Chapter Six
“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
The Book of Common Prayer
In the fall of 1962, Jack was a seventeen-year old senior. Maggie’s health was rapidly declining, and sadly, Doc Wilson informed Jack and Thomas that there was no cure for her lung cancer. “I am very sorry Thomas, Jack, all I can do is give her morphine to ease her pain. It’s only a matter of time. Sorry. Just make her last days as comfortable as you can for her.”
Thomas also was in extremely poor health; emphysema was getting the best of him. Nevertheless, the stubborn old man would not quit the cigarettes; reluctantly, however, he did quit rolling his cherished Five Brothers tobacco and switched to Lucky Strikes. They were not as harsh, and he had a hard time trying to twist a cigarette with his arthritic hands. He would try to do some farm work; but his lung capacity was half-gone. Thomas had to stop and catch his breath after walking only a hundred steps.
The farm struggled to break even; perhaps it was a blessing when the state paid for the acreage. Leroy the Scarecrow died Christmas Eve of the past year. Doc Wilson said he suffered a heart attack in his sleep, and went peacefully. Dale was not himself without his best friend. Moreover, he physically could not work as he did as a young man. When he was in his prime, he had a reputation for being one kick ass son of a bitch. “He might be short, but you’d be smart not to fuck with him,” Scarecrow would warn the occasional hired hand.
Jack remembered when he was around twelve years old and able to bench press one hundred and fifty pounds, Dale had come into the barn looking for a wrench, he needed to tighten the tractor’s squealing fan belt. “Dale, let me see if you can lift this,” Jack egged him on.
“How much you got there?” The boy suckered in Dale. However, over the years, the older man did encourage the youngster to keep lifting. He’d show Jack his muscle, which was the size of a large softball, and hard as a rock. Jack would squeeze Dale’s bicep, and exclaim, “Wow!”
“Only a hundred and fifty. I can bench that much easy,” Jack said, with pride in his voice.
“Take the bar off the bench and put it on the ground.” Jack did as requested. Dale walked over, bent down, and with one hand, he grabbed the bar. He stood up and jerked the barbell to his shoulder; and told Jack to start counting. The boy counted fifteen repetitions as his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He could not believe what he had just witnessed. Naturally, he had to try that. The disappointed twelve-year old just barely jerked the bar to his shoulder. Then he tried with all his might, but he could not put it up over his head.
“You’re still growing, lad, you keep at it and someday you’ll be stronger than me,” Dale promised. He knew that statement was very well true.
The next day, however, Dale was sorry he did that stunt; and hoped nobody would smell the liniment he applied to his shoulder. The memory of that day in the barn had stuck with Jack all through high school, every time he lifted weights he strived to someday be as strong as Dale. It hurt Jack to see Dale become so weak as he aged.
* * * *
Emily came over now and then to help her sister with the housework. Maggie would exhaust all her energy just washing her petticoat. Emily was still spry and active; she felt so bad for her only sibling. “She suffered too much in her life,” she would tell her husband.
Jack took care of the chickens and occasionally did the laundry and cooked. He also sat with his mother a good bit. Sometimes the two of them and Emily played Gin Rummy. Kernels of corn were their gambling chips. Maggie never caught on that Jack was feeding her the cards she needed to win. He would do anything to see her smile.
Every day after school, Jack raced straight home and ran upstairs to see his mother. The frail and shriveled up little woman was next to being bedridden. She looked many years older than her age of fifty-one. Her eyes would light up, and a weak smile would appear on her wrinkled, gaunt face, every time he entered her room. “Jack! How’s my big strong boy today?” she would ask in a hardly audible whisper.
“I’m doing fine, Momma. Can I get you anything?” Usually, her response was “no,” or “just a drink of water.” Jack would force her to eat. Some days he had to leave her room; he did not want her to see his tears. He knew he was going to miss his Momma; also, he could not stand to see her like this.
As a result of his sad home life, Jack’s grades suffered. He usually made B’s and C’s, now he carried a D average in most of his subjects. English was the only subject he failed; he figured he had enough credits to graduate, though, so he didn’t sweat it, and being a writer was not in his future plans.
