The Blue Light: The adventures of Cowboy Jessie and Cowboy Earl by H.R. Hunsaker

The Blue Light:  adventures of Cowboy Jessie and Cowboy Earl by H.R. Hunsaker 

     Jessie rode in from the pasture to find Earl leaning against the corral fence staring off into the distance. He dismounted Starr, tied him to the post and then walked over to Earl. Jessie could sense that Earl was a bit off of sorts, so he measured his words as not to excite him. “Hey Earl” asked Jessie, “what’s you doing?”

     Earl was in no mood for talking but he couldn’t just brush Jessie off and not say anything. “I’m thinking” muttered Earl. 

     “What’s you thinking about?” asked the curious Jessie.

     Earl was getting slightly annoyed at Jessie’s inquisitiveness but he knew if he just went with it for a while, Jessie would give up and move along. He answered Jessie “Oh Jess, no one in particular.”

     “So you’re thinking about someone” replied Jessie. “Who.”

     Earl knew he had blundered the whole thing right off of the bat. He had to disarm Jessie before he was backed further into the corner. “What do you mean who Jessie” barked Earl “did you just come over here to twist up my words for sport.” Earl had recently snuck off into town to see The Great Gatsby at the Cinemark and was pleased to get to work the word sport into the conversation.

     Jessie pretended not to notice Earls flowery language and stammered back “no, no Earl—I just meant that you seem a bit troubled—I just was wondering who you were thinking about.”

     Earl shook his head. He had to throw out something to get Jessie off of his trail, but he had to do it in such a way that would knock Jessie slightly off kilter in hopes of squashing any further discussion. Earl thought for a few more moments before throwing out the best material he could come up with given his diminished state. Earl pulled it together and went into form. His delivery would have to be smooth if it was to be convincing. “Jessie” said Earl as he looked slightly to the right of Jessie while focusing his eyes on a distant object “have you ever heard that song Forever in Blue Jeans—you know—the one by Neil Diamond?” 

     Jessie was at a loss. Even by Earl’s standards that one was out of left field. Jessie thought for a moment “yea Earl, Forever in Blue Jeans. I know that song—Neil Diamond.”  

     While Jessie was pleased at himself for knowing the song, Earl still had work to do—it was time for the setup. “Do you Jessie, do you know the song?” asked Earl.

     “Dang it Earl” said Jessie with irritation “I told you I knew the song. What more do you want.”

     Earl was rounding the bases, just one more phrase to kill the whole topic. Earl removed his focus from the distant object, turned slightly to the left and stared deep into Jessie’s eyes. “Then you know what I was thinking about Jessie” said Earl in a slightly defeated and trailing tone “that’s all you need to know.” 

     Jessie backed away without saying a word and walked toward the bunkhouse. He turned back to see Earl looking in the direction of the setting sun and off into nowhere. He appeared to be grasping at something off in the distance. 

The End.

Chapter Fourteen: Across From the Bayou

     The garden was in bloom and the only remnants of the rain were sun-lit flowers with tiny tears of glistening rain-drops that clung to the petals before letting go and falling endlessly to the damp ground where they disappeared forever. Chapter-13

                          

                                                      Fourteen

     Had she not have died in her sleep several months earlier, Charlotte’s mother would have thought the wedding was beautiful. Conrad had spared no expense and used the occasion, not only to display his new bride, but, as a showcase for his newly acquired status and as a venue to entertain prospective clients. Charlotte was radiant in her pure white dress that hugged her close and revealed her pureness of form while hiding the emptiness that she felt inside. Pete never returned to her and after her mother had died, Conrad seized the opportunity that her vulnerability had handed to him. His generous contributions convinced the Parson to persuade the elders to convince the ladies who suggested to the parishioners that Conrad would be a fine match for Charlotte. And the parishioners followed suit as they closed in around poor Charlotte and constricted her into the world that they had wanted her to have. So when Charlotte excused herself and vomited in the dressing room commode, the older ladies dismissed it, to the younger ones, as typical wedding day jitters.

