Chapter 34

It was with a great deal of trepidation that I stared at the envelope with my name on it. There was no way to be positive, but I was pretty sure that bad news waited for me inside.

The old man had something to tell me that he couldn’t while still alive. Considering what he had already told me, it scared me. I had already gone through enough surprises in one weekend to last me for the next decade.

My father had already told me about the financial mess that was his life and that if I didn’t make a miracle happen, Mom would lose her house. I would get to share the news with her.

Then, since she didn’t have anywhere else to go, Mom would get to move in with me.

Ugh.

I have nothing against my mother and if she needed a place to stay, my door is always open. I would grin and bear it, but probably not like it. Let’s just say my lifestyle would undergo a major change. She would want to rule the roost and tell me what I should and should not do.

It’s a mother thing, I guess. The fact that I have lived past my fortieth birthday should convince her that I don’t need her constant direction, but it wouldn’t.

At least I would never have to worry about having clean underwear. Mom has this thing about dirty clothes. She can’t let them stay in the dirty clothes hamper for over a day, so Mom's constantly doing laundry, with small loads for the most part.

She probably had the washer and dryer going now, but I couldn’t hear it since I was hiding out from the mass of people visiting us and eating. Plus, I had made the mistake of sneaking back into my father’s office, since it was something I could never do before and there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.

I thought about leaning back in the chair and putting my feet up on the desk. It was something I always wanted to do. That would have sent the old man into orbit. But I decided to show a little respect for the dead, even though he seldom bothered showing me any while he was alive.

For several minutes, I took turns tossing the envelope on the desk, then picking it back up and staring at it. There was like some magical potion attached to it, drawing me in and making me want to read it.

Finally, I had enough. It was time to read it. I had never received a letter from a dead man before. Technically, he wasn’t dead when the letter was written, so it wasn’t from a ghost or anything. Still, this was a little too strange.

Just as I started to open the letter, Mom knocked on the office door. It must have been a habit that she couldn’t break yet. She even had to knock on the door before disturbing the old man. Sad, wasn’t it?

“Michael, are you in there?” she asked, opening the door a crack and peeking inside.

I waved at her. She opened the door and smiled. Mom was carrying a huge plate of food, which didn’t surprise me. She couldn’t let her son starve to death. What kind of mother would she be?

“I brought you some food,” she added, like I was unable to see this.

There was no way I could eat any more food. If I continued eating like this, I would look like the blob if and when I ever got back to Tulsa.

She set the plate down and pulled out a Diet Dr Pepper can out of her dress. I didn’t even know there was a pocket there and Mom was hauling cans around. Would the wonders never cease?

Mom looked around the old room. Even more than anything else in the house, this was her husband. Everything in here was his, from the desk, to the leather chair, the books and even the smell. She stood next to the desk for several seconds, looking around.

“I miss him,” Mom said, and sniffled. I was afraid she would start crying again, but she made a beeline toward the door. There were guests to entertain, no time to mourn the dead. That would come again later, and tear her apart.

“Bye, Mom,” I added, but it was too late. She was gone, probably back into the family room by then. Somebody new might have dropped by to see her and she had to be a gracious host.

I was glad Mom had not seen the envelope. She would have wanted to read it and I was afraid it would say something her eyes never needed to see.

It was time. I opened the envelope slowly, making sure I didn’t tear what was in it. There might be a check for a million dollars, but I doubted that was the case.

It was a letter, written on a typewriter, which I was glad to see. It would have taken forever to read it if it had been in Dad’s handwriting. The date was two weeks earlier, about the time when he got really sick.

MICHAEL,

IF YOU’RE READING THIS AND I’M NOT DEAD YET, PLEASE STOP. I DON’T WANT YOU TO READ THIS UNTIL I HAVE DIED.

FIRST OFF, PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOUR MOTHER. SHE IS A GOOD WOMAN AND DESERVES BETTER THAN I COULD EVER PROVIDE HER WITH.

SHE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT MY FINANCIAL PROBLEMS. PLEASE SPARE HER THE DETAILS. I DON’T CARE IF WE LOSE EVERYTHING ELSE, JUST DON’T LET HER LOSE THE HOUSE. THAT WOULD KILL HER.

