by HJ Bellus
Mom’s still insistent on putting money in my bank account, and I still refuse. The only thing keeping me grounded is Teale. Her father’s warning rolled over in my head while working. Our foundation is shit, and I fear that fact will come back to bite me in the ass. But it’s the one bright spot in my life right now.
14
Hunter
“If you talk bad about country music, it's like saying bad things about my momma. Them's fightin' words.” –Dolly Parton
It’s getting worse. Every time I come to Dave’s, there’s shit strung from one side of the house to the other. He’s not making it to the bathroom and doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. I’ve learned not to gag and just get it cleaned up.
Dave was pissed when I packed him out to the shop, claiming it was too damn windy to be outside. I bit my tongue to not argue with him that we would be inside. I’m adamant that getting him up and out is doing good for his spirits. He’s a different man when in the shop even though he sits and watches me work.
He’s held his words back about bossing me around and double checking my work.
“Here.” I toss a box of junk metal in front of him. “Sort this shit.”
He grumbles and growls shoving the box away. “This isn’t shit. I used to go to every farm auction around.”
“Yeah.” I fire up the welder laying out my work in front of me.
“That’s where I got all those old wagon wheels then one day decided to spray paint them white and weld them together.”
“You know people are paying good money for that shit now and some of the other antiques on your place.”
“Good for them,” he grunts. “They ain’t getting mine.”
I flip down the shield on my welding helmet and turn my back on the old, grumpy bastard and get lost in my work. Dave gave me the go ahead to start restoring an old Allis Chalmer WD45 John Deere model A. Shockingly, it’s not in that rough of shape, but definitely needs some tender loving care. Inside I cringe in disgust, knowing he’s going to insist on painting it green and yellow even though those aren’t the original colors. Doesn’t matter the brand, he paints everything green and yellow.
Dave has a solid theory that anything green or yellow goes for more money. He’s on a mission to ride John Deere’s coattails. The only problem is the gallons and gallons of green and yellow paint are far from John Deere colors. They’re a hideous shade of green and yellow. Shit, he had me spray paint a cattle chute in these colors persistent it would bring more money. The damn thing is so run down it’s only worth the scrap metal left in it.
“Need to take some pain meds.” Dave gets out between coughs.
“Okay, let me pick up real quick.”
Dave’s on hydrocodone constantly to help ease the pain. Since his stay in the nursing home, the pain has been getting worse. He moves slower, if that’s even possible. He groans when I lift him up into my arms. The simple action inflicting so much pain into his arthritic bones.
I’ve learned that when Dave had his stroke seven years ago, it left sixty percent of his lower body paralyzed. It makes everything inside of his house make sense. It’s like walking into a museum of the former Dave from seven years ago. The dust and clutter is evidence of how the stroke paralyzed everything. It halted his life and ever since then he’s just been struggling to live a normal life.
It’s a damn wonder he’s made it this long. He admitted that there had been other college kids who worked for him for short stints. He didn’t trust them, and they were lazy, the list goes on. I’m sure they ran for the damn hills after a few days with Dave.
“Look what I brought you, old man,” I say, setting him down in his recliner.
His eyes light up when I pull the package of black licorice from my back pocket. Dave snatches it before I can hand it to him. He has the package open and chomping on the candy while opening his medicine bottles.
I sweep through the house, emptying the piss bottles then pick up trash. Dave has the candy devoured with black slobber running down his chin, not bothered in the least.
“Need a favor.” He leans forward in his chair.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Can you clip my toenails? Bastards are long.”
I lift my ball cap off my head, running my hands through my hair, trying to figure out how in the hell to get out of this.
“Clippers are in the bathroom.”
Walking slowly, I find them in his medicine cabinet. Nothing like I’ve ever seen before; they resemble a pair of pliers with a sharp ass point. It’s a torture device, and with my luck, I’ll clip off a damn toe and not just the nail.
“You’re going to owe me for this.” I pull up a footstool. “You are really pushing my limits here, Dave.”
He smiles with his couple of black teeth exposed. “Thought cleaning up my shit and seeing me naked would do you in. You’ll be just fine.”
“You are too damn much.”
Pulling off his socks it takes everything inside me not to gag. Even though I’ve helped him in and out of the tub, I’ve never actually paid any attention to his feet. Thick layers of mold are nestled between his toes. The sickest shit I’ve ever seen. I focus on the job at hand, beginning at the pinky toe, trying to avoid looking at the black mold.
The clippers are easier to use than I thought. Thank God they’re viciously sharp to get through his thick, yellow nails. Dave chuckles, watching me wince at the horror his feet are.
My hand squeezes down on the clippers, the toenail flying right into my chest. Each one that strikes my chest chips away at my shield of armor. It all becomes too much. I turn my head and begin gagging and coughing. My stomach cramps and vomit threatens.
“What’s wrong, Hunter?” Dave asks with amusement in his voice.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, trying to steady my breathing and avoid gagging again.
