The Golden Years

The Golden Years.

    
      Leona was a good woman, a widow woman, and a Christian woman. She lived in the little house that her husband had built by hand after the war. And in Pearl River, she was well liked and as far as the officials of St. Tammany Parish were concerned, she was politically consistent. But that was years ago before she didn’t get out much and to whoever was left, she was mostly a memory, a distant memory. Her husband had died twelve years earlier and a decade before that, their son had been swept away into the memory of an epidemic that had descended into the city. She prayed to herself on most days and had somehow reached a level of contentment and peace with her life and had, on most days, been satisfied with the outcome of her life and the choices that she had made. But she didn’t think about that much, she was just happy to be alive and in contact with her God….her precious God who watched over her. 

     When the winds came, her years had told her that there would soon be rain and that rain was good and that with it came life….precious life. But the rain did not come, soon, as she had remembered, only wind. And the wind gathered strength and it was ferocious. And before the rain began, the Live Oak tree in the side yard blew over and smashed through the eastern window and caved in a portion of the roof. Then the rains came. In horizontal sheets the rains came. The apocalyptic rains came and they pulled siding from the house and they pulled the tar shingles from the roof and its wetness entered the house and destroyed all that it could touch.   

     Morning revealed that Leona was alive and that everyone in Pearl River was alive and had escaped the judgment brought upon Mississippi and New Orleans. With a little work, the already dying town could be brought back to its relative obscurity. But maybe it was that obscurity that kept the crews away, kept the television cameras away, kept help away. But help did come, for Leona that is. Help came in the form of a friendly young man, Jarrett, in a work truck and a cooler full of potato salad, and sandwiches. He fed Leona and without asking, began cutting the tree away from the house. Jarrett worked hard that day cutting up the tree and neatly stacking it as cordwood. After picking up most of the debris from around the yard, he provided Leona with a dry blanket, comforting words and a plan to get her house back together. Jarrett spent most of the next morning with a clipboard, plastic calculator and measuring tape as he looked over the house carefully surveying the damage. And Leona took comfort as she would watch Jarrett calculating and writing notes on his clipboard. He was meticulous. He was concise. He was perfect; for later he met Leona on the porch to describe what needed to be done….what had to be done. 

     Now fifty thousand dollars is a lot to most, nothing to others, but it was the world to Leona. Fifty thousand dollars was all she had and Jarrett drove her to her bank branch in a neighboring town to withdraw the money while explaining that cash would get them better deals on material and he would be able to make her house stronger and better than it was before. When they had returned that night, Jarrett had helped Leona to bed and told her that he would begin the repairs in the morning…. “At the crack of dawn” he had told her. But by morning he was gone. He was gone in a flash and by morning he was in Houston exchanging most of the cash for gold and before noon he was westbound for Vegas. 

     It turns out that Jarrett, that nice young man, wasn’t really that nice and really wasn’t that young after all: as it is conscience that usually puts years on a man. For after he had made off with Leona’s savings, he drove the old white work truck into a warehouse and drove out in a wickedly black Mercedes-Benz with a satanically induced shine. Oh, Jarrett was a smooth one and on his way to Vegas he buried his stash of gold near a rest stop just outside of Lubbock. And like his bastard seed that was strewn throughout the country, Jarrett's gold was buried at rest stops, along country roads, in farmers fields and in public parks throughout the country. He was a very busy man and he knew where every wretched bit of his gold was buried. 

     While Leona sat and waited in a little chair in the front room of the house, the Mercedes crested the final mountain and Jarrett beheld the Vegas lights. And as the Mercedes descended to the desert floor, Leona slumped over in her tiny chair and died. 

     Jarrett was hot that night and every roll was a winner and he enjoyed the spoils and fulfilled his lusts that winning willingly hands over. But as soon as it had came, his luck turned into bust. His winnings began to dwindle and the only escort that Jarrett had left was an empty room overlooking the desert. Bad luck was part of the game for Jarrett and being the resourceful man that he was; bad luck wouldn't last long. 

