s arm and put it around her shoulder, laying her head against Sarah’s as they walked on down the road.

  "Sarah," Angela spoke up.

  "Yes," Sarah said softly, brushing her hand over her mother’s thick, luscious hair. She looked into the great blue beyond as a few white-tailed deer jaunted from the thicket. They stood with their heads perched high, their tails twitching, and then shot back into the forest, barely rustling the leaves of the low hanging branches.

  "I did hear you sing," Angela admitted.

  "You did?" Sarah said with surprise.

  "Yes."

  "Then why did you say you didn’t?"

  "When I was about your age, I wanted the world. I wanted to sail across the ocean. Run through the streets of Europe. Dance in the fountains of a great palace. I wanted to live. Not just live, but truly, adventurously live."

  "What happened?"

  "I met a handsome man who swept me off my feet and I stayed here. I thought in the beginning that he was a gallant young knight who was sent to keep me safe and show me the world. He was courageous, and bold. He had lovely eyes and soft but strong hands. He even had hair at the time," Angela chuckled and sighed. Then her voice trailed off. Her mind was reeling over the past and the strife of the present.

  "What went wrong?"

  "Nothing really went wrong, I guess. We see people for who we want them to be, not what they are. I wanted Paul to be my husband, and that’s what he became, but the person he is now . . . he always was. And the next thing you know . . . ," Angela started to whimper.

  "Don’t, Mama, don’t," Sarah begged.

  "The next thing you know your family is in shambles and you are getting molested for a job you never thought you would have. Baby . . . ," Angela stopped. She lifted up her head and took Sarah’s lovely face in the cradle of her hands. She stared into her daughter’s eyes and saw the quaint, hopeful gaze of her own youth. "I don’t want to see you get hurt, too. You sang more beautifully than anyone I have ever heard. When I walked out of his office, I thought my life couldn’t get any lower, but then I heard an angel’s voice breaking through my tears. I opened the curtain just a tad and saw you singing your heart out. It made me realize that there is still magic in my life. You’re the magic in my life, darling. I never want to see you go down the path I have. Do you understand? Do you?" Angela lamented as she looked deeply into Sarah’s eyes.

  "Yes, Mama," Sarah breathed.

  "I love you, baby--with all that I am. I love you!" Angela proclaimed robustly, pulling Sarah close to her.

  "Let’s get home. It’s going to be dark soon. Your father will worry about us," Angela said. They joined hands, swinging them like children. They walked close to one another down the ruts of the well-traveled lane.

  The humidity in the air had vanished as a misty calm was settling over the low country. Angela and Sarah were actually grinning as the day grew long. The palette of the sky warmed with a gleeful pink hue.

  9

  Bernice lay in bed with the covers rolled up to her chest. Her head rested lazily on the cusp of the flat pillow as she gazed outside at the churning pale darkness. A clumping of clouds cluttered the sky, blocking out the stars and moon. The black of the night was glazed with gray as the moon refused to be totally colorless.

  Most nights she would stare out the window for hours. She slipped in and out of sleep, but she never felt well rested. Life had changed for the little girl, but her body, her spirit, and her energy had not. Yet, she was caged in this body, a burden to the solitude of oneness, trapped in her own childhood. She would bubble over with an anxious energy but would never be able to release her glee. Often she seethed as she watched the world turn effortlessly outside the tiny wooden window that had become her portal to life.

  A light clicked on in the hallway, then a thin white line seeped under the doorframe. Bernice turned her head and could see a meek shadow pacing back and forth in the placid light. It would stop, contemplate, and then start traipsing, again. The doorknob rattled a bit and then was motionless. The shadow darted away for a moment, and then rushed back to the door. When the doorknob quickly cranked open, a timid silhouette filled the doorway and stood sulkily like a scolded child.

  "Bernice," a scratchy voice said quietly.

  "Yeah," she muttered with reproach.

