South of Main Street

by Robert Gately

  Dixie jumped up. “Leave him alone, Jason. He’s got nothin’ to do with you and me. I told you, I’m not doin’ it anymore. Can’t you just leave it like that? For now?”

  A police car slowly passed them at that moment and rested at a stopped at a stoplight by them. The sergeant who was sitting on the passenger side eyed Jason, as if they had a history. Jason backed off a bit, sensing he lost the edge momentarily.

  “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see about that, won’t we?” Jason whispered in a serious, acid tone.

  The police car moved on, out of view, and with its disappearance, Jason grabbed Dixie by her hair and twisted until she howled for mercy. Henry jumped to his feet. Jason tugged a little harder. “Don’t be a hero, old man, or I’ll have to teach you a lesson, too.”

  Dixie cried out in pain and Jason chortled through his nose. At the same time, he shot a look at Henry, expecting him to cower. But Henry was not backing off and they just glared at each other for a moment.

  “What are you looking at, old man?”

  Jason gazed into Henry’s eyes and felt a sense of compassion, which startled him. No stranger had ever stood up met him like this. Henry grabbed Jason’s wrist gently forcing Jason to release Dixie’s hair, sort of a reflex, unplanned.

  She fell to her knees holding her head as if it were going to fall off her shoulders. “Leave him alone, Jason,” she grunted through her pain. “He didn’t do anything.”

  “Tell him to move on if he doesn’t want to get hurt.”

  “Henry … get lost,” Dixie quickly volunteered. “Leave.”

  A hideous cackle emanated from an empty place within Jason, another defensive ploy to intimidate Henry. But Henry didn’t move. Instead, he dipped into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

  “How about I give you money?” Henry asked. “Will you go away if I give you money?”

  “No, Henry. Don’t. That’s all you have.” Dixie got up and started to take the money but her head still requiring the comfort of both hands.

  Jason snatched the money from Henry and stuck it into his pocket all in one move.

  “Alright, Jason. You got some money. Why don’t you leave now?” Dixie said this just as the police car, having made a U-turn, came into Jason’s view again.

  Jason backed off and patted Dixie on the head, sort of a friendly gesture. Dixie smacked his hand and Jason looked over to the police car, which was slowing down to a stop. “Everything’s okay here, Officer,” Jason said to the patrol driver.

  Jason backed off a little further, waited for the police car to pass and, once it did, turned to Dixie and gave her a less threatening stare. He looked at Henry, and then back at Dixie again. He did this a couple of times, then smiled and said, “Oh, now it makes sense. He’s your little Sugar Daddy. All right. I can deal with that.” Jason pointed at Dixie and added, “You and I will square things away later.” Jason left.

  * * *

  DIXIE SAT on the bench holding her head. Henry bent down to help Dixie up, but she jerked her arm away. She got up on her own accord, angry at the world and herself.

  Henry stuck his hand in his other pocket and pulled out another twenty. “Look. I have more money.”

  “Well, look at you,” she groaned. “Aren’t you the great deceiver? Why did you give him money in the first place?”

  “He needed something to save face. Money usually does the trick.”

  He put the money back in his pocket, and she picked up her CD player. She adjusted the strap around her shoulders, and they began walking down the street. He held her hand for a few strides. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  People gave probing looks as they passed by. Feeling awkward, Dixie pulled her hand away. “Geez, Henry. People are going to think you and I … you know. The old fart with a young chick thing.”

  Two women walked towards them and whispered. The only word Dixie heard was “addict”. She turned away from Henry and held her fist close to her stomach in full view of the ladies, a gesture to them that she would use her fist on them if she had to. The two older ladies gasped and threw their hands to their mouths. They turned away and picked up their pace.

  “Those old freaks,” Dixie said. “This town is too small. I gotta get outta here.” She held her head, still in pain.

  “They just don’t know what to make of you and me, Dixie.”

  “Yeah, well, their dirty friggin’ minds love to make up stuff whether it’s true or not.”

  They walked a few steps before Henry said, “Is friggin a word? I don’t think so.”

