Tourists of the Apocalypse (10 page)

“I’m getting splinters from that chair,” she barks, passing me before I can grab her. “Let’s go see what the
Hooker Mobile
looks like up close.”

I’m left standing by the back door catching flies in my mouth. She never turns around, simply exits out the front door, leaving it open behind her. Looking down at the beer in my hand, I decline to talk to Violet just now. The recent revelation that she’s a prostitute has me somewhat shaken, not to mention she’s probably a very busy girl by now.

I remove the cardboard holder for the beer and take the last three onto the porch. Removing the first cap proves difficult and I take several large chunks of wood out of the arm before the lid comes free. I feel spent, sweat dribbling down one temple.
I should have kissed her
. I hold up the beer as if to toast and then have a good long drink.

“And tomorrow I am going to get up early and wash Violet’s car,” I announce out loud, kicking my feet out straight and slouching in the chair. “For old time’s sake.”

…

My mother and Graham throw an early birthday party for me on Labor Day. There is a huge two-tiered cake. It’s blue and yellow, with a giant twenty candle burning on top. Izzy, T-Buck and Graham attend, as well as Jerry and his mother, Roberta, who helps mom with Sunday dinners. Lance, Dickey and the rest are out at the site, while Mr. Dibble has returned home apparently cleared by Doctor Luke. Graham promises to take him a slice of cake.

Izzy sticks close to Roberta and Mom, lingering in the kitchen over the dishes after everyone enjoys their cake.
Is she embarrassed about yesterday?
Graham, Jerry and I slip out to the porch to relax on this warm September night. Fireworks go off about town every so often. Possibly leftovers from the 4th of July or more likely people assume Labor Day is a holiday so let’s blow something up.
This is West Texas after all
.

Jerry is drinking at least his eighth beer while simultaneously chain smoking. Graham rolls his eyes at me every so often when he lights another. We listen to a half hour of complaints, before Roberta calls him inside to help her change a lightbulb. The bulb has been out since I was ten, but I suspect she’s just trying to get him to stop drinking and smoking in front of all these people.

“Wasn’t Jerry the paperboy when I moved here?” Graham whispers to me.

“Yup, oh how times have changed.”

“How so?”

“Well,” I start, glancing over my shoulder at the front window before starting. “He worked his butt off all through high school to pay for college. His dad died down at the cement plant and he didn’t want to wind up working there.”

“That must have been a dangerous place?”

I nod, thinking of Dickey.

“So, did he go to school?”

“No, that’s the twist,” I explain. “He goes on a campus visit to Baylor with a few other kids. There’s a half dozen guys staying overnight in the dorms. Jerry only knew a couple of them as they were a mixed bag from all over the state.”

“Sounds fun?”

“If only,” I sigh. “Jerry wakes up the next morning to the sound of cops pounding on the door. When they get in he’s sitting there in his boxer shorts next to a table full of coke.”

“Was it his?”

“No, he didn’t even drink back then,” I say defensively. “A couple of the other guys were doing it. One of them went in the community restrooms down the hall and started smashing urinals. RA called the cops and Jerry went down for the drugs.”

“RA?”

“Resident Advisor,” I explain. “It’s an upperclassman that lives on the hall and keeps an eye out for trouble.”

“Why not just go to another school?”

“Nowhere would take him,” I disclose. “It was all over the news. Not to mention he did 90 days before they let him out.”

“What did he do then?”

“Bought a Trans-Am with his college money and got a job in Deerfield working at a Denny’s,” I reveal, looking back over my shoulder again.

“How far is that from here?”

“At least an hour on the highway,” I roll my eyes. “But he didn’t want to see anyone from here.”

“That’s a full-on Greek tragedy,” Graham exhales and shakes his head. “I heard Roberta telling your mom he’s been getting in fights.”

“When?”

“Last Sunday when she was here during dinner.”

“I’d say we need to do an intervention, but look around,” I shrug, waving a hand towards downtown. “This is it.”

“I could talk to Lance,” he pitches me, grimacing a bit when I look over.

“About what?”

“They could use him out at the site. Moneys good and it beats Denny’s.”

