Wednesday, March 11, 2015


Uncapping the pill bottle I took a visual count. It seemed all there. The label had the script dated as recently filled. Clay gave account.
“Should be 4 missin’ but only one is, the one I just took. Yah, I skipped them like I said.”

His Favorite Gal, banging dishes and cabinet doors, strolled over and gave Clay a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m leavin’ you’s guys to catch up, shoot bulls, and hangout. There’s already a cooked ring of bloney in the icebox for dinner, oh, and half a brick of commod cheese. If ya’s get the urge, grind some boloney up for sandwich spread. I’m outta here for a few days. Been a long week for only three days into it.”

A geographical oddity took place. Gravity beneath my chair increased 3 fold as His Favorite Gal grabbed her small purse and went out the door. Reality of the burden before us was weighty stuff. But, Clay looked lighter for some reason and spoke of it.

“Aaah, glad she’s off to her cousin’s bro. Anymore, her bein’ around for me hurts, yah, binds like shrunk underwear.”

Something caught my eye and distracted me. It was the roach. Scurrying to the door it climbed through a tear in the screen. Little chicken shit had a bed roll on its back and was following Gal. 

“What do mean Clay? What about her makes you hurt?”

“Don’t ya got it with your woman? You know, makes ya feel happy, cares for ya, loves on ya. Yup, does it beyond what is fair and right but keeps it up even when you are a butthead. Then ya feel bad for makin’ her life miserable. Yah, like eatin’ too much candy. Man, it tastes gooood but then it gets puked up for someone else to clean. That kinda hurt.”

My vivid imagination and empathetic tendencies made his sharing into an experience I related to. I hadn’t thought of sacrificial intimacy in terms like that.

“Yes Clay, I follow, I get ya. Aw hell brother, we can do this deal. Let’s not get all deep and thoughtful right now. We gotta have some fun. What do you wanna do? What is there to do in the middle of the week at 5 o’clock?”

My pal brightened up.

“Let’s do a movie marathon Ain’t It. We can take in three shows at the Quad Theater in town. One of ‘em will be kiddie priced, yah, matinee.”

“Deal, let’s do it,” I said. “We can get lost in the picture stories, come back, and hit the skids for sleep.”

We did the movie thing, pigged out on gold plated show food, and come home draggin’ ass. I insisted Clay sleep in his bed and not on the couch. I was a light sleeper and would guard access to the door should he get goofy and think about leaving. We pressed mattresses and seat cushions with clothed bodies and slept, well, I did until what I call a visionmare woke me.

It’s a dream and vision combined, a very disturbing one, one that leaves you wondering if it means something prophetic or only a dream to be ignored.

It involved me standing at a podium delivering Clay’s eulogy to 8 people at a bodiless funeral service.