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Driving Whiskey

Pearlman pulled a bottle of Jamison’s Irish Whiskey from a brown bag as we bounced in the Jeep. We were headed up the road to La Malaza. Soon we’d pass the scene of the attack that killed Carmella and Rodrigo. I was driving and following his mysterious orders.

“My Daddy’s favorite driving whiskey,” he said as he handed me the bottle. “I killed my dad,” I replied, not taking my eyes off the road as I took a swig. “Busted his fucking skull open with a shovel handle. Then, I set the motherfucker on fire.” I handed the whiskey back. “We never went on long drives. We didn’t share driving whiskey.”

Pearlman took the bottle and poured another long slug down his throat. He looked at me hard and said in his ever-breathless rasp, “I’m impressed. That’s pretty fucked up. We make a good team!”

“I’m from the north like you,” he continued. “Northern Jersey. You know in the fall and winter after all the leaves come off the trees, and you can’t see the wind? Unless it blows really hard, the trees don’t even move, but the wind is there pushing things, moving things around, making it cold. That is me, that’s what I do. I’m the wind through leafless trees. I billow the sails. I’m the invisible, driving force.

October, 1965

It was October ‘65 and it was cold night with no moon. My father had died the previous April and I was still pretty pissed off about that, and all that went along with fathers dying. I didn’t like people feeling sorry for me, and I started to like fighting a lot.

I’d stopped talking to anyone but Kippy, he was twelve and I was eight, and twelve seemed pretty old and worldly. He was bigger than me, by a good foot, and I decided I’d not try to fight him, what with his long arms. Besides his dad had been in the Navy and mine was dead, so that somehow gave him authority.

Then the lights went out. Everything was black, darker than I’d ever seen, before or since. My sister was eighteen and she came home and said the whole town was pitch-black dark. She took me out the front porch and we smoked cigarettes and she told me she was sure it was UFOs. I didn’t say nothin’, just trying to inhale those Camels and not choke.

A fireman came to our house down by the lake and yelled at my sister for giving me the smokes. Then Ma’ came out front with us all and the fireman said the lights was out all the way up into Canada. I didn’t know if I should believe him because them fireman had been coming to our house a lot since my old man died and I wasn’t sure I was ok with it. I wasn’t so sure he was even a real fireman, either, and that it wasn’t just some made up shit. I’d never seen him put out no fire. My money was on he was up to something no good. Besides, how could he know about the lights way the Hell up in Canada.

Kippy and his sister showed up at our back door at the same time and came around front and met all of us: Ma’ the fireman, my sister and me. They said we should go to up to their house. Donna, Kippy’s sister, said it was the Soviet’s and we was all gonna die. Ma’ didn’t want to go but I was really agitated.

That summer past I decided to not speak to no one but Kippy, and seeing how his dad had been in the Navy I figured he’d know what to do when the Soviets attacked.

I was a bit confused and Kippy couldn’t explain, but as the dark night wore on I got more agitated because I’d never done a goddamn thing to no Soviets, and now they were attacking my lake and my dad had just died.

The lights eventually did come back on and there was not a Soviet nor a UFO to be found, but from that day on I decided I’d never trust nobody. Not even Kippy.

That was 1965 to the best of my recollection.

Ricky

There is this kid, Ricky, he works for a client of mine. A constant question asked at this place, “Where is Ricky?”

Ricky does electrical work, he drives the truck, he mounts tires, he manages the parts room, he mows the lawn. He pulls data cable. He builds walls and hangs and tapes sheetrock.

I just need to say, “Ask Ricky to run me some cat5 over there.” I never worry how it’s done. He leaves them marked clearly for me.

He’s done remote computer support for me when I couldn’t get there, “Have Ricky get me on remotely.”

We’ve worked together on the hot-tar roof fixing security cameras, in 90-degree sun, sweating. I’ve never heard Ricky bitch. He laughs at my Spanish and says, “That’s not how you say it, man,” and we both laugh.

Yesterday I saw him standing still, a rarity, In front if a big flat-screen TV. He was watching the president speak of his latest immigration plan.

I’m not 100% sure Ricky is here legally. I never asked. I couldn’t care less.

I walked up to him and asked him if he was ok.

He said, “I’m scared, Bill.”

I put my arm around my friend and said, “I’m scared too, buddy.”

The Wisdom of Reverend Jimmy B. Tester

On prayin’ I’ll tell you this: As a boy, I lived in fear God would rat me out. I never saw no reason to be bowing my head and confessing anything. I wasn’t much on trusting anybody. Why should this God fella be any different?

The day this God and that old woman started talkin’ about me I figured my ass was done. If he ratted me out to her I knowed I was in for a beatin’.

Beatings come easy enough fer me. Confessin’ made not one good goddamn bit of sense to my mind.

Truth be told, the beatin’ wasn’t so bad. It only grew me some thick skin, I suppose. I still wasn’t buyin’ what they was sellin’

I reckon that’s the only thing learned in church—don’t trust ‘em. It’s a trap.

Pieces of Richie O’Malley

“I had a dream last night, Blondie, sleeping in the booth at the VFW. I dreamt I was walking in a scorched field. The morning after an inferno. The ground was still hot and smoldering. Everything was dead. The grasses and the flowers, even the wild growing weeds-the weeds Juan loved so much-were burned and dead. No birds or bugs or rabbits or snakes. Everything was shriveled and blackened and gone.”

“Some sharp sticks, still warm from the fire, rubbed against my bare legs and cut them. The blood flow felt right and good. I dreamed I let it all bleed out.”

“I was frantic, ignoring my blood, searching for my ax, I’d dropped it in the darkness the night before.”

“In the blinding brightness of a high July sun, not a shade tree for miles. I realized I lost my need to find my ax. There was nothing left for me to destroy…”

The Blonde stays on the line, silent…