Dead Beginnings (Vol. 1) (2 page)

              The car swerved back and forth, crossing over the yellow line of the two lane road. There wasn’t another car in sight, no headlights to briefly light the path laid out in front of them. More often than not, Lonnie’s eyes lingered on the low neckline of Amy’s white tank top, her breasts shoved together and pushed upward by her leopard print bra. Her warm cleavage beckoned to him like a siren waiting on a jagged rock in the middle of the ocean.

The impact of the right front side of the car smashing into the four foot wooden fence post jarred both of them forward. Lonnie heard the shrill cry of his fiancée next to him as his head propelled into the steering wheel, no air bag to cushion the blow.

He woke up three minutes later with a searing pain in his left temple and dried blood on his face. Amy was squatted next to the passenger side door, pants down around her ankles, the most horrible sounds coming from her that Lonnie had ever heard as she rid her body of the alcohol and greasy food she’d had earlier that night. He let his head rest back down on the steering wheel and stared over Amy’s head at the corn stalks swaying in the breeze. Nothing about that night was how he wanted to live his life.

——

              Ralph Sherman texted Lonnie back immediately, a small picture of the sandy-haired, young-faced boy he knew from high school popped up by his response.

Ralph Sherman

Sure, I could use a drink. Just have to ask the wife first. She wanted me to watch the baby while she spent some time with her mother, but she can do that anytime.

              The wife? A baby? What the fuck? Lonnie glared down at his phone, his eyebrows pulled together. Where did Ralph Sherman find himself a wife and when the hell did they have a baby? It really
had
been a long time since they spoke.

              In the back of Lonnie’s mind, a rising burn of jealousy stoked the fire of his rage again. If Amy hadn’t gone and fucked some other guy he could be the one with a wife and baby by his side. If she hadn’t abandoned him, got him kicked out of Army, and ruined his entire life he might have someday had what Ralph Sherman had. But, because of Amy and her inability to keep her legs shut, there was a wall between Lonnie and Ralph he wasn’t sure he would be able to break through. Ralph was the married one and Lonnie was branded the single friend. No wife in her early twenties would be thrilled when her husband asked to go get drunk with his “single friend”.

              Lonnie huffed through his nose and tossed the phone down on the bed. He peeled off the worn-in green t-shirt with his name stenciled in the bottom corner to reveal mounds of muscles in his arms and back, inked with black tattoos.

He opened the dresser drawer and grabbed the first shirt he saw—a white band t-shirt from a Florida Georgia Line concert he went to with Ralph during that infamous last summer together as best buds.

              “Hey, Buddy!” Lonnie yelled in the baritone voice he unconsciously used when talking to his father. “I’m gonna need to use your truck tonight!” He opened the door to his bedroom and passed through the kitchen, grabbing a beer on his way to the living room in the front of the small, two bedroom house.

              Buddy Lands grunted, his eyes fixated on the box television set. He absentmindedly gulped the beer from the can in his hand as he watched a half fuzzy screen.

              Lonnie cracked open his own and sipped at the bubbles near the opening. His foot kicked at the small pile of empty cans lying on the brown shag carpet. Buddy’s head snapped at the sound, his dull eyes already red-rimmed and drooping.

              “What the hell are you making all that noise for, boy? Can’t a man get some peace and quiet when his shows are on?”

              There was the distinct soft sound of the VCR turning the wheels of the tape inside. Lonnie let out a gruff laugh. An old episode of
Sons of Anarchy
was barely visible on the washed out picture of the outdated set. Meanwhile, Buddy’s old Harley sat rusted out in the backyard for the last decade. Ironic. Lazy piece of shit.

              “I said I’m borrowing your truck tonight since you’re not gonna need it.”

              Buddy’s head slowly drifted to face forward again as he let out a phlegmy chuckle. He coughed and spat the yellow wad caught in his throat out into an empty can in his lap. “How do you know I don’t got a hot date?”

              “Because you haven’t had a hot date in ten years.”

              Something twitched inside Buddy’s face, causing his wrinkled eyes to squeeze together and his lips to purse for the briefest of moments. “Whose fault is that, ya li’l shit?” he mumbled under his breath.

              Lonnie’s muscles clenched tightly together as he straightened his back and sat rigid against the discolored, sagging couch. His fists clenched until he heard the metallic clanking of the can in his hand crumbling under the pressure. One long, slow, deep breath and he released the tension in him.

He couldn’t lose control again.

His breathing steadied and he felt his body slacken to rest against the smooshed couch cushion.

              Buddy’s eyes flickered back and forth between the TV and his son, the faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his thin lips.

Lonnie stood up, threw his head back to drink the can dry, and then tossed it into the pile on the floor with a hollow clink. “Good question, old man. Whose fault is it?”

              Buddy pretended he hadn’t heard him. There was no way he was sober enough to peel himself out of the oversized arm chair to teach a lesson.

Lonnie shook his wide head as he stalked off to the door and slammed it behind him. Halfway to the truck parked in the torn up grass, he stopped. The keys jingled from his fingers as he turned his face up to the sun and let the warmth dissipate any lingering hatred he felt for the man claiming to be his father inside. Several times he’d demanded a paternity test only to get cracked across the face with an arthritic, but solid fist. Those memories passed through his mind and then flittered away on the rays of the sun.

Deep breath in, exhale out.

He couldn’t lose control again.

He could not lose control again.

III.

Lonnie Lands hopped down from the old Ford and glared up at the apartment building the GPS on his phone had lead him to. The lower half was a mixture of light colored stones and the upper half a cream siding. It looked brand spanking new.

