Down to the Dirt

by Joel Thomas Hynes

  Sayin’ hello.

  To Natasha.

  I tried to be calm.

  I really did, but like I said, she wouldn’t let me.

  —Where in the fuck were you all night? What? No, wait! Wait?…’Tash, I’m sorry. That’s not the way I wanted to start off. I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay. I’m okay. We’re fine, me and you. I knows you have to be there now and I realizes I’m only makin’ it harder on you. I s’pose I was panicked and feelin’ a bit insecure when you wouldn’t talk to me the right way. I feels a little out of control without you. But I won’t put you through that shit no more. It’d be nice though, if you wouldn’t tell me you’re gonna call when you have no intentions of doin’ so. You did, ’Tash. Yes you did. Jesus, I wish I had a tape recorder on you. I specifically recall you tellin’ me that you’d call me as soon as you got in last night. You promised me that you would, knowin’ full well I was sittin’ here, drove cracked. And you wonders why I’m thinkin’ something is up? I don’t know where you are or who you’re tangled up with. You could be gettin’ raped for all I knows. Yes, raped. Natasha, I can’t take much more of this. One day you says you’re comin’ home next week and then you’re goin’ on about how much you loves it up there, off to some fuckin’ audition. Then it’s Christ, Keith, I misses you so much. I’m bookin’ my ticket tomorrow. Of course we’re O.K. I don’t wanna be here any more than you wants me here. And then you’re feelin’ all pressured and Mom says that Daddy’s comin’ out to town to straighten me out ’cause I’m tryin’ to control his little fuckin’ angel—

  That bastard. He’ll get some fright if he knocks on my door. I’ll smack him with a hammer. Fuckin’ ignorant, hard-done-by, thick-skulled piss-head. The only man in the Cove who knows what a real day’s work tastes like. Sure the man stomped out of his bedroom one night in his fuckin’ drawers and grabbed me by the throat ’cause he thought he heard me sayin’ something nasty to her, his precious little girl. But I never said a word to her and we both knew it. Squeezin’ my neck, spittin’ and snortin’ down my throat ’til I started blackin’ out.

  —You don’t know me, Kavanagh. No one talks to my little girl like that and lives to tell it. You don’t fuckin’ know me.

  But then, that was exactly why it was happenin’. He knew that I knew something I shouldn’t have known. Anyhow, Natasha showed up in the nick of time and started screamin’, hangin’ off his arm and smackin’ at him. He drooled and spluttered, gave her a smack, his precious little girl, turned around and went back to bed. Left me slumped in the corner gaspin’ for breath. Sees me the next morning and asks me for a fuckin’ smoke. Like nothing happened. Psycho. Bring him on, girl. Like I said, I’ll crack that thick skull open with a hammer.

  —If you’re seeing someone up there, ’Tash…Look, I needs to know the truth. I can’t take this. Let me have the goddamn truth! I’d never treat you like this…No, I never!…I most certainly did not…Okay, but that was different…We’ve been through all this. Why do we need to go draggin’ all that shit up? What the fuck does she have to do with anything? I already told you what happened…NOTHING FUCKIN’ HAPPENED! Stop changin’ the cocksuckin’ subject…This is nothing like the last time you were gone. Nothing at all. The only reason you came home that time was ’cause of the you-know-what…I’ll say what I like. I went through it too. On the phone every night with you…Why, you plannin’ to have another one? ’Cause you can be fucked before I takes responsibility this time. Matter of fact, I’m not even so sure about the last one…Hello? ’Tash?…I’m sorry…That was mean…Look, I’m just so frustrated, girl. It’s like I’m losin’ it…No…No, I’m not drinkin’. Hardly at all…Are you screwin’ someone else? Promise me…I don’t believe you…No, I’m not callin’ you a whore, you’re the one said that, not me. I wasn’t thinkin’ anything like that. But when I looks back now you know, I seems to recall you promisin’ Bobby-fuckin’-O’Neill that you weren’t screwin’ around on him while I was right there in the bed alongside you. How do I even know where you’re callin’ me from? I can’t star-sixty-fuckin’-nine you from Halifax! Well let me talk to Gertie then. Gone out, is she? Well, how convenient. Sing out the top of your lungs then…Scream out how much you loves me. Why the fuck not? Afraid you’ll wake him up? Did you put him through a hard night of it? Put him on the goddamn phone. Let me talk to him…I knows full well there’s someone there with you, ’Tash, and I swear to Christ, I’ll jump on a fuckin’ plane this very night and walk them fuckin’ streets ’til I…Hello? HELLO?

