I
watched my wife return to the car, open the door, and sit in the driver’s seat
with her feet still planted on the ground outside. I felt her watching me, as I approached and knelt down in front of her so she wouldn’t have to crane her
neck to look up at me while we talked.
“Do
you know what I just realized?” I steadied myself by placing my hands on the
bare skin of her legs just above her knees and underneath the long, flowing
material of her skirt.
“I
want to respond by saying something funny or dirty about all the public sex we
just got away with, but by the look in your eyes I know that I’d be wrong.” I could feel goosebumps beginning on the skin
of her thighs underneath my chapped, papery hands. “What did you realize, my love?”
“I
haven’t seen Lil’ Step since I got home.
Where the hell is she?”
“I
dropped her off at my sister’s house on my way to come pick you up from jail.” She dropped her eyes away from where they had
been meeting mine, “I wasn’t sure what kind of shape you would be in, and I didn’t
want her to see you bedridden and vacant-eyed, when I realized that’s how you
intended to remain for a couple of days.
I don’t think it would have been good for either of you. Are you mad?”
“No…
of course I’m not mad. Why would I be
mad? I wasn’t sure I wanted you to see
me after I finally saw what I looked like in that mirror-window at the
jail. That was good thinking on your
part. Thank you for being so thoughtful.” I stood up slowly, and my knees popped
painfully in the process. I was only
thirty-six years old, but I suddenly felt as though my body was tired and twice
that age.
“The
only person I love more than you in this entire world is my daughter. I’m sure you know that,” she raised her head
look in my direction. “She knows your
home though. I think…” she hesitated, “well…
I know she’s excited to see you.”
“What
makes you so certain of that?” I leaned
against the rear door of the car.
“She
stopped asking about you after about a month of you not coming home. I think she got tired of how I would cry when
I couldn’t make her understand. Fuck… I
didn’t understand why you weren’t coming home, except maybe that you were
getting high full-time. I did my best
to explain it to her without scaring her… but I think when I would start crying
she got scared anyways. She’s a smart
kid, ya know? If something scares her or
if she thinks something she does is upsetting to somebody, she just figures its
best not to do it again.”
“Okay….
But you said that you know that she’s
excited to see me. What changed?”
“Well,
after I talked to you at the jail I made quick plans with my sister to keep her
for a couple of days so I could figure out what to do about you. Then while she was helping me pack her bag she said, ‘I heard you talking to Steppy on the phone, mommy. Is Steppy coming home?’ Well, hell… I couldn’t help it… I love when
she calls you that… and I started to laugh and cry at the same time right there
in front of her.”
My
wife’s daughter had started calling me ‘Steppy’ shortly after her mother and I
got married. As far as I was concerned it
was about the greatest nickname I had ever been given in all of my life. Sometime shortly thereafter I returned the
favor by calling her ‘Little Step’… which eventually evolved into Lil’ Step as
my hard northern accent adopted a more comfortable southern flavor. My proudest moment came nearly a year later,
when a long-time friend of the family innocently called her by this term of
endearment and was promptly informed of his mistake. She looked directly into his eyes and said
firmly, “Please don’t call me that.
Nobody calls me that except Steppy… and don’t let me catch you calling
him Steppy either. He’s my
Steppy and I’m his Lil’ Step.” That’s
just how it was from that moment on.
“So
what did you say?” I asked, continuing my line of questioning with my wife.
“Well,
I told her that I was pretty sure that you were coming back home. I told her that I wasn’t sure if you were
feeling well, though… so I hoped it was okay that I was going to take her to
her aunt’s house for a couple of days until you felt better. She got pretty quiet for a couple of minutes,
but she was smiling all goofy, so I asked her to spill the beans. Then she said, ‘Steppy’s in jail isn’t he?’ I told her the truth, and asked why she
thought that was so funny. Do you know
what she said?” My wife chuckled a
little and slapped her knees.
“What
smartass comment did Lil’ Step come up with?”
“She
said, ‘Steppy’s probably not feeling good because he dropped the soap in jail,’
and we both laughed until we couldn’t stand it.” My wife’s laughter while she recalled this story
was immediately infectious and I joined her with heaving laughter of my
own. It was the first time in what felt
like years that I had laughed so genuinely.
“Should
we go pick her up?” My wife asked after our laughter subsided.
