| A couple of Runs page two Chris Dungey |
| It wasn’t that bad. A fluorescent tube flickered on above the sink, both halves of which were surprisingly empty. His trash basket, however, had overflowed with styrofoam plates. “These are killing the planet, ya know,” I said. I pushed down on the heap as I stepped past. The hatch on the cover slapped closed as I entered the bathroom. Two bare bulbs glared above the vanity when I found the chain. I shoved the door closed with my foot. “My sister brought those after she cashed my check,” Richie called. “She did up the dishes, too, last…It was…Christ, Tuesday? No, that was somebody’s girlfriend. I dunno anymore.” “Sorry I brought it up, dude.” I let go a sustained trickle of all-afternoon-coffee drinking while holding the seat up with a free hand. It wobbled on loose hinge pins through the pube-grubby porcelain. I didn’t think the sister or anyone else had made it this far with the 409 and a sponge. The tub spigot leaked its own steady drizzle. Two rolled-up towels at the base of the toilet stanched the linoleum. “It’s O.K.,” Richie said from the kitchen. “Did this to myself, right? Lucky Barb’d even come over. My brother-in- law took the truck for safe-keeping.” I took my shakes in the harsh shadows.”Hey, Richie. Can I flush this bad boy?” “Far’s I know.” I didn’t wait for the slow whirlpool to choke down. I killed the light and backed into the kitchen. “You need anything else, man? Have you got any food in the place?” “Ummm,” Richie’s scratching moved from collar bone to abdomen. He opened the refrigerator. “I had some Doritos when I got up. Around lunch? There was pizza in here. I think Barb said she boiled some eggs. I was sleeping.” Just then, Merrill beat the door a sharp rap and stuck her head in. Richie nearly leaped out of his slack skin as he whirled. He recognized her before he could find his back pocket. “Hey, Rich.What’s the deal, Cliff?” Her eyes popped wide, like someone had awakened her with a cattle prod. “ I’m getting lightheaded out there.” “How are you?” Richie mumbled. He eyed her quickly then turned back to the hollow appliance. “She’s jonesing for some buffet.” I told him. “And forgetting her roots. Listen, we’re gonna go get you something, unless you can force yourself to come with.” He reached into the refrigerator and touched the eggs in a bowl. “Awww, guys, c’mon. I’ve held you up long enough.” “Screw that,” I said. “We’ve all been there, one way or another. And Merrill used to do-good with Catholic Outreach, if you can believe it. Grab your coat.” “Nahhh, man. I can’t do it yet,” he said. “Word hasn’t gotten around yet, I’m dry. They’ll pull out my wiring if I’m not here.” Merrill slipped in and leaned back against the door, hugging herself in her hooded mackinaw. “I’m sorry, Richie. I can wait. I think I saw wild-cherry Hall’s in the glove box.” “You stay out my glove box,” I said. “O.K., then. Arby’s, Big John Steak ‘n’ Onion? Just name it.” Richie straightened, empty handed, and gently closed the refrigerator. He turned toward us but stared at the floor. “Anything with nutrition to it, I guess. Nothin’ that’s gonna blow right through.” He handed me a twenty. “You got it. We’ll be right back.” I followed Merrill out the door and down the steps, surprised when Richie turned the porch light on behind us. * We drove back the way we’d come. I tried to remember where I could find the nearest KFC. Hill Road, I thought. Chicken strips in original batter, mashed potatoes, or maybe mac’n’cheese were probably harmless. “Was that actually a gun in his pocket?” Merrill asked, two lights south on Fenton Rd. “Nah. He was just glad to see you,” I said. “It was in his back pocket,” she said. “Believe me, if he’s burning rock, pussy’s the last thing on his mind.” “Well, then. He was just showing you a nice fruit basket,” I laughed. “You jerk. Hey, pull in here!” Merrill blurted. We’d gone through the Bristol Road intersection and were nearly past the entrance of a neighborhood Kroger. “Why?” I hit the brakes. “Their delis aren’t that great and he won’t wanta cook anything. We don’t want him monkeying with the stove.” “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Once you do-good, you won’t go back. Haven’t you ever heard that one?” The parking lot was nearly full. We ended up at the back. I handed Merrill the twenty. “Nothing spicy. There should be spuds on the menu somewhere.” “Relax. I can do this,” she said. The snow was falling quicker. The wipers patted it into clumps. It whirled in the floodlights and collected on the salt-bleached asphalt. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on, but it wasn’t my job to talk her down. Richie didn’t have a bad bone in his body, not really. I didn’t know him like a brother, exactly, but I couldn’t see where he’d find the abuse, mental or physical, to keep Merrill amused. Any more than I could picture him pulling that trigger. Maybe it was just her sporatic Chistianity talking. But then, my status as a shrink was, admittedly, amateur. In spite of my caffeine level, I nearly dozed off to that wiper and heater duet. Merrill’s hood was tugged forward like an undersized unibomber as she perp-walked the last few feet. She kneed the door a couple of times for me to look alive and open. A bag dangled from each bare hand. “That was only a twenty,” I said. “He owes me five, then.” She swung the bags into the back seat. “I got round steak. I got au gratin in a box. Dinner rolls and ice-cream. One of those jello parfaits. I think they’re caca, but they’re easy on the stomach.” “That should do the job, alright, if he’ll eat. Better buckle up.” The rush-hour jam had abated somewhat, but there were still plenty of cars forcing their way through the elements to start the blue-collar weekend. A few knuckleheads tested their antilock brakes on the veneer of slush trying to crystallize on the street. Merrill braced her hands on the dash, her eyes wide with a return of survival instincts. “Oh, do I love the straight life,” she said. “Would you slow down?” “It’s not me, darlin’.” I eased down to the Bristol Rd. light for what seemed the umpteenth time that day. “I gotta tell ya, though. This isn’t what I had in mind for my evening. If you’re broiling that, you’ll have to pound the crap out of it first.” “Really?” Merrill cracked the window and started another cigarette. “Don’t you wanta wait around while I marinade the damn thing?” “No, I don’t,” I told her. “I wanta hear some live music and listen to strangers talk on their cells. I want chili in sourdough, damn it!” Merrill chuckled. “Caca. Those bread bowls have sat in the display case all day. Better hope one of those kids doesn’t lose a tongue stud in it.” “Whatever,” I said. My traction broke loose in the first two gears. We were nearly back to Richie’s neighborhood before I dropped it into sixth. “So I’m coming back for ya? Is that the plan?” She gave me a dirty look. “No way am I staying overnight. You keep your phone on, alright?” “Sure. They close at ten, though. Let’s just say ten.” “I’ll call,” she repeated. “Company comes, I want out of there.” A salt truck roared south like a one-lane avalanche. I waited for it to clear then turned onto Richie’s street. Merrill relaxed enough to flip down the make-up mirror in her visor. She went to work with a tube of gloss as I tip- toed, again, down the constricted street. Now there were adolescents and preenys with shovels and snowballs to be watchful of. I suppose that wasn’t the worst thing, to be out getting some fresh air, unless they were too poverty stricken for X-Boxes. Nah, I thought. They’d have to be homeless first. “O.K., here we are,’ I said. I inched into Richie’s short driveway. There were no other vehicles at the curb on either side. “Looks like the coast is clear. I hope you know what you’re doing.” “You heard him say he was done,” Merrill said. “And he claims he isn’t holding.” She hoisted the groceries out of the back seat. “That’s usually true when a run is over with…for awhile. Besides, I’m good.” “Baby, you are do-good.” I laughed. “Yeah, yeah,” she said. She pushed the door closed with a slushy sneaker. I backed out and plugged my cell-phone into the lighter to make sure it was charged. For just a heartbeat, I considered that it might be kinda crazy to drive to the other side of town now. It could take twenty minutes in this slop and then the chili would be gone. But I kept going. It was too late to do anything but let nature take its course. Let poor Richie stutter his gratitude. Merrill’s relentless sort of 12-step empathy was probably enough to make any sentient person shiver like a Chihuahua—no matter what those motivations, buried in the scar tissue, might truly be. |