I stood as patiently as I could while Sid told me about not overloading my brush with paint, and how to make a proper stroke, and shit like that He finished up by saying, “You see these dropcloths I’ve laid down? Well, a dropcloth is not an excuse to be sloppy. Look at ’em this way. They’re like a safety net for a trapeze artist. You never want to use it, but you’re glad it’s there when you need it. But the dropcloth of the perfect painter would be completely spotless.”
Something about this part of Sid’s speech got my attention. It reminded me of lessons I had heard at the Zen temple. “Why would a perfect painter even need to lay down his dropcloths then?”
Sid grinned. “He wouldn’t be perfect if he didn’t bother.”
After Sid poured me a plastic handle-bucket full of paint from the can, I moved to the side of the cottage where a second stepladder stood, climbed it and began to paint. The sharp smell of the paint got mixed up with the old weathered smell of the cottage’s boards and the living smell of the nearby trees and the car smells of the highway. I burped and tasted the four chili dogs and Coke I had had for lunch.
After a few minutes I got up my nerve to talk to Sid about Sue. Not being able to see him made the conversation a little easier.
“Sid, uh, what do you think of Sue?”
“She’s a smart girl. Cute as a bug. Seems to have a lot of common sense, and maybe even some big dreams, which are even more important. But I don’t particularly like how she makes her aunt nervous by taking off at night. Christ knows what kind of crowd she’s hanging out with.”
I got a little pissed. “If she has all those good qualities you mentioned, then shouldn’t she be trusted to make her own decisions?“
“Well, yes and no. All the character in the world only goes so far when you factor in lack of experience. A person your age or Sue’s age just hasn’t been through enough crap yet to recognize a lot of life’s traps when they open up under your feet.”
I stabbed the brush at the wall. “I am so sick of that line! Either you can see things the way they are or you can’t, and it doesn’t matter how old you are. What’s right and what’s wrong shows itself to you, and you either have the smarts to tell which is which, or you don’t. You ran into geezers who don’t have a clue, and ten-year-old kids who can spot a phony from a mile away. Age has nothing to do with anything!”
Sid didn’t answer me right away, and I wondered if I had gotten him angry. But when he finally did say something, his voice was calm and maybe even a little sad.
“Kid A, you sound just like me when I was your age. And that’s why I know there’s nothing I can say that will change your mind. And that’s also why I wouldn’t be young again for all the goddamn dope in Mexico. You’re gonna find out that experience matters, matters a lot. And unfortunately, it’s gonna be a painful lesson. But I will say one thing. If right and wrong were as easy to tell apart as you seem to think, then we’d all of us be saints.”
Sid sounded so sincere about me getting hurt somehow that I couldn’t stay pissed at him. Maybe I was a little flattered too at how he had said I reminded him of himself at my age.
“Well, we’re gonna have to agree to disagree then.”
“Agreed,” he said, then laughed. I laughed too.
When we quit laughing, Sid said, “So, you must be pretty taken with Sue if you bothered asking my opinion of her.”
“Well, yeah, of course. I—I like her a lot. I’d like to hook up with her.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“I’m trying my best, but these friends of hers in town are more appealing to her than I am. She’s always ditching me to go see them. How can I compete with some guys I’ve never even met?”
“Have you ever asked Sue to go along with her into town?”
“Uh, no, I haven’t.”
“That doesn’t show much interest in her life.”
“I—I thought I’d be butting in where I wasn’t wanted.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But at this point, what have you got to lose?”
I thought about this idea. It made sense. But then another angle opened up to me. “Hey, you’re not suggesting this because you think I’ll report back to you and Ann about whatever Sue does, are you?”
“Kid A, you’re the one who brought up this whole topic, not me. I’m not the goddamn FBI. Do whatever you wanna do. I’m just saying that unless you can insert yourself deeper into Sue’s world, she’s always going to see you as this vague guy hanging out on the fringes of her life.”
