Twelve
There were still a couple weeks to go until E and mine’s officially scheduled second date when she called and complained about the guy she was seeing from Long Beach. Apparently, he had been flying up on the weekends and driving E crazy with his predictability. She said all he wanted to do was smoke pot and stay in and watch TV. E asked if I would consider joining them at her place for the weekend pretending to be her brother in order to relieve her boredom. I could stay in her Mom’s room since she was out of town, and I could help myself to all the food I wanted. I didn’t even have to think about it and asked her what time she wanted me there. She was surprised, thanking me over and over saying she didn’t know anyone else she could ask for help. The real selling point was the food. It had been a very long time since I had experienced the joy that comes from the unlimited access to a suburban refrigerator. Visions of cold cut sandwiches, big glasses of milk poured from gallon jugs and packages of fig bars zapped across the wires of my brain while E outlined her plan. I would take the train down to her and call from the bar where we thumb wrestled after work on Friday saying that I was her brother in town for the weekend on a surprise visit. My name would be Jim and she would come get me at the bar telling Mr. Long Beach that she was going to the airport. Then I would spend the rest of the weekend with my best sister and the current apple of her eye. E made me promise several times before I hung up the telephone that I would actually follow through and show. I assured her that I was a man of my word and that if I said I was going to do something that meant I would do it, but she still had me swear on everything from my not yet dead mothers grave to the very man in the moon that I would really show. The last thing she said before goodbye was that we would have fun. I did not doubt that in the least. I hung up the phone and stared at the rug on the floor of my room for a long-time marveling at how things could change so fast.
I took my bag packed for the weekend to work with me and walked to the train station after quitting time. It was under construction and there was plywood and chain link fencing everywhere separating the depot from the boarding area. I walked past the two porta johns at the front and up a narrow wooden plank that led to a solitary ticket window. There were several Brown people in line in front of me and I waited my turn. I bought my ticket and the young Black woman working the booth poked a corner of it with an ordinary hole punch. There was a small stand selling flowers, candy, and soda, and I thought about buying my sister that I really don’t have flowers, but I didn’t feel like carrying them with me. I made my way through the plywood and chain link fencing maze and joined the many people waiting on the train. There weren’t any benches or seats. I sat down on the plywood flooring and leaned back against the chain-link fence. The fence gave quite a bit. I was almost in the position that you would find yourself if you were kicked back in a recliner in your living room watching Monday Night Football. There was absolutely no way to look cool in this position. I smiled and leaned forward, removing my phone and earpiece from my travel bag. I listened to music and saw a couple of motherly types looking at me. Finally, the porter pushed aside the gate that lead to the train platform and we all made our way through the chute into the cars of the train. I stepped into the closest door and made my way up to the second level. I had never been on a train before that I could remember. I guess my mom and dad took me on a train to Chicago before my other brothers were on the scene, but that would have made me a baby and I don’t remember anything about being a baby. In fact, my first memory is from when I was about two. I remember falling into a deep drainage ditch by my house on my tricycle. We pulled out of the station and made our way south stopping every few minutes to let people on. The scenery wasn’t anything to really look at, mostly pictures of urban decay. The yards of industry with big brown rusted barrels and piles of garbage. The backs of the projects with great graffiti covering every possible inch of the cement wall separating the living areas from the hillside leading down to the tracks. After about twenty minutes we passed the horse track and the mall, and I got off. I walked past a couple of new car dealerships into the quaint old town area and looked in the little shop windows and made my way to the bar to call Sis. It was barely six o’clock in the evening and every one of those cutesy places was closed. So much for the working people. I guess the only people that shopped there were housewives and retirees. I got to the bar and set my bag on a chair. The place was pretty dead. I got a beer, left a dollar tip and called E. I got her voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message, thinking horrible things as I sat and sipped my beer. Mercifully the bar was playing a decent song. I took this as a good omen and tried calling again. This time Sis answered. She put on a good front asking me what I was doing in town and how long I planned on staying. I told her I didn’t know and to hurry up and come get me. After a couple songs E came into the bar in a flurry of excitement. She sat down next to me very, very, close and looked at me for what seemed like a long time before she reinformed me that I was her next to youngest brother Jim. I hadn’t been home for about six months and my visit was quite a pleasant surprise. She pressed her knees firmly against mine and I leaned forward and stole a long slow kiss. She sighed and told me that was all I was going to be getting this weekend and I reminded her about the baths we used to take together when we were kids. She didn’t say anything and just smiled and took my hand and led me away from the table. I grabbed my overnight bag and followed her to the car. When we got to home sweet home, E had me put my bag in mom’s room and had me follow her upstairs to meet Mr. Long Beach. Mr. Long Beach turned out to be a pretty nice guy and I actually liked him. We shook