     The sanctuary was filled with acquaintances and well-wishers as the cathedral organ announced Charlotte’s presence. The congregation stood and watched as the beautiful Charlotte, escorted by a distant cousin, walked up the isle with her flowing white train being held aloft by two twin daughters of a parishioner. The Santos’: Orlando, Rosa and the boy, stood together in the finest clothes that they could not afford as Orlando would not let his wife and son be seen in any light other than how he saw them. Conrad stood at the front of the church and watched as Charlotte made her way to the altar. Charlotte held Conrad’s hands as he held them out to her. They exchanged vows and Conrad lifted Charlotte’s veil to kiss her and was overjoyed as he mistook her nervous smile and laugh to be one of happiness.

     The wedding party posed for pictures then the couple walked hand in hand to the limousine that waited at the front of the church to whisk them away to the reception that was a decadent affair in reward for the parishioner’s accomplice, and, after the obligatory dance and toasts in their honor, the limousine then whisked them to an airplane that took them to a far away place where Charlotte’s dowry was plundered during the honeymoon ritual that was brutally preformed on her. Conrad now had Charlotte and Charlotte now had everything of nothing that meant anything to her.

     After Charlotte had willed Conrad’s first seed to die in her womb, Orlando’s Rosa would help nurse the weakened Charlotte back to health. The two became close and inseparable friends. And after his third seed had died inside of her, Conrad’s actions toward her became harsh and nasty as he burnished her into a trinity of his own design: his quiet beauty who never misspoke, his mechanism for cathartic release, and the bearer of his rage. Charlotte would turn more and more to Rosa for solace as she suffered dutifully as everyone had expected her to.

Across From the Bayou: Copyright 2010 by Harold Robert Hunsaker

Chapter Twelve: Across From the Bayou

     There was nothing left of the old man except for a portrait that hung on the wall behind the chair of the son. There we a few left who were loyal to the old man’s ideals but the board, for the most part, had succumbed to the young man and his ideals. The son sat in a stupor as the young man pointed to the graph and used coded terms, such as growth, prosperity, and change, to convey that employees were now liabilities, to be dispensed with when they were no longer needed, and; benign, meaningless, terms such as stockholder value were used, as a narcotic, to soften the dichotomy of loving the people who buy your product, while, loathing the people who make your product. And everyone knew not to speak or gesture while the young man spoke. Chapter -8

                                                                    Twelve

     Success, as with failure, often depends on luck and timing. And for Pete Delaney; he was no exception. Warren had taught him honesty and pride but failed to mention anything about deception and prejudice. Pride kept Pete from asking for what he needed and honesty often left him with not much to say while deception and prejudice, or lack there of, kept him from taking what he wanted and left him with no one to blame for what he could not have.

     He and Jenny would marry after she graduated from college and he would work at the brewery with his father but these promises slipped away from Pete and out of his reach. His friends were drifting off and marrying off and Pete was alone in the city with little to nothing except for a tiny apartment, a low wage job and a used pickup-truck that Warren had given him on his eighteenth birthday.

     But all wasn’t misery at first. After his failed attempt at college, Pete shared an apartment with his friends and together they saw the world through the false hope of youthful abandon. Some succeeded and some failed but each began to drop off one by one into better paying jobs and settling into lives with girlfriends and wives. But Pete held on. Pete held on the dream of Jenny and the life that they would have together: the house, the children and her gentle skin as they grew old together. But some dreams never come true. Some dreams were never meant to be.

     For Pete, the dream died when Jenny showed up at his door on a cool and crisp fall day. He remembers her scent and the nervous look on her face when he let her inside. She never strayed far from the door as she broke the news to him. She hugged him one last time and pulled away from him when he tried to hold her. Pete stood in the doorway and watched her spring down the steps and to the parking lot where an idling coupe, with a male figure behind the wheel, sat waiting for her. She got in the coupe and it sped off as fast as it could go taking Jenny with it and the life that Pete had hoped for.

     Although Pete’s prospects were low, he started to feel better after a couple of months. And when Warren showed up the day before his twenty-first birthday, Warren had convinced him that his life was going to get better whenever he got hired on at the brewery. For a couple of days after they had filled out the employment application, Pete started imagining how his life would be after he was making good money. Maybe he could get Jenny back or maybe he could start over and find someone else or he could get a better place in a better part of town or perhaps a house and a yard and maybe he could afford to do things or go places like he saw the people on television do. Pete was starting see things in a different light until Warren came back a few weeks later.

