The Yardman and Mr. Jones

[saw]

At first I was really bummed. My old Delta 88 coughed five times and died as I guided her over to the curb. On a cosmic cue a night-sky appeared on Harford Rd. like a cloak of impending destruction. Niagara Falls had somehow conspired with my questionable karma to pis like a drugged up racehorse on my afternoon. Vertical whitewater was power-washing ten years of accrued city grime from the once-white, rusting body of the Olds. It occurred to me we were the same, the car and me, two old codgers out of place in a world of sexy technocrats.

I peered out the driver's window that was now leaking cold water on my crotch. The jet black sky and the flat black macadam had blended into oneness, achieved a zen brotherhood. As I peered hard into what was once four lanes of traffic, the tsunami-like intruder had created a violent ghost town. I thought of Dorothy and wondered if the Olds would lift off the ground, and start spinning like a Kansas farmhouse might do if it happened to be in Baltimore.

As I strained to see anything at all, I could now make out a sputtering neon sign intermittently trying to say something, it reminded me of an old Twilight Zone episode that kept me up for weeks when I was a kid. It read Brannon's Pub, an apparent oasis for broken down men with broken down cars.

I shouldered open the two ton door to the Olds, ran into the unknown with my personal carburetor wide open. The marble drops pelted my cheeks like a fire-hose gone mad. There was nothing wrong with interior accelerator either if I was scared enough, or the rewards were worth the risk. And if the truth were told, what legitimate options did I have ? I could bang my head on the steering wheel listening to radio ads for Viagra at WalMart, or hear the testimonials to the plumpness of a Purdue chicken breast, or I could dart across this monsoon highway to a place where a beautiful barmaid with tattoo of a fiery winged horse galloping across here bosom, would happily make me a long tall gin and tonic. The choice seemed rather obvious, Tangeray, slice of lime.

I sidled up on the bar-stool, a bathtub of water rolled from the brim my Orioles ball cap.I began to dry myself off with a case of cocktail napkins and ordered myself a drink. I took a slow memorable sip from my mixed drink, Oddly my mind flashed to my mother in heaven. I heard her say, " son when life gives you a lemon", in this case an Oldsmobile, make yourself a refreshing glass of lemonade" I reasoned that mama would have been pleased in her peculiar way with my choice of garnish, lemons and limes properly compatible.

At that very moment of bliss, my daydream was aborted by a semi-familiar raspy voice from somewhere deep in my past, and I immediately thought of Rod Serling again.
" member me ? "....I swiveled around to see a mountainous man with two, and only two, large front teeth standing proudly alone inside a smile wide as a Maryland tobacco barn. The landscaping was this aura of faux reddish-gray wire-brushed fur, some may have characterized as a beard, and hair.

" member me, Mr. Jones, it's Randall, yer old yardman !"
the puzzle began to slowly unravel as my mind was forced to consider what the affects of countless bottles of cheap vodka could do to a face over time.

"Randall !, I thought you were..."

"Dead !" he interrupted," Hell no I ain't dead, too damn ornery to die young Mr. Jones, I've already outlived Jesus and Elvis ! HA HA HA HA" He shot me another predominantly toothless grin about a mile and a half wider than the first one, this time I got an unwanted look at his olive drab tongue lying dead behind those teeth like a slab of meat that gone bad in the sun.

I said, " Randall, where the hell you been man ?"

"Well sir, I knows what yer thinkin' there, and well, I was clean for about a year Mr. Jones and I had the money I owe you. I Had IT ! I had it in my hands and I was thinkin' 'bout you, but I gave it to my daughter for diapers and baby food for her little kids. Yes Sir, after my wife died from an overdose I found this wad of bills rolled up inside an Anacin bottle behind the Listerine in the basement bathroom medicine cabinet"

I must have been staring with my mouth fully agape, because it was effortless to pour the rest of my drink down my throat and quickly order another one.

