She could only imagine how it would’ve felt to have a full-time Danny to bug the hell out of her day in and day out. But there were isolated moments today when Dixie felt like Danny was the brother she never had. There was something about him that was charming to her; yet, at this moment, she wanted to give him a noogie, a knuckle-brush on top of his noggin for talking like a turd. In fact, she wanted to call him a ‘turd’ except she knew she’d get an over-the-top dissertation on the value of proper language from Henry, so she didn’t say it. She was not in the mood for such a lecture.
Danny stuck his tongue out at her.
“You’re a turd,” she said anyway letting the chips fall where they may. She rubbed her knuckles of one hand across the palm of the other. “If you never had noogies before, you’re about to experience one very soon if you don’t stop behaving like a … jerk.”
“Wisenheimer,” Henry interjected.
“What?” Dixie asked
“Wisenheimer. That would be a better word than jerk. It’s certainly better than turd.” And then Henry began a dissertation on the value of proper language and using descriptive words that properly conveyed the intent of the speaker. There was the social connotation of proper language. There was the ever-present possibility of being misunderstood, of relationships crumbling, of nations toppling, and of the universe disintegrating for the want of using suitable and relevant words. Henry went on and on.
And on.
Dixie wanted to growl she was so bored. One word warbled into the next. She thought Henry must’ve been talking for twenty minutes because her mother finally appeared with an armful of food interrupting Henry’s homily. Thank God!
“Number three with a side,” she said as she placed a plate before Danny. She put down a number two with extra bacon for Dixie, and their eyes meet briefly, then Mrs. Swanson plopped down some pancakes and a hefty order of sausage for Henry.
“All out of Cheerios,” she said to Henry. “You got the number two for the same price as the cereal.” She winked at Henry.
Dixie watched her mother interact with Henry. This was a side of her mother that Dixie hadn’t seen in a long, long time. To the casual observer, her mom was acting nice. Or maybe it was just an absence of anger.
* * *
MRS. SWANSON FELT drawn to Henry. She couldn’t explain it. She just sensed an honesty about him that was refreshing, and he appeared to genuinely care about her daughter, which was even more refreshing, especially since he appeared to have a positive influence on Dixie’s behavior. Yet, Mrs. Swanson still wondered what his motivations were. ‘Everybody wants something in this world’ was her practical view of people. Maybe Henry was different.
She smiled politely and left.
* * *
DIXIE ATTACKED her food as if she was no stranger to hunger. After the first few gulps, she looked out the window and saw a snowdrift fall from the canopy in front of her and scattered in the wind. A temporary chill traveled through her bones. She wondered, for a moment, how Wheezy and Joe were surviving under the bridge.
Henry, meanwhile, ripped a small piece of paper from the wrapping of his straw and put it into his mouth. After a beat, he took the paper out of his mouth and twirled it between his fingers making a perfect spitball. He loaded it in his straw, put the other end in his mouth and blew like it was a dart gun. The spit ball came barreling out of the straw and hit Dixie on the tip of her nose, a deadly, accurate splat that suggested that he had engaged in this unsociable activity at other times, in other places, with other people. Henry immediately went back to eating.
“What the ….” Dixie’s upper teeth were imbedded in her lower lip, like she wanted to bellow out the worst word she could think of - a thousand such words - but, somehow, she restrained herself. She removed the spitball from the tip of her nose and inspected it.
Danny laughed uncontrollably.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” she interrogated Henry. “You’re not well, you know. You should be locked up.”
And with that, Dixie went back to eating like a starve refugee.
* * *
HENRY SLAPPED down his twenty-dollar bill at the register. “Customer here,” Henry yelled since there was no cashier to take the check.
Dixie moved two steps away from him. “I don’t know you,” she said. Danny took two steps away from Henry as well. “I don’t know you either.”
