Sylvia could make out the word Cristal on the label. “Why do you have that?”
“You see this, Dear?” Melissa did her best Vanna White impression with her hands, “This is what they call Methuselah. This is a very expensive champagne. The boys were talking about it all night. Jim, I believe his name was, had come to be in possession of four bottles of the stuff. We drank one last night, but I only got the slightest taste myself. I didn't figure they would miss one bottle, so when everyone was good and blitzed, I shanghaied one. What do you think? Shut up! I know what you think. You hate when I steal, but it doesn't matter if I don't get them as a client again, I want to put this champagne in my mouth.”
Melissa's words came out steady, but Sylvia could tell that great care was being put into their delivery so as not to slur. Melissa handed the bottle to her, and as Sylvia took hold of it, she found that it was ice cold. She then realized that her previous assessment of ten minutes could not have been far off. Melissa had taken the bottle and run.
“You don't think that they might come after you?” Sylvia asked, handing the bottle back.
“Oh no, James couldn't hurt a fly, that one. He is a little teddy bear. Now get us some glasses, my love, tonight we celebrate!”
“It isn't even noon yet, and what exactly are we celebrating?”
“To my health and long life, Dear. I'm going straight. I shall ride the friendly skies, and all the cocks in it, no longer,” Melissa declared as she sat back with a proud, smug look on her face.
Sylvia got up to fetch some champagne flutes from a small bar on the other side of the room. As she bent down to root them out of their hiding place, she heard the loud and familiar sound of a popping cork. She flinched at the sound, and stood just in time to see the white foam bubbles cascade down onto her rug. She grabbed the glasses and a small hand towel and rushed to tend the spill.
“Fuck, Melissa!”
“Oh Dear, I am so clumsy. Forgive me.” Melissa reached down and grabbed a handful of cash, some of which was also wet, and plopped it down in front of Sylvia. “This should cover any damages, as well as any pain and suffering that my ill behavior has caused. Now forget it and come drink this with me.”
Melissa always turned into a rich bitch whenever she had a lot to drink. The combination of the booze and a giant wad of cash gave her a different tone of voice and demeanor than when she was normal, half sober, Melissa. Sylvia had found her quirks intriguing the first few times, but then it changed to annoyance followed by loathing.
“Keep your money you whore. And, what do you mean you're out? I thought you still had a couple of years before you had enough cash stashed away to quit.” Sylvia blotted the carpet a few more times and then sat back down.
“I did darling, I did, but the plot has thickened as it were. I have met a man, and that man has swept me off of my dainty feet with promises of a life filled with luxury and bliss.” Melissa let herself sink deeper into the chair and swung her body to the side so that her legs hung over the armrest. Then she pushed herself upward to allow her shoulders to hang off the other side and her head to slowly dip down toward the floor. Her grin, now upside down, was nearly maniacal.
“I don't understand,” Sylvia said. She had never heard Melissa talk like this. She could chalk it up to the booze, not to mention any other substances that may be traversing her veins, but Sylvia didn't think this was the case. Even with her annoying attitude and hazy demeanor, Melissa seemed serious, and to a finer point, joyous.
“How was your date,” Melissa asked, changing the subject.
“It was fine. No reason for another though.”
“You fucked him.”
This wasn't a question that Melissa asked, just a statement of truth. Sylvia didn't know if she had talked to Bill already, or if she could just tell.
“Shut up,” is all Sylvia could say.
Melissa righted herself in the chair and looked at Sylvia directly, which was another thing that she never did. Melissa was the type that always had her eyes on the world and never the people in it.
“I'm serious, Sugar. I really did meet someone last week. I know that it seems sudden, but this is just something that I can feel is right. Shit, I've never felt anything remotely close to this before, have I? I have to act on it! His name is Carlos. I met him in Panama after a job. I stuck around for an afternoon to see the sights and met him in a coffee joint. The whole experience was so surreal. It was like I was standing on the outside of myself watching the entire scene, and it was the most romantic display I had ever witnessed. So, I'm going away with him. In just a few days, in fact. Last night's job was already on the books, so I had to work it, but that was the last one.”
Melissa's eyes diverted again, almost rolling into her head, as if the declaration used up the last of her energy. The consequences of last night had finally caught up with her, and she sunk so deep into the chair this time that she practically disappeared. She wouldn't be moving again anytime soon.
Sylvia didn't quite know how to react to the news. She never expected anything like this from Melissa, and it caught her off guard. She wanted to be happy for her friend. She wanted to congratulate her, but instead, she felt the hurricane in her gut begin to blow again. All at once, she realized that Melissa was the only friend that she had. Of course she knew this beforehand, but it was something she had never truly comprehended.
Melissa had always tried her nerves, even angering her on occasion, but she was Sylvia's only true source of companionship. All of her dates, blind as they were, came from Melissa. Every time Sylvia actually got out of her apartment and socialized with other living beings, it was always at Melissa's behest. Her entire reality, from work to play, was created and maintained by her friend. When Melissa left in a few days, Sylvia wasn't sure that her own identity wouldn't run away with Carlos from Panama too.