However, he loved gym class. Working up a sweat took his mind off his problems and it just plain felt good to him to blow off some steam and let some of the stress he was carrying out, especially when they went outside and played football. Three of the other seniors in his gym class were the school’s star football players. His team hiked the ball to Jack, and he plowed through the defensive line like a raging bull coming out of the shoot, making those lettered varsity boys look like children. In addition, he loved sacking the quarterback; the offensive line could not hold him back. With his bulk and strength, his team always won.
“Come on Trotter, please sign up this year,” Coach Madigan was always begging Jack to play. “I could take Elderton to the state championship if you ran the ball.”
“Sorry, Coach, I don’t have the time for such nonsense,” is all Jack could say.
About the only bright spot in his senior year was watching one of Angela’s slutty, giggling girlfriends swell up. Rumor had it Ed Croyle knocked her up after splitting with Angela. The unmarried and very pregnant Alicia Smithmeyer did not giggle much anymore.
Scarecrow’s proverbial Shit came full circle and smeared her face when Jack’s laughter filled the hallway, one week before Graduation Day.
Most of the graduates knew what their future had in store. Iowa State University accepted Rebecca. Toby signed up at the police academy. Angela's great uncle, Doc Wilson, promised her a receptionist job, and Alicia Smithmeyer was going to raise her fatherless child.
Most of the grads had plans, except for Jack; he hadn’t a clue what in the Hell he was going to do. However, he did know one thing for sure. He was not going to be a corn farmer; and end up broke, crippled and exhausted, like his old man, Scarecrow, and Dale.
Jack rushed home from school as he had been doing lately; his heart leapt into his throat when he saw Doc Wilson’s station wagon parked in front of his house. Fearing the worst, Jack cleared three steps at a time up the stairs to his mother’s room. The doctor and Thomas stood by her bed. Maggie’s eyes were closed; with very shallow breathing, she kept repeating in a whispered voice, “I want to go home…I want to go home…Please…Just let me…go…home.”
Tears filled Jack’s eyes as he knelt beside her. “Momma, you are home.”
A trace of a smile formed on her thin lips. “Jack…My big…strong boy…I want to go home…Let me go…home.”
Tears now streamed down his face. “But Momma, you are home. I’m here now.”
Maggie managed to open her eyes and reach her hand out for Jack. Although she was looking at Jack, her gaze extended far beyond. Then, in the last, weary breath Maggie Trotter would ever take, her eyes fluttered shut while holding her son’s hand. “I love you…Jack.”
He wrapped his massive arms around his mother’s lifeless, tiny body, buried his face in her bosom, and sobbed as if a child. Doc Wilson stepped forward and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. In a comforting tone, he said, “She’s with the Lord now, Jack. Her suffering is over. She’s in a much better place.”
The doctor gave Jack a few affectionate pats on his back, and then turned to Thomas. “My condolences, Thomas. I'll make the arrangements with the coroner. I can see my own way out.”
Thomas nodded okay. “Thanks, Doc.” The good doctor left, and Thomas went to stand by his son. Jack was still clutching his mother. An occasional “Oh, Momma
” filtered through his sobbing.
A few minutes elapsed and Thomas spoke, “It’s alright, Jack. Go ahead and cry, get it all out. We’re both going to miss her.”
Jack’s crying stopped immediately and he stood up. His now six foot, three inch frame towered over his father; he looked down at Thomas with resentment. Hate, rage and anger replaced the sorrow and grief Jack was experiencing up until Thomas spoke. “How in the Hell can you stand there and pretend you ever had any feelings for this woman?” Jack asked through clenched teeth. He felt his hand balling up into a fist. “You were always too God damned busy riding your ass on that stupid tractor to show her any love or affection. You loved your stupid fucking beagle more than her.”
Thomas raised his hands, fearful of his son’s coiled fist about to strike. “Jack, there’s a lot of things you don’t know. So many things you wouldn’t understand. I did love your mother. Very much, at one time.” The old man bent his head down, his hands covered his face, and then he slumped into a chair by Maggie’s bed.