“All right then. I’ll give it a try”
We painted without talking for about half an hour. Then Sid said, “Kid A, maybe you can help me.”
I figured Sid was gonna ask me to talk him up with Ann. But his next words were so far off that mark that they surprised me.
“I’m working on unknotting our pal Angie. It’s gotten to be kind of an obsession with me. At first, I was just hanging around with him to make things go smoother for you and me. I didn’t want him regarding us as competition or some kind of menace to his cozy setup. So I listened to him talk about cars and sports and other impersonal shit, and made all the right sympathetic noises. But the more time I’ve spent with him, the more I’ve gotten really intrigued by his character. There’s something hidden inside him, some sore spot he’s been nursing for a long time. I figure if I can get him to open up about whatever the hell it is, it might be good for him. Good for everybody.”
“How can I help with that?”
“For the first time he’s invited me back to his place for a beer tonight, once he closes up the garage. I’d like you to come along.”
“Won’t me being there make him clam up?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got a hunch that his troubles have something to do with kids. I think you being there will strike some kinda chord with him, and he’ll come clean.”
“This probably means I won’t get to see Sue tonight.”
“Probably.”
I thought about this request for a minute or so. “Will I have to drink beer too? I’m not real big on beer.”
Sid roared. “Kid, I will personally buy you a goddamn crate of Yoohoo if you do me this favor!”
* * *
Apparently, Angie used the garage’s towtruck as his personal transportation. Once again I was jammed in between him and Sid. We were heading in the opposite direction from the time we had gone to change that woman’s tire. But the scenery wasn’t much different, just a lot of trees and once in a while some half-ass, fifty-cent business like a general store or video-rental place or drycleaner’s or liquor store. As we came up on one liquor store, Sid said, “Pull in here, Angie. Tonight’s my treat.”
Angie swung into the lot Sid hopped out, leaving me alone with the hairy, burly guy behind the wheel. I inched away a little, grateful for the space. Angie seemed about to say something, but then changed his mind. When Sid came back, toting a big sack that bulged with bottles and cans and snacks, I breathed a deep sigh of relief, without being too obvious, I hoped. Traffic opened up a space for us, and we got right back on the road.
After growing up in the city, I found all this empty space and these hick businesses a little weird. I wondered what the two nearby towns, Cape Benefit and Lumberton, were like. I could only picture something like one of those old sitcoms from Nick at Nite. All the people would be smiling gray ghosts in old clothes, wandering through a black-and-white small town landscape full of ancient cars. Kinda stupid, I knew, but that’s what came into my mind.
We drove for about twenty minutes more. There was a lot of local access to the highway, even though it was four lanes of cars driving too fast. We pulled off at last at this long, three-story apartment building, brick and crumbling stucco, a dead, dusty fountain on a patch of burnt grass. Trails of rust stained the walls beneath all the built-in air-conditioners. A sign said no guest parking in tenant slots. Loserville.
Angie parked near the main door, and we got out.
The gla
ss door into the small lobby wasn’t even locked. Angie checked his mailbox, took out a few pieces of junk mail and dumped them in an overflowing trash container. We followed him up two flights of stairs and down a corridor where the rug was about a hundred years old. The air smelled like bad cooking and boxes full of used kitty litter. Angie let us into his apartment with a key off a big ring strung by a chain to his belt.
The first thing I saw was a little pantry-style kitchen on my right. Dishes dried in a rack, and towels were folded neatly. A teapot sat on the stove. I had pictured a sink full of dirty dishes, and open cereal boxes and jars of peanut butter lying around. The neatness surprised me.
Beyond the kitchen, the living room featured a wide window that looked out over the parking lot. I could see the tow truck, and for some reason that made me feel better, like my ride back to Deer Park was assured. A vinyl recliner patched with duct tape faced a big tv. Two little tables holding lamps stood at either end of a couch covered with some gnarly fabric the color of old mustard. The carpet inside looked a little cleaner than the stuff in the hall. A closed door had to lead to the bedroom, and the bathroom must’ve been beyond there too.