“What exactly are you guys building out there?”

“Big complex,” he responds dismissively.

“You say that, but get serious alright. I’m not thirteen years old anymore. What is it?”

It’s just a building project,” he assures me, but I am not buying it. “Alternative energy thing. It’s not a huge deal.”

“So why all the secrecy?”

“Alternative energy is a big business Dylan. It’s a race to get there first.”

“So you guys work for an energy company?” I propose. “Which one?”

“You won’t have heard of us.”

“Try me,” I challenge him.

Before he can answer, Izzy comes out the door, peeking around the half open screen first. I’m not sure what to say since she hasn’t spoken a word to me since Dickey’s house. She’s wearing a knee length skirt today, with an off the shoulder blouse. Her hair is down which is odd for her. Graham looks at me and then to her before frowning.

“All cleaned up in there?” I inquire, hoping for some sort of interaction.

“Your Mom’s got it under control.”

“That’s good,” I answer desperately trying to think of something witty to say.

Graham watches us and remains silent. Izzy leans on the post by the stairs and crosses her arms over her chest. My first reaction is to suggest a walk, but Graham is watching me and I could swear he is moving his head side to side very slowly.
Is he telling me no?
After a few minutes of this Izzy huffs and starts across the paved oval to her place. I start to say something, but Graham speaks up first.

“Tell Lance to call me.”

She turns around and walks backward, pointing a finger at him, then pulling the trigger as if it were a gun. He nods, then she finishes a complete circle heading home, whistling as she goes. I turn to say something, but again Graham goes first.

“No.”

“No what?” I plead.

“Just no,” he barks, pointing a finger at me. “I thought something was off the last few days. You two didn’t—?” he asks, but then his voice trails off.

“Absolutely not.”

“Good, keep it that way.”

“You’re worried about nothing,” I argue, but come off sounding insincere.

“Don’t make me put a guard on her door?” he warns, standing up and pointing his index finger. “This would be a bad time to open up that can of worms.”

“There’s a good time?”

“Very funny,” he scowls. “Now listen--.”

I’m watching the lights come on in the front window of her house while he talks. I’m sure he’s telling me something important, but I follow the lights as they flip on and off. I have never been in any of their houses, but they all look about the same. She passes by the front window, trailing a shadow on the curtains. Eyeliner smeared on ruffled sheets and lavender bath soap preoccupy my thoughts.
I should have kissed her
.

“Never mind,” Graham groans. “I’ll talk to her.”

“About what?”

He doesn’t answer, just turns and heads down the front steps. “Go back to the Army Dylan,” he orders, walking across the lawn toward his place. “You’re less likely to get shot.”

…

I have been home on two other occasions in the last year and half, but both times Izzy was with Lance out at the job site. I’d wonder if this was intentional had my mother not admitted to telling Graham I was coming.
Apparently he asks about me a lot
. Obviously he tipped off Lance in hopes avoiding another touchy conversation about my feelings for Izzy. He must be a mind reader as I don’t know how I feel about her.
How do I feel about her?
I shouldn’t blame him, but it’s still frustrating. It often feels as if I am not welcome in my own home. I haven’t felt this way since Jarrod was here.
What did happen to him?

Since being discharged last week, I have been floating around the gulf coast of Florida trying to decide what’s next for me. Having re-upped once I am done with the military, plus didn’t Izzy tell me not to commit past 2015?
What was that all about?

I had the taxi driver stop here, a block down from my street. Leaning on a tree, I peer down the deserted avenue. It’s dusk and the sky bleeds oranges and purples over the tree tops. A friend once told me the night before Thanksgiving was the busiest bar night of the year.

“No one has to work the next day.”

That may or may not be true, but it is tumbleweed city on Oakmont Street. I didn’t tell anyone before coming home this time. As a matter of fact, I sent my mother a vague postcard inferring a bunch of us would be skiing in Colorado.
Why would anyone believe a poor kid from East Texas could snow ski?
In any event, this guaranteed no one would be at the airport to pick me up and Graham would be unable to warn Lance.

