These Men

I remember like it was yesterday. We stepped out the back door of grandma’s shotgun house into a crisp, dark autumn morning. The grass was wet as we trekked to the car dressed head to toe in camouflage. 

I pondered why we had to get up so early and did we really need to go stealth to find a deer?

Dad checked the trunk - guns, bullets, knife, binoculars and bologna sandwiches along with his obligatory case of beer. One piece of equipment that stood out was the orange toboggan and vest. 

Dad explained in a stern voice that we must wear them at all times to minimize the risk of being shot. This snapped me fully awake - get shot!? My eyes were wide as I asked for verification of what was said. I commented that I didn’t realize deer were armed, but dad did not find the comment funny as my brother did. Honestly, I was scared.

“The bright orange is so hunters won’t mistake you for a deer.” He kneeled in front of me and explained as if it made perfect sense.

I looked myself up and down and did the same with my brother - we looked nothing like deer. At least, nothing like the pictures of deer I had seen. Furthermore, we were camouflaged so how would the hunters see us? Then I wondered, a little too loud for dad’s sake, if the deer were camouflaged as well. 

“Why would a deer be camouflaged? What are they hiding from?” Dad asked with hands on his hips. 

“Us?” I stammered.

“You think they know who we are?” 

“They don’t?” I was more confused.

“Of course they don’t, they are stupid animals.” He patted my brother on the back while laughing.

“Then why are we masquerading?” I motioned up and down at my clothes.

“Mascaring what? All those books making you stupid. These clothes allow us to blend in so they don’t get spooked.”

“Okay.” I shrugged.

We were now standing in a field with a few bare trees around us. The green of our costumes looked nothing like the surroundings. It made me think of a puzzle that tells you to find what doesn’t belong - I’d circle the three of us.

“What about our orange hats?” I just could not avoid it.

“What about them?”

“Do deer wear orange?” I almost laughed at how funny it sounded.

“Are you getting smart boy?” 

“No sir.”

“You know damn well they don’t wear orange, it is for protection.”

“But won’t the deer see them and know it is us?” 

At this point, my brother grabbed me and dragged me to our hiding spot. Dad stood mumbling to himself for a few minutes before joining. I kept waiting for a slap that never arrived.

As Dad told the story, we were lucky as it only took a few hours before deer appeared. It felt like an eternity, I made up stories in my head to pass the time - the orange hat made me think of Holden and his red cap.

“Get ready.” He both yelled and whispered while signaling to aim our weapons. He had spent hours, well at least one hour Saturday night, teaching us to shoot. 

My hands shook as I raised the weapon. The deer approached, it seemed like I could reach out and touch it. Mentally, I named it - Wilma.

“Shoot!” He whisper yelled at us.

I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger moments after my brother unloaded. I looked to my right and saw my dad yelling, but I could not hear - the ringing filled my head for another hour.

Within moments we were standing over a dead body. I doubted, rather wished, it was not my fault. I think Dad shot it and gave us credit, my brother agreed. I was just happy the hunt was over as we could now go home. The deer was dead as a doornail as grandma would say. What the heck is a doornail? I made a mental note to look it up.

We helped Dad drag it back to the car and into the trunk. The size of that trunk was amazing - it was an LTD, one of biggest cars I’ve ever seen, we always referred to it as the Tank due to its size and green color.

On the way home, we stopped at a shop that would clean and dress it - I still have no clue why it is called that - and Dad proudly stood over the carcass and looked at us.

“These men are no longer the people you once knew.”

With those words, he motioned towards us and smiled and all the guys patted our heads, laughed and grabbed another beer.

Dear Santa

Dad was suffering his usual Sunday morning migraine following a very late night. 

Christmas was weeks away and I wanted the latest G.I. Joe and some other stuff that dad needed to know. This was important information for talking to Santa as he did every year. 

Dad grabbed some coffee and sat at the kitchen table. I talked while he massaged his temples. I laid it all out - cost, location, and availability.