Sid set down his sack on a third, bigger table against the wall, one that Angie must’ve used for his meals. “Man, I’m getting agoraphobia here! After a week sharing that trailer with the Kid, I had forgotten one person could own so much space! Nice place you’ve got here, Ange.”
Angie grunted, then moved across the room to turn on the tv. The six o’clock local news came on, with the volume low. I had a feeling that the tv ran continuously while Angie was home. Suddenly, sharing a trailer with Sid didn’t look like such a bad deal. I had longed to get off on my own, away from my parents, for a long time. But now I could see how a person could get too alone, and how being too alone could get old real fast.
Sid started taking out his purchases. Two pints of whiskey, two sixpacks of Miller, and a two-liter bottle of Coke. Besides the drinks, he had picked up a can of potato stix, a large bag of pretzels, one of Cheetos and a handful of Slim Jims.
“All right, mine host! Let’s have some glasses here, if you please!”
Angie got two small glasses and a plastic mug out of the cupboard. Sid poured an inch of whiskey twice, then filled the big mug with Coke for me. He popped the tops of two beers and the can of potato stix, and ripped open the snacks.
“A toast!” bellowed Sid. I took up my Coke. “To friendship!”
We all tapped our glasses, and while I sipped at my soda, Angie and Sid drained their whiskeys, then swigged some beer.
“Have a seat,” Angie said, his first words since we had left Deer Park.
Sid and I dropped down on the couch. Angie dug out a folding tv tray and set it in front of us. He transferred the snacks to the tray, then spun around his recliner so it faced us. The tv newscaster droned on, talking about some disaster far away. Angie sank down into his well-worn seat. Sid popped up to pour more whiskey. He set the pint on the tv tray, then joined me on the couch again.
Neither Sid nor Angie swallowed their second glass of whiskey as fast as the first one. Instead, they nursed their drinks without saying anything. When I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, I said, “Uh, so, uh, Angie. Pretty busy today?”
“Not really. Did a brake job.”
“That’s cool.” Jesus, not much material to work with here! And where was Sid, who always had some line of bull handy? I looked to my road buddy for some conversational help, but he just grinned like an idiot and nodded at me, like I was the detective in charge of interrogating a suspect. What was I supposed to do, just ask Angie outright what was eating him up inside? I looked to the tv for help. The sports segment of the news was on. I could care less about sports, but I figured maybe that topic would get a rise out of Angie.
“So, who do you think will make it into the World Series this year?”
“No idea.”
I took a long swallow of my soda, stopped, then drank some more. This was going nowhere. Whatever powers Sid imagined I had to get Angie spilling his guts were obviously nonexistent. Finally, even Sid must have sensed this, because he picked up the ball.
“Ange, you know that second game we played today? Where did you learn that opening?”
Angie perked up a little. His face muscles moved in a way that might have led to a smile in about another ten years of effort, and his thick eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “You like that little maneuver, huh? I picked that up from a library book.”
“You must have a board and pieces here. Dig ’em out, and let’s run through that sweet little trap one more time.”
“Sure thing.”
Angie went to a cabinet and took out the chess stuff. I finished my soda, and got up for a refill. While the two guys bent over the board, I stuffed myself with chips and Slim Jims, all the while imagining what Sue would’ve been fixing me for supper if I had been with her. This was as boring as boring could get. I moved slowly around the apartment, looking at the few bits of junk Angie owned. A stack of car magazines, a souvenir plate from Niagara Falls, a backgammon set, a collection of Las Vegas postcards. I guessed Angie must have about six and a half memories, one of which was driving us here tonight.
After about half an hour, I had to take a piss.
“Right through there,” Angie said, waving at the closed door.
The bedroom was darker than the living room, with the shades down, but I could see the toilet through the half-open bathroom door on the far side of the room. I made straight for the john, and enjoyed a long pee. With that off my mind, I went back more slowly through the bedroom. I was in no rush to get back out there with Angie and Sid.
