Nobody Bats a Thousand (23 page)

“Nope.”

“Well, anyway, when the old man got sick I was in Europe. By the time I got home to see him, he’d already been buried for ten days.”

Del raised his hat and brushed back his hair. He went on, talking louder, the words quicker and shorter
than
before,
“I finally got the mud to see him, to face up, to straighten things out, but,” his speech slowed, “it was too late, he was already cold in his grave.  I never even got the chance
to apologize or to say good-bye.
” Del used his thumb to slowly wipe the corner of each eye under his dark glasses. “That was the last time I saw you, or your daddy or any of the family, ‘cause…’cause your daddy seemed to act different towards me.
Like he held it all against me.
Like he knew I could have been there two we
eks earlier if I’d really tried.
” Del
stared out at the sky.  “And, like always, your daddy was probably right.”

Jimmy did not know what to say. He could not think of anything that did not seem hollow and stupid, so the two sat quietly, watching the traffic moving slowly through Ludlow, and the graceful hawk still gliding in broad circles above it all.

Finally Del stood and stretched his arms above his head.  “This pla
ce is so peaceful and beautiful
I could probably sit
here
forever.  But I got to get back and get some rest so I can put it out tonight.”

They carefully moved down the trail off the mesa to the valley and quickly cove
red the route back to the truck with
Jimmy racing up the hill then reaching back to help his uncle make the last few feet.

In the truck, slowly moving down the dirt road, Del opened the glove box to examine the t
ruck’s hidden stereo receiver.
“Jesus nephew, how many speakers
this thing have
?  This system is worth more than the truck.”

“Eight speakers total in the cab.  That’s what
I do on the side, installation.
” Jimmy had both hands on the wheel, fighting the ruts, the truck rocking side to side. “I put a system into dad’s big tractor with the enclosed cab. H
e’s only got eight or nine CD’s
, mostly Dolly Parton and a bunch of hillbi
lly crap, but three of his them are CD’s
of yours.”

“Yeah?”

“He bought ‘em his self.”

“I guess that’s really something.”

“You bet.”

About a quarter of a mile later the truck hit a deep rut and bucked hard.  Jimmy came off the seat. Del grabbed his hat and pressed down with the palm of his hand.

“MAN!” Jimmy was suddenly exasperated.

“Pretty rough.”

“No, I could have missed that hole. I hit it ‘
cause
I was spacing.  I was thinking about you knowing John Lennon. That just freaks me out.”

“Oh, gosh, nephew, he was just a guy, just like you or me. A neat guy, a talented guy, but just a guy,” Del said.  He squeezed the brim of his hat as he stared out the side window, quietly, until just before they came to paved road when he turned to his nephew.  “All this adulation for entertainers—singers, athletes, actors—it’s crazy.  It’s really nuts all the
money some of these people make.
”
H
e and Jimmy simultaneously looked both ways before Jimmy turned onto Miles road.  “I think of people like my daddy and your daddy, wheat farmers all their lives. They’re what America is supposed to be all about. They made a decent, honest living, but they never got rich, and they had to work hard and be smart and kind of lucky to get what they’ve got. It’s really crazy, but people in this country will pay more to be enter
tained than they will to be fed.” H
e looked at Jimmy.
“Ain’t this a crazy world?”

They turned onto Hwy. 40 and drove without speaking. Soon they were
back on bumpy dirt parking lot of
Charlie’s
.
Jimmy slowly drove behind the building, parking parallel to the windshield of Del’s bus.

They shook hands.

“
Here.
” Del leaned forward to pull out his wallet. “
Take this for carting me around.” H
e offered Jimmy a twenty.

“I don’t need gas. I’m still almost full.”

Del put the bill into the glove box, slamming it shut. 
“Well, buy yourself some supper.
” Del got out and stood next to the truck, his hands on the door.
“Great to see you nephew.
Track me down again sometime. Someplace you can see the show. We play more than just bars.”

“I will.”

“Well
then, I’ll see ya when I see ya.
” Del lightly beat on the truck, turned and started to walk away.

“Uncle Del.”

Del stopped and moved back toward the truck.
“Yeah?”

“Call my dad, would ya?”

Del took off his glasses to show his da
rk
eyes. “I will, Jimmy, I will.” H
e looked down, kicked at the dirt, and then focused directly into his nephew’s eyes. “Hooking up with you today has to mean something, something more than just chance,” Del said. He stood and stared for several seconds until Jimmy nodded his head.  “When the time is right to call Carl, I’ll know it. I’ll f
eel it and I’ll call. I promise.
” Del smiled, winked and waved; then stepped away and disappeared into the bus.

Twenty minutes later, Jimmy was at a drive-in with carports and carhops, waiting for his order. He pushed in a CD of his uncle Del and his band playing their roadhouse rhythm and blues, live, somewhere in Germany; Del singing and playing his harp, the band cooking, the crowd going wild after each song.