Dixie’s eyes eventually found her mother’s and they had a full conversation without speaking a word. Mrs. Swanson was telling Dixie with her slightly squinted eyes to stop using Henry like she had used everyone else in her life – selfishly. Dixie, in turn, told her Mom to back off and stop being so controlling. What she really wanted to say to her mother out loud was that she was trying to get better. Dixie didn’t know if her efforts would pay off this time, but she just wanted to tell her she was trying. But she couldn’t speak the words. Not there. Not now.
Maybe later.
The stocky female owner finally showed up at the register to take Henry’s money.
“Are you going to be home for dinner tonight?” Mrs. Swanson asked Dixie from the counter.
Dixie shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe. I don’t know,” she said, then grabbed Danny by the arm and dragged him to the exit.
* * *
HENRY PAID the bill, took the change from the owner and walked over to Mrs. Swanson. He put the money on the counter and reached into his pocket for the loose change. “Your tip,” he said. “She’ll be home for dinner,” he added, and then left.
Outside, the sun had finally broken through the clouds. Henry squinted, startled at brightness.
Dixie was doing a high-step as if she were walking on taffy. “My feet are wet,” she said.
“Go home and change,” Danny replied.
“No.”
“Don’t be a jerk. Go home and …”
“You don’t be a jerk, Danny-boy” Dixie interrupted harshly. “I … don’t have another pair, all right?”
Henry rubbed his stomach over his jacket. “Are our tummies happy?” he asked.
“Yeah, Henry. Our tummies are real happy.” Dixie said, and rolled her eyes, barely tolerating Henry’s baby talk.
“Good,” Henry said, ignoring her subtext.
“I have to go home.” Danny said. “My father …” He didn’t complete the sentence and Henry didn’t make him.
Henry and Dixie said their goodbyes to Danny and watched him slosh down Main Street.
“My feet …” Dixie lifted one foot up at a time. “They’re wet and cold and … numb.”
Henry pulled out an envelope that was marked ‘Friday’, and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill from it. He waved it in front of Dixie with a gleeful look in his eyes. “Tomorrow’s allowance,” he confided.
“Oh, I can’t ask you to use your allowance.”
“It’s okay. I don’t need twenty dollars a day.” And with that, they headed for a shoe store.
* * *
DIXIE DANCED out of the discount shoe store like a ballerina, sporting her stylish snow boots. She lost her balance and fell into Henry. He held her upright so she didn’t fall. Dixie took the opportunity and hugged him. “Thank you,” she said. She was fortunate to have Henry as a friend. A part of her wanted to laugh like crazy, while the other part of her wanted to cry. She looked into Henry’s eyes and imagined this was the kind of connection a daughter has with a father. A loving gaze between parent and child, but without any baggage that sometimes goes along with such a relationship. No history of yelling or misunderstandings.
“You’re welcome,” Henry replied.
Meanwhile, a car drove by and Jason peered out of the passenger window. The moment Dixie saw Jason her body stiffened, her face tightened, then loosened into a gloomy gaze. Jason simply pointed at her and pulled down his thumb.
A hollow, empty feeling overcame Dixie, her energy suddenly sucked right out of her. She knew that the only way to rid herself of Jason was to either leave town or
kill him. Or kill herself, she supposed. None of those options were appealing, although there were times she seriously thought about ending her life – like those times when she got so violently ill coming down from the drugs of the night before. That was when she prayed for death. Yeah, drugs were killing her, she knew that, and if she continued on this destructive path she would be sucked in that evil black hole, that terrible abyss that crushed ambitions, hopes and dreams. Depression was too passive a word to describe it.
As Dixie had her head buried in Henry’s chest, she watched Jason at the light. What was it about him that made her always go back? He had this beguiling charisma, or maybe it was because he just, very simply, paid attention to her. He could be nice when he wanted to, but it always ended up the same way. A pill. A spoon. And sometimes, a needle.
The car passed by innocently enough, and the threat was gone. Henry didn’t see Jason’s little finger gesture, she surmised. Just as well. Dixie looked up at him and smiled. His presence, his innocent strength, had given her hope.