“For-chrissakes, will you stop,” Dad erupted.

“I just want to make sure you have what is needed. I don't want another last year."

"What, wait, what was wrong with last Christmas?" 

"Well, I get an alarm clock and pair of socks."

"He is doing his best."

"Really?"

“Goddamnit, grow up! Do you really still believe all of this? Give it a rest. Why do you think I work everyday? Do you think money grows on trees? I am Santa, the Easter Bunny, and every damn character that gives you gifts! You’re eight years old, you should know better! You're too old to act like this."

    

My stomach dropped. He touched my shoulder, but could find nothing more to say. I knew he was worried about Mom’s reaction. 

I tried to dismiss everything. Mom had always called him an idiot, but I always ignored it.

I had always wondered how other kids got so much whether it was Easter, tooth fairy, Christmas or whatever. 

I grabbed my coat and ran outside, the door slamming behind me. I wrapped the coat around my body to account for the missing zipper. Dad's duct tape plan was ill-conceived.

I sat on the picnic table watching my breath. Mom would be upset, so I wouldn’t be a tattle-tell when she picked me up. I didn’t want more fighting.

Suddenly I no longer wanted anything. I was a fool. I now knew the real reason others enjoyed more rewards.

I always wondered why other kid’s parents were often working or busy when my family was always home in front of the tv. All that crap about being good because Santa was watching. The only thing Santa was watching right now was the coffee going into his mouth. 

I was overwhelmed with thoughts going one way and then another. I now knew why the freaking tooth fairy was a no-show. Mom always said we moved too much. And all that talk of receiving Easter goodies was nothing; who ever heard of the Easter Bunny running out of treats?

Occasionally, Mom took me to church where I was forced to listen to preachers expound the merits of God and how those that followed would be rewarded, but would they? I looked at mom and grandma, where were the rewards?

Mom never complained, but she had nothing and seemed so unhappy. We lived in a mobile home along with riding the bus while others had actual houses and cars.   

The cold air stung my ears as I leaned back. I made a decision - would no longer wish for things, expect nothing. The future is within my reach and control. I returned inside as Dad was asleep on the couch with a bottle of Tylenol nearby. 

    

I walked into the bedroom where my things lay in the corner. The JC Penney Christmas catalog was opened to the appropriate page and the letter to Santa was neatly composed. I felt like I should cry, but I didn't.

    

I crumpled the letter and pushed the catalog under the bed. The days of circling items and wishing gone. I stared out the window as his snores echoed. I grabbed my math book and decided to tackle schoolwork until Mom arrived. I wanted to call her now but Dad wouldn’t want to walk to the telephone booth and Mom would question leaving early. 

    

My daze was broken by a honking horn. She was in her boyfriend’s Malibu. I collected my things and hurried to the door, waking and telling Dad good-bye in one motion. He watched me leave in a daze.

    

I jumped in the car with the book in my lap.

"So, how was your weekend with Mister Wonderful? What did you guys do? Anything happen?"

"Nah, we watched Clint Eastwood movies, ordered pizza, popped popcorn, cleaned out his shed and went bowling."

"Always bowling and could he learn to cook? Do you know he took our only car to Cincinnati when you were born? I had to get a ride from Joy."

"Yeah, I know, but it was an important tournament in Cincy." I had heard it all before, so I made a joke to end it.

She laughed and looked at my book again, reaching over and patting my head and saying “Santa will be so proud of you!” as we sped away. 

Stop

I could see the blue lights behind me as I sped across the parking lot, I slowed to a stop in a random parking spot.

"You in a hurry?" The cliche cop in mirrored sun glasses asked me as he stood next to the driver window.

"Sorta, I am late for work." I lied, I was actually not working that day, but picking up my check. It seemed like I needed an excuse to drive this fast. 

"Oh yeah, you supposed to be there at 11:00?" He lifted his sunglasses and stared at his Timex watch.

"Yessir." I was taught at a young age to always address a police officer with respect - real or not.