     Warren broke the news to him and Pete told him that it was going to be alright and that he was going to make it. But Warren pushed on. For a couple of months after the brewery job was lost, Warren had brought over applications from the shipyards, refineries and terminals along the ship channel and the two of them would fill out the applications with the same diligence and care that they did with the brewery application. But all was lost; there were no jobs.

     Warren went away defeated but Pete continued on. He tried hard and he worked hard at his low paying job at the retailer but there was never enough to dig out of where he was. Warren had

offered him money but Pete always told him that he was making more than enough to get by. Warren knew this wasn’t true but he would never take from Pete the only thing that he had left: Pride.

It was pride that kept Pete going and it was pride that would not let him fall into the comforts of vice. But despair is a private hell that pride cannot defeat. And the despair went away the day he went through Charlotte’s checkout line at the grocery store around the corner from his apartment. He knew the moment he looked into her eyes that they could escape the bonds of loneliness that they shared. But it would take time. Pete would take his time and approach her tepidly as his pride wouldn’t let him lose her and it told him that he couldn’t lose her if he never had her. And Pete wanted to tell her things during those brief moments they had together but his pride would never let his honesty tell her that he was lonely—that he needed her.

     Time moved on and Pete’s life became more difficult. His pay never increased but his rent and expenses did. He was scraping by on what he had and he nothing left to sacrifice except for his pride. But his pride would never let Pete sacrifice itself. And when the time came for him to renew the insurance on his little pickup-truck, he didn’t have the money and had to let the policy go.

     Then the rains came. They came as they had always done before but now Pete was aware of their existence and their persistence. The grayness and the coldness and the wetness were ever present and the space-heater in his apartment could never keep any of them away for long enough to be forgotten about. But Pete forged on and he kept his struggle to himself even after he had driven the little truck through a rain-swollen dip in the road that was concealed by the grayness and the darkness. The engine died and was ruined and the water flowed freely into the cab as Pete pushed the crippled vehicle, through knee-deep water, to the side of the road. Pete walked home in the rain and when he went to check on the truck the next morning, it was gone. He knew the moment he saw the empty place where the truck had been, that it had been towed to the impound lot and that he would not have the money to get it out and to repair it. He knew then that it was gone forever.

     Pete adapted without his truck. The bus stop was around the corner from the store where Charlotte worked. Pete’s pride would not have to avoid Charlotte because it knew that she would never see him waiting for the bus. He would be long gone in the early mornings so he could be at work on time and she would be working whenever the bus would let him off around the corner. He could continue to see her because she would not know that he was destitute.

     But the rains continued. The rains continued the day that Pete got off of the bus and made his way to the store where Emily worked. He walked along the path next to the road being careful not to muddy his shoes or his clothes. He never saw the truck, driven by Larry Conrad, but he could hear its rumblings behind him. He could see Charlotte’s store ahead of him and he looked to his left when the giant truck hit a mud-filled hole in the road that gushed mud and road-oil all over Pete. The truck never slowed and Pete stood there with the rain gently washing the mud off of his face and out of his hair while turning the mud and oil into solution that worked its way into the woven fabric of his clothes.

     The grimy and stained Pete watched the glistening truck, which seemed unaffected by the mud and rain, pull to the front of the store, where Charlotte worked, and a clean and sharply dressed Larry Conrad exited the truck and headed into the store. Pete walked closer to the store but stayed far enough away as not to not be noticed. His heart sank when he saw Larry Conrad escort Charlotte out of the store and into his shining truck. And Pete mistook Charlotte’s nervous smile and laugh to be one of happiness as the truck sped off and took with it whatever dreams that Pete had left.

    Pete’s world began to close in around him and he knew that he had no one and nothing left. He put his head down and walked to his apartment defeated and wet. When he entered the apartment, he took off his clothes and threw them in a pile next to the closet door. He took a long hot shower and put on clean and dry clothes. He went to the table where the television sat and picked up the picture of Jenny that was lying face down on the table. He studied the picture for a moment and lay it back down and went to the kitchen and put a frozen dinner in the microwave.