  Now, what’s the goddamn point of all this anger management and this A.A. shit they wants me to be goin’ to? Clarity of mind. Did you hear that muddled up nonsense? She’s retarded. Was I crossin’ some boundary or something? Are you not allowed to be inquisitive from time to time?

  Decided to take a little trip to the shop. Told myself I wouldn’t, but let the goddamn gulls go sober, see how their day woulda gone. I wasn’t facin’ this without something in my system. All the time in the world to punish myself. See, you gotta let yourself be weak every now and then to be able to measure how strong you’ll have to be when the time comes. I decided I was nothing short of a normal human being. I’d drink her away.

  Made my way down to the gas station in a feverish panic for booze. Now, I’m the type who wants things right away. I don’t like scenes either. But when I got to the counter this scrawny little cross-eyed…individual…had the fuckin’ temerity to go askin’ me for identification. Me. I’m twenty years old for fuck sakes. But you know what it is? Some kind of power trip for him, that’s what. Take them army fuckers who gets barked at all day by superior officers. They comes home and barks at the whole house.

  —Outta my way, dog.

  Reducin’ their youngsters to tears if they can’t bounce a toonie on their beds.

  —I thought I told you to put the garbage out last night? Drop and give me twenty!

  Oh yeah, if they’re feelin’ inferior at work then they’re gonna bloody well be the boss behind closed doors. That’s exactly what was goin’ on with this little clerk. Pissed off ’cause he got bawled out for not stockin’ the shelves the right way or he rang something in twice or whatever the fuck. And he just has to exercise some kind of power over someone, some customer, in this case me, to make himself feel better. To empower himself. And didn’t he pick the wrong fella to fuck with. Identification please.

  —I-DENTI-FI-FUCKIN’-CATION? They won’t be able to identify you if I haves to go all the way home and come back again.

  No. I never really got on like that. But I would have. If I hadn’t got what I wanted. ’Cause, by the fuck, when I wants something I wants it right away. I’m like that. Don’t like havin’ to cause a scene either.

  So, take me and the cat and a dozen of our good friends from Black Horse, rollin’ smokes and havin’ a grand time. Without her.

  —Well Puss…Cheers! Here’s to catnip and the little brown bottle. No? Puss don’t want a toast? Well shag the puss cat then. Shag the puss cat. I’ll smoke it myself, will I? Yes, I will. Yes, I will. What’s that fuckin’ look for? Go in the goddamn room out of it then. You’re goin’ back on the dried stuff. No Name brand too! No more fuckin’ Sheba or Whiskas for you. Ingrate. Yes, you are.

  Took a couple of hours to finish the case. I slept at the table. When I woke up I headed straight for the shop again. Just couldn’t face myself alone. Like that Springsteen song. Took my ID with me this time so’s I could rub it in that little prick’s face, but he’d already gotten off work. Story of my life. I dug into the second case before I was even back to the apartment. What a fuckin’ dive. Bottles, butts, ashes, tobacco, all mashed into the floor. Something breathin’ in the sink I’m pretty sure. Worse than all that though was the cat had started in sprayin’ again. What a reek. No idea how I was gettin’ through the night alive, I planked myself down at the table and started all over again.

  Four or five beer later it came to me.

  Brilliant, said I to me.


  Fuckin’ brilliant.

  —Yes, I’m callin’ to inquire about your rates. St. John’s to Halifax. Well, soon as possible. Right now if one’s available. 8:50 tonight? And what’s the student rate? Jesus. Well, I’d like to book a flight if that’s alright with you. I don’t have a credit card. So I have to come in to book it? Well, what time do you close? And what time is it now? Okay, well I can be there in about ten minutes. Can’t you wait that long? It’s an emergency. Well, I’ll be there in five then? Thank you so much.

  Yeah, thanks. Wouldn’t know now but they were doin’ me a favour. Gyppin’ me out of a couple of hundred bucks that I hardly had. What are they like at all?

  So, you coulda seen little ol’ me in a mad scramble to the travel agency and havin’ a hard time with my mouth ’cause of this big line-up when I got there. After gettin’ personal on the phone and pleadin’ with the bastards when they made out like they were just about to lock the doors. Lord Jesus. Lucky thing I was in one of my more pleasant moods.