  "It’s your Pa," Paul said. He stepped into the room. The low light broke across his jaw. She could see a painful grimace crack over his face, almost as if he had stepped on something, but it was just his conscience falling apart.

  "I know, Pa," Bernice said. Her tone didn’t ease the tension at all. She rather liked seeing this weak man tremble.

  "Can I sit a spell? I mean, were you sleepin’?" He slinked into the room. His sad body sagged as he pulled a chair across the floor.

  "No. I don’t really sleep anymore. I just lie here and look out the window. It’s all I can do, ya know? Then I just tend to fall asleep. I don’t mean to, nor do I want to, but my eyes just can’t take lookin’ outside anymore, I guess." She turned her head away from Paul and towards the window. She wasn’t even really looking outside but she couldn’t stand to see his face.

  "I . . . I know," he mumbled. He slid the chair next to the bed and sat down. The light that cut sharply into the room had wrapped itself around Paul’s shoulders, casting a sliver of shadow over Bernice’s smooth milky cheeks. He reached to touch her arm, but his hands shuddered. He slipped them back under his legs.

  "I . . . I . . . ,"Paul started.

  "What do you want, Pa?" Bernice broke in bluntly. "You haven’t been in here to see me since that night. I see you walk past the doorway all the time and you run past like a frightened cat. Why?"

  "It’s just . . . just . . . ," Paul stammered. He folded his hands together, grinding his palms.

  "Just what, huh, Pa? What?" Bernice could feel the emotions rising in her chest. "Don’t you love me, Pa?"

  "Oh, baby girl," Paul breathed, "of course, I do." He reached out his hand and tried to touch Bernice’s head, but she pulled away as best she could. He extended his arm and brushed his hand across her forehead. She could feel the clamminess of his sweaty palms against her brow.

  "Pa, I guess I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but if you didn’t mean it, then why didn’t you come see me? I hear you outside all the time. I see you race past the door. I know you’re there. Pa, I’m not going to go away if you just ignore me. I need to know you really do love me. I need to know that, Pa!" she cried out. The room was deathly quiet. "I still love you," she whispered in a shaky voice. Her words were like claws raking down Paul’s chest, twisting into his already wounded heart. He lowered
his head and started to sob. He was never much of a man for showing or speaking about his tender emotions.

  "I do love you. No matter what you do to me, I’ll love you. You’re my daddy," Bernice sighed. A river of emotion was flowing down her cheeks. She turned her face away and mimicked looking out the window, even though the light cast a deeper darkness over the glass.

  Paul rubbed his thumb over Bernice’s forehead, feeling the soft skin of her youth under his feeble touch. He gathered himself and stood up, hunching as he shuffled to the door. He turned his head slightly and let a mild voice eke out.

  "I do love you, little one," Paul assured even though his voice was clogged with sadness. He fumbled with the doorknob, pulling it closed behind him. The brightness of the hallway light was suddenly capped and shadows of the room descended from the corners, permeating the room with darkness.

  Out of the corner of her eye Bernice could see a solemn shadow standing outside the door. She could hear the muffled weeping of her father. The light clicked off and the sound of the crying meandered down the hallway.

  Bernice watched as a streak of lightning shot across the sky, lighting the night with a feverish white bolt. The grayness of the clouds had turned to black. They were piling over one another, climbing and twisting like thorn bushes. Rumbling across the open countryside, another bolt cut a jagged line across the sky as the view of her world grew menacing.

  She watched with utter indifference. She felt nothing inside. The overwhelming loneliness of being a stricken child had sapped her feelings. Slowly, she drifted to a restless sleep.

  10

  Paul lay in bed as restless as a northern clipper. He flopped about, the covers twisting around his body like a cocoon. One moment the sheets were as gritty as sandpaper, the next they were as warm as a hot poker. His mind was heavy. He kicked his feet until they were uncovered. A momentary soothing cool drifted over his toes but it soon disappeared. His back was covered with sweat and was as clammy as a dead fish and then seconds later a chill ran down his legs.