That Good Night
When Cindy’s father gets angry, white spit globs start to form on his lips. I’ve only been living here a few months, but more than once I’ve seen it. They’re fascinating things, hypnotizing almost. It starts with one tiny spot smack in the middle of his lip and every time he shouts he closes his mouth with such fury little clone globs form and scuttle their way to the corner of his mouth. I could always gauge how much trouble I was in just by the number of those globs.
He was furious.
I doubt I ever saw him this angry. His mouth moved so quickly the little goobers were actually switching lips. Every third word there was a new spot on his upper lip where he used to have one on his lower. The skin around his lips was purple. He pointed his right hand at me and waved his left really in whichever direction it pleased. It looked like it was having a grand old time.
What he didn’t know: I tuned him out. I didn’t hear a single word. I could see his hair flopping as he pointed, his squinted eyes opening wide whenever he took a breath, the family dog Roger cowering in his usual spot by the stairs, but not a word penetrated. I don’t need to deal with the words, the tone. I just need to sit here politely, look a little scared and swear never to do whatever I’ve done again. We have a system. It’s how we deal with each other.
“…because now she’s pregnant!” Shit. “Tell me exactly how you’re going to deal with that.”
This is the part of the story where I should start talking in clichés. The bottom dropped out. Everything froze. I saw my life flash before my eyes. I have a feeling it would have been much easier if any of that actually happened. There might have been a moment or two where I could figure out what to do. Instead I get Cindy’s dad and his waving finger.
“Jesus Christ, she’s only twenty years old. She’s not even done with school yet. Now you’ve come along and fucked it up for her. What’s she going to do now?” I didn’t know whether he was going to faint or start crying. Slowly, very slowly, the radiant purple drained from his face. He was paler. He wasn’t looking at me any more. He glared at a knot on the dining room table, which he started jabbing with his thumb. I just sat and watched him. I had important questions, but fear or shock or stupidity blocked my brain’s interaction with my mouth.
I’ll admit Cindy was different lately. I came home from work fifteen minutes late yesterday and she didn’t say a word to me for hours. Afterwards, she blamed it on her period. Or lack of one, apparently. She never suggested the “P” word.
“So, are you sure?” He jumped a little when I started talking. We had been there a while.
“There was a test in the trash. It was positive.” Cindy never was very discreet.
“How do you know it isn’t your wife?” He gave me a look that suggested violence.
“She can’t. Not any more.” Shit.
At this I stood and walked up the stairs to her room. The door was open. She wasn’t even here. I sat on the bed and scanned the room. So little of it was mine. Just a few articles of clothes, a bag, and some toiletries spread throughout the room. I graduated from college and, rather than go home, moved in with Cindy’s family. We’d been together a little over two and a half years, pretty much since she started going to school. She loved me.
I took the bag and threw my things into it. I didn’t leave a note. As I walked back down the stairs, Roger sat and watched me. He always liked me. He was a good dog. I scratched his head between the ears. He wagged his tail and tried to follow me out the door.
Just before I closed the door I saw Cindy’s father still staring at the dinner table.
Today was not a good day. The rain came down not in sheets, but waves. Even my underwear was soaked through in minutes. I started walking. There was no one on the street. Not really a surprise in this weather. I could think, try to sort all this out.
I still didn’t believe her father. She took some kind of pill to keep these things from happening. These things. What if she’s got twins? Still, this shouldn’t be possible. We were safe. We practiced what the brochures preached. Well, everything but abstinence. Of course, that was never an option for either of us. We raced each other to bed.
The hardest part was trying to figure out why she hadn’t told me. I was at least half responsible for the thing. I should know. On top of that, she isn’t very good with secrets, clearly. She couldn’t hide anything from me. She was obvious. I liked that about her. I’m not fond of surprises.
The rain was relentless. I wonder if it always rains like this, or if Mother Nature let it pour just for me. Either way, I was going somewhere. Water never stopped me before.
It took maybe fifteen minutes to get to the bus station. Small towns have their perks. I could get everywhere by foot. It was dry inside the building, except for drops falling through cracks in the ceiling. Each bucket made a different sound as they caught them. It was almost music. At the end of the station were rectangular cubicles where angry women took your money and gave you a ticket to wherever. I’ve never seen a single man behind that glass. Only women. I don’t know what they’re so angry about. I’m the one dripping.