  Dixie stopped abruptly and looked at Henry squarely. “Henry! Why do you have to be that way? I’m angry. Can’t you see that? I didn’t say any curse words, did I? No way is friggin’ a curse word. It’s a boat, or something like that.”

  “No. It’s meaning is … not nice.” Henry stopped in front of the local diner.

  Dixie hesitated. “No. My mother works in there.” She froze, staring at the door. “I can’t.”

  * * *

  HENRY WONDERED what the history was between her and her mother. Whatever their story, he guessed a lot had passed between them. Dixie’s mother could probably go into a lot of detail about the years of addiction, the lies, the stealing, and the denial. It didn’t matter to Henry about the details, though. He just wanted to go in and get something to eat.

  “Let’s go in,” he cajoled.

  “My mother works here, I said. She and I …”

  “Let’s go in anyway. I’m hungry.”

  Henry ushered Dixie in, escorted her past the ‘wait to be seated’ sign and found an empty booth himself. They sat in silence. Dixie clasped her hands and fidgeted with her fingers. Her foot tapped uncontrollably. Her facial muscles twitched a bit.

  Henry strummed his fingers on the table. He shot a look at Dixie and then glanced off to the right. He shot another look at her, then looked off to the left. Henry summons a host of facial expressions that made no sense at all.

  “What’s the goofy looks for, Henry? What’s the matter with you? Do you enjoy being an idiot?”

  He feigned a hurt expression, but she didn’t respond. She couldn’t because standing in front of them was a large, matronly woman, broad across the beam and almost as hefty around her waist. She had an ordering pad and pencil in her hand.

  “Hello, Mom,” Dixie said.

  Her mother just nodded and stared at Henry with the countenance of an inquiring mother rather than a waitress looking for his order. “Hello, Henry,” she said, her eyes never left him.

  “Hello, Mrs. Swanson,” Henry shot back.

  “Mom. You got something you want to discuss?”

  * * *

  DIXIE DIDN’T HAVE much patience with her mother these days. Mrs. Swanson seemed to have less for her. Patience, and even respect between mother and daughter had long ago been dissolved and replaced with distrust and abruptness. And suspicion. And anger. Anger was always in the mix.

  “Where are you staying now?” Mrs. Swanson asked.

  “I don’t want to get into this crap.”

  “And what crap might that be?”

  “Your crap,” Dixie almost shouted. “You always gotta do this. Why can’t I just come in here and have something to eat? You always gotta do this crap.”

  Henry snapped his fingers at Dixie, and then pointed to his lips.

  “Watch your mouth,” he said.

  “Oh, good grief,” Dixie responded.

  Mrs. Swanson combed her teeth with her tongue until the exploration ended with a loud “dissing” sound. “What’s your interest with my daughter, Henry?” Mrs. Swanson asked while fixing her gaze on him.

  Dixie looked to Henry. “See what you started. You had to come here. What are you, stupid?” She shot a venomous look to her mother. “Son-of-a-bitch, Mom. Can we just order?”

  “I’m not talking to you,” Mrs. Swanson cautioned Dixie. “We all know why you hang with him. I’m just a little curious why he wants to hang with you.�
��

  Mrs. Swanson switched her gaze to Henry. “Hmm, Mr. Wolff?”

  He didn’t seem to be listening to her at all. He was looking in the direction of Dixie, through her, it seemed. He wouldn’t talk.

  “What do you say, Mr. Wolff? What do you want with my daughter?”

  Dixie understood her mother’s insinuation. “Mom, that’s disgusting. I think that’s enough.”

  “Henry, what do you want?”

