Roadside Bodhisattva Part 8

Apparently, Angie used the garages towtruck as his personal transportation. Once again I was jammed in between him and Sid. We were heading in the opposite direction from the time we had gone to change that womans tire. But the scenery wasnt much different, just a lot of trees and once in a while some half-a.s.s, fifty-cent business like a general store or video-rental place or drycleaners or liquor store. As we came up on one liquor store, Sid said, "Pull in here, Angie. Tonights my treat."

Angie swung into the lot Sid hopped out, leaving me alone with the hairy, burly guy behind the wheel. I inched away a little, grateful for the s.p.a.ce. Angie seemed about to say something, but then changed his mind. When Sid came back, toting a big sack that bulged with bottles and cans and snacks, I breathed a deep sigh of relief, without being too obvious, I hoped. Traffic opened up a s.p.a.ce for us, and we got right back on the road.

After growing up in the city, I found all this empty s.p.a.ce and these hick businesses a little weird. I wondered what the two nearby towns, Cape Benefit and Lumberton, were like. I could only picture something like one of those old sitcoms from Nick at Nite. All the people would be smiling gray ghosts in old clothes, wandering through a black-and-white small town landscape full of ancient cars. Kinda stupid, I knew, but thats what came into my mind.

We drove for about twenty minutes more. There was a lot of local access to the highway, even though it was four lanes of cars driving too fast. We pulled off at last at this long, three-story apartment building, brick and crumbling stucco, a dead, dusty fountain on a patch of burnt gra.s.s. Trails of rust stained the walls beneath all the built-in air-conditioners. A sign said no guest parking in tenant slots. Loserville.

Angie parked near the main door, and we got out.

The gla.s.s door into the small lobby wasnt even locked. Angie checked his mailbox, took out a few pieces of junk mail and dumped them in an overflowing trash container. We followed him up two flights of stairs and down a corridor where the rug was about a hundred years old. The air smelled like bad cooking and boxes full of used kitty litter. Angie let us into his apartment with a key off a big ring strung by a chain to his belt.

The first thing I saw was a little pantry-style kitchen on my right. Dishes dried in a rack, and towels were folded neatly. A teapot sat on the stove. I had pictured a sink full of dirty dishes, and open cereal boxes and jars of peanut b.u.t.ter lying around. The neatness surprised me.

Beyond the kitchen, the living room featured a wide window that looked out over the parking lot. I could see the tow truck, and for some reason that made me feel better, like my ride back to Deer Park was a.s.sured. A vinyl recliner patched with duct tape faced a big tv. Two little tables holding lamps stood at either end of a couch covered with some gnarly fabric the color of old mustard. The carpet inside looked a little cleaner than the stuff in the hall. A closed door had to lead to the bedroom, and the bathroom mustve been beyond there too.

Sid set down his sack on a third, bigger table against the wall, one that Angie mustve used for his meals. "Man, Im getting agoraphobia here! After a week sharing that trailer with the Kid, I had forgotten one person could own so much s.p.a.ce! Nice place youve got here, Ange."

Angie grunted, then moved across the room to turn on the tv. The six oclock local news came on, with the volume low. I had a feeling that the tv ran continuously while Angie was home. Suddenly, sharing a trailer with Sid didnt look like such a bad deal. I had longed to get off on my own, away from my parents, for a long time. But now I could see how a person could get too alone, and how being too alone could get old real fast.

Sid started taking out his purchases. Two pints of whiskey, two sixpacks of Miller, and a two-liter bottle of c.o.ke. Besides the drinks, he had picked up a can of potato stix, a large bag of pretzels, one of Cheetos and a handful of Slim Jims.

"All right, mine host! Lets have some gla.s.ses here, if you please!"

Angie got two small gla.s.ses and a plastic mug out of the cupboard. Sid poured an inch of whiskey twice, then filled the big mug with c.o.ke for me. He popped the tops of two beers and the can of potato stix, and ripped open the snacks.