IF YOU SEE MANNY, TELL HIM I AM SORRY. HE WILL KNOW WHY. PLEASE TRY AND HELP HIM ALSO. YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON HE WILL LISTEN TO.

NOW, TO YOU. I HAVE MESSED UP A LOT OF THINGS IN MY LIFE. I AM NOT PERFECT, LIKE I NEED TO TELL YOU THAT. BUT THE WAY I MESSED UP THE NEWSPAPER AND OUR MONEY SITUATION IS NOT WHAT BOTHERS ME THE MOST.

IT IS THAT I WAS NEVER THE FATHER TO YOU THAT YOU DESERVED. I WAS NEVER THERE FOR YOU OR DID THE THINGS FOR YOU THAT A FATHER SHOULD DO FOR A CHILD. I DON’T KNOW WHY I WAS THAT WAY. EVEN BACK WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD, I KNEW I SHOULD DO THIS OR DO THAT, BUT NEVER COULD GET IT DONE.

YOU WERE A SPECIAL CHILD AND NOW A SPECIAL MAN. YOU HAVE GONE SO FAR IN LIFE WITHOUT ANY HELP FROM ME. MAYBE THAT IS GOOD. IF I HAD TRIED TO HELP YOU, LIKE I ALWAYS DID MANNY, YOU MIGHT BE IN THE SAME SITUATION HE IS.

BUT I DOUBT IT. YOU ALWAYS HAD TOO MUCH CHARACTER AND SMARTS. YOU HAVE DONE THINGS AND GONE PLACES THAT I ALWAYS WANTED TO EXPERIENCE. I AM SORRY THAT I MISSED OUT, BUT GLAD THAT YOU DIDN’T.

I KNOW IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO FORGIVE ME. I NEVER FORGAVE MY FATHER FOR BEING THE SAME WAY TO ME. BUT I DO WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I AM SORRY AND IT IS THE ONE THING THAT IF I COULD LIVE MY LIFE OVER, THAT I WOULD CHANGE.
LIVE YOUR LIFE TO THE FULLEST SON. LOVE AND BE LOVED. ALL THOSE SILLY CLICHES THAT YOU READ ABOUT, WELL, I HAVE DETERMINED THEY ARE TRUE AS I WAIT TO DIE.

WHEN YOU ARE IN MY SITUATION, I PRAY THAT YOU DON’T HAVE THESE REGRETS THAT I DO.

I LOVE YOU AND WAS ALWAYS PROUD OF YOU.

DAD

I spent a good thirty minutes reading the letter over and over. I would like to say that it didn’t bother me, but that would be a big lie. Now isn’t the time to lie. I didn’t start crying until the second reading. Then, I didn’t stop, even when I read it the fifth and final time.

I felt like Sally Fields when she won an Oscar. He liked me, Dad actually liked me. I always thought he detested me. But I have the proof in this letter, one that I plan on keeping until the day I die.

Did I still hate the old man? No, I probably never did actually hate him. There were times I really disliked him, but he was my father. He had his faults, a lot of them actually, but I wouldn’t be here without him.

I just wished he could have said those words to me. I wanted to hear those words come out of his mouth, instead of reading them in a letter after he was dead.

The plate of food had gone untouched and unnoticed. I wasn’t hungry, but started eating anyway. I took the letter, stuffed it back in the envelope and turned it over so I could see my name on the outside.

I had to get out of here for a while. I grabbed the envelope and took it into my bedroom and hid it in my closet, the same hiding space that I used as a child. Nobody knew about it, not even Manny. That was where all the top-secret stuff went.

When I got back in the family room, everybody was crowded together like sardines. There was no way I could handle this. I needed some fresh air and decided to talk a walk. Mom was talking to her preacher, a really nice guy. He hugged me and said they missed me this morning.

I nodded, thanked him and told Mom that I was going for a walk.

“Button up,” she advised. “There’s a chill in the air.”

