We went up the steps, through the turnstiles. Katy hit the button for the Towers. I didn't have fifty cents, so I hopped the turnstile. A tram pulled up right away, so the transition of getting in and getting settled kept us from settling into a groove like the one we had at the café. The rubbery whir of tires on corrugated metal filled the cabin. The car shimmied from side to side as it rounded the corner toward Beechurst. We'd run out of things to say.
Morgantown faded into the darkness as we passed through town and climbed up to Evansdale. The lights from Seneca Center were the last thing I saw as we crested the hill. I thought of a thousand ways to keep this night going, but in my head they all seemed dumb.
"Well, have fun this weekend." She stood up as the car creaked past Engineering.
"I will. It's not such a big deal to me now as it was up in Davis. I kind of accepted the song title was just a coincidence. I don't believe it means I'll find my dad anymore." I stood up, too. "What did you think of the song?"
"I don't know. It's just a song. I'd been hearing about old magic and charms and hexes all my life, so it's probably not as out of the ordinary for somebody like me. My grandma used to do all kinds of stuff to protect the livestock from the Lewis's spells. I have no problem believing that this song, in some way... But if you don't believe it, why are you going back?"
"I really like Jamie. He's kind of fatherly, you know? And I love music. If that's all I have right now then I have to jump into it. The year is young. Maybe by the time next February rolls around I'll be on my way... Whatever that means. Speaking of which, there's a show down at The Stink next week. I'm playing a few songs."
"Oh yeah? No covers?" She smiled with only the tiniest part of her mouth.
"Maybe one. I have to dust some of my stuff off. See what happens."
"If there's nothing else going on... Maybe I'll see if Chelsea's into it." She looked out the window. The tram decelerated.
"Or, you could come alone. That is, of course, if there's nothing better to do."
"That's what I meant. Let me know how it goes this weekend. Okay?"
"I will. Should I walk you up?"
"No, I'll save you fifty cents. It could be a long wait. Besides, I don't want to get a call from campus security to come bail you out of college jail." The tram stopped. Light from the terminal fell on her cheeks.
"Okay. You know, I have an idea. Do you want to head over to Eat'n Park for coffee?" My mind raced to find a way to keep her here.
"I have to work tomorrow. Somebody has to read to the little ones so they don't turn out like you," she said rather quickly, then backed through the door.
"Good night, Katy." I followed her onto the platform and the tram door slid shut with a hiss. Just before she passed through the turnstile I grabbed her elbow.
She whipped around, her wide eyes studied my face.
"Hey..." All of a sudden my plan didn't seem like such a good one. I took a step toward her and my mouth got dry. I lifted my hand to her cheek.
She said my name and sighed before backing through the turnstile. She swiped her student I.D., hit the button for Walnut, then disappeared down the steps.
While waiting for the next car to pull up I watched her walk down the lonely sidewalk toward the Towers. She stayed on my mind for a long time. As the tram started down the big hill past Engineering the front of the car shimmied like one of the old trains on The Racers at Kennywood as they came back into the station. A coal barge crept up the river. When the tram rolled into the Beechurst station I stayed on. I didn't want to go to home. My phone rang. I thought it might be Katy. I smiled.
Before I could even get out a 'hello' Dani started yelling, the only thing I could clearly understand was my name, like an exclamation point at the end of a sentence. She sniffled, slowed down, then said, "If I had known how you were I never would've given you a second look. You are ignorant, white trash. But to call me, and invite me out only to let me see you flirting with some little girl is cruel. Make no mistake, we are through. There will be no tomorrow for you and me."
She hung up.
My face got warm. When the tram pulled into Walnut I got out and went straight to the apartment.
I pulled out my keys and fumbled with the lock on the big exterior door then slammed it shut. I didn't care who heard or who it woke up. I hit the stairs two at a time. When I got to the top I saw light streaming from beneath our apartment door. The TV was on. Pauly was home. I stood there, key in my hand. I went back down the stairs, less authoritatively than when I came up. My mom lived on the other side of town, too far to walk. At two, the bars closed. I didn't have a hundred bucks to drop at the Morgan.