"Looks like you're not going to make it." He turned his watch in my direction while simultaneously tapping the face to show me the digital readout 11:05. He followed it up with a smile.

"Yeah, I don't need another tardy on my schedule." I feigned fear and then worried tardy was only for school and not job-related, should I have said occurrence or late?

"Well, I put your license plate on the list." He tapped a piece of paper in his hand and then I notice the security guard uniform, he worked for the fairgrounds. I wondered if I could tell him to fuck off as he had no gun.

"Thank you, I'm sorry." I kept up the act while thinking what kind of authority this person actually had.

"Good and slow down!" He turned and returned to his security vehicle, is that what it was called? His car? Not-the-police car?

I slowly drove away and parked at the entrance on the side of the stadium. There was nobody here, so I quickly retrieve my check - I knew it was mostly earmarked for bills, but it felt good to have my own money.

I sped away towards the exit, looking everywhere for my security guy but no sight of him. I loved driving the silver camaro - I still could not believe dad allowed me to drive it. I hit the highway and raced towards his house.

He stood in front of the garage as I pulled down the driveway, he did not look happy.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

"I got my check." I held it up as it flapped in the wind.

"I told you that I was putting these seat covers on, I don't have all day to wait for you. Remember, it is not your car."

"Sorry, I forgot." He actually did have all day as it was Saturday and he never went anywhere. I then notice the empty beer cans.

"It's not your car." He repeated himself while stepping in my direction.

"I know."

"Don't get smart boy."

"I am sorry that I forgot." I took a step back and suddenly felt trapped, I did not want to spend another minute with him in this condition.

"Sorry, everybody is always sorry, that doesn't help me, does it?"

"I guess not."

"You need to get that piece of shit out of my garage anyway." He pointed towards the rusted, orange Volkswagen Beetle. I had bought if for $50 with no knowledge of driving a manual transmission. Dad had helped me install a new starter the previous week, so I had it working.

"I know, I told you I will as soon as I get insurance and learn how to drive a stick."

"Learn how to drive? You're twenty-three fucking years old, nobody ever taught me anything, I learned it myself. I remember my 63 Falcon, shifter on the column, I learned myself."

"Yeah, I just need some practice and I will be good to go." The knot returned to my stomach, I hated being around him when he was drinking.

"Practice? You think this is funny?"

"No, just need to learn a stick."

"So many excuses, just like every fucking body, goddamn excuses."

I stood quietly, trying to weave my way through this unprovoked confrontation. I wish I had the backstory on what had put him in this condition.

"You shouldn't be driving that German piece of shit anyway, get an Merican ride - be a man."

"It was cheap, I always liked them."

"You like them? You're just like your fucking mother, don't listen and stupid."

"Leave her out of it, she has nothing to do with this."

"Keep on, that needs to be outta here."

"Fine."

I don't know what came over me, I opened the door and plopped into the front seat with spring jabbing me in the thigh. I fished the key from under the floor mat - pushed it into the ignition. I turned but to my horror there was nothing, I turned it again and then sat staring out the window. I remembered and pushed down the clutch pedal and the engine sputtered to life. 

"What are you doing?" He was apparently shocked.

"You said get it outta here." I desperately wanted him to stop me, reach inside and turn off the ignition, tell me it's okay, or plop down in the passenger seat and explain how to drive this rust bucket.

"Well, go then hotshot." He leaned against the Camaro and opened another beer, sipping and shooting me a grin.

"Fuck you." The car leapt forward as I turned the wheel to the right to keep it on the driveway. I pushed in the pedal again and the car stopped next to the house - I could see my stepmom in the kitchen, she said nothing.

"What did you say to me, you little bastard!" He approached from the rear with anger spewing, it like Michael Myers was after me. 

I removed my foot from the pedal and the tires screeched as it took another leap forward. I quickly turned right again out of the driveway. It was exhilarating, I shot him the finger as I rolled down the street. I saw him standing in the middle of the driveway watching me disappear.