As I approached the window my woman glared over her glasses and cocked her head. She pursed her lips and I’m relatively sure she snorted just before I got to her. I gave her money, she glared and handed me a ticket, not once looking away. She said “Have a nice day” as she pointed an amused smile toward the door. The rain hadn’t let up.
I was outside and walking again when I realized what had happened. I cleared out Cindy’s room. I didn’t leave a note. I got her pregnant. My ticket was one-way.
Mother Nature was an angry woman. The steady torrent battered grass and pavement, but she was aiming for me. Her hatred promised I would take no dry step today. She punished everything around me out of spite. I need to get out of this shit.
In small towns each street has its own bar. In each one sits eight or nine regulars prepared either to dispense wisdom or vomit. I wasn’t looking for either, but I preferred them to the rain.
The old bastards laughed when I came in. “Another rat seeks shelter.” I had no idea who said it. Probably best that I didn’t. Of all the bars in town, I usually ended up here. The bartender was something straight from antiquity. He wore a funny moustache and a stiff vest every day. He always treated me with respect, but kept his distance. Just the way a bartender should be. It was the old bastards that kept me coming back though. Two, in particular, Dylan and Ginsberg I called them. Every day they sat in the corner booth and spoke loud and inarticulate sentences. They had their own twist on language, poets whose generation left them behind.
One night, before we’d named him, Dylan’s road-scarred voice clawed through the entire place. He climbed up on the table and after he’d caught his breath recited “Do not go quietly into that good night” with such venom I thought he might take on the entire bar. Instead, he just climbed down and started talking in his little code with Ginsberg again. A week later I’d named him Dylan. Naming Ginsberg was more an afterthought, a way to distinguish the both of them. Cindy always laughed when I told her that story.
I ordered a drink and took my usual place as near to them as I could. Only Ginsberg sat at the table today, fingering the base of his pint. He drank much slower than I did and after my second he was still only halfway done with his. He rarely looked up. The already heavy lines of his face seemed darker than usual. He hadn’t made a sound. Maybe he forgot normal English. Without Dylan, he was just a mute. He just sat staring at his glass.
“So how long are you going to stare at me, kid, before you say something?” I blinked. He had to be talking to me. “Well?” His voice had an effeminate quality to it. The vowels stretched themselves over the consonants. He never looked up.
“Where’s your friend today?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s up and left off. Doubt we’ll see him again around here. Where are your friends?” He turned and stared at me over his thick rimmed glasses.
“Rain scared them away, I guess.”
“Pity. Care to keep an old man from drinking alone?” I wasn’t looking at him now, but Dylan’s vacant space. I watched these two sit and riff since almost the first day I came here. Even alone, I felt I was intruding. I was leaving tomorrow though. I could use the company.
As I slid into the booth he smiled. “Now tell me your life’s story. Start at sunrise and end five minutes before you splashed through that door.” He still stared over the rim of his glasses.
My mouth hung open for a moment before responding, “It hasn’t been a good day.”
“Yes. That is obvious. Why not leave off with the summary and give me the long-winded blow.”
His face was stone serious while he waited for me to say something. Honestly, I didn’t know what to say.
“Here, Kid, I’ll help you take off, but then you’ll have to fly on your own.” He took a drink and a deep breath, then said “You awoke this morning, the worst day of your life, though you didn’t know it at the time, to a thousand drops of rain trying to beat themselves into your room.” He took a deep breath and paused, I think waiting for me to pick up the story. I didn’t. “Your lady was already gone. The bed was yours alone and you just sat in your underwear and waited for the alarm to kick you off the bed. Too quickly, you think, it came and you step out of your Winnebago tepee shack and-” He smiled and took another sip, “now what did you do?”
My jaw still hung down and it took me a moment to even think. “I went to work.” He folded his arms and smiled, waiting for more. “After work, I went home and fought with my ‘lady,’ Cindy’s, father. He shouted. I sat. When he finished I packed up my things, bought a ticket outta town and now I’m sitting here with you.” I finished my beer.
He kept smiling and watched me over his glasses, “Well I don’t think you gave me the total blow, but I think we can piece these scraps together. I think we can both agree your conversation with Pappy was over a woman. And I think you know which one.” He pointed at his temple and took another sip of his drink. “Now, time for the twist, kid. What has happened to the poor girl? What has Daddy so dithered?”