"I'm lost. Fucking lost." Like being at Murphy's Mart at Mountaineer Mall when I was five. I had on this Washington Redskins jersey that I loved and everybody else hated because it wasn't the Steelers. Mom got it at Goodwill or something. Some old guy found me and sat me at the lunch counter and ordered me a Coke. He waited with me while security paged my mom.
I didn't freak out then and I decided I wasn't going to freak out now.
I had a key to Mick's shop.
Past Yama, down Chestnut past the parking garage, across Walnut. I didn't know how I went from feeling so good to feeling so bad so fast. At least Mick's would be dark and warm. And I'd be alone. And after tonight, maybe I didn't need anything else. Or deserve anything else.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Morning came way before I wanted it to. Mick got into work whenever he felt like it anymore, so I had to cut early. There'd be hell to pay if he came strolling in at 8:30 and found me sleeping in the showroom. And since I spent all night worrying about what time he'd get in, I barely slept at all. I wanted a cigarette as soon as I opened my eyes.
I put my shoes on, zipped up my coat and took a look around the shop. Once I convinced myself no sign of my stay remained, I locked up and headed to the café. Maybe I thought I'd catch Jamie there with Katy if I hung out long enough. At the very least, I might catch my mom. Maybe I wanted to be warm and get fed. Maybe I just wanted a reason to stop running.
I stepped into the diner. Pearl said my mom didn't come in 'til later, and in a way that relieved me. On top of everything else I didn't need to hear about end times and the devil. So I ordered coffee and hoped it would stimulate my appetite. My guitar case sat across the booth from me. I paid up, and asked Pearl if I kept my cup, would she refill it? When she said she would, I went to the back, found a sunbeam, sat down and opened up my guitar case.
I played for an hour or two at the edge of that little stage. Practicing songs I might play next week. Working on lyrics and melodies. I had one called "Kill Every Sparrow" I really liked. I came up with a riff that sounded like Keith Richards himself had handed it to me. I played it over and over, each time feeling like I'd been granted three wishes. I put it into my notebook. I didn't enjoy playing alone, but I figured I'd better get used to it.
My phone rang around noon. Jamie said he'd made it to Mick's, and I should come down when I was ready. The café had filled up. A few students, some dozing on their laptops. Old men talking about basketball, about how the Mountaineers got robbed of respectability because the Big East was such a strong conference. I wanted to say it had nothing to do with the conference—Seton Hall and Louisville still got lucky and beat them once every two or three years. I gave Pearl my cup and a few bucks. "Thanks," I said.
"Your mum thinks you're avoiding her. You should call her." Pearl put the tip right into her apron, and for a second, I thought she was going to slip the coffee cup into there too.
The high, bright sun melted the snow the plows had pushed against the sidewalk. Cinders mingled with ice, and when it melted the ash crept across the road in a tiny stream of water that would evaporate by one or two in the afternoon. At the leading edge of the stream a little white crust formed where salt had already been deposited. For the first time in weeks it felt like the thermometer might crack forty degrees. For the first time in months it actually fe
lt like winter might really come to an end.
I rolled into Mick's through the front door, paranoid that he'd know I'd spent the night there. Like maybe he had a hidden camera in the back or some shit. But he didn't raise an eyebrow. He showed Jamie the Jazzmaster. I wiped my Vans really good on the mat and strolled back.
Mick said, "Here comes that ugly guitar I told you about."
Jamie spoke in a serious monotone to Mick, his subtle accent giving his speech the slightest air of sarcasm, "Oh, I heard all about it. About how Lou had been trying to give the thing away for years, how he even put it out in front of the store with a 'free to a good home' sign, like it was a box of kittens or something." He let out a little laugh. "Mick said Lou's such a wonderful salesman that he actually got you to pay for the thing."
"Wow." I smiled. "Why does everybody turn into a douche when you're around, Mick?"
Ignoring me, Mick said, "Crack that thing open, let the professor see it."
I slid a small wooden stool over with my foot and laid the case on it. Jamie bent over as I flipped the latches.
