Pain's Joke, Page 2

  Chapter 2.

  When the two of them returned home, Paul was waiting in the living room. Drunk again, he had slouched himself into the recliner and was picking at the label on the beer bottle with his thumb while cursing at the baseball game on television.

  “Damnit! You sonsa bitches, that was a strike!” he shouted at the twenty inch screen as if he was expecting a personal reply. Paul quickly raised his fist to scratch his chest and mumbled under his breath, “damn shitbirds wouldn’t know a strike—”

  Paul was rough, but handsome. His dark brown eyes were what attracted Dolores to him when they first met at the Food Lion. He came through her register line with a carton of Winston's, a case of Budweiser, and a fishing magazine. He flirted with her while she rang him up, and she blushed. Twenty minutes later, he came back through to purchase an assortment of flowers from the florist inside the store. After she gave him his change and receipt, he gave her the flowers and asked her what time she got off work. They dated for three months when he proposed, and they married two months later. Neither of them had been previously married.

  “I’m gonna go ride my bike, momma,” said Jonas before they walked through the front door.

  “Okay honey, but change your clothes and be back soon, I’m fixin’ to cook lunch.” Dolores placed her purse and keys on the kitchen counter and walked back into the living room to kiss Paul on the cheek. “You miss us, babe?”

  Paul wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. “Dory, I miss you every time you go off anywhere.” he replied with a passionate kiss on her lips, followed by a firm grasp to her behind. “But the view of this ass as you walk out the door … mmm.”

  She playfully slapped his chest. “Oh please, Paul. This big ol' thing?”

  “Pfszh! Whatever. Baby that's what keeps me warm at night.”

  “Oh, so I'm just an electric blanket to you then?” she asked jokingly. “C'mon now, honey, you know I was only kiddin'.”

  Jonas, now changed into his favorite sweatshirt and jeans, ran through the kitchen, through the living room and out the front door. “Goin' to the park momma!” he yelled as the screen door slammed behind him.

  “Be back in an hour, hun.” She said while she leaned over to get a better view of him running down the street.

  Paul finished his beer. “What's for lunch?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe some hamburgers or meatloaf. What would you like?”

  “You!” he growled as he nibbled at her neck.

  “Paul! Stop being dirty, we just got outta church,” she said playfully as she got up from his lap and straightened her dress. “Speaking of, the men of the church are having a fishing day at the park next month.”

  “Dory, I go fishing so I don’t have to go to church. God made the trees and the fish and water, didn’t he?”

  “I know, honey, but Jonas was really looking forward to—“

  “Forward to what? Talking the whole time? Scaring the fish away? Throwin' rocks and shit? Does he even know how to fish?”

  “Don’t talk like that Paul, he ain't a five year old. He's almost a teenager.”

  “Well I dunno. I might have to work. Is that a Saturday? I’d really rather not go fishing with them Bible thumpers. How do they expect to fish without beer?”

  “Just please, Paul? For Jonas?” she asked as she stuck out her bottom lip and gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

  “I said lemme see if I have to work.” he said annoyed.

  She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, sweetie. Besides, I know you guys’ll have fun.”

  Outside, Jonas was crouched under the open living room window listening to the conversation. What Paul said about Jonas had pierced him, and Jonas had begun crying. He was angry at Paul for saying what he did, and he couldn’t understand why his mother would marry such a mean man. He dried his eyes with his palms, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and walked around the back of the house to the shed which housed his bicycle. From the kitchen window, Dolores watched him stomping through the yard and knew he had overheard her conversation. She watched as he pedaled down Cambden Street.

  Up and down the east side of Cambden Street were an assortment of rundown bungalows and a mix of old and new trailer homes, some on foundations, most simply propped up by cinder blocks. It was the type of neighborhood where only the old people took care of their property, and even then it was by placing reflecting balls on pedestals in their yards. Or those wooden cutouts, painted to look like an old lady bending over the flower bed, exposing her skivvies. On any warm day you would see mangy dogs chase children on hand-me-down bikes. On the west side of the street were railroad tracks, and on the other side of the tracks, running parallel to them was the creek.