“Son,” he sobbed. “You’ve no idea of the terrible things I’ve done because I loved her so much. I tried so hard to give her everything. She deserved more than I could give her, but things changed. I ruined everything. Every…God damned thing.”
Then he embraced his dead wife. “Maggie. Oh my precious…Maggie. Please, please, forgive me. I am so sorry.” His voice cracked as he began to cry very hard.
Jack wasn’t sure what to make of things at that point; he left the room, and went outside. Sitting on the porch steps, he looked up to the heavens and noticed how the sky seemed so vast, so huge and expansive. On the other hand, was it that he was simply feeling small and powerless for once?
There was an awful lot Jack did not know, and would not understand fully for quite some time. He never knew his father wanted his only son named after him, not some “God damned slant-eyed doctor.” Jack also did not know how many times Thomas wanted his boy to ride with him on the tractor, only to have his wife say, “No, he’ll get hurt. He can help me with the apple butter and the chickens.” Nor had he any idea his parents could not enjoy a healthy and satisfying sexual relationship after his birth. Maggie would experience severe pain when Thomas tried to penetrate her. That was frustrating for both of them, especially Thomas. Jack also had no knowledge about his father’s visits to the cathouse in Breezewood, a small town twenty miles north of Elderton. At least twice a year he would use the pretense that he was going there to, “purchase breeder pigs,” or “the Agway there has seed on sale.”
Rachel’s Tavern in Breezewood had two back rooms, where, for twenty-five dollars, a customer had his choice of the two ladies of the evening employed there. Lovely, slutty Yvonne or sexy, skanky Nicole.
One of the young men working at the grain yard who earnestly believed in the philosophy, “You can buy a quart of milk without buying the whole damn cow,” was a weekly regular at Rachel’s Tavern. Every payday to be precise. Alan Meyers told his boss Mike Miller he saw Thomas Trotter at Rachel’s Tavern one afternoon. Mike relayed that delicious morsel of gossip to his wife Emily, who eventually whispered the news flash into her sister’s ear.
Maggie patiently waited for the next time Thomas had a trumped up bullshit reason to visit Breezewood.
“I hear Martin’s Agway in Breezewood has a new hybrid seed in stock; I’m going to take a run over there and get some this afternoon,” Thomas nonchalantly told Maggie one morning over his toast and eggs. Jack was nine years old then.
“A new kind of seed, huh?” Maggie asked casually. “And you’re going to…get some?” Then her tone changed to hatred. “While you’re there, tell Rachel and her whores I said hello!” Next, her voice lowered, with a threatening quality. “I swear to God, Thomas, if you bring a disease into this house, I…will…castrate you! You filthy…bastard swine! How dare you?”
Thomas choked on his coffee, but calmly responded, “Well, I suppose I could make do with the seed I got.” He never went to Breezewood again.
Maggie felt inferior since she could no longer please her husband. She also understood a man’s physical desires for a woman. Nevertheless, he did make a vow for “better or worse.” She consoled herself, “If I can live without sex, so should he.” To take her mind off his and her sexual frustrations, she wrapped herself up in her chickens and her apple butter, but mostly, she found sanctuary in her son.
* * * *
“From ashes to ashes and dust to dust…” Jack did not hear any more of Reverend White’s sermon after those few opening words at the gravesite. Totally numb; his mind wandered. His mother’s smile, her gentle touch, the way she praised him for knowing his alphabet. Is there a Heaven? Is there a God? Does Hell exist? Is there a life after death? Why did she die before his father did? Why did his father ask for her forgiveness? Why…Why…Why?
Not until he realized somebody was giving him a hug, did Jack regain focus. “I’m awful sorry for your loss, buddy,” Toby consoled his friend.
“Thanks, Toby.” The two friends shook hands, and Toby gave Jack a pat on his back, “Let me know if you need anything.” Jack assured his friend he would indeed do that. Toby left, and Jack’s Aunt Emily and Uncle Mike walked up to him and his father.
Emily, using a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, said, “Jack, Thomas, Let me know…” But she couldn’t finish her sentence; her outburst of tears got in the way. She turned and started to walk away when Jack reached for her arm; she turned, crying and wiping her eyes.