     Jarrett set out the next morning with his shovel to withdraw a bit of his treasure. But when he appeared forty-feet behind the abandoned Kerr-McGee station twenty miles out of town off of one-forty-seven, he was astonished to find a freshly dug hole where his gold should have been. He dug his hands in and around the perimeter of the hole to find one single gold coin—one single coin where fifty should have been. Perplexed and un-anxious, Jarrett wiped the dirt from his hands and drove to one of his other locations only to come up empty. And anxiousness soon set in when Jarrett found that all of his spots around Vegas were empty: dry holes so to speak. 

     Jarrett took his single gold coin to the exchange and re-filled his wallet with enough cash to last a few days. He set off for Washington State and he was certain that he would regain his ground. But Washington was a bust and in particular, the areas around Mt St. Helen’s only produced a single gold coin: a single gold coin that he sold for food and gasoline.

     And all through the winter Jarrett crisscrossed the country going from coast to coast and at all locations, there was just enough to get by. Moore Oklahoma gave him less than Homestead Florida and in San Francisco, there was nothing—nothing but a pawn shop where he sold his Rolex for enough to get to South Carolina. But Carolina was just as dry as the rest and Jarrett felt for the first time in his life a sense of desperation. 

     In his last gasp just as spring was starting to break, Jarrett managed to drive the mangled Mercedes down to the rest stop just outside of Lubbock, his last hope. As the morning frost was starting to burn away the memory of the night, Jarrett began to dig. And as the sun began to warm the cracked soil, names like Andrew, Hugo, San Andreas, and Katrina began to swirl in Jarrett's head: his blessed head that came alive when his shovel hit pay-dirt. Excitement ran through every vein in his body for now he had hope. Hope, the one thing that he never thought he would need was now his—now his and in the palm of his hands. He looked up to the sun and held the nylon bag full of gold coins to the heavens and began to laugh and cry as he pulled the coins to his chest. For now he had hope. But the day was warming and the nest of Diamond-Back rattlers under the Sage-Bush used to mark his location, woke up and struck. And as the venom pumped through his veins, his poisoned body fell back into his freshly dug hole and the gold coins that he beheld scattered onto the parched and cracked soil….glistening in the radiance of the sun.

*    *    *

    
     In the spring, Pearl River has a magic to it….Magnolias in bloom and as the branches of the Cypress tantalize and tease the spawning fish, the Great Blue Heron and Brown Pelicans return from their Southward journey. And as the people began returning to Pearl River things began to return to normal and the dying town resumed its gasping breath. And when Sheriff Williams and Parsons Jones came to check on Leona they had to clear a path to the front door through the Spanish Ivy that had engulfed the porch. They forced open the door and the shine that reflected back from the single ray of sunshine was almost blinding. And after their eyes had adjusted to the glare emanating from the front room, they beheld Leona’s seemingly laughing corpse upon a throne—upon a throne made entirely of gold.

Apollo 11

Apollo Eleven

     They couldn’t figure out a way to get rid of the alcoholics but the dope smokers had been gone years ago. The tobacco users were being phased out and the injured and genetically unfit would go next but that would not happen until corporate paid the right people to convince the others that that was a damn fine idea. So when Roger walked with his tray in one hand and his cane in the other over to the table, he had to steady himself on the edge of the table before he could sit down. Steve, Roger's accomplice, held back in the line behind Herman, the new guy, and kept his eye on Roger while he was making his way to the table.

     The ever leering Roger had made sure there was an empty space at the table while Steve invited, diverted and maneuvered Herman over to the table where Roger sat. The three men sat at the table saying nothing while Roger glanced up at Herman as if he was surprised that the new guy was sitting with them. Roger gestured as if he were about to speak but remained silent long enough as to push a feeling of discomfort across the table. The others in the cafeteria looked on while motioning to one another in voyeuristic excitement as they watched the right of passage unfold before them.

     Now cruelty is in the eyes of the beholder as after pleasantries had been exchanged Roger announced to Herman that the orientation meetings that he had been going to weren’t really meetings, they were simply a way to size you up before your probationary period had expired. Steve chimed in that none of them really went to the real meetings; they were only invited to the fake ones that someone thought might be good for morale.