Frankly, I didn’t have anything to button up with. I was wearing a shirt with no buttons and had no plans to put on a coat. It was at least 75 degrees outside, perfect weather as far as I was concerned. As I walked outside on the porch, I was surprised to see there were even more people out here, all of them with a full plate and a mouth full of goodies. There were cars everywhere. Several of the neighbors were gathered together, talking about the situation. It was obvious they didn’t like having all these cars and trucks parked like they were.

Bette Crossland was an old woman who lived on the corner. She was an old woman when I was a kid and didn’t look any different now, maybe just a little more stooped and bitter. We used to terrorize her. She was our favorite person to bug. We would always ring her doorbell and run off before she answered. Bette saw me and started coming toward me.

She had on what appeared to be a nightgown. Her wig needed a little adjusting. It was a black one, like an eighty-year old woman would have black hair. Bette’s face appeared to be one big wrinkle now. I noticed that she used a walker, but it didn’t seem to slow her. Bette was making pretty good progress.

“Mike Hunt!” she yelled, making several men jerk their heads around. “Is that Mike Hunt?”

Several men on the porch laughed so hard they launched food out of their mouths.

“Hello, Bette,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t holler my name out loud again. Some of the really old men might have a heart attack if they thought Bette was talking about her privates.

She stopped in the middle of the road and started waving her fist at me.

“You need to do something about these cars!” she shrieked.

There were two cars trying to leave, blocked by Bette and her walker.

I wanted to tell her to get out of the road, that would help alleviate some of the traffic, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to fight with Bette or the neighbors.

She finally noticed the cars and turned around and walked back across the road. When she looked back at our house to holler some more, I was gone, halfway up the block. Bette never saw me.

As I walked, I thought back to when we were kids. Back then, the west side of town was our playground. We knew it like the back of our hands. We knew where it was safe to go and the places to avoid. There were some angry people who didn’t want a bunch of kids in their yard, but they didn’t look like serial killers. Now, I didn’t feel all that safe. There were some scary people who lived in Langford.

I walked down toward the highway. My route just happened to take me by Sandy’s house. It wasn’t just a coincidence that I went this way and that my pace slowed considerably as I walked by her place. Her car was gone, probably parked at Trevor’s house. I had not seen her since the other night when she helped escort me out of the hospital room. She was there, then gone. Now I wasn’t even sure Sandy was ever there.

I wanted to talk to her. Actually, I needed to talk to her. She could tell me what to do. Sandy was that kind of person. She always knew the right thing to do, except when it came to marrying Trevor, that is.

There was a large house on the corner, one block from the highway. I heard the music from two blocks away, a song that sounded like Polka music with a faster pace and a bunch of words that I didn't understood.

Several Mexicans were gathered in the front yard, sitting on the porch and in lawn chairs, drinking what looked like a store full of beer. The music was too loud and I doubted the neighbors appreciated the party in the front yard, but the Mexicans seemed harmless enough.

Half the guys wore cowboy hats and boots. There were a couple of them walking around. Staggering would probably be a better way to describe them. I noticed the vehicles, a bunch of trucks with bright colors and stickers on the windshield.

All the guys seemed to be small. I wondered if they could box, for some strange reason. I hoped to never find out.

I stopped a block from the highway and went around the block and headed back toward Mom's house. I heard the roar of the motor, even over the Mexican music. There was only one truck that could make that much noise. I looked for some place to hide, but couldn’t find anything.

I kept walking, hoping he would go away. He waited until the truck was right beside me to rev the engine again. I almost wet myself.

“Git in!” he demanded.

I turned to see Squiggy, Big Uns and Psycho staring at me. I shook my head. There was no way I was getting in the truck with them. I didn’t know who was more dangerous, the woman or the dog.

“We’s goin to de bar!” he added, like that would change my mind. I wanted to get out of the house and do something, but not that.

“I’ll pass,” I answered, still walking toward my mother’s home. Squiggy was coasting beside me. Some country song was playing on his radio, one I had never heard before and hoped to never hear again. The main gist was something about his dog dying and a woman dumping him.

For the final two blocks, we continued in this fashion. Squiggy begged me to go with him, I declined.