“I need money,” Henry said, then released Dixie and walked over to the pharmacy window and stared.
“Don’t we all,” Dixie whispered. She looked in the window with him and saw the help wanted sign. “What are you talking about, Henry? You’re loaded, I thought.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. “I don’t think so, Dixie.”
“What do you mean? You got money. You got lots of money. What are you worried about?”
“I don’t have lots of money. That’s my wife’s money and …” Henry all of a sudden looked very depressed and fell silent.
“What’s the matter, Henry?”
“Nothing,” he finally said. He led her to the bench nearby and they sat. “I guess people are right about me. I can’t be trusted. I’m not a responsible person.”
“I trust you, Henry. I think you’re responsible.”
* * *
Henry smiled at her. “Sometimes I lose track of where I am,” Henry confided. “I lose track of time. I go into this … tunnel. I mean, my body doesn’t go into a tunnel. My vision does, like I’m dreaming. Mary used to tell me I was having a panic attack. I don’t know what it is. All I know is when I go into the tunnel I can’t stop myself, like the other day in the diner when your mother asked me uncomfortable questions and you called me … stupid. It just happens sometimes. I can’t control it.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Dixie said. She listened as Henry talked about the incident in the pharmacy a long time ago when Sharon and Robin and Henry stood with Mary on the checkout line. The kids were in grammar school at the time. The Flanagan twins and their mother were also in line behind them. Henry explained how he turned to one of the Flanagan twins and asked the boy to pull on his finger. The Flanagan twin did as was asked and Henry farted. The sound was like a bullhorn, which embarrassed his daughters and Mary.
“Mrs. Flanagan yelled at Mary,” Henry added, “and said I was an ‘unsociable’ person and I should be locked up. I’ll never forget the look on Mary’s face. Like I betrayed her.”
“Oh, Henry. That’s not a big deal. My grandfather used to ask me to pull on his finger all the time.”
“But it wasn’t on line in a store with strangers looking on. Besides, that’s not the point, Dixie. It was more than just pulling the finger. I went into the tunnel, like a retard, and that embarrassed my whole family even worse.”
“What is it like,” Dixie asked, “when you space out like that?”
“All I see is white all around me and my whole body goes numb like I’m paralyzed. I kind of see what’s going on around me, but I become a lump on a log. I can’t talk and I can’t move. And when I come out of it, I have no idea how long I had been gone. Maybe a minute. Maybe longer.” Henry hung his head, feeling shame. “I don’t know why I do things like that, Dixie. I just do things without thinking sometimes. Like that time with the Flanagan twins, Mary had to walk me out of the store like I was a cripple, or something. I remember the look on her face. I don’t think Mary trusted me in public after that.”
Then Henry told Dixie about the hate Sharon must have for him because of the fact that she filed for financial guardianship. “Incapacitation,” Henry said. “It sounds like a medical term that describes what I have. Like the flu, or something.”
He went on to explain Robin’s envelopes and the twenty dollars a day, the most recent two days of which he had just spent on food and shoes for Dixie.
“So, you see,” he said. “I need a job temporarily until this is all over. But I don’t think Mr. Adler will hire me.”
“Because of the farting incident?”
“Yeah, I guess. He wasn’t there when that happened, but I’m sure he’s heard the story. The whole town heard the story. He probably doesn’t think I’d be responsible enough. But I am. I’m different now. I feel different. I feel like I have to be responsible now that I’m alone and I have to take care of myself. You can see that, right?”
Dixie nodded. “Let’s take the boots back.”
“No … no. You need them more than I need twenty dollars. You’ll catch pneumonia or something. Besides, you already scuffed them up and the store won’t take them back like that.”
“I have an idea,” Dixie said. “I think I know who you can convince Mr. Adler to hire you.”