     While the dinner was cooking, Pete began to clean the apartment. He wiped down the counters and kitchen table and picked up things that were lying around the apartment and put them in the places where they should be. Pete took his time and when the apartment was as clean as it could be, Pete sat down and ate the dinner. He ate slowly, and when the dinner was finished; he threw the empty cardboard tray into the trashcan and washed the fork and knife and placed them neatly in the drawer.

     Pete looked around the apartment for a moment and went to the bedroom and opened the closet door. He removed the four-ten shotgun that sat propped against the back wall of the closet and laid it on the bed. He went to his chest-of-drawers and removed a single shell from a little box that he had tucked in the back of one of the drawers. He closed the door gently and without emotion he took the shotgun and shell from the bedroom to the kitchen table. He sat at the table and chambered the shell. He cocked the gun’s hammer and put the stock against the floor. Pete put the gun’s barrel to the soft spot under his chin and closed his sweet, innocent, eyes for the last time.

Across From the Bayou: Copyright 2010 by Harold Robert Hunsaker

Chapter Eleven: Across From The Bayou

     “There’s a hiring freeze I—I think it’s permanent, they aren’t taking anyone” said Warren as he wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

     “It’s all right Warren, Pete will find something—things have a way of working out” Lisa said in softer tone trying to sooth Warren “It’s all right Warren, it’s all right”.

     Warren looked over at Lisa and with a final act of defiance before he collapsed in on himself “It’s not all right Lisa. It will never be all right—now Pete knows that his father is a nobody—a goddamn nobody”.

     Lisa helped the broken hearted Warren out of the truck and into the house. She led him to the bedroom and he collapsed onto the bed and cried until he fell asleep. After dark Lisa crept into the room and turned the light on in the bathroom and cracked the door until it illuminated Warren’s face. She bent down close to him and kissed his cheek gently enough so that he did not know that she was there. She pressed her lips just hard enough into his cheek as to pull him slightly out of sleep, and, when she detected that he was leaving slumber; she pulled back and watched as he fell back into a deep, deep, sleep.     Chapter-4

    

                                                             Eleven

     Charlotte sat with her mother in the living room of the apartment that they had shared since her father had died. After they had lost the house; Charlotte went to work, rather than to college, to support her aging mother. The silence between them was unbearable and confining and was only broken by the continual sounds of the rain as it cascaded down the windows and fell into the puddles that were outside the door.

     Charlotte stood and went to the window. She pulled back the curtains that her mother had sewn together so that the apartment would feel more like the home that they had lost. Charlotte watched as the grey hues of the rain would sometimes flash in different colors from whatever objects’ light they could capture as she thought unconscious thoughts of how her life seemed as one of the helpless colors trapped within the grayness of the cold rain.

     Charlotte turned to look at her mother who rocked peacefully in the padded rocking chair that had once sat in unison with other rockers on the front porch of the house that was no more. She watched her mother’s peaceful motions and hesitated to speak because she did not want to disturb this moment of solitude that only came when she was thinking of the past. But Charlotte could wait no longer. She had to speak and the words came out abruptly and tearfully. “Momma, I don’t want to see him” pleaded Charlotte.

     Her mother looked up her and said back to her “Charlotte this has all been settled. Mr. Conrad is a good man—he will provide for you....us”.

     “But momma, he’s twelve years older than me and I don’t love him” the tearful Charlotte replied.

     “Don’t be foolish girl; you’ll grow to love him. He’s a good God fearing man and will be a good father and a good provider”.

     “God fearing huh” said Charlotte as she turned back to the window. Her voice softened to a mumble “I know he’s only going to church to drum up business and to find a wife”.

     “I heard that and what’s so wrong with that....where else is he going to find a good girl like you?” she snapped back.

     Charlotte voice was still in a mumble as she looked out of the window “I don’t know momma, but why me?”

     “What did you say? Turn around here girl, I can’t hear what you’re saying”. 

     Charlotte turned around and lashed out “I said why me....what does he want with me?” 

     “I’ll tell you what he wants with you” she said. “He wants a good upstanding wife and a good

mother for his children....this is how things work Charlotte. You’ve been working all this time and don’t know how things work. This is your chance. Don’t you want someone to take care of you? Don’t you want a family?”

     Charlotte broke down and began to cry. She kneeled by her mother’s side and put her head in her mothers lap. “Yes momma. I want those things” She cried as she gripped her mothers dress. “I want all of those things. I just don’t want them with him.”