After his food came, with the music surrounding him as he bit into his burger and stuffed his mouth with fries, he could picture his uncle playing to a full house at
Charlie’s
.
The crowd up, clapping and smiling, dancing and sweating; a room of people forgetting their problems and pains, not worrying about work or money or raising kids.
A group of friends and strangers sharing the night, sharing the consequence of the music, magic and joy before fanning out in different directions with an ardent memory they could hold forever.

Jimmy, chewing slowly and rhythmically while he continued to imagine the occasion inspired by his blood kin, felt both calmed and spirited by his vision of the whole scene; the stirring of emotions, the heartening of souls.  He pondered that connecti
on and thought it quite a thing.

The End

VICTIMS
OF
CIRCUMSTANC
E

She lingered more than usual, making sure she’d taken it all, then lifted her head from my lap and checked her make-up and hair in the small side mirror outside the passenger door, though the light that reached us from her front porch was very dim.

“Daddy said that three guys are retiring in the next few months so he can get you on for sure. But you still have to go to the intervie
w on Tuesday. And don’t be late.” S
he kissed me quickly with her lips tight together, then left the car and went up the driveway and into her parent’s place.

I started the car but for some reason left it in neutral and didn’t move until I saw the light go on in her room at the back of the house. I backed my VW bug out of the driveway into the street and headed on my way, the whole time not thinking about driving but about heredity and genes. I’d read where some guy had found a happy gene,
another
a
shy gene,
another a
novelty seeking gene, basically all these biological components that shaped or planned your personality before you were even born. I wondered if there was a self-destructive gene, and if I had it, because I’d just come within a hair of telling Gina I didn’t want to marry her and didn’t want her dad to get me on at the irrigation district, even though she was cute and built great and madly in love with me, and the union job her dad was setting me up with was something most guys around here would cut off their right nut to have. I figured I was in love with her, at least I knew I loved having sex with her, we were real compatible in that way. But maybe she reminded me a little too much of my mom. They were both kind of submissive and pushy at the same time. The kind you couldn’t ever really get mad at or say no to at least not to their face.

As far as the job at the irrigation district was concerned, I really couldn’t get all that excited about it. I knew I should have been thrilled with the opportunity but down deep the way I actually looked at things, whether you worked there or if you were the president of IBM or worked as a garbage man the only difference was the amount of money you made, the kind of car you drove and the types of clothes you wore. Otherwise what were you shooting for? A shot to do the same thing
every day
for twenty, thirty, or forty years, so you could retire and sit on the front porch watching traffic go by until you died?

I really had a rough time thinking about it. I guess I just had
a rough
time thinking about work. I’ve had four or five
real
jobs, not mowing neighbor’s lawns or working for relatives, since I turned sixteen almost
five years ago. Some of them paid pretty well for a kid, but somehow I’d found a reason to quit all of them, usually rather suddenly. It was just that, no matter if it was bagging groceries or cooking burgers or laying asphalt for nine bucks an hour, no matter the job, no matter the pay, there eventually came a time when I just couldn’t see any point to it, and then something inside of me would always convince me to find a reason to quit.

I didn’t drive straight home. I went by the pool hall just down the street from my old high school. I went there out of Friday night curiosity.
Like I didn’t want to miss anything, even though nothing much really went on at the pool hall or anyplace else in this half-assed little town.

As soon as I walked into the place I saw two of my best buddies, Red Deavers and Benny Hernandez, two guys I’d hung around with since sixth grade. They weren’t shooting pool. They were just hanging out near the far wall in front of all the video games; both just looking around with an attitude, like they were anxious to either fuck or fight with no great preference as to which came up first. It was their look and the fact that they weren’t with their girlfriends that made me think they’d been drinking.

I walked up to Red. “Where’s Nancy?”

“Fucking bitch, it’s over.”

“Again?
What’s that make it three times this month?”

“This is it. T
his is final. That
bitch is his-to-ry.”

“You said that the last time when she made you a sandwich with mustard.”

“I hate mustard.”

I looked over at Hernandez scanning the room. He was about six-feet and two hundred pounds, a guy who had been both a crazed killer-linebacker and a sweet-talking ladies’ man, sort of a sensitive thug. He had a Hispanic-Elvis look going for him an image that was more than just looks; it was a confidence and arrogance blended with street smarts and a natural gift for knowing how to talk to people, especially women. His latest girlfriend, who he’d been with for about a year, had grown up in a big house on the bluffs an exclusive area overlooking the town. She was a couple of years older than him, beauty-contest beautiful, cultured and rich from a family full of doctors. She was a big part of Benny’s life but even after her dad got her own apartment
in town,
me and Red nor any of
Benny’s
other buddies ever saw her much. She was like from another world. But from what we did see she was pretty much devoted to Benny, and he still got to do basically whatever he pleased. He had it made.

Right now Benny was smiling with a devilish subtlety, so I had a good idea what was up. He always enjoyed Red’s domestic br
eakups. They happened all the time
, and Benny would take Red out, get him drunk and fired up and into some kind of trouble. About any type would do.

“I’m going to get a joint from
Papagian
. He’s always got weed,” Benny said then he started off to a table and a group of people on the other side of the room.