Chapter 5

21

Dear Monstera

Driving along, took special notice of things: some old rusty pails abandoned in the grass beside the road, the dead tree where many turkey vultures had come to roost, a bait shop called The Happy Hooker, a man cutting grass with his new-looking riding lawnmower, a sign that said Golden Eye Campground, another sign that said Happy Days Boating with Over 100 Boats to Choose From, another sign for African Safari Drive-thru Wildlife Park touting its rare white alligator, the scary Davis-Besse nuclear power plant, & finally the figure of a man I was sure I knew from days gone by.

His name is Stanley. He was walking alone along the side of the highway. So I pulled over and asked if he needed a ride. This is not normally something I would do, but he seemed to be struggling. He folded himself painfully into the passenger seat.

“Do you remember me?” I asked him. He didn’t. Not that it mattered. He would have accepted a ride from anyone, I think. He looked bad & smelled bad.

I told him I was a friend of his daughter’s & I used to sleep over at their house on Easy Street when we were kids. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, not concerning me, I think. Just about those days.

22

His daughter’s name was Gloria. She was a pretty child, with blond curls that shone in the sun. She looked like a doll. She & her mother moved away a long time ago. I never heard from them after that.

At one time Stanley had been a master wood craftsman. There used to be pieces of furniture he had built in their home. Gloria had a cedar chest in her room that he made for her. It was beautiful, although the size & shape of it reminded me of a casket.

In the cedar chest, Gloria kept blankets & embroidered pillow slips for when she would be married someday. Other girls did this also, as though marriage is inevitable. I wondered sometimes if I should be putting things away, but I never did.

Back then, Stanley played drums in a band at a bar called Checkers. He did repairs at the bar & was paid in beer. He smoked two packs a day & drank a cheap beer called Goebel, which I would hear him pronounce with a French accent... Jo - bel’.

23

We were still parked on the side of the road. A large truck went by & my car windows rattled slightly. I asked Stanley how he was doing. He said he’d just gotten out of the hospital. “I can hardly breathe,” he said.

When I asked him where I could take him, he hesitated. “Home,” he said, but I felt he had not had a real home for some while. He gave directions to a trailer park that was near.

I started to pull onto the road. Suddenly, he said he was thirsty. It sounded like an apology. I drove to the Party Mart just ahead, obviously his original destination. I went in the store & bought him a six pack.

“Sorry,” I lied, “I couldn’t find Goebel.” I thought he would correct me with the French pronunciation, but he didn’t.

He smiled & said, rather sadly, “They don’t make it anymore.”

24

Last night I dreamed I was floating in the bay in my little boat. It was a beautiful day, bright sun, sparkling water, all that. Then abruptly I saw a cloud growing around the sun, a wispy white cloud, turning turbulent and dark, like a god-storm, like the end of the world. The sun was ready to burst. My lord, I thought, Where will I go? What will I do?

25

I sat with Stanley on the steps to the trailer he lived in. He quickly downed two beers & started on a third. “I’m staying with some woman,” he said.

I don’t know where the woman was. Maybe she was at work. Maybe she was at a friend’s. Maybe she was inside the trailer being very very quiet & that’s why he didn’t invite me in. 

Two young mothers strolled by, pushing baby carriages. They looked like skinny teenagers. Maybe they were. Their babies made no sound. Stanley watched the mothers. “It’s funny how things turn out,” he said.

He finished the third beer & jiggled the can. It made a small sloshing sound. He tilted it to his lips again. A few drops fell into his mouth.

“If I’d known I was going to live so long, I would’ve taken better care of myself,” he said & crushed the can.

He’s not that old. Maybe twice as old as me. Fifty, maybe. Fifty’s not that old.

“Life’s funny,” he said again.

I said “yeah.”

26

That was yesterday. Last night was my dream. Today is a new day, but my heart isn’t in it. My eyes pass over this day like a plane on its way to somewhere else.

The cicadas are more insistent, not just a rattle today, but also a whirr, a wail.

I like my home & don’t wish to be anyplace else, but today not all of me is in this place. The air is warm and clings to me like sorrow.

Sitting beneath this tree, my lap fills with dry beetles. It has taken me all day to do nothing.