by TM Frazier
“So they lost their house?” I asked. Even though I didn’t know Josh’s family I felt bad for them nonetheless.
“They were about to until another investor bought their note from the bank and offered to rent the house back to them at a ridiculously cheap price. I don’t exactly know how or why they can afford to do it and still make money, but I guess it works for them and I’m not one to question something that doesn’t need questioning. I’m just grateful because my parents, and a whole lot of other people in this town in the same position, would’ve had to move on to greener pastures.” Josh turned the wheel. “This is Main Street.”
Main Street was a wide road with small flat buildings on both sides without a traffic light to be seen. The street itself looked as if it had been paved at one time, but was now littered with crumbling pot holes and a thick layer of dirt and mud. The yellow line striping was barely visible underneath.
“Wow,” I said, taking it all in. Suddenly I felt deflated. “Do you think anyone’s even hiring?” I pointed to a gas station where the pumps had been removed and the windows painted over in thick black brush strokes.
Josh shrugged. “Not sure, but if anyone’s looking for help it would be Critter’s. It’s the bar in town. Only restaurant too. It’s next to the coin laundry. You’ll like Critter. Everyone does. He’s been here his whole life. Shit, he practically IS Outskirts. I can guarantee you that some of the grease in those fryers is older than I am.”
She looked over to me. “How old are you anyway?” she asked.
“As of a few days ago, I’m twenty-one,” I said.
“Well, you look younger than that. It must be the no makeup thing,” Josh said.
I placed my hand on my cheek.
“Not in a bad way,” Josh clarified. “You don’t need anything covering that face. It’s just that most girls our age, I’m twenty-five, by the way, cake that shit on these days like they can’t let people see what they really look like or they’ll melt.”
A dented sign on the road displayed an arrow pointing us in the direction of the Outskirts Sun-N-Fun water park. Someone had spray painted a circle with a line through it.
“Listen, about Finn,” Josh said, changing the subject. “I apologize about him leaving you the way he did. He wasn’t always like that.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I said. Finn may have been right across the way but I’d decided he was a non-issue. I was going to pretend he wasn’t there and hopefully he’d do the same when it came to me.
“I know, but I just wanted to let you know that he used to be… he used to be something else.” Josh looked out the window as if she was watching a memory replaying in her mind. Her tone softened. “Someone else.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I shook my head. “I’ll be staying far, far away from his kind of something else. Well,” I amended, “about as far away as fifty feet or so can get me, anyway.”
“Just know that it’s complicated. He’s complicated. AND he’s super private which doesn’t help any.” She flashed me a small smile. “I was in the eighth grade when my family moved here. My dad got a job as a construction supervisor at one of the subdivisions they were building. I was the only black kid in the entire school. Apparently, some people didn’t realize it was 2005 and still had a problem with a black girl attending school with white kids. Some big redneck bully wrote something nasty on my locker the first day. Some shit about telling me to go home to Africa. Poetic, right?”
She lifted her fingers off the wheel and inspected her nails before continuing, “Anyway, back then, when we were kids, Finn was the biggest. Both in personality and size. He played baseball. Pitcher actually. He was the most popular. He could get any girl he wanted, and trust me, they all threw their bony asses at him constantly. But on the day we met, not only did he talk to me, but he grabbed me by the hand and walked me to class. And then when the bell rang, he grabbed my hand again and walked me to the next one, and then the next one after that. When that same bully shouted something nasty at Finn for holding my hand, Finn pulled me to the front of the school where everyone was waiting for their buses,” she looked over to me, “and you know what he did?”
“Threw you in front of traffic?” I asked, raising my shoulders.
“He kissed me. Full on the lips. Right there in front of everyone. Teachers, students, the bully, his friends, everyone.” There was no mistaking the pride in her voice.
“Wow,” I said. And I meant it. Not because of the kindness of the act, but because I couldn’t imagine the Finn I’d met doing any of those things.
Josh was right, he really was a different person now.
“Kids could be cruel,” she said. “But I learned that day that they could also be brave. Because Finn? He was the bravest of them all.”
“So, you guys were an item then?” I asked, immediately regretting the personal nature of the question. “Sorry, that’s none of my…”
Josh rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Oh HELL no. We didn’t feel that way about each other, never have. But from that moment, we were inseparable. He dragged me along with him everywhere he went and even introduced me into his little group of juvenile delinquent friends, Miller and Jackie. The four of us? We raised some hell back in the day.”
“COPPER COPPER ONE NINER COME IN,” Josh’s radio squeaked as a man’s voice came through the static.
Josh pursed her lips. “Speaking of Miller,” she muttered, pressing a button on her shoulder. “Miller, I will call you back.” She was about to put both hands back on the wheel when she appeared to change her mind, pressing the button again and holding it. “And stop playing with the damned radio!”
“TEN FOUR. SEX MACHINE OUT.”
“That stupid shit,” Josh said, but when she turned toward her window I could see in the reflection that she was trying not to laugh.