  The Pike house was at the north end of the street. It was a two bedroom, wood-sided bungalow without central air conditioning; a shotgun shack with a two-course footer, essentially. The white paint had faded overall, and it was beginning to peel near the ground. They didn’t have a driveway or a garage. Dolores’ sedan and Paul’s truck were parked in the gravelly netherworld that exists between the grass and the blacktop. It was a modest, but tired, house. Dolores tried her best to decorate it given their budget, and Paul took depressingly inadequate care of the property. The roof needed repaired because rain water would leave concentric brown circles on the ceiling in the corner by the front wall and the wall separating the living room and kitchen. Whenever Paul wasn’t too busy working or watching the television, he would attempt a half-assed repair job around the house. But he certainly wasn’t a skilled tradesman, and the remedy would often look worse than the problem itself. For instance, every three or four years, the creek would rise past its banks and flood ten or twelve inches of their footer. When the waters receded, they left behind a brownish green mold. Paul would grab a deck brush and a water hose and begin scrubbing it off. By the time he worked half way toward the back of the house, he would be too drunk to stand, and he would leave the job unfinished.

  The patchy, crabgrass yard was surrounded by a rusted chain link fence, and nobody ever bothered to close the gate. In the back yard was a maple tree about thirty feet tall. It was perfect for climbing, but Jonas never ventured past the lower limbs. He was always afraid of losing his grip and falling. A homemade doghouse, a remnant from the previous owner, sat in the far left corner of the back yard. When Paul bought the human house, Dolores convinced him to keep the doghouse with the intention of getting a puppy for Jonas. But with their jobs and financial constraints, a dog never materialized.

  A week ago, Paul received an offer on the house from a developer who was intent on demolishing the entire neighborhood to make way for a modern, lower middle-class development, complete with sidewalks and cul-de-sacs. Paul was determined to hold out for a better deal, so he rejected the offer and never spoke a word about it to Dolores.

  About a half mile from the Pike residence was the Larson Avenue bridge, one of only two which connected the halves of the town. Larson Avenue began at County Road 12 on the west side of town by the PVC pipe factory where Paul worked, and it ended at Route 41 on the east side by a used car dealership and a McDonald’s. East of Rt. 41, it was just a dirt road heading into the hills.

  Jonas usually enjoyed walking down to Taylor Avenue. It was one of the handful of streets in the town that had sidewalks, and there was a small park near his school only a few blocks from the corner of Taylor and Brock. After church on Sundays, he would ride to the park and play by himself until he got hungry and returned home, or until Dolores picked him up. Spurred on by anger about Paul’s comments, however, he rode past the park. He continued down Taylor, past the music store and what used to be a men’s clothing store. He rode past the ice cream stand, and for no reason other than to wander, turned left onto Main.

  As he turned the corner, Jonas noticed the old man from the cemetery walking toward him.
He quickly squeezed his brakes and came to a skidding stop. He turned around and ducked back behind the corner. He leaned his bike against a picnic table between the ice cream stand and the abandoned clothing store. A moment later, the old man rounded the corner and stepped up to the window of the ice cream stand. Placing the handle of his cane in the crook of his right elbow, he removed change from his pocket with his left hand and separated out ninety-five cents with his right index finger. The girl behind the window handed him a small vanilla cone. He tipped his hat, grabbed a few napkins from the holder on the counter and walked toward Jonas.

  “Is this seat taken?” he asked. Jonas stared at him for a moment then shook his head. The old man sat down and removed his hat. “Sure is a fine day, idn’t it?” Jonas scuffed the toe of his tennis shoe into the pavement. “You’re not much of a talker, are you? My boy was shy. Never understood why he’d go off to the Army an’ all. With all them folks he don’t know, you’d think he’d stay away from that sorta thing.”

  “I’m not shy. I was just scared. I saw you at the cemetery this morning.” said Jonas defensively.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah, I thought you was a zombie at first.”

  “Ha, well if it rests your mind any son, I ain’t a zombie. You musta been watchin’ that movie last night, huh? I saw that flipping through the channels.”

  “Yeah. I was waiting for momma to come home from work. She’s the one I was with at the cemetery. We go there every week before church.”

  “I’m there once or twice a week myself. My name's Reverend James Chambers, the second,” he said as he stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Jonas. Nice to meet you too.”

  The reverend ate his ice cream and watched traffic go by for a moment. Then he suddenly continued the conversation as if he was compelled to speak. “Yeah, my mother is buried there, and so is my wife. The missus passed about twelve, or was it thirteen? Twelve or thirteen years ago. I go there to see her, keep her up on things, tell her about my day, y'know just talk to her. Sounds crazy doesn't it?”

  “Momma does the same thing. She goes and sees my grandma and talks to the headstone. I always thought it was kinda weird.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I could see how someone would think that's a little crazy. It's not like the dead can hear us or anything. I know she's dead, it's just that I get lonely and I miss her. And if I talk to her, it's almost like I've got her back for a little while. Even if it's a one-sided conversation, it's better than nothing at all.”