"A toast!" bellowed Sid. I took up my c.o.ke. "To friends.h.i.+p!"

We all tapped our gla.s.ses, and while I sipped at my soda, Angie and Sid drained their whiskeys, then swigged some beer.

"Have a seat," Angie said, his first words since we had left Deer Park.

Sid and I dropped down on the couch. Angie dug out a folding tv tray and set it in front of us. He transferred the snacks to the tray, then spun around his recliner so it faced us. The tv newscaster droned on, talking about some disaster far away. Angie sank down into his well-worn seat. Sid popped up to pour more whiskey. He set the pint on the tv tray, then joined me on the couch again.

Neither Sid nor Angie swallowed their second gla.s.s of whiskey as fast as the first one. Instead, they nursed their drinks without saying anything. When I couldnt stand the silence anymore, I said, "Uh, so, uh, Angie. Pretty busy today?"

"Not really. Did a brake job."

"Thats cool." Jesus, not much material to work with here! And where was Sid, who always had some line of bull handy? I looked to my road buddy for some conversational help, but he just grinned like an idiot and nodded at me, like I was the detective in charge of interrogating a suspect. What was I supposed to do, just ask Angie outright what was eating him up inside? I looked to the tv for help. The sports segment of the news was on. I could care less about sports, but I figured maybe that topic would get a rise out of Angie.

"So, who do you think will make it into the World Series this year?"

"No idea."

I took a long swallow of my soda, stopped, then drank some more. This was going nowhere. Whatever powers Sid imagined I had to get Angie spilling his guts were obviously nonexistent. Finally, even Sid must have sensed this, because he picked up the ball.

"Ange, you know that second game we played today? Where did you learn that opening?"

Angie perked up a little. His face muscles moved in a way that might have led to a smile in about another ten years of effort, and his thick eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "You like that little maneuver, huh? I picked that up from a library book."

"You must have a board and pieces here. Dig em out, and lets run through that sweet little trap one more time."

"Sure thing."

Angie went to a cabinet and took out the chess stuff. I finished my soda, and got up for a refill. While the two guys bent over the board, I stuffed myself with chips and Slim Jims, all the while imagining what Sue wouldve been fixing me for supper if I had been with her. This was as boring as boring could get. I moved slowly around the apartment, looking at the few bits of junk Angie owned. A stack of car magazines, a souvenir plate from Niagara Falls, a backgammon set, a collection of Las Vegas postcards. I guessed Angie must have about six and a half memories, one of which was driving us here tonight.

After about half an hour, I had to take a p.i.s.s.

"Right through there," Angie said, waving at the closed door.

The bedroom was darker than the living room, with the shades down, but I could see the toilet through the half-open bathroom door on the far side of the room. I made straight for the john, and enjoyed a long pee. With that off my mind, I went back more slowly through the bedroom. I was in no rush to get back out there with Angie and Sid.

A few framed photos stood atop a dresser. I went over to look at them. One of the shots caught my attention right away. It showed four smiling people. Ann, plus a man I didnt know, plus Angie, plus a kid about my age, all standing outside the Deer Park office. The man I didnt know had his arm around Ann. I picked up the picture.

I turned my back on the bedroom door and angled the picture at a crack of light coming through the shades, in order to get a better look at the scene.

"Put that down!"

A hand like a catchers mitt clamped my shoulder and squeezed.

"Ow! Whats the matter? I was just looking!"

Now Sid was in the bedroom too. "Angie, let him go! Whats wrong?"

Angie took his hand away and s.n.a.t.c.hed the photograph from me. I reached up to ma.s.sage my shoulder, and I threw in a little wince. My shoulder didnt hurt all that much, but I wanted to make sure everyone knew how unfairly I had been treated.

"This is real personal," Angie said. He clutched the frame against his chest like he was some girl guarding her diary. He didnt look angry so much now, but more like he was gonna cry.