"Good thing you got here when you did." Jamie leaned over the case like he'd turn to stone if I didn't get it into his hands that very instant. "Mick was moments away from giving me a good deal on a used Tele. It's a seventy-one, Mick?"
Jamie lifted my 'new' guitar out of the case without even asking. He spun around, looking for another stool. When he plopped down he propped the guitar on his knee and took off his hat, which he hung on a hook that had been holding a new Guild.
He checked to see if it was in tune, which it was. But he adjusted the tuning keys anyway. Then he went straight to the neck and fingerpicked out a light, lively version of "Sweet Georgia Brown." "Oh yeah, she's real nice."
He pulled a coin out of his pocket for a pick and jumped into a fast, straightforward number that sounded like it had originally been written for the fiddle. His fingers worked the strings, knuckles straining to jump from fret to fret. He ran through it once more, paused, then said, "Really nice. I like it, despite what Mick says."
I asked, "What was that last thing?"
"That's the 'Clinch Mountain Backstep', son. Doctor Ralph Stanley? It's a banjo tune, and that's the only reason I can excuse you for not knowing it." He laid the guitar on his lap, inspecting the cracks and ridges that ran across the finish. His fingers grazed the lines, like a needle does a record. He looked in the sound hole, first at the serial number, then he shook the guitar gently.
"Rattlesnake beads," I said, helping him out.
"Really?" He smiled really big and tried to shift them toward the light. "Did you put them in there?"
"No, Lou said the guy he bought the guitar from put them in there. He said he just left them in—"
"Where'd the seller come from?" Jamie shook the guitar to see them, like my word wasn't good enough.
"I don't remember. Somewhere up in the mountains in PA. By Seven Springs." I only remembered Seven Springs because I always thought we should've tried to play their Autumnfest. Pauly always said it was too far for the money.
"There's a strong fiddle tradition up by Dunbar, PA. So, I guess that sounds about right. Down here the old timers put rattlesnake beads in their fiddles, too."
"Oh yeah?"
"Indeed." He handed the guitar back to me. "Do you have any idea why?"
Jamie left the question hang for a second.
"I don't know... Because it sounded cool?" Seeing Jamie put his stamp of approval on the guitar made it that much more precious.
Jamie stood up and blew his nose into a clean, white handkerchief. "Katy said she tried to call you this morning to join us for a brunch. She said you didn't answer."
"Aw, man. I left my phone for a second when I went to the bathroom. Must've been all the coffee. I would have loved to have joined you guys." I flipped my phone open and flipped through my MISSED CALLS. Sure enough, there it was.
"I suppose you'll be seeing enough of me over the next few days. When did you want to leave?" Jamie took his coat off, and hung it on a hook right next to where he'd hung his old fedora.
"I'm ready whenever you are. I just have to run home and pack a bag." I backed toward the door.
"Mick and I have a little catching up to do, and I have to make a quick trip up to the library. So two hours? Meet back here at two or three?" The way Jamie rolled up his sleeves it looked like he wouldn't be taking off any time soon.
"Sure thing. Is Katy coming up this weekend?"
Ignoring my question, he said, "Leave that guitar here, I'll keep it busy."
"Yeah. Sure." I zipped up my coat. "I wondered if I should get something for this guy? Like a token or something?"
"Not a bad idea. He likes chocolate." Jamie draped the strap around his neck and strummed a few chords. "And whiskey."
"All right. Mick, how you going to manage without me?"
"I'll just have to shutter the doors until you get back."
I hit the sidewalk almost running. It would've been nice to see Katy before heading up the mountain. Would've been nicer to see Dani, but if that ship sailed, it sailed. I guess I wasn't a sailor.
I dialed her up. Voicemail.
"Dani..." I slowed my pace and tried to control my breathing. "I just wanted you to know I'm not playing games. That girl is Jamie's niece, okay? I met her last week up in Davis. I didn't know she'd be there. I just went up to look for my mom. So—I don't know—maybe we can give it another shot. I really like being around you. You make me really happy, and I don't think it should end like this. Look, I'll be away for a few days, but should be around later this weekend." That was pretty much all I had to say. "I miss talking to you. I'm sorry. Good bye."