The champagne flutes were sitting full on the small table, bubbles occasionally rising to the top and settling in with the others in a thin layer of white. Neither she nor Melissa had touched them. She watched the condensation build on the outside of the glass until a drop rolled down, creating a crystal clear line that revealed the crisp yellow hue inside. Melissa's eyes were closed, but she was still breathing as a woman awake. Even so, Sylvia didn't think that her friend would be drinking anything more.
Sylvia sat up and grabbed the first glass, looked at it for a moment and then swallowed the cold liquid in a single swallow. If this wasn't a good time to drink, there never was. She picked up Melissa's glass and swallowed it in the same manner as the first. The sparkling wine fizzed in her throat and then her stomach and she forgot about the storm brewing there. She sank into her own chair, letting her eyes close, but just as her heavy lids were almost shut, she caught a glimpse of Melissa who had sat up just enough to look at her.
“You just drank twelve-thousand-dollar champagne and didn't even stop to find out what it tasted like.”
TWELVE
Empty potato chip bags and Pepsi cans crackled beneath Larry's feet as STYX's Renegade blasted through the speakers. It would be his shift soon, but he wasn't able to get much sleep. After struggling to keep his eyes shut in the bunk, he had given up and joined his brother. His mind just would not turn off.
“I'm just saying that there is no way that the General Lee beats the Bandit's Trans Am on the open road,” Simon said, attempting to put a period on the conversation the two had been having for the last half hour.
“Yes, but the General Lee wins in a dirt race every time,” retorted Larry, “So there is no clear winner between the two. Let us just leave it at that and find a place to stop. I need to use the facilities and get something to help me focus later on.”
Larry knew that Simon figured he was talking about coffee or energy drinks, but he was actually hoping for something a little more narcotic.
From the speakers: “Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long.”
Simon nodded his head in agreement, an
d Larry leaned back and closed his eyes for as long as they would cooperate. He could feel his eyelids flutter and dance across his field of vision, and squinted to try and stop them. It didn't work. They had been on the road for nearly two days, and Larry would normally have settled into the routine by now, yet he was still having trouble with his nerves.
“I think that I see a place up ahead, Lar. Does that look good to you?”
Larry looked out on the stretch of road before them. There was a wide expanse of land with almost nothing in it. It boggled Larry's mind that there were so many people in this country, and yet there were still places that were empty as a gambler's pockets.
“The jig is up, they finally found me.”
He saw what his brother was referring to as a speck in the distance. He couldn't tell just how far away it was because the abyss played tricks on his perception, but it was most likely a refueling station, if not a full on truck stop. Since it was the only place they had seen for miles, he agreed to the stop.
“The judge will have revenge today on the wanted man.”
Larry went to the back to check provisions, and like usual, they were out of just about everything. Simon went through their stores faster than a cheetah on methamphetamines, but he was blessed with a high metabolism that kept him in perfect shape. If Larry even caught a whiff of a Little Debbie or a cherry Pop Tart, his gut would grow two sizes that day.
After parking the truck, the brothers made their way to what was called the Last Stop Truck Stop.
Shitty, stop. Name, stop.
Inside, they found plenty of provisions, and a small cafe. Larry hoped to avoid staying longer than they absolutely had to, but Simon persisted, and Larry did like the idea of a nice warm meal.
A waitress that must have been at least eighty seated them at a green leather booth. The table in the center wobbled with each small touch or movement, despite an attempt to level it with old paper coasters.
“Larry, I've been thinking,” Simon said, browsing the menu, “What did that big pig mean when he said they didn't have any other reason for being there but food?”
Larry had settled on a ham and cheese omelet with pancakes and a chocolate milk. He already knew that his brother would have French toast and an orange juice, no matter how long he took to look at the menu.
“Simon, that was a couple of days ago, have you been thinking on that this entire time?”
“Well, off and on I suppose. I mean I wouldn't say that I haven't thought of anything else. I'm just curious I guess. Pigs do all sorts of things. There are show pigs for one. Then I've heard of people keeping small baby pigs as pets.” Simon handed his menu to the waitress who had been patiently waiting and ordered French toast and an orange juice.
“It's true that pigs do plenty, but most of them end up as food,” said Larry. “It's their purpose in life. Thousands of years ago, people took wild pigs and they learned how to slaughter and eat them. We even learned how to breed them into bigger pigs so that we could have more of them to eat.”
Simon had a nickel and was flicking it with his finger so that it would spin around the table like a top. The table leaned so much that he had to keep catching the coin before it fell to the floor. Outside the window, the low growling of a thunderstorm on the horizon grabbed Simon's attention away from the spinning coin and it clanged down to the floor and began rolling.
Larry watched it roll, but made no move to retrieve it.
“So I guess cows and chickens are just the same as pigs then,” Simon said as his coin collapsed at the leg of a table where a fellow trucker was eating his breakfast. The man bent down and grabbed the nickel, looked up at Simon, and then pocketed it.
“I suppose so. We raise them for food same as we grow crops. I doubt those animals would even exist anymore if people didn't need them.”
“So is every animal's purpose in the whole world to be food?”