His elbows rested on the table now. He stared right into my eyes. I swallowed, “She’s pregnant.”
I expected a reaction, but nothing. He sat there, elbows on the table, fingers around glass and just kept staring. Eventually he took the last sip of his drink and said, “Boom.” Ginsberg let is slip out quietly. His cheeks puffed out and smacked back to his bones. “You’ve a good twist there, kid.” I let out a snort. He pushed the glass to the edge of the table and waved his hand. The bartender and his funny moustache came with a full glass and left with the empty. Ginsberg smiled at me and said, “A perk for those of us still here. Now, tell me, what road do we take from here? Let that ticket take you all the way to the end of the world or let those feet take you back to angry Papa and your lonely lady?”
I wondered if he’d ever heard of subtlety. Maybe in his day everyone ran from person to person just spilling their problems for everyone. Not me. I could take care of myself. He just sat there staring over those damn rims with that same grin.
“You don’t like talking much, do you, kid? Alright then, let me finish the story for you then.” He took a great gulp from the pint and straightened his glasses. Finally. “You take that ticket and get on the bus. It takes you all the way across the world. You see leprechauns and fairies and Superman slicing his blue-red laser beam through the sky. After years and years that bus is going to kick its shit on you. It’ll fart and cough and puke and die. When you get off you’ll be in the desert with the fucking armadillos. The road home will be covered in sand and the tracks will blow away on the wind. You won’t find any water for a hundred miles. You’ll just sit there being thirsty. On your last night, you’ll have a dream. You’ll be swimming naked in a great big fucking lake. Down you’ll dive deep swallowing up as much of it as you can. That’s when you’ll wake up, swallowing down a mouthful of sand. It’ll rip up your guts. You’ll bleed and bleed. You’ll keep bleeding till all that’s left in you is the fucking sand. Then the armadillos will come around and make hats out of you.” He swallowed the remainder of the pint down in two gulps, smiled, and walked out to the street. I ordered another beer and drank it slowly.
When the place closed it was nearly two in the morning. The bartender with the funny moustache and neat vest held the door for us as we walked out. The rain had stopped. I walked back to Cindy’s house. All the lights were out. I wondered if Cindy’s father was still sitting at the dining room table. The front door was locked. The back door was open. The dining room was empty. Roger was panting quietly in his spot near the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I heard Cindy’s father snoring in spurts from his bedroom. Cindy’s door was closed, but it wasn’t locked. I threw my bag on the floor and kicked off my shoes. For a moment, I stood in the center of the room, waiting. Then I crawled into her bed.
“Is that you?” she said
“Yeah, now go back to sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
My hand was on her stomach. It rose with her chest and sank down. With every breath though, I felt it stop just a bit earlier than it had on the last. I felt it growing. When is the alarm going to start buzzing? When can I wake up and laugh at myself and go to work like I do every day?
The alarm never came. And I never slept. At seven the next morning I crawled out of bed, not waking Cindy somehow. Every coil on the damn bed groaned at me as I lifted my weight off, but she just kept sleeping. In the corner of her mouth I could see the faint start of a smile. Her hand stretched forward, pressing on the wall. I couldn’t decide how to feel as I stood over her. I wanted to smile with her but the slow pressure behind my Adam’s apple refused to allow it. Anger beat back tears begging to find my cheeks. Shame overpowered my rage. With all this rolling around in my head, I was numb. All my emotions fought themselves to a draw. I just kept staring.
It was when she started to move that I regained control of myself. She pulled her hand from the wall and held it tight to her body. I picked up my coat and bag and walked out into the hallway. I sped up as I passed her father’s room. He snored so loudly I didn’t need to worry, but I still did. At the base of the stairs Roger sat curled in his usual position. His tail twitched meagerly as I passed him. He raised his head and glanced at me. I ran my finger over his head. He grunted and laid his head back on his paws.
The air outside was cold. There were no clouds and the sun hung on the edge of the sky. Today would be a nice day. Typical. I walked to the bus station and sat on a bench and watched the thin mist that was my breath. The bus came. I boarded and sat somewhere in the middle. As the bus pulled onto the highway I felt the urge to jump up and scream at the driver to turn around. At the least I thought to jump off the bus and sprint back to Cindy. I wanted to find a way to make it all work. The sand was pouring in.