Sid stepped closer to Angie and threw an arm around him. "Listen, big guy, you know we dont mean to stick our noses in where theyre not wanted. But on the other hand, it would be awfully harda.s.s of us if we didnt express a little concern over something that obviously busts you up so much. Here me and the Kid are, in your home, sharing a drink, enjoying your hospitality, and were supposed to just turn our heads aside when we see you hurting? Thats cold, man. Real uncaring. Thats not the way me or the Kid operate, is it, Kid?"

"Uh, no, of course not."

"Besides, arent we all part of the Deer Park family?"

Something about this last phrase set Angie off. He went from a suspicious silence to a gush of emotion. He collapsed backward onto the bed, slipping out of Sids arm, still clutching the photograph. "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus," he wailed. Now he was crying for real. I felt like I was seeing icky emotional junk I shouldnt be seeing, but I couldnt look away. The guy was obviously totally torn up inside over something bad that had happened, all connected with that photo.

Sid sat down on the bed while I s.h.i.+fted from foot to foot. He didnt say anything, just hung his head and put a hand on Angies shoulder. The mechanic continued to sob, not too loud, but still painful-sounding. At last he ran out of energy or despair or both. He got a hold of himself and sat up, continuing to let Sids hand ride his shoulder. Neither of them said anything, so at last I spoke up.

"Uh, maybe we could all use a drink?"

The photograph sat on the folding tray between the couch and the recliner, angled so we could all see it. Angie and Sid had polished off two more shots and two more beers apiece, and now Angie seemed ready to talk. He extended one blunt index finger, still grimy around the nail, and tapped the image of the man standing next to Ann.

"Thats my brother Vito. Anns husband." Angie hesitated a moment, then tapped the gla.s.s above the kid. "Thats their son, Tony.

"Tonys dead. And Vitos split. Three years now."

Angie looked away from us, out the window. Night had arrived. The lights in the parking lot of the apartment building made circles of brightness that just showed how dark the dark really was.

Angie looked back at us. "And its all my fault."

I expected Sid to make some kind of denial, to rea.s.sure Angie by saying that certainly he wasnt to blame for any such thing. But Sid mustve felt that any such awarding of instant relief wasnt practical, wasnt called-for, or wasnt his to give. Maybe all three. So he just said, "Hows that, Ange?"

"The car. The car that killed Tony. I gave the kid his first car. I was trying to make him into a gearhead like me. He seemed interested. Used to come over to the garage every day after school and hang out with me. Smart kid, picked things up fast. Pretty soon he was helping me restore this old Camaro. We dropped a new engine in, a big one. Got the interior back to cherry. I gave him the car for his sixteenth birthday. Four months later, he wrapped it around a tree one night, just a few miles from home. Half a year later, Vito was gone. The marriage just fell apart. All because of Tonys death. The divorce came through a year after that."

Angie folded his hands in his lap and stared at them. His voice was so low I could barely hear him. "I killed my nephew and broke up Anns marriage. I stole my brothers son from him. And theres no way I can fix any part of the f.u.c.king mess. But I cant leave either. So I just hang around and feel like s.h.i.+t."

Sid said nothing. Me neither. This was serious business. I tried to imagine how I wouldve felt if I thought I had helped kill someone I loved, and wrecked two other peoples lives in the process. It was hard to wrap my mind around Angies situation. I thought of the words of the Prophet. "For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun." Would they help Angie if I said them? It wasnt like he was even grieving about the dead nephew so much, but instead feeling s.h.i.+tty about how everything fell out afterwards. In the end, I had to admit to myself that I didnt know what to say.

Sid held one of the smaller chess pieces, tumbling it over his knuckles like a coin trick. I waited for him to speak. When he did, his words made no sense.

"How did you get out of the wreck?"