     Roger, the old master, pulled back a little on Herman and asked him about his family and other things that no one gave one fuck about at the plant, not only to give Herman a breather, but to search for any certain afflictions that he could not openly condemn. Once he was sized up, Roger and Steve let Herman take the floor. 

     In following the tradition of the others, Herman turned to another topic that the three of them could come together on. He picked up Steve’s newspaper and began talking about an article that explained how the Chinese had sent a probe to circle the moon. Roger had let Herman go on and Steve followed his lead. Herman talked about how exciting space travel was and about scientific breakthroughs and that how the international space station had brought nations together and that how the space-shuttle was man’s finest achievement. 

     This went on for a while until Herman ran out of things to say. The table grew silent and Steve looked over to Roger and then over to Herman. He looked at Herman a little longer than was expected then slowly looked back over at Roger, who, with his head down, slowly raised his head and said “So you think the space station is a neat thing?” “Well, I tell you” said Roger, “The space station is our little way of telling the other countries that they are special. It’s our little way of diluting our country and handing over what we have earned to some European Speedo wearing freaks.” Roger breathed deeply and in an agitated tone said “You got that….there too goddamn busy lunging themselves at everyone that they can’t build their own goddamn space station—international my ass—that just means that they are trying to get a free ride--sure we used their Nazi’s….we just knew how to channel their energy….they didn’t know what to do with them and look what happened…..just ask six million Jews what happens when you don’t now how to handle Nazis.” Roger regained his composure and said “Those Euro-trash bastards sent us Nazi’s and you know what we did with them?.....We sent motherfuckers to the moon…..That’s what we did—we took the worst and made the best.”  He paused a moment. "Fuck man" said Roger in a disgusted tone, "we would't know what to do with damn Nazi now days. Shit, maybe send him to a therapist or something like that." Herman and Steve sat still in their chairs as Roger went on “ There was a time there boy before you were even born—Steve and I sat right here where we are sitting now—It was thirty-nine years ago and we strapped three men into a capsule sitting atop a Saturn Five rocket—we shot that that rocket into space. America said fuck you to the world and shot that rocket to the moon—and those men landed on the moon—they planted our fucking flag on the moon—and I’m suppose to get excited that thirty-nine years later  the Chinese are sending a probe to the moon. We haven’t done jack shit in almost forty years but circle protein paste eating PhD’s into low earth orbit doing nothing more than timing how fast semen can enter a uterus in zero gravity and re confirm the uses of Velcro.” “Bullshit” said Roger. “Bullshit on the whole damn thing—that’s the way we used to run this company—by the seat of our pants.” By this time Herman was looking over at Steve hoping for an out but Steve was enjoying the show as Roger went on “That’s how we use to  run this place--we had big burly motherfuckers with oversized hearts and chests bigger than fifty-five gallon drums. They would rip your head off one minute and give you the shirt off of their backs the next. Now all we got is a rainbow of equally represented sensitive managers" Roger thought for a moment "sort of like that space station you admire so much—I mean they tell you what their doing but you really don't know. Do you?" Herman shook his head while Roger continued "Don't forget it. Their leading us straight down the middle and into mediocrity—they're kind and understanding to your face and they will cut your throat out in one of their meetings—one of those real meeting that you will never go to—I'm telling you now Herman—they will cut out your fucking throat in one of their secret meetings and you won’t even know what hit you.”

     Lunch break was over and Herman reported to his afternoon orientation meeting. Roger and Steve sat at the table hoping someone would fuck with them especially since Roger was unstoppable today. No one came and they avoided any real work for the rest of the day.

*    *    *

   
     It was well after midnight when Herman looked closely at his wife to make sure she was fast asleep. He crept down the hall to his son’s room and from the glow of the instruments and night lights; he removed the boy from the Velcro fastened oxygen chamber and carried him to the backyard and held him up high to the moon. The boy gasped, breathed in deep, and gained strength.