  “Whatever. I still think it's weird.”

  “A lot of people go to cemeteries and talk to their loved ones.”

  “A lot of people steal, but it don't make it right.”

  “True, true.”

  “I learned that the hard way. One time, I stole some candy from the Food Lion, and momma liked to have whooped me for it too. Didn't steal again, that's for sure. You ever steal anything?”

  “No, son, never have. Some folks think I did. Let me tell you, it's tough being accused of doing something you didn't do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh it's a long story...”

  Jonas looked Rev. Chambers in the eye.

  “Okay then, I guess. Where do I begin? Well, there used to be another Pentecostal church in Allardale. I started The Allardale Holiness Church sometime in 1953. It started as a Bible study in our home, and as it grew, we moved into the old storefront near downtown. The Lord blessed us and we enjoyed great success during the 60’s and 70’s. The eighties were rough, what with the mill closing and all. But attendance picked back up after that pipe factory went in. And, oh I guess it was around 1998 a slick out-of-towner with a get-rich-quick pyramid scheme came into town and targeted our church. He was promising the sun, moon, and stars, I tell you. He said he was gonna make us all rich. I didn't want to be rich, well I did, but I didn't want to be rich for why you think. I wanted to use the money we'd make and put it back into the church. Pay off the mortgage, start a van ministry, hire a secretary, help other people in town who couldn't pay for groceries and whatnot. Well, he conned me into convincing the congregation into getting in on the plan and in a few months, the out-of-towner was gone, never heard from again. Those who felt as if they had been taken advantage of split ways with our church and started their own church: Allardale Pentecostal Assembly.”

  “That's where me and momma go.” Jonas interrupted.

  Rev. Chambers continued, “Well, within a few months, attendance at Allardale Holiness Church dwindled down to a handful of old folks, who would toss a dollar or two into the offering plate when it was passed. Pretty soon, we weren't able to pay the mortgage and the bank foreclosed. By 1999 the doors were closed. My wife, Esther, she was so embarrassed. She couldn't go to the grocery store without people saying things behind her back (sometimes right to her face) and sometimes just stare at her with dirty looks. They all blamed me for losing all that money, and I am to blame for getting them all involved. But he had solid paperwork, showing his proven track record for making money. I figured I'd be able to help everyone by getting them all a little something to fix the house with, or buy a new car with. Greed, I suppose, was the overall reason. Anyway, my Esther, she just couldn't take it anymore and... well, she took a handful of sleeping pills before bed one night. She never woke up.”

  “That's awful.”

  “Well, you know, you can't really be sure how anything in life is gonna turn out. Not a day goes by without me feeling guilty. I guess the Lord wanted to teach me something. Humility maybe, I don't know anymore.”

  “You can't really blame yourself.”

  “Oh, I know, I know. Everybody says that. Everybody who didn't have a thing to do with it will remind you about your role in it. Not on purpose, mind you. But they do. Over time, it just settles on you like a … well, I don't know what like. I used to have a real good metaphor for just this occasion, but I've kept to myself for the past ten years, and gone and forgot it.” The reverend paused for a moment and looked upward. “Heh! Can't remember for the life of me. But anyway, I told myself a while ago that I'm gonna own up to my part in it all. And so now I repay my debt to her by going to see her, telling her that I'm sorry, and giving her flowers and all. I don't know what else I can do.”

  “Pastor Harkness says that when you're stuck and and you don't know what to do that you should pray and ask God to tell you.”

  Rev. Chambers chuckles. “Son, if it was that easy, I'd a prayed a long time ago. Besides, I ain't a preacher anymore. I don't have a building, don't have a congregation, I'm too old for all that. And honestly, I'm not sure I believe in it all anymore. I'm just living out the rest of my sentence here until I can pass on, and hopefully get to see her again in person and apologize properly. I tell you what, if I actually do make it to heaven, it'll be a miracle.”

  “Pastor says to expect miracles to happen when you pray and they will.”

  “Is that so? Well, I'll keep that in mind, but don't expect to see my Esther walking around town anytime soon.”

  “Now you sound like momma. I don't think she believes in miracles.”

  “I don't know what I believe anymore, to tell you the truth.”

  “You two should start a club. The We Don't Believe In Miracles Club.”

  “Ha! I suppose so. I'll think about that. Well,” the reverend said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin, “it’s been nice talking to you. It really has. I haven't really told anyone that whole story before. Strike that, one if you count the cat as a person. It feels kinda good to get it out.”