  Walkin’ back home, ticket in hand, I realized I had no cash for the trip. I blew every cent on the ticket. No way in hell I was showin’ up in Halifax flat broke and lookin’ to Natasha to go feedin’ me. Fuck that. And I had nothing in my place worth selling.

  Time to swallow my pride and spread myself too thin once again.

  —Hi, Andy there please?…What’s goin’ on?…Right on. Listen, I got a bit of a favour to ask you…How much money have you got? Well, have you got like fifty bucks to lend me ’til next week?…I can’t tell you…It’s an emergency. I needs about fifty bucks to get me through the weekend. It’s not for booze…Well, yes, I had a few but I’m just sittin’ around with the cat. He’s drunker than I am…No…Listen, you’ll think I’m cracked…Alright, alright, but first I needs to know if you can lend me the money…Well?…I just bought a ticket to Halifax. Ha-li-fax. One hundred and ninety-nine and tax. That’s every cent I had…Well it’s already paid for now and it leaves tonight. No, she don’t know…I’m just gonna surprise her…Well, it’s too late now anyhow. I’d be goin’ up there one way or another, ticket or no…Yes, b’y, for the love of Christ—

  Fuck sakes. Our Andy might be a fine candidate for the constabulary. I don’t mind a fella askin’ a few questions, especially if he’s got a bit of money on the line. But it’s his tone. Haughty and superior. And I don’t need to be interrogated by friends. That’s her job. I’ll tell you something about Andy now. I won’t play the self-righteous prick to say he’s any worse than what I am, but he’s no better. No, by Christ.

  Years ago myself and Andy were down by the fish plant waitin’ for work to start up. I suppose it was about 5:00 in the morning ’cause there was a pretty big racket in the harbour coming from about a dozen punts and skiffs. Whether they were comin’ in or on the way out, I don’t remember. What odds is it? Plant work didn’t start ’til 8:00, but the earlier you were on the ball, the better spot you got on the offal chute. We weren’t workin’ in the plant, see. We were cuttin’ tongues outside the plant where the filleted fish made their way down this long aluminum chute. The chute emptied into a barge that was taken out the harbour every evening to be relieved of its mushy contents. Guts and garbage and dead gulls. If you got to sit at the top of the chute, you got first grab at the bigger fish that came down. Which meant bigger tongues. Which meant you could make your money faster because you were sellin’ by the pound. Smaller tongues are better for eatin’ though, less jelly.

  Anyhow, the first to arrive had to mark the top spot with their buckets or knives or their maggoty old gloves and then they were free to shag around the wharf ’til work started.

  So myself and Andy had the place to ourselves. Throwin’ rocks at gulls, jiggin’ sculpins, smokin’ butts out of the fishermen’s cars. We wandered over to the twine shed on the other side of the plant, lookin’ for bottles, when we spied an old flatbed truck parked all by its lonesome, half-hidden in the alders. Tryin’ to hide on us. It was likely sittin’ there all summer but we never really noticed it before. I s’pose we saw it in a new light. We had a laugh at our luck, but before the thought even entered my mind, Andy picked up this old rusty rim of a tire, raised it over his head and slung it at the windshield. It crunched into the lower corner but never done much damage. It certainly got the blood pumpin’ though.

  The doors were locked so I bashed the driver’s side window out with a rock. I found a hammer under the seat in the cab. Next thing you know the glass to the speedometer was broke out and we were roarin’. Then it was the gas gauge. Bustin’ our guts laughin’. The rearview mirror. The dashboard. Andy, slashin’ up the seats with an old guttin’ knife. Slashin’. He hauled the steering wheel off. The gearshift got broke off. The passenger side window exploded. I was bangin’ on the windshield with the hammer. I s’pose we really lost it. Tears streamin’ down our faces. Then Andy made an odd sound. I had a glance at him. His face was wet with tears but he wasn’t laughin’ no more. His chin was quiverin’ and his eyes were fuckin’ savage. Pure rage runnin’ down his cheeks as he drove the knife into the seat cushions over and over. I guess I’d stopped laughin’ sometime back too. Years and years of smalltown bullshit rose up in us. Nuns and straps and bitter, petty teachers. Comin’ in second. Being the last pick for a game of ball up in the fuckin’ meadow. The dashboard became the face of some big prick from the North Side of the Cove, his knees pinnin’ your shoulders to the ground, rubbin’ horse shit on your face and smackin’ you ’til you bled or bawled, whichever came first. Fuck the repercussions. Fuck it all. When we started on the outside of the truck, there wasn’t really much left to do to the inside, aside from burnin’ it I s’pose. Which crossed my mind, but I wasn’t that bad.