He was furious.
I doubt I ever saw him this angry. His mouth moved so quickly the little goobers were actually switching lips. Every third word there was a new spot on his upper lip where he used to have one on his lower. The skin around his lips was purple. He pointed his right hand at me and waved his left really in whichever direction it pleased. It looked like it was having a grand old time.
What he didn’t know: I tuned him out. I didn’t hear a single word. I could see his hair flopping as he pointed, his squinted eyes opening wide whenever he took a breath, the family dog Roger cowering in his usual spot by the stairs, but not a word penetrated. I don’t need to deal with the words, the tone. I just need to sit here politely, look a little scared and swear never to do whatever I’ve done again. We have a system. It’s how we deal with each other.
“…because now she’s pregnant!” Shit. “Tell me exactly how you’re going to deal with that.”
This is the part of the story where I should start talking in clichés. The bottom dropped out. Everything froze. I saw my life flash before my eyes. I have a feeling it would have been much easier if any of that actually happened. There might have been a moment or two where I could figure out what to do. Instead I get Cindy’s dad and his waving finger.
“Jesus Christ, she’s only twenty years old. She’s not even done with school yet. Now you’ve come along and fucked it up for her. What’s she going to do now?” I didn’t know whether he was going to faint or start crying. Slowly, very slowly, the radiant purple drained from his face. He was paler. He wasn’t looking at me any more. He glared at a knot on the dining room table, which he started jabbing with his thumb. I just sat and watched him. I had important questions, but fear or shock or stupidity blocked my brain’s interaction with my mouth.
I’ll admit Cindy was different lately. I came home from work fifteen minutes late yesterday and she didn’t say a word to me for hours. Afterwards, she blamed it on her period. Or lack of one, apparently. She never suggested the “P” word.
“So, are you sure?” He jumped a little when I started talking. We had been there a while.
“There was a test in the trash. It was positive.” Cindy never was very discreet.
“How do you know it isn’t your wife?” He gave me a look that suggested violence.
“She can’t. Not any more.” Shit.
At this I stood and walked up the stairs to her room. The door was open. She wasn’t even here. I sat on the bed and scanned the room. So little of it was mine. Just a few articles of clothes, a bag, and some toiletries spread throughout the room. I graduated from college and, rather than go home, moved in with Cindy’s family. We’d been together a little over two and a half years, pretty much since she started going to school. She loved me.
I took the bag and threw my things into it. I didn’t leave a note. As I walked back down the stairs, Roger sat and watched me. He always liked me. He was a good dog. I scratched his head between the ears. He wagged his tail and tried to follow me out the door.
Just before I closed the door I saw Cindy’s father still staring at the dinner table.
Today was not a good day. The rain came down not in sheets, but waves. Even my underwear was soaked through in minutes. I started walking. There was no one on the street. Not really a surprise in this weather. I could think, try to sort all this out.
I still didn’t believe her father. She took some kind of pill to keep these things from happening. These things. What if she’s got twins? Still, this shouldn’t be possible. We were safe. We practiced what the brochures preached. Well, everything but abstinence. Of course, that was never an option for either of us. We raced each other to bed.
The hardest part was trying to figure out why she hadn’t told me. I was at least half responsible for the thing. I should know. On top of that, she isn’t very good with secrets, clearly. She couldn’t hide anything from me. She was obvious. I liked that about her. I’m not fond of surprises.
The rain was relentless. I wonder if it always rains like this, or if Mother Nature let it pour just for me. Either way, I was going somewhere. Water never stopped me before.
It took maybe fifteen minutes to get to the bus station. Small towns have their perks. I could get everywhere by foot. It was dry inside the building, except for drops falling through cracks in the ceiling. Each bucket made a different sound as they caught them. It was almost music. At the end of the station were rectangular cubicles where angry women took your money and gave you a ticket to wherever. I’ve never seen a single man behind that glass. Only women. I don’t know what they’re so angry about. I’m the one dripping.
As I approached the window my woman glared over her glasses and cocked her head. She pursed her lips and I’m relatively sure she snorted just before I got to her. I gave her money, she glared and handed me a ticket, not once looking away. She said “Have a nice day” as she pointed an amused smile toward the door. The rain hadn’t let up.