I slammed the brake pedal at the stop sign at the end of his road and the car sputtered and died. I pushed the clutch and lurched forward as I took another right onto the main road of the subdivision. This repeated all the way home, dying at every stop sign and bouncing away as I restarted. I was shaking as I pulled in front of my home.

"What the fuck is that doing here?" My brother Bill shot out of the trailer and surveyed me as I opened the door. 

"He wanted it out of his driveway, so here I am. Not sure what is wrong though, it died everytime I stopped." I could feel my hands shaking and my legs ached.

"Stopped? I thought you wanted me to teach you how to drive it?"

"No time, had to get it here while he freaked out. I hate when he drinks."

"Fuck him, he's just as bad sober, well maybe not as vocal."

"Maybe."

"Stopped? You push down both pedals like I told you?" He leaned against the front fender.

"There is only one brake pedal."

"You have to push the clutch too, disengage it so it can idle when you stop, jesus, you bounce every time you stopped?" He laughed, it always felt like he loved pointing out my mistakes.

"Fuck, I forgot about that, yeah it was a bumpy ride."

Choice

Smoke hung in the air mixing with the loud clink of bottles and celebrations with each strike - just another normal night at a bowling alley. I stood behind lane seventeen watching and waiting as the last game ended. Dad's scoresheet had seven X's with three ending the game. He high-fived the guys before spotting me.

"Nice game." 

"That's how your old man rolls." A man interrupted to hand him the jackpot winnings for the last game - $120 in a jumble of one's, five's and ten's. 

"Yeah." The smile on his face was jarring - bowling and fishing were the only times he seemed to smile.

"What brings you out here? You need something?" The smile melted away as ours eyes met.

"I wanted to talk to you." My stomach was a knot and my mouth was dry. I had played out this moment over and over as I droveI was ready for a confrontation.

"Is that right?" He looked down at the wad of money, counting it twice before placing the bills in his wallet. When I was little I had attached the smell of a dollar bill to him, and it still reminds me of him to this day.

I stood quietly, suddenly frightened - his temper was legendary plus he had been drinking. You did not challenge or provoke when the brown liquid flowed, but I pushed onward into uncharted territory (for me).

"Hey, I'll be back, the first round is on me!" He yelled at his fellow bowlers as they meandered towards to the bar. The red head bartender winked at him, I wondered if they were still hooking up even though he had recently married a much younger woman. He turned and walked away with his well-known gait that I can only explain as very George Jefferson-esque as they were both around the same height.

I followed him out the glass doors to the parking lot. A few cars idled before heading home. We stopped in front of my red VW Beetle - he hated the car.

"You still driving this piece of shit with that lawn mower engine?" He looked with disgust at my ride.

"At least it is easy to work on." I put my foot on the front chrome bumper and pushed the car up and down.

"What did you want to say?"

"I talked to Eddie, you have something to say to me, just say it." I suddenly felt like an adult.

"What do you mean?"

"He told me what you said about Camille."

"Did he?" He cupped his hands while lighting another cigarette. He took a long draw while putting the Salem's and Zippo in his shirt pocket. I noticed it was a soft pack and not the hard pack with flip top like people who smoked Marlboro's - I did not smoke.

"So, you didn't say anything to him?" I had not actually heard anything from Eddie - we never talked, but mom had relayed the information. She loved the drama, and I was positive she agreed with dad. She'd never admit it as she seemed to hate him even after being divorced almost twenty years.

"You need to date your own kind, they okay to fuck, but that's it." It was another long pull on the cigarette before flicking ashes to his right.

"They?"

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"Don't be fucking stupid, I'm trying to help you. You got a little taste of pussy and think you know everything. Let me tell you, it's all the same."

"I know what I want." I suddenly felt like an alien, wondering why I was there arguing with this man that had beat and abandoned most of the family. 