  “Like a burp.”

  “Ha! I guess, son. I reckon I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “See you, pastor.” he replied and watched the old man walk away. Just then, he noticed the old man had left his hat. “Hey!” said Jonas as he grabbed the old man’s hat. “You forgot this.�
€

  “Why thank you, son. Tell you what,” he said as he reached into his pocket, “here, go buy yourself a cone.” He handed Jonas a dollar.

  “Thanks.” said Jonas.

  The old man placed the fedora on his head, tipped it, and said, “You’re quite welcome, youngin’. You take care now.”

  Jonas bought his ice cream and ate it as he walked his bike back toward home. A block from home, he crumpled up the leftover napkins and threw them into a trashcan in front of a trailer. He checked his chin in the side mirror of a van parked on the street for any drips of vanilla. He knew Paul would ask all sorts of questions about how he came across the ice cream, and he would probably accuse him of begging if Jonas told the real story. Jonas knew it was best not to arouse any suspicion in Paul, especially after he’s been drinking.

  Jonas could smell his mother’s meatloaf from the front porch. The sounds of the baseball game on television were roaring through the living room windows. Dolores was in the kitchen, setting the table for herself and Jonas. Paul preferred to eat his meals in front of the television.

  “I made meatloaf, baby. With A-1 instead of ketchup, just the way you like it. Go wash up now. After lunch, we’re gonna go to the store and rent a movie for tonight.”

  “While you’re out, why don’t you pick me up some more beer?” asked Paul, leaning unsteadily in the recliner to remove his wallet from his back pocket.

  “Why don’t you pace yourself, and maybe you’d have some beer left at the end of the day?”

  Paul glared and threw a twenty at her.

  Dinner was relatively silent, and it was only sporadically interrupted by Paul’s cursing at the television whenever the umpire made what he determined to be bad calls. Jonas ate his meatloaf and asked for seconds. He ate that and asked for thirds. At the end of his third plate, Dolores looked under the table jokingly to make sure he wasn’t throwing it on the floor.

  “Well, someone’s got an appetite today.” she said.

  With a mouthful of meatloaf, Jonas replied, “I did a lot of ridin’ today. Besides, I’m a growing boy. I need the vitamins and stuff.”

  “Oh, I bet you do. Chew with your mouth closed, baby.” She refilled his glass of milk. “So where’d you go, the park?”

  “No. I didn’t feel like it, so I just rode around.”

  Dolores nodded and took another bite of meatloaf.

  “Momma, you remember that man from the cemetery?”

  “Yeah, honey, why?”

  “I saw him. He was at the ice cream stand.”

  “You weren’t talking to strangers were you? I’ve told you about that. Someone’ll come and snatch you up and hurt you.”

  “No, mom. Gosh. I was just riding around.” Jonas felt guilty about lying to his mother. For whatever reason, he felt that it was important to keep that old man to himself. As if the old man was a hidden treasure; Jonas was the explorer who found it. It occurred to Jonas that his mother was still talking to him, and he wasn’t paying attention.

  “Did you hear what I said, Jonas?” she asked, tapping her fork on his plate.

  “Huh?”

  “I said, Paul said that he might go to the Fishing Day with you if he doesn’t have to work. Wasn’t that nice of him? I think after you’re done eating, you should go in there and tell him ‘thank you,’ don’t you?”

  “Can I be excused?” Jonas’ mind was busy trying to remember how kind the old man was to him and forget how cruel Paul was. He pushed away from the table, ran to his room, and shut the door.

  “Jonas! Jonas! You’re gonna hurt Paul’s feelings—“

  “Ungrateful bastard. Why the hell should I go fishing with that?” belched Paul from the living room.

  “Paul! You’re only gonna make things worse. Jonas, baby, I’m gonna go to the store and get that movie, was there anything you wanted to see?”

  Paul leaving, Jonas thought, but he sat on the bed silent.

  “Paul, you see if you can talk to him. Maybe he’s just at that age, y’know. God, it might even be a girl or something that’s bothering him. I’ll be back in a bit.” She kissed Paul on the cheek and left the house.

  Paul stared at the television for a while. Then he looked around the living room. He slowly got up from the recliner. While scratching his chest, he walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge door. He grabbed the last beer from the shelf, belched and shut the fridge door.

  “Hey, Jonas.” Paul yelled at Jonas' door as he walked toward it. “You having girl problems?” He leaned against the door, slurring, “I’ll tell you what. Just take that girl by the hand, tell her she’s the purtiest thing you ever seen, and lay a fat one on her. Ha, ha! Just like that. Lemme tell you. And if she don’t like it, give her another big smooch. That’ll solve your problems.”