I was outside and walking again when I realized what had happened. I cleared out Cindy’s room. I didn’t leave a note. I got her pregnant. My ticket was one-way.
Mother Nature was an angry woman. The steady torrent battered grass and pavement, but she was aiming for me. Her hatred promised I would take no dry step today. She punished everything around me out of spite. I need to get out of this shit.
In small towns each street has its own bar. In each one sits eight or nine regulars prepared either to dispense wisdom or vomit. I wasn’t looking for either, but I preferred them to the rain.
The old bastards laughed when I came in. “Another rat seeks shelter.” I had no idea who said it. Probably best that I didn’t. Of all the bars in town, I usually ended up here. The bartender was something straight from antiquity. He wore a funny moustache and a stiff vest every day. He always treated me with respect, but kept his distance. Just the way a bartender should be. It was the old bastards that kept me coming back though. Two, in particular, Dylan and Ginsberg I called them. Every day they sat in the corner booth and spoke loud and inarticulate sentences. They had their own twist on language, poets whose generation left them behind.
One night, before we’d named him, Dylan’s road-scarred voice clawed through the entire place. He climbed up on the table and after he’d caught his breath recited “Do not go quietly into that good night” with such venom I thought he might take on the entire bar. Instead, he just climbed down and started talking in his little code with Ginsberg again. A week later I’d named him Dylan. Naming Ginsberg was more an afterthought, a way to distinguish the both of them. Cindy always laughed when I told her that story.
I ordered a drink and took my usual place as near to them as I could. Only Ginsberg sat at the table today, fingering the base of his pint. He drank much slower than I did and after my second he was still only halfway done with his. He rarely looked up. The already heavy lines of his face seemed darker than usual. He hadn’t made a sound. Maybe he forgot normal English. Without Dylan, he was just a mute. He just sat staring at his glass.
“So how long are you going to stare at me, kid, before you say something?” I blinked. He had to be talking to me. “Well?” His voice had an effeminate quality to it. The vowels stretched themselves over the consonants. He never looked up.
“Where’s your friend today?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s up and left off. Doubt we’ll see him again around here. Where are your friends?” He turned and stared at me over his thick rimmed glasses.
“Rain scared them away, I guess.”
“Pity. Care to keep an old man from drinking alone?” I wasn’t looking at him now, but Dylan’s vacant space. I watched these two sit and riff since almost the first day I came here. Even alone, I felt I was intruding. I was leaving tomorrow though. I could use the company.
As I slid into the booth he smiled. “Now tell me your life’s story. Start at sunrise and end five minutes before you splashed through that door.” He still stared over the rim of his glasses.
My mouth hung open for a moment before responding, “It hasn’t been a good day.”
“Yes. That is obvious. Why not leave off with the summary and give me the long-winded blow.”
His face was stone serious while he waited for me to say something. Honestly, I didn’t know what to say.
“Here, Kid, I’ll help you take off, but then you’ll have to fly on your own.” He took a drink and a deep breath, then said “You awoke this morning, the worst day of your life, though you didn’t know it at the time, to a thousand drops of rain trying to beat themselves into your room.” He took a deep breath and paused, I think waiting for me to pick up the story. I didn’t. “Your lady was already gone. The bed was yours alone and you just sat in your underwear and waited for the alarm to kick you off the bed. Too quickly, you think, it came and you step out of your Winnebago tepee shack and-” He smiled and took another sip, “now what did you do?”
My jaw still hung down and it took me a moment to even think. “I went to work.” He folded his arms and smiled, waiting for more. “After work, I went home and fought with my ‘lady,’ Cindy’s, father. He shouted. I sat. When he finished I packed up my things, bought a ticket outta town and now I’m sitting here with you.” I finished my beer.
He kept smiling and watched me over his glasses, “Well I don’t think you gave me the total blow, but I think we can piece these scraps together. I think we can both agree your conversation with Pappy was over a woman. And I think you know which one.” He pointed at his temple and took another sip of his drink. “Now, time for the twist, kid. What has happened to the poor girl? What has Daddy so dithered?”
His elbows rested on the table now. He stared right into my eyes. I swallowed, “She’s pregnant.”
