Sunday, March 8, 2015
Working With Clay
Chapter 3: Post 1
“I sorta know ‘em but only after they joy ride around in this earth suit and others tell me about it later. But I’m also gettin’ to know ‘em from things they say while I sleep or when they are ready to take over.”
I hoped the roach would return and show me all was safe and sane. Smart little shit, knew when to lay low and left me alone to the insanity while Clay yapped on.
“Anyways Ain’t It, do your whole ‘man-in-the field’ reporting like ya planned but do it with whoever shows up. Maybe they’ll tell my story better than me. My version will be pretty sorry, yah, depressing mostly maybe. Who’d wanna hear that?”
Gal wiped away a truant tear while staring at the last sip of brew in her cup, swimming pool for a dozen coffee grounds waiting to be swallowed. She knew the deep story of my friend, knew things best treated like toilet paper and flushed away. Gal got up and went to the kitchen.
Who was I to talk or judge? An O.C.D. freak, personal caddy to my mind, offered advice for each shot at reality. I fought the recommendation of said caddy to ask twenty questions of Clay, each one seeking a spot to mount a handle for me to grab and muscle. Finally, I answered my brother.
“Dammit, I’d wanna hear that Clay, wanna hear it all whether depressing, sad, bullshit, whatever. If I could appreciate it I’m damned sure 100 more would. I’m curious though.”
I took in a long breath while trying to lean around and look for the roach. I suspected he was inside the metal tubing of a table leg. Clay sat blinking, obviously a bit melancholy.
“How are we going to keep this deal in play with any semblance of coherent thought?” I asked.
Clay, still holding the pill bottle, sat it on the table and slid it before me.
“Here ya go Ain’t It. You gotta be the dealer dude. You gotta be a babysitter I guess and make sure one of these gets in me whenever needed. Even so, ain’t no guarantee, just ask Gal.”
An odd but serene look came over His Favorite Gal’s face as she came to clear the table. Gal, gathering the mugs, coffee pan, and roach anointed cookie plate, walked to the sink and said it well. She talked loud with her back to us and her body language wasn’t lost on me.
“Yah, Ain’t It, those pills there are like tossin’ a mini cocktail wiener at a Rez dog to keep it from biting ya. It’s enough one day and insulting on others.”
She tossed a fist above her shoulder with a thumb pointed toward Clay and continued.
“Yah, he’s inconsistently consistent. Ain't It, that’s somethun I guess. I can tell ya now, you packed way too light man, yup, too little for what is too big.”
I reconnoitered the situation to assay its potential. Could gems be mined from it or would it be pinched out? Was I qualified as a miner, one capable of unearthing precious metal, silver perhaps, or would my skill level afford only fool’s gold? I knew I’d get some good stuff from Gal, easy, like panning it from a stream. Hell, if only I spoke cockroach, the stories that bug would tell.
Nope, valuables were buried deep, deeper than I knew after all the years of time spent with Clay.