     Her mother’s voice became gentle. She asked Charlotte “Well if not him then who then?”

     Charlotte wiped her eyes with her hands, sat up and looked at the mother. “Momma, there’s a boy. There’s a boy my age that comes into the store. His names Pete”.

     “Pete who?”

     “I don’t know momma. All I know is his name is Pete and he’s been coming into the store for a few months. We talk some. I know he likes me because he only comes through my line and never really buy’s much”

     Charlotte’s mother looked down at her shaking her head “so all we know about this Pete is that he comes through your line and doesn’t buy much”

     “Oh momma, he’s shy and sometimes he says things that don’t mean anything but I know he likes me and he’s just waiting for the right time to ask me on a date.” Charlotte’s voice became excited. She held her mother’s hands in hers. “Momma, the other day he came through my line and waited through several orders and bought a pack of gum. I was nervous and I told him that that was the kind I liked and he offered me a piece....I didn’t take it because were not suppose to chew gum at the register. Anyway, I went on my break and when I came back, there was a stick of the gum and a wild flower at my register.”

     “Oh dear” Charlotte’s mother replied “This is foolish....your getting excited abut a young man who doesn’t have anything to give you but a flower that he probably picked it off the side of the road. How long is this going to go on.....what makes you think he’s going to ask you on a date let alone afford to?”

     “I don’t know momma. I just have a feeling”

     “I won’t have it” Charlotte’s mother denounced. “You will give Mr. Conrad a chance. I already have it arranged. You two will be married before this Pete even gets the courage to ask you out. You’ll see.”

     Charlotte stood and went to the window and watched as the colors tried to escape from the rain.

Across From the Bayou: Copyright 2010 by Harold Robert Hunsaker

Chapter ten: Across From the Bayou.

     The rains had begun on the costal plains. The low clouds marched in stealthily from the Gulf and waited, quietly, until both horizons had become a monolithic palate of darkness that patiently looked down upon the city, as if to calm it, before it began its assault. And the rains came steady and unhurried and began to cleanse the city of what it could not hold onto and of what could not hold onto it.     Chapter-9

                                                                        Ten

     The rain only meant that there would be no work for Orlando Santos. Still; he would have to try because he would not let himself give up on her or on the boy. He dressed quietly in the dark in the clothes she had washed for him the night before. His work boots were cleaned and placed on top of a folded grocery sack that sat next to the door and his raincoat was folded neatly on the arm of the sofa. He grabbed his coat and boots and took them outside to the patio where he sat in a plastic chair. The rain was bearing down on the overhang and Orlando watched as the streaks of rain fell onto the lamppost and cascaded down its sides into a puddle of murky water that ran down the sidewalk and out into the street where it disappeared from his sight. He put on his boots and laced them tight so that the mud would not cause them to slip from his feet. He stood. He put on his raincoat, and buttoned it to the top and he opened the front door and looked in at Rosa and the baby and watched them, from the flickering light of the lamppost, as they slept. He reached his hand inside the door and locked it and carefully pulled the door closed. Orlando stood there motionless then pulled the hood of his raincoat over his head and emerged into the darkness.

     The foot-path was dark except for the lights that came from the occasional car as it lumbered, without any regularity, through the rain. Orlando walked alone in the dark and he knew every step of the path that would take him to the fenced in area where they gathered. At the second block Orlando stood under a single streetlight and waited until traffic was clear enough to cross. He continued walking until the glow from the streetlight had faded back into darkness and continued walking until the night began to fade from the morning sun that was behind the clouds and the rain. He arrived at the laborers pick-up spot and from the dim morning light that showed only grayness and a few workers huddled together, Orlando waited for Larry Conrad alone and cold.

     The grey morning was in bloom as the rush hour cars hurried through the rain to the places where they had to go so that their owners could get money to keep them running. He waited patiently because he could not afford to lost day of pay, and, even though, Rosa would understand and comfort him, Orlando would never give Rosa a reason to have to understand why he stayed home. So he waited. He waited long after the others had given up and he waited until the rush hour traffic had dwindled down to a trickle of cars that were in no hurry to be anywhere. Then he came. In a slow, steady and unhurried roll; Larry Conrad, in his polished and unblemished crew truck, pulled into the fenced in laborers spot to find a wet and obedient Orlando Santos standing and waiting for him.