This cannot be healthy in the least. His other foot is just as bad, maybe even a little better. I find a clean pair of black socks and cover his feet up as fast as possible. I don’t have it in my gut to clean his toes.
“Fucking disgusting,” I whisper to myself in the mirror while pouring a whole bottle of rubbing alcohol over my hands.
There’s not enough hot water in the well to wash away the nastiness from my hands, or any amount of counseling to wipe away the memory and sight of what just happened.
“Saw that you have a plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes in the fridge.” I stand in front of Dave. “Want me to warm it up for lunch?”
“Sure.” He tosses a magazine to his table.
Dave continues talking in a louder voice while I’m in the kitchen warming up the food.
“Been thinking. I need a pot with a handle that I can hook on my walker.”
“For what?” I shout back.
“Having a hard time making it to the bathroom. Tired of shitting myself. If I can find a pot that fits on the front of my walker, then I can just shit in it.”
Stunned. Shocked. Speechless. Holding the warm plate in my hand, I realize he’s serious as a damn heart attack. Dave holds up a piece of paper with the exact dimension of this pot. It’s precise with measurements on every angle of the pot.
“Are you serious?” I ask, handing him the plate.
Dave takes it in one hand while giving me the note. “Go to town and find it.”
I stare at him dumbfounded. “Dave, there’s no way in hell I’m going to find this exact pot.”
“Take the tape measure off the table. Make sure you get a cheap one, and it’s the right size.”
“There are other options…”
“Nope.” He cuts me off. “I want the pot.”
Teale: Where are you?
Me: Just hopping out of the shower…be there in fifteen.
Teale: You didn’t need to shower. I love the smell of a hard working man.
Me: Shower was a must. Have a good Dave story for you.
Teale: Are you here yet?
I toss down
my phone, knowing this could go on forever. I throw on a pair of Wranglers, a black Henley, and slap on some cologne. My hands rub the scruff on my face. Always have been a clean shaved man, but I know Teale enjoys my scruff in more than one way.
“Hello?” Her voice flows through my apartment right into the bathroom, striking my heart alive.
In a matter of moments, Teale rounds the corner throwing herself into my chest. She catches me by surprise, but it only takes me a second to brace myself and pull her ass up in my hands. Her legs wrap around my middle, locking her ankles right above my ass.
“What are you doing here?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Got tired of waiting on your ass.”
“Is that so?”
She twirls a piece of hair. “And we are going to be late at this rate. I want the perfect seat and the biggest bucket of popcorn.”
“Right now, you’re giving me another idea.” I push her back into the wall then show her my plans with a thrust of my hips.
“We will be late.”
Her words die in my mouth when our lips meet. Our hands race to rip each other’s clothes off and then we’re a mess in the middle of my bed with not one more protest from Teale about being late. It’s her cries of pleasure that always drive me forward. The way her body moves underneath mine is what keeps me intrigued and awestruck.
“Guess, we are now going to the nine thirty show?” She asks, running the pad of her finger across my lips.
“It’s all your fault.” I capture her finger nibbling on it.
“Mine?”
“Yes, you.”
“How do you figure?” She raises both eyebrows.
“You don’t just simply throw your perfect little body into mine then wrap those sexy legs around my waist without distracting me.”
Teale rolls her eyes amused. “Dress. I want tacos before the movie now.”
I push up off the bed, releasing her finger while licking away my teeth marks before round two happens.
“Before or after we find a shit pot for Dave?”
“What?” She sits up in my bed giving me the perfect view of her naked body.
We dress each other while I explain Dave’s pot plan to her. This has to be more than love. Our connection is so deep that I can tell Teale anything with no fear of judgment. After convincing Teale I would not ride in her car, we hop into my truck. It was also a fight about who was going to drive. Gordon would give me a heart attack driving my baby.
“He does know that there are different styles of commodes that would work, right?” Teale’s hand squeezes my thigh.
“I tried, but you know Dave. When he gets an idea in his head, it’s all over.”
Her head lies on my shoulder with her hair tickling my neck. “You’re a good man, Hunter. A real good one. Never thought your type existed.”
“I’m an exhausted man,” I admit. “Need some rest.”
“You can sleep during the movie.”
I chuckle. “Probably will. Chick flicks have never been my idea of fun.”
We find ourselves at every single store, measuring pots and coming up empty handed.
Teale balances her huge bucket of popcorn and soda in her hands, while passing the two tickets to the worker. I tried to help her with something, but she refused certain I’d eat her popcorn.
We walk down the dark hallway looking for theater nine. I wrap my hands low around her waist pulling her back into me.
“Come home with me next weekend.”
“Uh, no.”
“Yes, I want you to meet my parents and see the ranch where we will live one day.”