  The only problem I have is you, thought Jonas.

  “Or, or, I’ll tell you what,” he laughed in a drunken stupor, “is she retarded like you? In that case you’ll have to take her by her foot. Ha, ha, ha!”

  Why can’t Momma see how mean you are?

  “Open this door, you little retard. Lemme tell you somethin’.” He paused and took another swill of beer “Your momma, she’s too nice. If you were mine, I’d a beat you by now. Acting all silly over a girl. Girls ain’t nothing but a piece of ass, Jonas. You remember that, you little bastard.” Turning away from the door, and stumbling back toward the living room, he said “Do you even know what a bastard is?” He slumped into the recliner and shouted, “It’s you! Ha, ha! That’s what it is—”

  I hate you. I wish Momma would walk back in. Maybe she forgot her keys or something.

  “Jonas. Jonas? Aw, to hell with you, little som’bitch. My game’s back on.” He pointed the remote at the television, shook it, then pointed it again and turned up the volume.

  Why didn’t Momma marry someone nice like that old man? He wouldn’t make fun of me. I bet he’d even take me fishing if I asked. Paul’s mean, and he cusses a lot. I wish Momma could see the way he treats me when she ain’t around.

  Jonas sat on the edge of his bed until Dolores returned from the store. Paul had fallen asleep in the recliner, and the television blared the sounds of whatever game was next through the living room windows and into the street. What had happened while she was gone was just another secret Paul kept from her.

  Dolores gently knocked on Jonas’ door and slowly leaned into the room. “Honey, you okay? I got Angels in the Outfield, have you seen this one yet?”

  “I’m fine, momma. I was just tired from riding' my bike, I guess.”

  “Well why don’t you come in to the living room and after Paul’s done watching the game, we’ll watch this one together.”

  “How we supposed to watch it with him snoring?”

  “He’s just tired, Jonas. He works hard, and he likes to relax on his days off. Come help me do the dishes and then we’ll watch the movie, okay?”

  Jonas followed her into the small kitchen. She filled the single compartment sink with hot soapy water while he gathered the plates and silverware from the 50’s-style, metal-trimmed kitchen table and from the TV tray/end table next to Paul’s recliner. She washed and rinsed, he dried. While they worked, they talked about what they had planned for the upcoming week. Now that school was out Jonas’ plans consisted entirely of hanging out in the yard or riding his bike to the park. Dolores was scheduled to work evenings the entire week, except Sunday. She had been working at the Food Lion for a little over twelve years. When she got pregnant with Jonas during her sophomore year, her father wanted her to get an abortion, and when Dolores refused, he left saying he then refused to feed, house, and clothe a bastard. She dropped out of high school and began working full time. She found a one room, economy apartment above the TV repair shop downtown, which left her mother all alone. She didn’t make much above minimum wage, but with God, gov
ernment cheese, and Goodwill, she managed to get by. Twelve years later, she was still only a cashier, she still made barely above minimum wage, and she still managed to just get by.

  For twelve years it was only she and Jonas, and she grew to be content with her modest lifestyle. Her father offered no support, and as a matter of fact, they had not spoken since the day he left. Her mother had died of cancer two and a half years ago. Dolores felt determined to prove herself. She wanted to show the world that she capable of making a life for herself and her baby. And as she saw it, she was largely successful. She had a job, an apartment, and a handsome, young son. When she married Paul, and they bought their house, their finances didn’t become much more manageable. Paul made almost ten dollars an hour at the pipe factory, but after taxes, union dues, V.F.W. dues (he was veteran of the first Gulf War) and the mortgage, most of his money went to buying beer, fishing equipment, and accessories for his truck. Regardless of their situation, Dolores enjoyed doing even the most menial task like washing the dishes, as long as she and Jonas did it together. It reaffirmed her belief that she had succeeded, that she had made a solid family.

  Dolores let Jonas pull the drain plug as she rinsed the soap bubbles off her forearms. They shared Jonas’ dishtowel to dry their hands. They sat down on the light brown couch she bought from the Goodwill and watched Angels in the Outfield while Paul snored. Dolores leaned slightly against the front of the arm of the far end of the couch with her legs outstretched, and Jonas laid on his back with his head in her lap. Throughout the movie, Jonas kept being distracted by alternating resentment towards Paul and a dull, throbbing pain in his jaw. He told Dolores of neither.