     The big truck pulled in and up to Orlando on the driver’s side. The tinted driver’s window rolled down and a warm and dry Larry Conrad looked down on Orlando. “Good morning Mr. Conrad” said Orlando in an eager voice.

     “Buenos Dias Orlando—it looks like it’s going to be a wet one today” Conrad said from the comfort of his truck.

     In a confidant yet submissive voice, Orland replied “Ah Mr. Conrad, a little rain is just a little rain. Today we can work in the rain. What’s a little rain?”

     “No señor” said Conrad as he shook his head “No work today.”

     “Maybe we can go find some work—I’ll work hard today Mr. Conrad” said Orlando as his eyes moved to the ground.

     “You can do what you want Orlando but I’m not working a crew today. Besides that’s not why I’m here” replied Conrad. “Look Orlando” said Conrad as Orlando eyes met his “I’m here because I’ve got to thin the crew down a little. I knew I could count on you and I knew that you would be here this morning.”

     Orlando stood there and seemed pleased that Conrad had recognized his hard work yet unaware of what he was telling him. “You know I’ll always be here Mr. Conrad” replied Orlando.

     “Were going to have to thin out the crew” restated Conrad. 

     “Thin out the crew—what do you mean by that?” asked Orlando. 

     “It means that things are slowing down, I can’t work all of you. We gotta cut this thing down

to ten men; I got to get rid of five of ya” said Conrad in a matter of fact way. 

     Orlando stood there in the rain and looked in at Conrad sitting in the warm and dry truck. He

feared for his job but was not sure what Conrad was asking him. “What do you want from me Mr. Conrad—are you going to get rid of me?”

     Conrad leaned back in his truck chair and let out a guttural laugh “No Orlando, you’re my best man. I would never let you go.” Conrad paused and he wasn’t laughing. “Orlando, I need you to give me five names. The men respect you but I gotta cut back—I need you to give me five names of who I can get rid of.”

     Orlando was confused. He had never been put in this position and did not know how to handle it. “Oh Mr. Conrad, I can’t do that—we all work together. Cant we find enough work for all of us.”

     “Goddamnit Orlando. You’ll give me five names or I’ll do it myself.” lashed Conrad. 

     “No no Sir” said Orlando knowing that Conrad meant business “Let me think for a minute.” 

     Orlando stepped back from the truck and thought about the men who were married and who

had children, who were young and who could live with their parents and who were supporting their parents. Who could move in with who and who spoke better English and who were able go get work faster than the others, and, who didn’t know anybody and came over alone and who were lost and who wouldn’t make it or who would end up in trouble without the work and who would be have to be sacrificed for whom because there was no other way. “Come on Orlando” said Conrad “let’s have it, I want to go home and get out of mess.”

     Orlando walked back to the truck. He looked at Conrad all snug in his warm leather seats and content that the world was as how it should be. Orlando gave him his names and Conrad sped off to take comfort in the system that was serving him well.

                                                                                     ***

     After Conrad drove away, Orlando waited until an elderly man arrived in a pickup truck. Orlando climbed in the back and they sped to the suburbs where Orlando planted shrubs in the rain under the old man’s critical eye. He cleaned up the old man’s yard and put all of the debris in the back of the truck. Orlando rode in the back of the truck with the debris and the rain while the old man drove to the municipal dump. He sat in the truck while Orlando offloaded the debris onto a larger pile of debris that was part of an even larger pile of debris that stretched for what seemed miles.

     The damp dusk was approaching and the old man took Orlando back to the workers site. The mud caked Orlando got out of the back of the truck and walked over to the driver’s side door. The window rolled down and the old man handed Orlando forty dollars then sped off. Orlando stood there looking down at the money that was only a fraction of what he needed. He put the money in his front pants pocket and began his walk home.

     It was dark and it was still raining when he made it to the tiny apartment. Rosa met him at the door and she new from his eyes that he was humiliated. He reached into his pocked and handed her one of the twenty dollars bills careful not to let her see the other one. He went to the bathroom and closed the door behind himself. He washed his hands and faced and looked himself in the mirror and made a quiet promise to himself.