* * *
ASA ADLER WATCHED Dixie and Henry through the tinted window while he filled prescriptions at the pharmacy counter. He was the pharmacist and co-proprietor of the establishment for many years, and knew Henry all his life. He wondered what Henry was doing outside with Dixie, who he knew from the gossip he had overheard from customers blabbing idly on the check-out line. In fact, that’s how Asa got most of his information about the people of Coalsville – through conversation he had overheard from his customers. Not a very reliable source of information, he thought, but still, it made him wonder.
Henry walked into the shop alone. Asa continued working on a prescription while keeping tabs on Henry walking down aisle three. Henry stopped by the vitamin section and looked around at the products on the selves for a moment. They caught each other’s eye, nodded and smiled. Henry continued down the aisle until he faced Asa directly.
“Hello, Henry. What are you up to?”
“Hello, Mr. Adler,” Henry said. “How are you on this fine day?”
Asa tossed the prescription he just filled into the metal bin next to the register marked ‘FILLED’. He took a slip from the ‘IN’ bin and started working on a new prescription. The back brace he wore around his mid-section caused him to move stiffly.
“I’m fine, Henry. Why are you calling me Mr. Adler? You’ve always called me Asa.”
“You’re right.” Henry bellowed. “What happened to your back … Asa?”
“I slipped on a patch of ice coming to work today. It’s only a muscle strain.”
“Got to be careful on days like today. When it’s icy outside, I take tiny steps like this.” Henry walked in place without moving.
Pete Kruchuk, Asa’s business partner who had a round face and a round pair of glasses sitting on a stubby nose, was tending to customers who came to claim their prescriptions. He snatched a prescription bag from the FILLED bin and eyed Henry.
“I’m sorry about your wife, Henry,” Asa said.
“Yeah. So am I, Asa.” Henry topped the sentence off with a grunt. “Everybody seems sorry about that.”
Kruchuk shot a look at Henry and rolled his eyes.
Henry moved around the corner, closer to Asa. Henry fidgeted with his shirt, looked around, and leaned into the counter, appearing to want some privacy with Asa.
Asa leaned over a bit to accommodate Henry. “So, what can I do for you, Henry?”
“I noticed the sign outside, Mr. Adler.”
“Henry, why do you insist on calling me Mr. Adler. I’ve known you all my life.”
“Okay, Asa. I got an important question to ask you about the sign out there.”
“What sign are you talking about, Henry?”
“Well, the ‘Help Wanted’ sign, Asa.”
“Oh, that. Yeah, Joan Wickline quit the other day quite unexpectedly and I need to fill the position quickly.” Asa continued filling out the prescription in front of him.
“I came in here to apply for the job,” Henry finally said. “I need money.”
Asa stopped filling the prescription. He looked at Mr. Kruchuk who was still tending the customer. “You need money, Henry?” Asa chuckled while saying this. Then all of sudden he got serious. “I don’t think so, Henry. You … what do you need money for? Your family is very well off. There is no need for you to get a job.”
“Well. A man has to occupy his time somehow, Asa.”
“But why here, Henry? This is hardly a place to fulfill personal goals or dreams for a man of your years.”
Just as Mr. Adler said this, Dixie came over. “I have a problem,” she said. “Every time I eat I get this …” Dixie holds her stomach “… you know, a bloated feeling. Like I have to fart. I looked all around but I can’t find anything.”
“Beano is good for that,” Henry said. “Next to the vitamin section, aisle three. Right side. Top shelf. You have to take it before you eat, though, else it won’t work.”
“Oh, thank you, good sir. You are a gentleman. And you are a scholar, too.” Dixie left.
“I’m in my late-fifties,” Henry said, continuing his discourse with Asa. “And I feel very fit. Can I have the job, Asa?”
Mr. Kruchuk gave change to the last customer and slammed the register closed. He shot a look at Asa that had a lot of subtext then headed to the back office.
“Henry …” Asa leaned forward and whispered. “In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t think I remember you ever holding down a job.”
“Asa, I need the money. Christmas is coming and … I need the money.”
South of Main Street Page 18
