The Outskirts

by T. M. Frazier

  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 smelled 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 en
tire 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 Critter 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.

  “Not always,” I said with a mouthful of food.

  “Good,” Critter nodded sharply. “’Cause the folks ‘round here aren’t slow of mind, but they are slow in talk so you might have to dial down the rapid-fire when you take their orders.”

  “Of course, I’ll…” I hadn’t realized I was looking down at my hands until Critter’s words caused me to look up into his big smile. “Wait, what?”

  “Sloooowww with the orders,” he said, stretching out his words in slow motion.

  “Really?” I asked in complete disbelief. “I have a job?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Critter gestured with the glass in his hand to the walls around the bar. “You seem desperate, and if you haven’t already guessed it…desperation is kind of our thing around here.”

  “Thank you.” I felt relief wash over me.

  “You can start tomorrow night. Where ‘bouts are you staying at?”

  And just like that, my mind was brought back to the other problem at hand.

  Finn.

  “Off Orange Grove.”

  “A bit swampy over there,” Critter said, reaching for another glass.

  “A bit. You know where it is?”

  “Is there a run-down cabin out there on the edge of the water right?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m surprised that thing is still standing, but yeah, everyone knows it around these parts. Well, everyone knows everyone. The town ain’t big enough to miss new people coming in or old people going out. Although, we don’t got much by either way these days.”

  I finished the last bite of my sandwich. “Yeah, well, I’m hoping I can make the mud land I inherited a little more stable for my camper.”

  “Inherited?” Critter questioned.

  “From my mother,” I explained.

  A shrill female voice cried out from the kitchen. “Critter, that dang burner is on the fritz again and I need to make the gravy for the tater-tot surprise!”

  Critter backed away from the counter with a quizzical look on his face. “You running from something, Sawyer Dixon?”

  I paused for a moment. “I think of it more like I’m running toward something.”

  “And what exactly would that be?”

  The air conditioner kicked on and the tings above our heads danced in the new breeze courtesy of the vents.

  I glanced up to them then back to Critter.

  “Freedom.”

  Chapter Eleven