I expected a reaction, but nothing. He sat there, elbows on the table, fingers around glass and just kept staring. Eventually he took the last sip of his drink and said, “Boom.” Ginsberg let is slip out quietly. His cheeks puffed out and smacked back to his bones. “You’ve a good twist there, kid.” I let out a snort. He pushed the glass to the edge of the table and waved his hand. The bartender and his funny moustache came with a full glass and left with the empty. Ginsberg smiled at me and said, “A perk for those of us still here. Now, tell me, what road do we take from here? Let that ticket take you all the way to the end of the world or let those feet take you back to angry Papa and your lonely lady?”
I wondered if he’d ever heard of subtlety. Maybe in his day everyone ran from person to person just spilling their problems for everyone. Not me. I could take care of myself. He just sat there staring over those damn rims with that same grin.
“You don’t like talking much, do you, kid? Alright then, let me finish the story for you then.” He took a great gulp from the pint and straightened his glasses. Finally. “You take that ticket and get on the bus. It takes you all the way across the world. You see leprechauns and fairies and Superman slicing his blue-red laser beam through the sky. After years and years that bus is going to kick its shit on you. It’ll fart and cough and puke and die. When you get off you’ll be in the desert with the fucking armadillos. The road home will be covered in sand and the tracks will blow away on the wind. You won’t find any water for a hundred miles. You’ll just sit there being thirsty. On your last night, you’ll have a dream. You’ll be swimming naked in a great big fucking lake. Down you’ll dive deep swallowing up as much of it as you can. That’s when you’ll wake up, swallowing down a mouthful of sand. It’ll rip up your guts. You’ll bleed and bleed. You’ll keep bleeding till all that’s left in you is the fucking sand. Then the armadillos will come around and make hats out of you.” He swallowed the remainder of the pint down in two gulps, smiled, and walked out to the street. I ordered another beer and drank it slowly.
When the place closed it was nearly two in the morning. The bartender with the funny moustache and neat vest held the door for us as we walked out. The rain had stopped. I walked back to Cindy’s house. All the lights were out. I wondered if Cindy’s father was still sitting at the dining room table. The front door was locked. The back door was open. The dining room was empty. Roger was panting quietly in his spot near the stairs. At the top of the stairs, I heard Cindy’s father snoring in spurts from his bedroom. Cindy’s door was closed, but it wasn’t locked. I threw my bag on the floor and kicked off my shoes. For a moment, I stood in the center of the room, waiting. Then I crawled into her bed.
“Is that you?” she said
“Yeah, now go back to sleep, we’ll talk tomorrow.”
My hand was on her stomach. It rose with her chest and sank down. With every breath though, I felt it stop just a bit earlier than it had on the last. I felt it growing. When is the alarm going to start buzzing? When can I wake up and laugh at myself and go to work like I do every day?
The alarm never came. And I never slept. At seven the next morning I crawled out of bed, not waking Cindy somehow. Every coil on the damn bed groaned at me as I lifted my weight off, but she just kept sleeping. In the corner of her mouth I could see the faint start of a smile. Her hand stretched forward, pressing on the wall. I couldn’t decide how to feel as I stood over her. I wanted to smile with her but the slow pressure behind my Adam’s apple refused to allow it. Anger beat back tears begging to find my cheeks. Shame overpowered my rage. With all this rolling around in my head, I was numb. All my emotions fought themselves to a draw. I just kept staring.
It was when she started to move that I regained control of myself. She pulled her hand from the wall and held it tight to her body. I picked up my coat and bag and walked out into the hallway. I sped up as I passed her father’s room. He snored so loudly I didn’t need to worry, but I still did. At the base of the stairs Roger sat curled in his usual position. His tail twitched meagerly as I passed him. He raised his head and glanced at me. I ran my finger over his head. He grunted and laid his head back on his paws.
The air outside was cold. There were no clouds and the sun hung on the edge of the sky. Today would be a nice day. Typical. I walked to the bus station and sat on a bench and watched the thin mist that was my breath. The bus came. I boarded and sat somewhere in the middle. As the bus pulled onto the highway I felt the urge to jump up and scream at the driver to turn around. At the least I thought to jump off the bus and sprint back to Cindy. I wanted to find a way to make it all work. The sand was pouring in.