A few framed photos stood atop a dresser. I went over to look at them. One of the shots caught my attention right away. It showed four smiling people. Ann, plus a man I didn’t know, plus Angie, plus a kid about my age, all standing outside the Deer Park office. The man I didn’t know had his arm around Ann. I picked up the picture.
I turned my back on the bedroom door and angled the picture at a crack of light coming through the shades, in order to get a better look at the scene.
“Put that down!”
A hand like a catcher’s mitt clamped my shoulder and squeezed.
“Ow! What’s the matter? I was just looking!”
Now Sid was in the bedroom too. “Angie, let him go! What’s wrong?”
Angie took his hand away and snatched the photograph from me. I reached up to massage my shoulder, and I threw in a little wince. My shoulder didn’t hurt all that much, but I wanted to make sure everyone knew how unfairly I had been treated.
“This is real personal,” Angie said. He clutched the frame against his chest like he was some girl guarding her diary. He didn’t look angry so much now, but more like he was gonna cry.
Sid stepped closer to Angie and threw an arm around him. “Listen, big guy, you know we don’t mean to stick our noses in where they’re not wanted. But on the other hand, it would be awfully hardass of us if we didn’t express a little concern over something that obviously busts you up so much. Here me and the Kid are, in your home, sharing a drink, enjoying your hospitality, and we’re supposed to just turn our heads aside when we see you hurting? That’s cold, man. Real uncaring. That’s not the way me or the Kid operate, is it, Kid?”
“Uh, no, of course not.”
“Besides, aren’t we all part of the Deer Park family?”
Something about this last phrase set Angie off. He went from a suspicious silence to a gush of emotion. He collapsed backward onto the bed, slipping out of Sid’s arm, still clutching the photograph. “Oh Jesus, oh Jesus,” he wailed. Now he was crying for real. I felt like I was seeing icky emotional junk I shouldn’t be seeing, but I couldn’t look away. The guy was obviously totally torn up inside over something bad that had happened, all connected with that photo.
Sid sat down on the bed while I shifted from foot to foot. He didn’t say anything, just hung his head and p
ut a hand on Angie’s shoulder. The mechanic continued to sob, not too loud, but still painful-sounding. At last he ran out of energy or despair or both. He got a hold of himself and sat up, continuing to let Sid’s hand ride his shoulder. Neither of them said anything, so at last I spoke up.
“Uh, maybe we could all use a drink?”
The photograph sat on the folding tray between the couch and the recliner, angled so we could all see it. Angie and Sid had polished off two more shots and two more beers apiece, and now Angie seemed ready to talk. He extended one blunt index finger, still grimy around the nail, and tapped the image of the man standing next to Ann.
“That’s my brother Vito. Ann’s husband.” Angie hesitated a moment, then tapped the glass above the kid. “That’s their son, Tony.
“Tony’s dead. And Vito’s split. Three years now.”
Angie looked away from us, out the window. Night had arrived. The lights in the parking lot of the apartment building made circles of brightness that just showed how dark the dark really was.
Angie looked back at us. “And it’s all my fault.”
I expected Sid to make some kind of denial, to reassure Angie by saying that certainly he wasn’t to blame for any such thing. But Sid must’ve felt that any such awarding of instant relief wasn’t practical, wasn’t called-for, or wasn’t his to give. Maybe all three. So he just said, “How’s that, Ange?”
“The car. The car that killed Tony. I gave the kid his first car. I was trying to make him into a gearhead like me. He seemed interested. Used to come over to the garage every day after school and hang out with me. Smart kid, picked things up fast. Pretty soon he was helping me restore this old Camaro. We dropped a new engine in, a big one. Got the interior back to cherry. I gave him the car for his sixteenth birthday. Four months later, he wrapped it around a tree one night, just a few miles from home. Half a year later, Vito was gone. The marriage just fell apart. All because of Tony’s death. The divorce came through a year after that.”
Roadside Bodhisattva Page 8