     He rustled around in his drawer next to the sink and removed a small cigar box that contained mementos from his past and from his homeland. He studied the items that had meant much to him but wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. He looked back into the mirror and into his eyes and his eyes became fierce and strong. He looked back down at the cigar box and emptied the contents into the trashcan so that each item fell on the pile that would be discarded and forgotten about forever.

     Orlando pulled the wet and wrinkled twenty-dollar bill from his pants pocket. He smoothed it out and put it in the cigar box and tucked the box back into the drawer on his side of the sink. He showered and changed and he spent the evening with his wife and child.

Across From the Bayou: Copyright 2010 by Harold Robert Hunsaker

Excerpt-Chapter 17. Across From the Bayou

                                                        * * *

     Johnny retired long before the cafeteria closed. The years of frugality paid off in the form of a bulging portfolio and swollen bank accounts as the markets looked upon him with much favor. Because the sun never set on Johnny’s empire, he would trade Tokyo and London before sunup and by daybreak, he was online with New York and Chicago but by afternoon he would find himself stranded in a gulf of loneliness. And it was his loneliness that accepted the invitation from a friend of an acquaintances banker to a mid afternoon business lunch at a restaurant adjacent to a gentlemen’s club. And after a fulfilling meal that ended with a signed contract, the likes of which would cause Midas envy, Johnny, out of curiosity, took a table at the gentlemen’s club where he was befriended by a seasoned dancer who, after kindling him with ease, gently blew on the glowing embers of his loneliness until the flames passion spread like wildfire through his world.
     After a few encounters that grew in frequency, her situation became an unbearable uh-happiness that only Johnny could repair. Persuading her to move in was a clever game that she would let him win, and, afterward, persuading him to marry her was a clever game that he would let her win. The little house was sold for next to nothing and replaced with a grand staircase that led to palatial rooms that sat, fashionably, in an area nestled between the eclectic and the wealth districts. Johnny found himself in the company of other misers and never felt the need to inquire on her comings and goings. Her frequent gifts of copulatory obligation, left him in a perpetual state of convalescence, and, his frequent gifts of monetary obligation, trickled down into her world and left her in a continuous state of restlessness, where, she soon found herself in the arms of a well endowed, failed artist (which explains where the money Johnny gave her went) who had a young, proportionally correct, girl on the side (which explains where the money she gave him went) who had a particular habit that kept her interesting but hard to find (which explains where the money the artists gave her went). But, soon, the money, that had worked its way to the bottom, festered there and changed form, then, became a powder that blew in the wind causing, after he had developed a conscience, the artist to be replaced with a freer spirit that ended with crashed cars and empty remorse.
     Johnny money funneled in and soothed over all the legalities as it ran quietly over all of the sharp edges, dulling, then softening them down until there was only a sense of calm and tranquility leaving only a small amount unaccounted for that sat unnoticed. Like errant rain drops suspended on a slippery surface, the unnoticed began to move and join with others until they became one. And after gaining momentum, it slipped over the edge and, once again, worked its way to the bottom where it festered and changed form, then, became a thick smoke that permeated and distorted all that it touched until it again changed form and became sirens and lights and burnt out apartments.
     Again, Johnny’s money appeared. It crept along in dark glassed anonymity, turning heads, changing stories, and sealing lips: an unseen presence that rolled on little Jaguar’s feet. But this time, it had gotten careless. The cask, from where it had flown, was spilled onto the ground where it slipped away under the soil and seeped its way to the bottom where it festered a third time and changed form. And its form was now viscus, and amber; and it percolated its way back to the surface and sat undisturbed and out of sight. Then, when self forgiveness had forgave, it drew itself into a point and pushed itself inside of her where it coursed its way through her veins. Then there were drawn curtains, and darkness, and disappearances, and withering away until finally, there was nothingness. And the regretful phone call that came in the night, took its final form as a cashiers check by way of certified mail.
     A horrific cry wailed out into the night, as she, too, had turned to gold.

Across From the Bayou: Copyright 2010 by Harold Robert Hunsaker

The Mosh Pit-The Adventures of Cowboy Jessie and Cowboy Earl

The One Dollar Salvation Ticket.

The One Dollar Salvation Ticket.