Her nephew gave her a big hug. “I’m going to miss her too, Aunt Emmy.”
Jack had no more tears left to cry. His aunt cried for the both of them, but then she found a bit of composure. “Let me know if you need anything, Jack. Promise?”
“I promise Aunt Emmy.”
His Uncle Mike offered his condolences to the father and son, shook their hands, then they all went to their cars.
Thomas and Jack got in the Mercury; he started the engine. Nice and quiet. Jack and Dale spent last Saturday afternoon swapping out a used manifold Jack bought at the junkyard because he was genuinely concerned about the noise from the cracked exhaust manifold.
He felt as though the very loud racket was disturbing his Momma’s much needed rest.
* * * *
A pan of deep fried chicken awaited on the table by the front door when Jack and his father arrived home. Neither one of them realized how hungry they were until the smell of Toby’s mother’s deep fried chicken filled their nostrils. Father and son sat at the kitchen table getting their fill of the delicious poultry. Jack read the note, “Mr. Trotter, and Jack, our deepest sympathies on your loss. The Lucas Family.”
“That was awful kind of your friend.”
“Yeah, I guess Toby’s a good guy. His whole family is nice. He has an uncle that’s a state trooper. I guess that’s why Toby joined the Academy.”
“Now that you’re done with school, I figure between me, you, and Dale; we can get this farm back on its feet. We didn’t go in the hole last year, but came damn close,” Thomas stated, while wiping his greasy fingers with a napkin. “That was some mighty fine chicken, be sure to thank them.”
“I’ll thank them when I return the roaster.” Jack hesitated, but then decided to speak his mind, “Uncle Mike said I can probably go full time down at the grain yard, and I’ll get a fifteen cent an hour raise.”
“Oh…I don’t see any sense in hiring on another hand when I have you. But, it’s your life, Jack, I never did have much say so over you all these years anyhow.” A frown plastered his face as he fired up a Lucky Strike; the usual coughing attack kicked in, violently relentless.
“Can’t you see those things are killing you?”
“I know. But it’s the only enjoyment I have left in life,” Thomas answered, coughing up phlegm.
“Oh yeah, I can see the pleasure you’re getting from that cigarette!” his son sarcastically quipped, then added, disgustedly, “I’m going over to Toby’s.” Jack grabbed the g
reasy roaster and left.
The drive to the Lucas residence took Jack past Elderton Elementary; the first day of school vividly flashed back in his mind. That embarrassing memory of the twins knocking him to the ground and forcing him to eat grass was one recollection forever etched in his mind, but recalling the episode with the garter snake brought a smile to his face.
He hoped Toby would be home when he arrived, but no such luck. “Your chicken was excellent, Mrs. Lucas. My father really appreciated it. Thank you very much.”
“Why thank you, Jack. You take care, now.” She was such a sweet woman.
In no hurry to go back home, Jack filled his gas tank and just drove, and drove, and drove. He had nowhere to go, and all day to get there. The marquee at the Moonlite Drive-In announced they would be opening in one week; it read, “Playing Nightly, Curse of the Wolf Man.” Another horrible blast from his past echoed through his brain.
Going past Ray Trotter’s farm, he saw the twins working in the fields. Their old man worked them boys like dogs. Some future they have. Good for the little bastards!
Uncle Mike’s house needed a good coat of paint, Jack noticed while driving past. In addition, his car was not much better than the one Jack drove. He recalled more than one time his aunt borrowing his mother’s egg money, or ashamedly asking if there might be an extra venison hindquarter in the smokehouse. “We’re just a little short this month, Maggie. They cut Mike’s hours again.” Perhaps the grain yard did not hold much of a future for him after all!
As he drove the Mercury past Burger King, Jack wondered if he was being too obnoxious that night he picked a fight with Croyle. Ed was just an innocent bystander; Angela was the one he wanted to get even with. He probably did do the kid a favor in breaking those two up, though. Somebody had to tell Ed his girl was a slut.
Born of Greed Page 8