  * * *

  HENRY’S CONSCIOUSNESS WAS barely functional. The words ‘stupid’ and ‘want’ echoed in his ears. ‘Stupid … stupid … stupid. Want … want … want.’ The noise became louder and louder, and he couldn’t concentrate, and focused on the wall at the end of the restaurant. He knew Mrs. Swanson’s mouth was moving, but there were no sounds coming from her. Henry’s presence of mind was suspended in a different dimension. He had to control it, in as much as he could force his mind somewhere else so the noise would stop. His surroundings became hazy, his sight, restricted, like he was peering down a tunnel or a tube. Everything around him disappeared into the whiteness except for a small area in the center of his vision where he saw Dixie. Her voice was garbled and hollow. He was aware of himself, experiencing this strange condition, but was paralyzed and couldn’t talk. He knew if he didn’t panic this moment would pass. Maybe in a few seconds. Perhaps it would take a little longer.

  * * *

  “HENRY,” MRS. SWANSON SAID. “Henry. What’s the matter?” She stopped her badgering and looked closely at his face and saw Henry was expressionless, frozen, paralyzed. She looked closer into his eyes. They were glazed, like a harmless doe caught staring at a set of high beams. She looked harder and she saw a sadness, and a feeling of remorse engulfed her heart. She had made a terrible mistake about his character, she felt. Perhaps he was not the rogue she thought he was, but rather some sensitive soul whom she had just injured.

  Embarrassed, she didn’t know what to say. So, she opened her pad and said, “What do you want?” This time she was looking for the order and wasn’t trying to seek any hidden motives in Henry. She stood there for a second before repeating the request.

  “I want the pain to go away,” Henry finally said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Swanson said.

  “I want to be forgiven.”

  Dixie and her mother looked at each other, both terribly confused. Mrs. Swanson bent down and looked into his eyes again. “Henry,” she queried, “are you okay?” But he didn’t respond.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Mrs. Swanson asked her daughter.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this before.” Dixie searched Henry’s face for signs of life. He was there but, then again, he wasn’t. Dixie turned to her mother and said, “Why do you have to be that way? Why can’t we just come in here and eat?”

  “How do you want me to behave, Dixie? You pop into my world when you’re three days clean and you expect me to open my arms because you’re making the effort for the hundredth time?”

  “No, I don’t. But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me this way in public.”

  “You stole from me, Dixie. My jewelry. Money. You violated me too many times. I’m tired of being fooled.”

  “Mom, I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t want anything from you, except some lunch.”

  “Oh, you have money for lunch all of a sudden?”

  “No,” Dixie said and then pointed to Henry. “He does.”

  Mrs. Swanson looked at Henry. Still, there was no response from him. She passed her hand back and forth in front of his face. Henry didn’t even blink.

  “So, you’re going to sponge off him, huh?” Mrs. Swanson really didn’t expect to receive an answer from Dixie, and she didn’t get one. “His wife just died, Dixie. Don’t you have any decency? Where’s your self-respect?”

  Dixie rushed to put the CD player strap around her shoulders and promptly got up. “I’m not taking this crap.”

  “That’s right. Run away. Take the path of least resistance, like always.”

  Dixie left and Mrs. Swanson sat down in the spot her daughter had just occupied. With a thunderous exertion, she sighed, as if taking her last breath. “When is she going to get help? What in God’s green earth is the matter with her?” She said this as if Henry were not there, even though she could hear him breathing. Mrs. Swanson stared at Henry for a while when, all of a sudden, he blinked a couple of times and then looked around. “Where’s Dixie?” he asked.

  “You gotta be kidding me?” At first blush Mrs. Swanson thought Henry was playing mind games, purposely disappearing like that, and then reappearing moments later. But she saw something very gentle in his face and in his eyes before, and she surrendered to it and lamented, tightening her lips as she struggled for the right words. “What’s the matter with you, Henry?” she asked with no intended disrespect.

  “Nothing. Whut’s dah madder wut you?” Henry shot right back, accented, albeit forced.

  “All right, Henry. I’m sorry for coming on strong. You don’t have a hidden agenda, okay. But what’s your interest with my daughter? You’re almost twice her age.”

  “She needs a little encouragement. She’s not a bad kid.”

  “And what makes you think you can change her?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t understand, Henry.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I don’t understand what you are trying to say. You say she needs encouragement, so what makes you think you can encourage her to stop taking drugs?”

  “Nothing makes me think that.”