  Then we started in laughin’ again. Laughin’ at our own savagery. We stood there in the early morning, cool as you please, like we had every right to do what we were doin’, popped up the hood and started slammin’ the biggest kinds of rocks down into the engine. Cars passin’ up the road. Not a fuck did we give. We were hell-bent to shag that truck up. Headlights, windshield, tires slashed. That hammer went through the bonnet, the doors. We even tried to beat the front bumper off. You name it. And you’d be amazed what damage two young fellas like us could do. I spent an hour in jail for that little episode. Not Andy. Me.

  See what I’m gettin’ at? He’s no better. Where did he get off to sit there in judgment of what I should or shouldn’t allow myself to do? Drillin’ me for information like I was some kind of criminal. How many sociology electives do you have to take before your sins are forgiven?

  —Andy, I can’t take it anymore. I can’t just sit around on a Friday night, wonderin’. Torturin’ myself. I have to see her. I have to look her in the eye. So I can get on with it…Jesus, Andy, you saw the state I was in last night. That’s nothing. I can’t sleep, can’t eat. I can’t take it no more. I have to see her…Well, I’ll worry about gettin’ home when the time comes to turn around. Besides, I might just keep on goin’. This town makes me sick to my guts half the time. The rest of the time it just depresses me…Look, I needs the money for food, probably a cab from the airport, smokes and shit like that. You knows I’ll pay you back. I paid you back the last time…Well, yeah, but I still paid you…I’ll get you the money next week…Right…That’s perfect…Oh listen, if I leaves you my key will you come by and feed the cat? I’m afraid he’ll fret to death with no company…Dandy. Well, I’ll see you soon then…Listen man, I really appreciates this you know. Pay you back the week. Alright.

  Click.

  Know what pissed me off the most about that? It’s that I likes things to move in a more secretive nature. I was wantin’ to just vanish, so that if the plane went down no one in the world would know that I was on it. Leave without a trace. Vanish. I likes the notion of just bein’ out there somewhere, reinventin’ myself with every step, leavin’ it all behind like a good clean fire. Like the Poetry of Departures. How difficult it is to make such a simple fuckin’ move. Bu
t I s’pose you can’t expect to get away that easy. Because no one believes in adventure anymore. Anything out of the ordinary constitutes a scandal nowadays. I was just a bit of juicy gossip for Andy to run to his girlfriend with. I tell you, my generation is numbed and ruined by the modern convenience of mind-blowing entertainment. Who in their right mind is gonna open up a bookstore this day and age? Hollywood and prime time gibberish has got my crowd by the balls. No one has a sense of adventure anymore ’cause there’s no need for one. You can go and rent the grand adventure at any old time and experience it risk-free. Eat your fuckin’ Doritos and drink your goddamn Pepsi and fuck off to your bloated bed. Get up and go to school or go to work. No cuts or bruises. No scars. You get to look your best and feel alright about not doing anything out of line, out of the ordinary. Every now and then you’ll have made an arse of yourself at the bar and that’s your big crime.

  —Oh my God, I didn’t say that to her, did I?

  —Jesus, I went right out over the table and took the whole works down with me.

  —Gave some sauce to that bartender.

  And that’s the worst you’ll get.

  See, I’m of the firm belief that each and every little misadventure should be marked with a scar of some sort. Battle scars to document your passage in the battle of life. Life is a fuckin’ battle. Theodore Roethke was not an idle man. Manic maybe, but never idle.

  I packed a bag two hours ahead of time and then sat down to a couple of beer. Decided to drop by Andy’s for the cash at the last minute so’s I wouldn’t have time to talk about it all. He handed me the money and shook his head with this totally condescending, poor-old-Keith-when-are-you-gonna-smarten-up grin on his face. He was wearing a Habs sweater and I said a silent prayer that the day he was caught dead he’d be wearin’ that very same sweater. Not that I wants him dead or nothing.