On my way to the apartment I hung a left and went down to Beechurst to pick up a bottle of Jack and a bottle of Knob Creek. For a second I thought about grabbing a pack of Camels. Nicotine would clear my mind. Help me sort things out. Especially since eating didn't make me feel better.
But I left the liquor outlet with the booze and a pocketful of Atomic Fireballs instead of the cigarettes. I figured if I could resist temptation a little longer, the cravings would go away. Even Pauly only gave up one of his vices.
At the top of the apartment steps I paused, listening at the door for any sign that he was even home. For the first time in a long time I could smell curry. The summer we moved in there was an Indian restaurant downstairs. We ate there a lot. The smell of curry took me back seven years.
But the restaurant was gone. And so was Pauly. On the kitchen table sat a big blue Alcoholics Anonymous book. Other than that everything looked exactly the same. I put the liquor bottles on the table and went into my room. My stash of clean clothes had begun to shrink. I put some of the freshest things in the backpack I took up to the mountain with me last week. My notebook remained right where I'd left it. The pile of stuff that remained important to me grew smaller by the day.
The only thing missing was the record. It sat on my dresser, right next to the mirror. I picked it up and could only think about the first time I saw Dani. She was there when all of this started. I pulled the sleeve out of the cardboard, and let the record slide into my hand. The cool vinyl felt smooth, flawless except for "The Sad Ballad of Preston Black." For a second, I thought it all seemed too convenient. I put the record into my pack.
I got into the shower and let the hot water stream down my face. It seemed like I only felt warm in the shower anymore. And around Dani.
Pauly sat at the table. He was glowering if I'd ever seen anybody glower.
He said, "Aren't you a sight?" Pauly sat in the chair facing the bathroom door, the sun streamed in over his shoulder. He had his book in front of him. My bag of booze sat right where I left it.
Either unable, or unwilling, to speak, I grabbed the booze, walked back into my room, put my stuff on the bed and threw on a flannel. When I came back into the kitchen, Pauly said, "I wasn't going to touch your hooch."
For a second I thought I'd sit across the
table from him, but knew this conversation wouldn't last long.
Pauly tapped the table. "I want you out of here. And if you don't move out, I'm going to get a place by myself."
"You're a different person, like something from The X-Files. You know, I went to a few AA meetings myself, and I never came back acting like this."
"And you're still a drunk. If I wanted to wake up puking, with headaches, in jail.... This is for real this time. I'm not playing games with my life. I got to take this one day at a time until I get some time under my belt, then, maybe, I can lighten up. Relax a little."
"You don't seem very happy. I'd rather be stupid and drunk than whatever the hell it is you are. You got a permanent scowl, man. I haven't seen you smile since before Christmas."
He stood up and pushed the table away. "Because I'm trying to change! Don't you understand? Jesus, how stupid can you be? The clock's ticking, and if you don't do something soon you're going to end up a nobody. You're already a nobody."
He lowered his voice and lifted his hands out in front of him like he was holding a turkey platter or something. "Look, my sponsor says jails, institutions or death. That's it for guys like us. We don't get famous. Maybe I'm talking about just me, I don't know."
"No, you're talking about me. I'm not stupid. Maybe you got more to lose because you never really lost anything, but I came onto this planet with three strikes against me. All I got left is the short trip from the batter's box to the dugout. You're standing on third waiting for a sac fly. So don't give me any of your higher power, everything's going to be A-Okay stuff. Your mom raised me, but she never treated me like her son. I know she was pregnant with you when my mom died so it's not her fault. But it's not mine either. I thought you were my brother. Now I see you were just the fucking guy I lived with."
I forced myself to relax a little by taking deeper breaths. I didn't want to dislike Pauly. "Really, I thought music saved you. I sincerely thought you loved it as much as I did. I'm sorry that's not the case. I have to keep moving forward with this. This is my job... My life. This is what I feel in my soul. I have nothing but this." I held my hand against my heart like I pledged allegiance.
The Devil and Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey) Page 16