  Mrs. Swanson didn’t know what to say. There was a distinct feeling she was talking in a circle with him, but she also felt there was a kind of wisdom coming from him she couldn’t put her finger on. She was confused, yet it made perfect sense, and there was nothing more for her to say. In her mind, Henry had just dead-ended the conversation.

  “Listen, Henry. I love my daughter very much. But she has never been able to stay clean for too long. I’m sure she thinks she’s not going to do drugs anymore. She makes an effort. She gets on her feet, and then she feels better for a week or two then ‘bam’ …” Mrs. Swanson slapped the table real hard. “… she’s back doing her thing. You don’t know what I’ve been through. I’ve had a thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry stolen.” Mrs. Swanson looked away through the window out onto Main Street. She lost herself for a few seconds. Remembering.

  “Dixie got a job helping some home construction guy and he gave her some items to return to the hardware store. She lost the receipt, she said, and asked me to return them and get the cash back for her. Said she couldn’t do it because she lost her license and they wouldn’t accept the returned items without ID. Said she didn’t want to get in trouble on her new job. So … hey, what did I know? She seemed to be better. Wasn’t sleeping all day from a night-before binge. So, I returned the materials. They called the manager over and I soon found out the items were stolen. Stolen!”

  Mrs. Swanson took a long look out the window. “So, yada, yada, and my daughter’s on probation.”

  Henry nodded, but kept quiet. He seemed interested in what she had to say. She didn’t know what to make of his behavior. She certainly had heard the rumors, but this was the most she talked to Henry in all her years of living in Coalsville.

  “I’m sorry about your wife, Henry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I gotta get back to work,” she said, noticing her boss staring at her. “I hope you can do something with Dixie. I’ve lost hope, the very thing she needs now. Something I can’t give her. I got too much anger inside.” She pounded her chest. “But maybe you can help her.” She walked a few steps, then turned and said, “I’m sorry for before.”

  * * *

  HENRY SAW that she wanted to say something else but couldn’t, as if something was stuck in her throat, that bulbous knot he was all too familiar with. It was the kind of knot that sat there for a moment or two
in the neck, or maybe the chest. Can’t speak. Can’t swallow. But finally, it passes.

  “Do you want anything to eat?”

  Henry shook his head at first. “Wait,” he said before she got too far away. “Coffee. I’ll take a cup of coffee.”

  He looked out the window at the elaborate holiday decorations wooing the shoppers at the store windows. While staring at them, Judge Brady walked past the diner’s window. Henry waved, but the Judge didn’t see him.

  He thought about what tomorrow would bring when he would see the Judge in his chambers. They hadn’t talked in a long time and Henry wondered how the Judge was doing. They had a history and Henry guessed it would be nice to see him.

  Chapter 7

  CHARLES PETZINGER PEERED through his kitchen window and saw Henry walking around in his backyard making gestures to the numerous stones that lay on the ground. To Charles, it looked like Henry was talking to the stones.

  “What a moron,” Petzinger said to himself. “You stay away from my son, or I’ll stick my foot where the sun don’t shine.”

  Charles retrieved a mug from the sink, blew into it, took the empty whisky bottle that sat next to the kitchen sink by a box of Earl Grey Tea and poured the last few drops into the mug. He chucked the empty bottle into the garbage and started hunting under the sink, in the cabinets, everywhere he could remember keeping a booze reserve, but couldn’t find anything. Then he remembered the pint hidden away on top of the cabinet behind the molding.

  * * *

  HENRY WALKED around his backyard cataloguing in his mind the rocks that had overtaken his lawn. He was, in fact, talking to them, damning them for ruining his yard behind his back as if these rocks snuck up from a dark underworld into their present positions with an express purpose to aggravate him.

  “How can grass grow?” he yelled at no stone in particular. “You ‘turds’ gotta go.”

  * * *

  DIXIE DANCED up the driveway in the front of the house out of Henry’s view to the sound of music on her ever-present CD player. She turned the music off and then knocked on the door. No one answered. She jiggled the knob and the door crept open by itself.