The parking lot was suddenly empty with only a few cars remaining, we were surrounding by the dark silence. Fall was here and I could faintly see my breath while talking, like we were both smoking. It reminded me of the fake bubble gum cigarettes of my youth, they had some sugar powder that had one good puff. Nobody would allow such a product today.

"He agreed, he tell you that? Everybody agrees."

I stared at him knowing he was probably right. Then again, everybody was scared of him.

"Yeah, you forgot to talk about that, you alone on this one - make the right decision." The cigarette dropped to the asphalt before being crushed under his black half boot. He fished another one out of his pocket and lit it. The clink of the lighter echoed.

"What does that mean?"

"It's me or her."

"You won't like the answer."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, you lose this one, as usual."

"You'll realize you are wrong eventually."

"Fuck you."

I could see his right arm move and I only flinched mentally - I was proud of myself. He stood with cigarette dangling on his lip and just stared at me before turning and disappearing in the bowling alley. I exhaled when he was gone, suddenly needing to pee but knowing I could not go in, it'd have to wait. I briefly considered relieving myself in the parking lot next to his car before driving away. It was the last time we talked for six months.

Car Show

"Do we have to go?"

I nod yes as a knot forms in my stomach.

"I tell you what, we go next year, and in the meantime I buy you a few new models and we can hit a couple car lots next week."

I drop my chin to reveal the answer.

He opens the driver side and slowly exits, walking to the front of the car where she waits. His head is dropped as he touches here hand, he points to the car (me) and they both look my way.

I feel embarrassed, ashamed, but it is their fault. He promised to take me to the car show at the fairgrounds for the past three months. It was the one event we did together - we both liked the old cars and I loved hearing him talk about them.

He had enough money to get us in the show, pay for parking and some food - it was going to be a great day. That is, until Linda showed up. It always seemed like a contest between myself and her. I only saw him a couple times a week and she was always around, so why not back off?

You wanna know the truth? I really don't care much for the car show - I mean, the cars are nice but I am too young to drive. I enjoy spending time with dad while he works on his or somebody else's car, but it is nothing I would do alone.

I sit in the passenger side of the car (front seat as it's only him and me). I steal glances at the standing at end of the hood talking - hugging one minute, kissing another and then completely separate. I sit reading my book, waiting. After an hour or so he is back in the car and slams the enormous door of the 1972 Ford LTD. He stared at the steering wheel and slowly turned to me and said "well, you owe me one, let's go to the car show."

I did not feel like I owed him anything. In fact, the familiar nervous feeling had returned (did it ever leave?) He did not want to spend time with me, I was a prison cell for him. I want to tell him to go to whatever he wants (mom says that is what he does anyway), but where would that leave me? I'd be alone. Why couldn't one weekend be relaxing and straightforward and no competitions?  Just once is all I ever asked. Well, at least he sober today - love it when he's clean and we have normal conversations and no worries of how to get home.

Get Up

"Are you okay?" I lean in for a closer look, finally squatting like a baseball catcher.

"Uhm, yeah, just a minute, let me get my bearings straight." He lets out a loud sigh.

"At least you didn't hit your head this time."

"You say so." He slowly sits up while rubbing the thin, gray hair.

"Do you want the wheelchair? You know it's right over there, like I said BEFORE this happened." I point to the other side of the room where the blue vinyl and chrome frame travel option awaits.

"No, just help me get back to the couch." The grumpiness is hard to miss.

I waddle closer and bend down on a knee while placing my hands in his armpits.

"Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Ready? 1 .. 2 ... 3...." I grunt loudly while lifting him as he groans. I lower my body to position my left shoulder under his right.I maintain the grip on this hands and slowly wobble him the 3 feet to the couch. I kick the walker to the side and push the coffee table out with my foot before lowering onto the sofa.

"Ah thank you son." He reaches out and places my hands in his hands while slowly rubbing and patting.

"Anytime old man." I pull my hands away, embarrassed by the incident."

He leans back after grabbing a cigarette and taps the lighter to ignite it. He smiles after a long inhale.

"I never thought 79 would be such a rough year."