     Shit, there’s a motherfucker at the entrance with a donation bucket. Now what does that clown want. I’m usually a generous type but all of my dough got burned up in the divorce and with all of the useless crap that I have bought over the years, like the deli meat slicer during my thin sliced meat phase, the slap chopper, the Ole Brooklyn Lantern and the “super absorbent” Sham-Wow cleaning cloth, etc…

     Now I’m generally the friendly type but dammit man; can’t a guy just go to Wal-Mart for cat food, steaks and low sodium heart healthy nuts without getting fleeced by some guy with a cause. My minds made up and I’m not going to cave on this one, he’ll just have to shake down someone else.

     Oh but shit, he’s got a big banner up advertising the “Children’s Miracle Network.”  I’m screwed on this one and it is going to cost me a week in hell because I’m just going to lie to the dude and tell him I’ll catch him on the way out. This guy has all of the bases covered with this so called “Children’s Miracle Network”: the holy trinity of causes. I mean, who can argue with that. Children…well who doesn’t tear up every time they see a down and out kid. And what about miracle? Surely everyone is into miracles, that is, what kind of monster wouldn’t be into miracles. Then, last but not least, network. Network, meaning, that there are more of these motherfuckers out there.

     Ok, I did it. I told the guy, straight up, I’d catch him on the way out. Now let’s see, I’ll make my way to the cat food then to the steaks then to the heart healthy nuts. And since I’ve already established myself as two-bit bold faced liar, I’ll swing by the frozen section and have a sample of those chicken taquitoes. I’ll make small talk with the lady and remark how good they are then discard the toothpick and bail out of there without any intention of buying any.

     So far so good, I managed to find everything I wanted without any hassle and was even able to score some Hillshire Farms Little Smokies along with the taquitoes. Just get through this checkout and am almost home free. The transaction is going without a hitch and just one more obstacle before I have to serve my one week in hell.

     I’ll pay the checker and wait until I receive my change before making my move. I bid farewell to the checker, grab my bags and head out. As I am working my way to the exit, I adjust my gait and blend myself into the crowd and try to get next to someone who seems as easy a mark as I am. And since I’ve already opened the floodgate of sin, I’ll use this unwitting person as a human shield of sorts.

     Alright, here we go. Were exiting the door and I maneuver my unaware accomplice in the direction of the man with the bucket. I see them make eye contact and I change my trajectory and pick up speed much like an airliner pushing out of a hail storm. Good, now keep going until you’re far enough in the parking lot before you look back. Now I look back and see my accomplice dumping a handful of change into the bucket. The man with the bucket looks happy and grateful.

     Now, safe in my car, I reluctantly look into my own eyes through the rearview mirror. I just shake my head realizing that I should have just given him a dollar. But a deal is a deal no matter what kind of deal it is. “Alright Satan, you dirty bastard, you got me for a week.”

What Could Have Been...

What Could Have Been…

Call it pheromones or something else but I can tell there is another lonely heart out there. I should probably get out there and do something about it but I’ve been burned and I think I’ll sit this one out. Sight unseen I can tell she’s a looker and she’ll do alright. Probably hook up with some clown boasting about his portfolio or 401K only to dangle it out there like some afterlife promise and snare her in the bear-trap of future security. But I would never have let it get to that…there wouldn’t be any portfolio because we would have burned it up like rocket fuel as soon as it came in since I would have already told her humanity was doomed long before we even got here.

Oh, he’ll be quite proud of himself when he saved a dollar booking their vacation eight weeks in advance at the Best Western five mile outside of town when we would have rolled in unannounced and had the best place within five minutes and tore the city to shreds within ten.

Maybe once a year he’ll let her pick out some clothes at Macy’s and buy her a stainless refrigerator that she’ll have to love for a decade when I would have bought her houses and disposable automobiles that we would have run off of cliffs for amusement after we grew tired of them.

He’ll probably emulate every kooky character on TV while she plays along because neither would admit that’s what they were really doing, And as they were gearing up for their golden years by planning for a future that has already come and gone we would have been in contest seeing who could be most inventive and caustic at destroying the relationship.

And in their dying moments when they speak tenderly to each other we could have expressed our mutual regrets and disappointments.     

Ah, what could have been…poor girl could have had it all if only I showed some initiative, though, I shall dream sweetly of her tonight.