The windows were massive, floor to ceiling he bet, and the landscaping was immaculate with large shrubs to hide all the air conditioning units and mature trees to provide the perfect amount of shade over each picnic table strategically placed around the grounds. The patios were small. That was the only negative thing Lonnie could come up with as he gawked with his neck craned upward. There was always a negative to everything.

Dunes Ridge was nicer than any place Lonnie had ever lived, and that included the double wide trailer his father rented for the first five years of his life. It’d been practically brand new. Only one other tenant had lived in it before and there were no weird stains on the carpet—at least not at first. Buddy’s lack of respect for anything besides himself had turned their nicest home into a pit of beer cans, fast food wrappers, and cigarette butts. Everything Buddy touched turned to shit it seemed.

Lonnie headed up the stairs to apartment 622 on the second floor. When he knocked a young woman opened the door, her youthful face temporarily wrinkled across her forehead and in the corner of her eyes. Lonnie took her in with a judgmental glower and came to the conclusion that his buddy, Ralph Sherman, could have done better. Back in the day he’d seen him pull way better tail than the girl in front of him. Amy was a thousand times prettier than the new Mrs. Sherman.

“You must be Lonnie,” she said, her lips twitching upward in a contrived smile. In her arms was a curly blond-haired girl clinging close to her mother’s chest, sucking her thumb.

Lonnie wasn’t good at guessing children’s ages, but she looked to still be under a year old, unless she was just small and anorexic-looking like her mother. Sally’s jutted cheek bones and thin arms and legs made Lonnie’s nose wrinkle ever so slightly as he eyed her.

“Yeah, that’s me,” was all he said.

Sally stepped aside and let him in. “Ralph’s in the bathroom. He’ll be out in a min.”

Lonnie stopped short after only taking a few steps inside and scanned the white-walled apartment with narrowed eyes. Family portraits from the local JCPenney littered the walls, held snugly in place by frames with inspirational sayings painted on them. The room was a blended haze of beiges and creams, the decorative pillows the only hint of personality in the place, and that included the woman with her back to Lonnie in the kitchen. The soft carpet was freshly vacuumed, the lines revealing Sally’s routine pattern of compulsive cleaning. There were Better Home & Garden magazines strategically placed on the coffee table.

“Jeez,” Lonnie exhaled with a sneer, both his hands rested on his hips.

“Excuse me?” Sally asked from the kitchen where she mixed a bottle of formula.

“Ralph really sold out, didn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her brow was furrowed heavy over her almond-shaped, green eyes. When she turned to look at him her long, thin hair flowed over her shoulder and right into her daughter’s hands, who tugged hard. “Ouch!” Sally pulled her hair from the grip of the tiny baby’s fingers.

Lonnie thought Sally’s hair was tacky. It was way too long, like most girls who wanted to rebel against the rigidity of military life once they were out, despite its scraggly quality. She was a natural brunette, but she had so many fat chunks of blond and red highlights running through it that it was hard to tell what was original on her. Amy’s hair was a beautiful chestnut brown. The only thing that ever lightened her hair were the natural rays of the hot summer sun from days spent out on the lake with Lonnie and their friends. He felt a twinge in his stomach as he realized he missed those day and he’d never have them again.

“You do this place up like this yourself?” he asked, ignoring her question.

Sally laid her daughter down in the infant swing in front of the large living room window and set it to rock gently. The little girl reached her hands out and took the bottle from her mother.

“Yes, I did,” Ralph’s wife said with a smile that suggested immense pride.

Lonnie scoffed again under his breath. “I can tell.”

“OK, what’s your deal? If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

“Just wonderin’ how you got Ralph to settle. You can’t be
that
good in bed.”

Sally opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her face was scrunched together in disgust, animosity shooting out at Lonnie from her narrowed eyes. Before she could come up with something clever to say back, Ralph came into the room with a wide grin on his face.

“Lonnie!” He gave his friend a one-armed hug and a slap on the back. “How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain.” Lonnie ignored Sally completely even though she continued to glare at him. “You ready to go?”

“One second. I’ll meet you outside,” Ralph said as he opened the coat closet by the front door and pulled out his camo printed work boots.

Lonnie stepped out into the hallway to leave Ralph and Sally alone. Best case scenario, he would get an earful from Ralph once he came out. Worst case, his friend would stay home and Lonnie would be alone again. He could tell from looking at Sally that she was the type of girl who wouldn’t bat an eye at breaking up a friendship that dated back before she ever knew her husband. He waited by the door and listened in on his fate for the evening.

“All right, I’m gonna go,” Ralph said, still smiling and oblivious. “I’ll probably be home late, but I’ll have my phone in case you need me.”

“Hon, about Lonnie…” Sally wasn’t sure how to tell her husband what happened. She was worried he’d think she was causing an argument to get him to stay home because she secretly didn’t want him to go. That was only half the truth.

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Ralph slammed his foot down into his boot.

“Not really. He’s actually kind of an asshole.”

Ralph stood up and looked at his wife, trying to decide whether she was mad at him or not for something his friend said. He knew Lonnie could be a tough pill to swallow sometimes, but he thought his old friend would have been on good behavior, at least in front of the family. “What’d he say?”

“Just…things. I don’t think he likes me very much.” She turned around to wipe the counters down with a Lysol wipe. It was easier than looking her husband in the eyes while she tried to explain what a jerk his friend was to her without coming right out and saying it.

Ralph had been good to Sally in the nine months since the baby was born. He always helped with her mother in the apartment downstairs when she couldn’t and watched the baby whenever she needed some time to herself—to shower or clean or whatever she needed to get done. He encouraged her to go out with friends even though she never felt comfortable leaving her baby and always declined. He’d barely gone out himself because he didn’t want to make her upset by leaving her home alone.