“I
think it’s about time, don’t you?” I walked around to my side of the car and
let myself in while my wife closed her door and started the car. As I slid the seatbelt over my skinny frame I
asked, “Where the hell do you think that kid gets this shit?”
My
wife dropped the transmission into drive and said, “Don’t look at me, buddy. She was a perfectly normal, sweet little girl
before you showed up.” She pulled out
from our hiding spot, and grabbed my hand out of my lap. “Despite these last couple of months, I
really wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I’m
glad. Do you think we can stop and get
something to drink before we leave town?”
I was parched from the afternoon’s activities.
“Yeah…
that’s a great idea,” she said while turning out of the park and into town. “I’m thirsty too. What are you thinking?”
“I
would love some beer, and I’ll get you a bottle of wine. Head over to the liquor store on Mulberry
Street.”
“You
bet… but let’s wait until she’s asleep to start drinking.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
We
drove to the tiny package store on Mulberry Street where my wife gave me a
twenty-dollar bill, having decided that she would stay in the car due to her
disheveled appearance. I got out of the
car, and immediately noticed the familiar gray sedan belonging to Rhonda. I looked around the parking lot, and assumed
she must be inside the small store buying her own beverages. I walked to the entrance and let myself
in. The door closed quickly behind me,
agitating a string of bells on the inside handle meant to alert the owner of
an incoming customer. I scanned the
aisles of liquor bottles to my right and the large hallway in front of the beer
coolers to my left. The front of the
store was empty except for me. I
wandered towards the beer cooler wondering momentarily if I had been mistaken
about the ownership of the gray sedan in parking lot. I finally saw what I was looking for in the
very last cooler door, and opened it to retrieve a 12-pack of Pabst Blue
Ribbon. When I closed the cooler door I
was startled by Rhonda who must have snuck quietly behind the foggy, glass door
after I had opened it.
“Boo
Motherfucker!” Rhonda hugged me quickly
while I regained my senses.
“I
thought that was your car out there, but nobody was in here when I came in.”
“Nah…
I was in the back taking care of some business.
What do you know?” Rhonda wasn’t really asking me anything, as it was a pretty
common greeting around here. “Guess they
did the same for you as they did for me, huh?
Kept you a couple days in lockup and let you go after Bull told them we
wasn’t doing nothing… God bless his heart.”
“They
charged me with possession since I was holding the pipe when they showed up.” I
responded.
“Well
that sucks, but maybe it won’t stick. That’s
a lot better than what Bull’s looking at, huh?
Have you heard from him?” Rhonda was grinding her teeth while she
talked, which was an obvious sign of being high… at least it was to me. My body began to tremble slightly under my
baggy clothing, and I started to feel the familiar pains of being dope-sick.
“Yeah,
but I don’t have a lot of time right now.
My wife is waiting for me in the car outside. Can I call you later? We’re going to pick up my kid.” I started walking towards the wine rack close
to the register at the front of the store.
Rhonda grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face her. I felt her hand reach into the loose pocket
in the front of my jeans, and the cold familiar weight of the bolt stash I had
traded to her over a week ago fell heavily against my leg. She patted the bulge of the bolt.
“I
want the bolt back, okay youngster? But
whatever is inside of it you can have. You
deserve it after what we’ve been through.
Call me when you can.” She walked
away from me towards the door in the front of the store. With a loud jingling of bells and a brief
wave to the owner who had appeared in front of the cash register, she
disappeared. I continued walking towards
the wine rack and picked up a bottle of sweet red wine from a local vineyard. It was one of my wife’s favorites.
I
walked quietly to the register and had an awkward exchange of greetings with
the owner while he rang my purchases up with his index finger. I recognized an almost
unnoticeable trembling in his hand. He was
grinding his teeth behind pursed lips when he gave me my total. I offered the twenty-dollar bill which he
traded for two crumpled dollar bills and some change.
“You
have a nice day.” The owner offered as I retrieved my beer and wine from the
counter and turned around towards the exit and my lovely, forgiving, and
patiently waiting wife.
“Well,
I don’t know about nice… interesting maybe… but I’m starting to lose
faith in the concept of nice.” I opened
the door and left the store to the obnoxious sound of the ridiculous bells.
This work is the intellectual property of Jerome J. Panozzo
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