"I'm gonna pay you back Mr. Jones, every single nickel I tell ya, if it's the very last thing I do before I croak. Every single nickel, I tell ya. It's just that mostly every single dollar I ever made, my beautiful wife stuck in one of her arms. And our little girl had her first kid at fifteen and the second one at sixteen, and well Mr. Jones, I wuz just tryin' to help 'em all out the best I could, ya know whut I mean Mr. Jones ?"

I sucked down three quarters of my fresh G and T like a man that had just crawled across the Gobi Desert. " Listen Randall, forget about the money man, really, I don't need it man. really Randall. we're square. "

"You know I wasn't always like this Mr. Jones, no sir. I humped a helluva lot of kegs for Budweiser, but when I hurt my back real bad at work one day, the boss said to me, " Randall we're going to have to let you go" So now I sleeps underneath a porch over there on Grindon Ave. And I thank God every single day I got such a beautiful daughter, and I talks to her mother up in heaven every day too ! And my little girl is so pretty and such a great dancer too. She's makin' damn good money over at the Gentleman's Club on Route 40, sometimes six, seven hundred bucks a night. And I don't mind sleepin' under that porch, she's still a young girl, needs her privacy...need her own place, but I gotta tell ya Mr. Jones, you gotta feed them damn rats over ther or they'll sure-as-shit start chewin' on your face at night "

I slugged down my entire drink, this time with a few ice cubes going down my throat, said to the the barmaid's unavoidable cleavage, "Why don't you just fix me two of those drinks this time, Hon "

Randall took a determined pull from his long-neck, then slammed the brown bottle down hard on the top of the bar. He grinned at me once more with those greenish-yellow stumps, and after a few strong drinks, he looked like a happy hippopotamus from a Disney movie. He leaned way back on his stool, looked up at the greasy remnants of a tin ceiling, and said
to me, "One day when I slam that bottle down, I'm going to heaven to see my wife !"

At that very moment I couldn't help but notice he was drinking a Budweiser , so I roared
"Randall !...How The Hell Can you Drink a God-Damned Bud After What They Did To You !?"

Randall smiled as broadly as the Baltimore skyline when a Nor'easter clears out all the AC emissions. His two leathered eyeballs were floating in a bloodshot sunset from a Hemingway novel. He smiled at me so sweetly it was unnerving. I imagined him at this moment as a mangled twist on Mother Teresa.

"'Cause I likes the taste, Mr. Jones, 'cause I likes the taste, HA HA HA HA HA HA "

[mnaz]

I thought of Dorothy and wondered if the Olds would lift off the ground, and start spinning like a Kansas farmhouse might do if it happened to be in Baltimore.

I gotta tell ya Mr. Jones, you gotta feed them damn rats over ther or they'll sure-as-shit start chewin' on your face at night

...after a few strong drinks, he looked like a happy hippopotamus from a Disney movie.

His two leathered eyeballs were floating in a bloodshot sunset from a Hemingway novel.

Lots of good vivid descriptions here of intersecting dead-end paths in some rural-ish or trash-burb nowhere-land, and the general grit and grime of it all. Good stuff. Thanks.

[saw]

thanx mnaz, appreciate the feedback

[sooZen]

Loved the story...! Very colorful and descriptive although the editor in me wanted to correct a few spelling mishaps (sorry, I can't help it!)

When a story starts out with an "old Delta 88," well, you had me right then and there.

[saw]

thanx sooZen...enjoyed the feedback....sadly either S8 or my computer is not allowing me to edit this story....I have tried numerous times.....I get a message that says the story has been successfully edited...only to find out nothing has changed.....I'll keep working on the glitch

thank you for commenting....reading a whole story takes some commitment.....I don't always have the time myself.....but try when the time allows.....write on !

[sooZen]

I am a teller of long yarns so I take the time when something of interest shows its' self...because I know how much goes into the telling. "Write on!"

[saw]

I often use humor to tell serious stories ....in this story for instance I mention teenage pregnancy, drug addiction, homelessness, and being fired when hurt on the job....yet people keep on trying....Randall never gives up hope...is thankful for the few things he has, has not become bitter somehow....he still believes in heaven