Angie reacted like hed taken a small jab to the head. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"The wreck that Tony died in. You said he wrapped the car around a tree. I can picture it being pretty bad. How did you escape without a scratch?"

"Youre crazy! I wasnt in the car with him!"

Sid set down the chess piece and nodded. "Oh, I see. I thought different, from the way you talked. You werent behind the wheel? Your foot wasnt on the pedals? You werent driving drunk? You didnt nod off doing seventy at three am?"

Angies face was getting a little red now. "No, of course not. None of those things happened! I was home sleeping when Tony died."

"Then why do you imagine you killed Tony?"

Angie sat there with his mouth open like a fish. It took him a whole minute to say something. "I gave him the car, you f.u.c.king idiot! I souped it up too!"

Sid sat back on the couch like he was defeated, ready to give up this line of talk. I could see now where he was going with it, of course, but Angie was too wrapped up in his old guilt to get Sids lesson.

"Angie," Sid said in a calm voice, "Hand me that bottle of whiskey, please."

Angie pa.s.sed him the bottle. Sid took it by the neck. Then, before either of us could see what he planned, Sid swung the bottle against an endtable. The noise of cras.h.i.+ng gla.s.s and splas.h.i.+ng liquor made me and Angie jump. The next thing we knew, Sid was leaning forward, the jagged end of the bottle held against his own gut. The points of the bottle dug into Sids s.h.i.+rt. Patches of wet darkness spread around the jags, making it seem like maybe blood was flowing underneath the s.h.i.+rt.

"Angie, tell me something. If I decide to shove this gla.s.s in all the way to my spine, are you responsible for my death? Are you my murderer because you gave me the bottle? Or am I just a dumba.s.s suicide?"

"Tony wasnt no suicide! He was just a kid who didnt know enough-"

Sid smiled in a grim way, still pressing the broken bottle into his gut. "Didnt know enough what?"

Angie seemed to be choking on his words. "Didnt-didnt know enough to drive safe. Didnt know enough not to speed at night. Didnt know enough to realize how f.u.c.king much he could hurt everyone who loved him by dying like that."

Angie started crying again. Sid dropped the piece of busted bottle on the couch and sat back again. Sid looked exhausted, and I felt just as sad for him as I did for Angie.

After a while, we all got to the point where we could look at each other and talk again. Angie spoke first.

"All right. Maybe I didnt kill Tony. But Anns marriage-"

Sid practically exploded. "Jesus! You are one hard-headed b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Do I have to ask you the same kinda questions all over again? Were you lying in bed between Ann and Vito when they fought? Were you there when she blamed him for not being a good father, or when he blamed her for wiping Tonys a.s.s one too many times? Were you there-"

"Okay, thats enough! No, I wasnt there for any of it! I dont know what went down between them. Maybe things were bad even before Tony died. But still-"

"Still nothing! Whatever Ann and Vito had between them, whatever went wrong or stale, whatever caused your brother to take off, whatever made Ann let him go-well, it was private and personal. n.o.body can understand that kind of s.h.i.+t from the outside. And you know what? I doubt they spent one lousy second thinking about you during their arguments, and your name probably never even came up. All this guilt-its just another form of pride. 'Im so important, Im at the center of everything-especially the bad stuff. Its destructive bulls.h.i.+t, Ange! Destructive to yourself and to everyone around you. If you ever want to get better, you gotta let it go."

Angie sat still for a long time, then said, "You two better leave now. Just clear out." His voice was level, but I wouldnt call it friendly.

"Sure. No problem. Cmon, Kid, lets. .h.i.t the road."

Sid grabbed a plastic webbing that still held two cans of beer. Seeing that, I s.n.a.t.c.hed up a bag of chips. We left the apartment, went down the stairs and out the door. As we crossed the parking lot I asked, "Are we gonna hitch?"