“What you said about Finn sounds great,” I started. “But there is no way that the guy you talk about is the same guy who barged into my camper and threatened me in the middle of the night.”
“He did what?” Josh asked through her teeth. Her nostrils flared and her knuckles paled as her grip on the steering wheel tightened. She took a deep breath and flashed me a tight forced smile. “You don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of Finn Hollis. You’re not going anywhere.” She winked.
We pulled into a small gravel parking lot. “That’s exactly what I told him.”
CRITTER’S LOUNGE announced the name of the bar on a hand painted sign, complete with drip marks on every other letter. The building itself was a small rectangle with low ceilings. It was so close to the road that a regular compact car would barely be able to park in front of it. Josh’s truck stuck out several feet into the street which didn’t seem to matter since I hadn’t seen another car on the road the entire way there.
Next to the bar was the COIN LAUNDRY and next to that was a book store although I didn’t have a chance to check to see if it was open because Josh was already out of the truck and waving me inside.
“Come on, I’ll walk you in and introduce you,” Josh said. And although the sign on the door was turned to CLOSED Josh pushed it open, then walked right in. I followed.
Once my eyes adjusted to the dark space I took in my surroundings. The bar was much bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. Plastic flags advertising different brands of beer hung below the wooden bar. Hundreds of photos - some in color, some in black and white - hung in frames covering most of the available wall space above worn booths with mismatched tables between them. Some were dark and metal, some maroon with a light wood trim, and some black and white checkered like you’d see in a diner. The bar in the middle was large and U-shaped, taking up most of the space from the right wall well into the center of the room. The stools pushed in underneath it were all mismatched as well. Some had backs and some were just simple black rounded cushions with patches so thin you could still make out the tears underneath.
It smelle
d like stale cigarettes and fried fish; although it sounds like a horrible combination I didn’t mind it much. There was something comforting about the place. Inviting. Warm even.
Maybe it was the wood paneling on the walls or the chalk sidewalk sign leaning up against the bar that read:
“Specials: We ain’t got none. ONLY BAR IN TOWN.”
The ceilings were low, made even lower by the thousands of strands of string hanging from between the ceiling tiles. At the end of each string was a paperclip or a safety pin holding a torn napkin or post it note. “What are those?” I asked, pointing to the ceiling.
Josh looked up. “It’s a tradition. Been doing it since before you or I was born. People write down a memory of their time here and the date. Some are engagements. Weddings. First dates. Highest poker score.” She pointed to the corner where a small table was set up with two fast food dinner baskets. One held torn papers and the other held string. An industrial looking stapler sat between them.
“All good memories?” I asked, spinning around to take in the thousands and thousands of notes above my head.
Josh shook her head. “No. Doesn’t have to be good. Just significant,” she said, pointing to one closer to the end of the wall that read:
CAUGHT HIM WITH HIS TONGUE DOWN MY SISTER’S THROAT…AGAIN.
-Bessy, June 1976
“Have you ever made one?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes to read more of the fascinating notes. Some of them were downright funny.
SHE ACCIDENTALLY BRUSHED IT UNDER THE TABLE WITH HER FOOT.
-Justin, Age 15, August 1984.
Underneath was a note added in someone else’s handwriting:
KICKED JUSTIN’S ASS FOR TRYING TO GET MY DAUGHTER TO TOUCH HIS TINY TWIG DICK.
–HER DAD, August, 1984.
“I’ve written my fair share,” Josh said. “Locals usually keep ours in the same place. Mine are mostly over there in the corner,” she said, pointing to the far wall. “I think my last one was something like TAKING ANOTHER DRUNK TO SLEEP IT OFF IN THE TANK TONIGHT. Actually, I think MOST of mine say that, just with different dates. Well, all of them except my first one,” she reached up and turned one over.
MADE FRIENDS WITH A CRAZY WHITE BOY. -Brittany, AKA Josh, 2006.
“Is there a name for them?” I asked, standing on my tiptoes to read them.
“We call them tings.”
“Tings?”
“Yeah, I’m not exactly sure where they got the name from but whoever started calling them that, it stuck.” Josh’s radio beeped and she held it up to her ear while the dispatcher on the other end talked in codes and numbers. “What do I look like, a fucking taxi service?” she barked into the radio.
“No, you look more like a double D to me,” came a man’s voice on the other end followed by a blast of static. “Come on Josh, just come get me,” he whined.
“Oh hell, no! You did not just say that, Miller,” Josh said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You gonna be okay?” she asked me. “I gotta run this…call.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Thanks for the lift.”
Josh left just as the kitchen doors swung open and out stepped an older man who I assumed must be Critter. He was tall, just under six feet with a larger than average build. His hair was stark white, parted just off the center, long enough to brush the top of his ears. His traditional mustache matched the color of his hair. It was well groomed and thick, slightly longer on the sides stopping a little past his bottom lip. His face was tanned and heavily lined with age, although not so much to hide that he was still a handsome man and must have been quite a head-turner when he was a younger man. His deep amber eyes were hooded by dark, almost black, eyebrows which were just as bushy as his mustache.