Larry was absent-mindedly looking out the window now. Other than the Last Stop Truck Stop, there really was nothing out there save the storm. He couldn't see more than two trees in the vast expanse of nothing. He saw the tiniest flash of lightning in the far off gloom. He couldn't tell for sure, but it looked dark enough that the storm may be a big one. “Most of them, yes, I guess they are just for food. Insects feed birds. Big animals eat the smaller ones. And then there is us, humans, we can eat, or even just kill, any of them that we want.”
The waitress brought out their food so soon, it led Larry to believe that much of it was sitting under heat lamps in the back. His omelet looked like rubber, but he listened to his stomach to spite his tongue.
“It makes me sad that animals only have one reason to be alive,” Simon said, with a look of defeat on his face. He was looking at Larry's plate, at the animals killed to feed his brother, and almost started crying.
“You shouldn't be sad about something like that little brother.”
“Why not?”
“Because it's just silly. If we didn't eat the other living things on the planet, then we would die instead of them.”
“Why are we more important than the baby pigs and such?”
“We just are. We're the smartest. We evolved past everything else.”
Until now, Simon hadn't touched his French toast, but he now remembered that it was there and started downing the little powdered triangles in single bites. Syrup dripped down his chin and onto his shirt.
Larry handed him a napkin.
Oblivious to what the napkin was for, Simon simply thanked his brother and set it aside unused. “What about people?” Simon asked, mouth full.
“What about them?”
“What are people's purpose? We aren't food for anything else are we?”
“Well people have all sorts of purposes. Everything we do affects the world.”
“How do you know that though?”
“Know what?”
“That everything we do affects the world.”
“Well, of course it does.”
Simon sipped the last of his juice. Larry still had most of his chocolate milk left, along with half an omelet.
“For instance,” Larry continued, “The waitress brought us food, so we get to eat. In return, we pay the diner and she gets a paycheck.”
“But that isn't why we're alive right? If we hadn't stopped here, if we were to have just kept on driving past, wouldn't the nice old waitress get paid anyway?”
Larry was beginning to get legitimately astonished by how well his brother's mind was operating. He had never had a conversation like this with Simon.
Larry put some cash down on the table for the meal. The waitress didn't seem like she was going to bring the check any time soon, and he wanted to get on the road and beat the coming storm. “You're right, this probably isn't our purpose for living, but I know we have one. I know that you hate God talk, but I have faith that he has given us all a purpose to fulfill. But, even taking him out of the equation, there just has to be a reason that we're all here.”
“But everyone's purpose is different from everyone else's.”
“Sure.”
“And everyone has just one?”
Larry downed the rest of his milk, and decided to pass on the rest of the rubber omelet. He stood up and motioned for his brother to do the same.
“What do you mean?” Larry asked.
“I mean, do all of us just get one purpose each?”
THIRTEEN
Harry's eyes opened with the knock at the door, but his body wouldn't move. He willed his arms to lift his body from the mattress, yet they refused to obey. Another knock and his limbs finally came to life. He put on the white robe that he had hastily shed the night before, but it had no tie, so Harry had to hold it shut as he answered the door.
“Ah Harry, good to see you're still alive and kicking, and may I say that is a chic robe you're wearing,” Nicky said as he held out a large file to Harry. It was one of those accordion style folders, packed tight and held with a rubber band.
Nicky was alone, and Harry thanked the universe for that. He would not have wanted Love to see him in his current state. The man had on his plastic pants, but only a black t-shirt. Harry thought that this must be his casual look. Pinned to Nicky's shirt was a white button with a drawing of a strawberry.
“Oh, not you too,” Harry said and nodded toward the button. He took the file, which was heavier than it appeared.
“Yeah,” Nicky said, smiling, “They were selling them for a buck where we got coffee this morning. Everyone was buying them, and we figured, why not? There is a bit of irony to it.”
“You don't think that it's in poor taste?”
“I'm not the kind of guy who worries about taste, Harry. The button made me smile, so I put it on. Simple as that. I don't question why it made me smile, or wonder what the implications might be. It's all the little things added up together that make happiness, Harry. People spend too much time second guessing.”
“I suppose there is a lesson in that. I certainly over think sometimes.”
“Every time we ask ourselves why, part of the magic in our life dies. You can quote me on that, Harry, but if you do, spice it up a little. It sounded a bit contrived.”
“I'll do my best. Say hello to Slick for me. And Love.”
“Will do Harry. And watch yourself, you'll catch a cold like that.” Nicky pointed at Harry's mid-section, miming a pistol shot, and then walked away. When Harry looked down, he realized that he had let the robe loose when he grabbed the file, and his boxer shorts were not providing much shelter.
Oh, Harry, you just showed a coworker your dick. You should be so proud.
Door shut, Harry looked down at the file in his hands and walked over to his chair. Half way there, he kicked over one of the piles of photos that he had stacked on the floor before going to bed. The stack slid across the carpet, leaving a line of grotesque images all the way to the wall. He thought about picking the pictures up, but decided against it, “Fuck it.”
[2016] Strawberries Page 7