Sid looked preoccupied, like maybe he wasnt sure if he had done good or bad back there. "No. Its a nice G.o.dd.a.m.n night, and the walking will do us good. Its only about ten miles. Besides, with our luck, if we tried to hitch that stupid cop Vakharia would drive by and nail us." Sid brightened up, clapping me on the back. "Besides, you want to stay in shape for whenever we hit the road again. Right, partner?"

"Right!"

We stayed on the same side of Route 1 we had earlier traveled, walking on the gra.s.sy margins of the highway, to face the oncoming traffic. Sid popped a beer and took a sip. I ate some chips.

I wondered if Id be was.h.i.+ng dishes again at breakfast, or out on my a.s.s because Ann felt Sid and I had b.u.t.ted in where we didnt belong. I tried to decide which possibility bothered me more, but couldnt make up my mind.

The next morning I felt like c.r.a.p. By the time Sid and I had made it back to Deer Park, it was just before midnight. By the time we fell asleep, it was way past. Back in the trailer, we had talked a little about any number of things, but not about Angie and his problems. Just general bulls.h.i.+t. Then I lay awake with the lights out, thinking about stuff for at least an hour in a screwed-up, half-awake way.

So when the wind-up alarm clock that Sue had given us went off at six I had to really drag myself out of bed. That long nights walk on top of a full days work left me feeling as sore as the only nerd in a school full of jocks. Sid was already up, natch, doing his stupid exercises. I grunted, stumbled past him, grabbed some fresh clothes and my Skechers, and left the trailer. I was barefoot, no s.h.i.+rt, wearing just my jeans. The morning dew was cool on my soles as I crossed the lawn. And of course because I was half-naked I ran into Sue at the back door of the offices, on my way in for a shower.

Sue held an armful of clean rags, the kind I used in the kitchen. She mustve been heading to the diner for breakfast. She wore a new pair of farmer pants, faded red this time, over a flowery Quiksilver s.h.i.+rt. She eyed my chest with an evil grin. I swore up a storm inside myself. How come I had no lousy G.o.dd.a.m.n hair on my f.u.c.king skinny chest yet? And how come a girl could give a guy the once-over and not get called on it, the way a guy eyeballing a girl would?

"Late night?" Sue said.

"Yeah."

"Hope it was more fun than you and I wouldve had together."

She took off then before I could come up with any kind of answer, looking back over her shoulder and grinning.

s.h.i.+t!

I went inside and had my shower. Then, even though I didnt really want to see Ann or Sue, the only thing to do was go have breakfast.

When I walked into the diner, three booths had customers and they were all in the middle of their meals, so Yasmine had nothing to do except hang out at the counter and tease Sonny. This was something I had noticed her doing before. Ann usually made Yasmine stop before things went too far, but Ann wasnt around. She mustve been in the back room, getting some supplies.

"So, Sonny," Yasmine said in a syrupy voice, "wheres your own little Cher? Cmon, you can tell me. You must be keeping a babe on the side, especially with all the money you save by living with your sister. Whats she look like, huh? Is she built anything like me?" Yasmine leaned forward across the counter, offering a good view down her s.h.i.+rt. "Cmon, Sonny, turn around and have yourself a look."

Sonny kept his back to Yasmine. He concentrated on sc.r.a.ping a grill that was already so polished that you could possibly see your reflection in it. His narrow shoulders hunched forward and inward, like he was trying to roll himself up into some even skinnier version of himself.

"I tuh-told you buh-before, Yasmine. I duh-dont have a guh-girlfriend."

"Oh, give me a break! A big strong hunky guy like you? You must have a whole string of ladies. Let me just feel those muscles."

Yasmine reached over to touch Sonnys right arm, the one holding the sc.r.a.per. He jerked it away from her polished fingertips, and the sc.r.a.per knocked into a shallow aluminum bowl that held melted b.u.t.ter and a basting brush. The bowl tipped over, sending b.u.t.ter spreading across the counter and onto the floor.

"Nuh-now luh-look what you muh-made me do!"