The neighbors were still standing out in their yards, staring at my mother’s house and all the cars surrounding it. At least until they saw Squiggy. He revved his engine, making them all take a couple of steps backwards.

Bette was shaking her fist at Squiggy. He shook something back at her. I acted like I had never seen these people before. Squiggy pulled in beside my mother’s car. I knew that would make her happy. Just as I started in the house, I realized this was a bad idea. I couldn’t expose these people to Squiggy. They were nice, church-going people who didn’t deserve that.

Plus, I realized that if Squiggy discovered how much food there was in the house, he wouldn’t leave for a week. He was sitting in the truck, moving his head to the beat and singing along. I had to get them out of here. I came up with the solution and walked out to his truck.

“Okay, I’ll meet you out there,” I said.

Squiggy eyed me with suspicion. He looked over at Psycho for comments. The dog was too busy sniffing Big Uns.

“Okay, go git Mule,” he told me.

Now that wasn’t part of the plan.

“Why doesn’t Mule just drive out there?” I asked.

Squiggy shook his head. Me and my dumb questions!

“Mule ain’t go no license,” he explained, saying it like that was common knowledge.

“Did he lose it?”

“Naw, he never got one.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Ask im.”

I hopped in my truck and took off. I drove across town to Mule’s house. He appeared to be the only white person still living in the northeast part of town. The whites called this area “Little Tijuana” and I could see why. There were Mexicans everywhere. I passed several parties, much like the one I saw earlier.

When I got to Mule’s house, I almost kept driving without stopping. The house was a small one with a roof that looked like it had waves in it. I noticed that the white paint had peeled badly off and their screen door had a large hole in the screen in the bottom corner. The yard looked like it had last been mowed in March. There was trash scattered everywhere, some in sacks, others that looked like they had opened the door and thrown in the yard.

I doubted the Langford Chamber of Commerce was overly proud of this house.

Mule was sitting on the porch, leaned back in a recliner and drinking a beer. There were several empty ones on the porch. There was a couch next to the recliner on the porch. His mother was sprawled out on the couch, her right arm dangling down.

I had heard of people making the outdoors an extension of their house, but Mule and his mother took it to a new level.

Luckily, it was a fairly large porch, plenty of room for furniture. I wondered if this furniture was used exclusively for the porch or they also took it inside. When Mule got up from the recliner, about six kittens jumped out of his lap. He walked out to the road carrying a sack. Mule finished off a beer and threw the can in the yard, joining all the other cans and trash scattered around.

He was wearing a shirt that actually didn’t seem to have any stains on it, along with jeans and boots. His hair was even combed! Mule appeared to be about three sheets to the wind, but I guess that was to be expected. He got in the truck and pulled a couple of beers out of the sack.

"Beer?" he asked.

"I believe you're right," I answered. It whooshed right over his head.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"Want one?" Mule asked, as he popped the top on his.

“No thanks,” I replied and nodded toward his house. “Is your mother okay? I haven’t seen her move, even when that cat jumped on her.”

“Yeah, she’s just drunk. Ma passed out about a six pack ago. Cain’t ya hear her snoring?”

“No, I missed that.”

What a life! Sitting on the front porch getting drunk with your mother. And to think, I had never gotten to experience it! Darn the luck. It reminded me of one of those silly MasterCard commercials with the voiceover and images.

“A six pack of cheap beer, three bucks.”

“Used furniture for your porch, twenty bucks.”

“A satellite to watch dirty movies on the television that is worth more than your house, fifty bucks a month!”

“Seeing your mother passed out on the front porch, priceless!”

We drove off toward the bar. Mule finished two beers by the time we hit the city limits.

“How come you don’t drive?” I asked.

‘Cain’t git no license,” he answered, slurring his words a bit.

“You can’t drive?”

“Naw, I can drive okay, specially when I’s drunk. I cain’t pass no written test.”

“Why not?” I foolishly asked.

“I’m dickslexik. Cain’t tell one letter from the next. They tells me I’s color blind, too, but I think they’s lyin.”

We pulled in the parking lot. I hoped to drop Mule off, make an appearance and slip out when nobody was looking.

I was wrong. It would be a night I’d never forget.

Chapter 35