Having left all my stuff in Pensacola, stashed in a bus station turnkey locker, I stroll down the street unencumbered. Passing Dickey’s house, I see a huge grey Jeep of some kind sitting in his narrow driveway. The house has a garage, but my previous impression was that it was full.
Where is the Mustang?
I seriously doubt he would part with it, meaning he’s not home.

Thoughts swirl in my head until I am standing in front of my house. The lights in the front window are off, but the dining room is occupied as the blueish glow of the television bleeds out from the edges of the curtains. Scanning the cul-de-sac, I see only Graham’s truck in the three driveways. Nothing at T-Bucks or Lances’ place may mean they are all out of town.
An interesting turn of events.
I decide to surprise Mom and see what’s new. Slipping through the screen door, while holding it with well-practiced precision, I sneak in unheard.

Inside my mother, Izzy and Roberta are watching the Wheel of Fortune. They sit around one end of the table, while the small flat screen sits on the far end. A black cable hangs off the TV, running in to the kitchen. The wire dangles two feet off the floor, threating to trip anyone unaware of its presence. I watch for several minutes, until a commercial comes on and Izzy hops up. When she turns she nearly runs me over.

“Nice to see you too,” I chuckle, catching her by the tops of her arms.

“Dylan,” she blurts, a look of confusion on her face.

“Happy Thanksgiving.”

She doesn’t reply, but musters a weak smile.

I endure a hugging ritual from my dear mother and many questions from Roberta. There is one long story about how Lance took Jerry on down at the job site. She’s so thankful he helped get her son back on his feet. This has apparently been attributed to me. I assume Graham told them it was my idea. He has a way of passing around the praise and deflecting blame.

Though the chatter, Izzy leans silently in the dining room archway. Her hair is pushed back by a horse shoe band and she hooks it with a finger over her ear. A yellow sun dress hangs to her knees. White Keds and short tennis socks adorn her feet, an oddly feminine outfit for her. She’s mostly a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl. We share several long glances as various stories are told. These glances are worth a thousand words in comparison to all the senseless talking that’s going on. When my mother goes to get everyone coffee Izzy finally speaks.

“Nice to see you,” she injects, stepping away from the archway. “I gotta get home.”

“Already?” I groan and then pause, watching her eyes drop to the floor. “But, I just got here.”

“Yeah, sorry, Lance likes us to watch Jeopardy together,” she offers in a fairly insincere tone. “Makes him feel smart.”

I just stare, but when my mother re-enters the room with coffee mugs, she spots Izzy by the door. A long hugging routine takes place and Izzy thanks her for dinner. The two of them are like sisters and have been since Izzy took care of her after the beating. I get a mere parade wave before she slips away in the darkness of the cul-de-sac.
I should have kissed her.

I’m obligated it seems to sit through Jeopardy, but soon after I slink back to the front porch. With fingers tracing the wooden boards I recall sitting here many times over the years. There are also unhappy memories, like the ones I get looking at the spot where Jarrod parked his truck.
And beat the crap out of my Mother.

“The prodigal son returns,” a voice startles me from the darkness past the driveway.

“Graham.”

“May I?” he requests comically, pointing to the step on which I reside.

“Absolutely.”

There is a moment of quiet, then my mother can be heard from inside. A huge Thanksgiving feast is in the works and she hasn’t a second to spare.
Except to watch The Wheel of course
.

“How long you back for?”

“How ya been Dylan,” I announce theatrically. “How’s the Army. Make any new friends?”

“That’s not how this works buddy,” he whispers, looking over his shoulder and waving at my mother as she passes.

“I’m out for good, a free man come home to see his mother.”

“Congratulations.”

“Why is it I don’t believe you?”

“You’re looking at this the wrong way Dylan.”

“How should I look at it?”

“None of this is going to last buddy,” he offers waving a hand around his head. “You might think you can build something from this spot on the game board, but you’d be wrong. No matter what you roll, the next move you make is
GO TO JAIL, DO NOT PASS GO
.”

“Could you possibly be more cryptic?”

“Probably not,” he admits. “How shall I explain the future?”

“The what?”