Her breathing hitches, but she doesn’t say no, so I take that as a yes. We find our seats and as expected, the movie is predictable and shit. A broken girl finding a new life in a new town, hunky man saves the day; the girl gets scared and runs. I find myself watching the profile of Teale’s face as she’s entranced by the movie.
A lone tear streams down her face. The broken woman from the movie is running from her new love and town. I react before even thinking about it. Reaching over, I wipe away the tear and then kiss where it once lay.
“I’ll never let you run, baby, I’ll always catch you,” I whisper into her ear.
Teale climbs into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck, and sobs. My girl is holding so much pain deep inside her body. Her own secrets eating her alive, and I can do nothing but hold her.
15
Hunter
“Any man can be thrown from an untamed horse, but it takes a real man to get back on and tame it.” –Unknown
“I’m so excited to meet him. It’s like I already know the man.”
I glance over to Teale. “Just warning you that he’s going to make comments about your looks and they’ll for sure be crude ones.”
She shrugs. “I can’t wait.”
Teale’s response to seeing the miles of wagon wheel fence is hilarious. Then she soaks up the rest of the junk, not missing a thing. I point out the old tractor I’m restoring.
“This place,” she whispers.
“Wait until you see the inside. This is nothing.”
“He has so much shit. I can’t believe someone could have this much crap.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me. The first few months working here, I thought the same thing, but now I just know it’s the way of Dave.”
“Could you imagine how big of a boner those men on that picker show would get if they saw this place?”
“Most of it is just junk and scrap metal, but he has hundreds of antiques that people would pay good money for. He told me he used to go to auctions on a daily basis buying shit.” I point to a line of wagon wheels. “Those things are selling for good money, but he’s welded them all together.”
“Would he sell any of it?”
“No.” I shake my head. “You should hear him tell people to get the fuck out when they stop by.”
She turns to me with worry in her eyes. “What if he tells me that?”
“He won’t.” I cup her face. “For some reason, Dave respects me and lets me in his life. He’ll be nice in his own way, even if he’s crude as hell.”
“Let’s rip the Band-Aid off then.”
I reach into the back seat, grabbing the brand new, shiny pot. The other day in my welding class, the professor gave us a free day to spend on any project we wanted. The piece of paper in my back pocket with all the dimensions on it came in handy. I made it from scratch, double and triple checking the measurements. Even shined it up to make it perfect. A lot of pride went into that pot. Ironic, as it’s going to be used to shit in.
Teale’s grip is tight as hell around my hand. The thought of warning her about the stench that fills Dave’s house comes a few seconds too late, as I throw open the door. She masks the horror of smelling it well, only flinching for a beat.
“Dave?” I holler out.
Shit. I didn’t think this through very well. There’s always a surprise when it comes to Dave.
“Babe.” I turn to Teale and whisper. “Why don’t you wait in the truck while I see if everything is in decent shape?”
“I’m in nursing school. I can do this and won’t think any different of the situation.”
We walk further into the house with no sight of Dave. Scenes of the day the paramedics were racing his lifeless body out of the house rush back in.
“Dave,” I shout louder, letting go of Teale’s hand and rushing back to his bedroom. “Jesus.”
Dave rolls his head, staring at me from the bed. He’s covered in his own shit, and he’s pale.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Having a rough day is all.”
On instinct, I go to him, stripping the bed, and lifting him up. My flesh prickles when Dave cries out in pain as I lift him from the bed.
“Need your medicine?”
“Haven’t been able to get up all day and forgot it out by my recliner.”
“You also forget how to use your phone?” I bite
out harshly.
“Knew you had class and a shift at the garage today, didn’t want to burden you.”
“Has never stopped you before. This is bullshit.”
Something inside of me snapped with anger, seeing him in this state.
After getting Dave in the shower, I take his clothes out to the hallway to put in the washer, only to find it already going. Teale runs into me as she walks out of Dave’s room with the bedding carefully wrapped up. I remain frozen watching her toss the soiled material into the top loading machine. She grabs the clothes from me without asking.
Her fingers then dance up my abdomen as she pulls my shirt off. She tosses it in the washer, pours more soap in it, and then snaps the lid closed.
“What?” She asks, shrugging.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“His mattress protector worked well. Going to put that in the next load.” Teale pulls me to her chest, wrapping her arms around me. “You okay?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just so hard to see him like this. It’s always a step forward then two massive leaps back. What would’ve happened if I didn’t come out here tonight? He’d be…”
“No, don’t do that.” She kisses my jawline. “You are here for him. You can’t do anything else and don’t let those nasty thoughts haunt you.”
The water in the bathroom cuts off then I hear stumbling.
“Go.” Teale pushes on my chest.
I grab a clean pair of black sweatpants then rush into the bathroom. Dave’s color is slowly coming back to him. With one simple glance, I can tell the pain meds are beginning to work because he doesn’t howl with pain when I pick him and help him dry off.
“When’s the last time you ate?” I ask, putting on his clothes.