He looked up and dropped the glass in his hand. It fell to the floor but didn’t break, rolling to a stop against the leg of a nearby chair.
“It’s you.”
Chapter Ten
Sawyer
Critter spoke with the lowest voice I’d ever heard. It was smooth too, like the lowest note on an upright bass. I didn’t just hear his words. I felt them.
I looked around to see who he might’ve been talking to, but there was no one behind me. “Me?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He just stared at me silently for a few seconds, squinting like the sun was in his eyes even though the light in the room was dim at best. He took long slow strides toward me until the only thing separating us was the bar itself.
“Sorry,” he said, blinking rapidly. He went back and picked up his broom, setting it against the counter. He grabbed a rag and began drying glasses. “I thought you were someone else.” He flipped his rag onto his shoulder and pushed up the rolled sleeves of his blue button-down, leaning forward with his palms flat on the bar.
Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe this man knew my mom. Josh had said he’d been in Outskirts his entire life. “Maybe you knew my mother.”
“Her name wasn’t Geraldine O’Conner by chance?” Critter asked, busying himself behind the bar. “Gerry is what we called her around here.”
“No. My mother’s name was Caroline Dixon,” I said, feeling the excitement of the possibility drain from my system much like the dirty water draining from the sink Critter just pulled the stopper up from.
“Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell,” he replied, wiping the same spot on the bar he’d just wiped a second before.
“I’m feeling all sorts of stupid actually. There was no way you could have known her.” My mother had been raised in the church and never left unsupervised. There was no way she could have ever been here on her own before.
The truth was that she probably skimmed off the weekly grocery allowance for years and bought the cheapest land she could find using our neighbor’s computer. Mrs. Jacobson wasn’t a member of the church, just a kind middle-aged woman who always looked upon us with our long skirts and makeup-less faces with sorrow in her long fake eyelash framed eyes.
“Now that it’s clear we don’t have the same acquaintance,” Critter smiled. “What can I do for you, Miss…”
“Dixon. Sawyer Dixon,” I extended my hand. “You must be Mr. Critter. Josh told me about you.”
“Just Critter. Mr. Critter was my father,” he corrected, giving my hand a sturdy shake.
“Really?”
“No, not really,” Just Critter teased. He was just as warm and comfortable as his bar.
“I’m looking for a job,” I said hopefully. “I don’t suppose you might be hiring?”
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Anything. I’m a fast learner,” I reassured him.
“Well, what kind of experience you got?” Critter leaned a hip against the bar and started polishing some glasses, hanging them from a sliding rack on the ceiling when he was done with each one.
“Ummmmmm,” I scanned my brain for an answer that wouldn’t have him shooing me back out the door. I didn’t want to lie, but I also really needed the job.
“So…no experience then?” He finished for me, throwing me a knowing look that I couldn’t argue with.
I tried. Even going so far as to open my mouth to lie, but the honest truth pushed the lie to the side and tumbled out instead. “I’ve never had a job before, but I really need one.” My stomach growled as if to punctuate my point. I hadn’t eaten at all yet that day. I’d meant to shove some crackers in my bag but with my new neighbor muddying up my thoughts, I’d forgotten.
“Wait right here,” Critter ordered, heading back into the kitchen. After a few minutes of clinking around, he came back out and set a plate with a sandwich in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, looking from the plate to Critter.
“This is food. It’s for your stomach. It’s growling so loud it’s gonna make the stray cats come ‘round so it’s on the house, you know, for the good of the bar,” he said. “Plus, it’s distracting.”
I was about to push back the plate, but Critte
r narrowed his eyes. “Eat,” he demanded, and my stomach growled again like it was answering for me.
“Thank you.” I sat down on a stool and on instinct, I folded my hands and bowed my head to pray. The second I closed my eyes I realized what I’d done and changed my mind, diving into my sandwich instead.
I didn’t know if I was ever going to pray again, but if and when I did, it was going to be on my terms.
“I may be old, kid, but the only one who thinks I’m going senile round here is Edie,” he hooked his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the kitchen doors which were short and western style. Steam rose over the top along with the sound of pots and pans clattering around in the kitchen. “So give it to me straight. What it is you need exactly and why and I’ll tell you if I think we can help each other out or not.”
I swallowed hard and emptied half the glass of water he’d set in front of me. I took a deep breath. “This is my first time out on my own. I’ve got a place to stay, but I’m short on funds. And you’re right, I’ve got no experience. None. I don’t even have a real high school diploma. I’ve never been in a bar before today. I’ve never had a job either unless you count volunteering at church and even I don’t count that. But I really am a very fast learner, a very hard worker, and my mother used to say that I’m reliable, almost to my own detriment. I’ve been that way for a long time because she said that to me when I was very young and I remember having to look up what ‘detriment’ meant. However, I know that in this case, my reliability will be a really good thing if you give me a chance. You won’t regret it. I swear.”
“You always talk that fast?” Critter asked after a long pause.