hands and he said hello Jim and asked about my short visit home. E answered for me. She said that was just the kind of guy I was. I loved surprises. Mr. Long Beach asked me if I wanted to get high and I said no thanks. He packed a bowl and took a hit. He told me he stops by to see E on his way back from Mendicino. A friend of his is a grower and he helps him harvest and gets paid with a nice personal supply. E refrained from smoking which was wise because I was sure that she had the personality type that would not mix well with weed. I think she may have had some kind of psychotic episode if she had indulged. I could see why E liked Mr. Long Beach. He was a good-looking guy even if it appeared that he didn’t realize it. He showed me a picture of himself when he and she met, and he had quite a lion’s mane of hair that ran all the way down the middle of his back. But in person his hair was cut nice and neat. He said it was a pain to take care of and he just wanted a change. We all sat in E’s room and talked and watched some show that had car chases and gunfire for about an hour and then decided to go have dinner. We took Mom’s car and E drove. I was a big SUV. That baby could really go. She stomped on the accelerator a few times on side streets that had the traffic flow that allowed her to get the thing up to about eighty. Dinner was at a Thai restaurant that had a family run feeling to it and surprisingly enough the food was quite good. You get kind of spoiled eating out in the city where most everything is excellent. I’ve been amazed at what the locals in the outlying areas consider fine dining when I’m out with them. For the most part it amounts to okay prepared grub in some chain-like place that you see in commercials on television. E would feed Mr. Long Beach portions of his dinner and at the same time run her foot up my leg. It felt so good I thought I would pass out. When I needed to use the restroom, I got up and went through the kitchen. On my way back I saw the cook watching some TV show in what I guess was his language that had topless women. I stopped and watched with him for a couple of minutes then made my way back to the table and told Mr. Long Beach about my findings. I could tell he wanted to get up and check out the program, but E wouldn’t let him saying that he should behave. She smacked me on the hand hard enough for it to turn red, but I hardly felt it because she was smiling at looking so intensely at me that I felt kind of dizzy. Mr. Long Beach made some sort of joking comment about the joys of sisterly love which E and I both let pass. After dinner we went to a bar. E and Mr. Long Beach sat with some Brown people that she knew, and I sat at the bar and played the video blackjack game. I did okay winning many hands in a row, but there wasn’t a payoff of any kind. I guess the payoff was you got to keep playing. That really was only mildly satisfying. It was more like a moral victory. And that’s a hollow kind of victory when it comes to playing cards. I struck up a conversation with a big White guy wearing glasses who was sitting next to me and he told me of a local gambling house in town. Apparently, he had been there the previous week and won a couple hundred dollars playing poker. He said it was the modest looking cream colored house next door to the hardware store. I thanked him for the information, and we talked some more about this and that, mostly about sports and after our conversation had exhausted itself we both focused our attention on the band. The band was a pretty good non-descript outfit that played a lot of songs by the world’s greatest rock and roll band which pleased me immensely. When they played their famous song about the devil I got up and danced and was joined by E. Mr. Long Beach took my seat and watched us. E and I kept our distance, but we still grinded away pretty good. The song ended and I sat down next to Mr. Long Beach. E still wanted to dance so she partnered with this guy who seemed to be somewhat mentally handicapped. He was dressed poorly and jerked spastically to the music, and it was obvious that he made the other people uncomfortable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but mentally handicapped people don’t bother me. In fact, they comfort me in some strange way. I’ll be standing on a bus wedged between this person and that person and if one of them happens to be mentally off I feel at ease with them. Sometimes I’ll see a person with Downs Syndrome with their big faces and slow- moving ways step up onto the bus and take a seat and I feel almost parental towards them. I thought it was quite cool of E to dance with that guy and I told her so when she joined us at the bar. Mr. Long Beach had gotten into the video blackjack, and I had gotten into the bartender. She was a blonde, White woman with big hips and I told E if she was a good sister she would introduce me to her. She frowned and reluctantly did so and I spent the rest of the evening there sitting at the bar and chatting with the bartender when I could. I knew she probably got hit on all the time and I was very conscious of the fact that she was working, but her hips looked so curvy and wonderful I couldn’t totally let her be. Eventually E tired of the place and we left to hit the liquor store before it closed. We parked in the hardware store lot and as we walked to the liquor store, I looked around for the cream- colored gambling house. I think I found the place. It had several cars parked in front and the lights were on in contrast to the neighbors who were obviously in for the evening. E and Mr. Long Beach each picked out a bottle of wine. As we headed back to the SUV Mr. Long Beach had to go to the bathroom very badly. We walked to the park in the town’s square and he scurried off into the bushes and E and I sat on a park bench. I scooted close to her, and she scooted away stopping at the end of the bench. She couldn’t scoot any further without actually falling off the bench. I moved right next to her, and she asked me if I remembered mom bringing us to play at this park. I told her of course I did, and she put her hand on my knee and ran it lightly up my thigh. We heard Mr. Long Beach stepping from the bushes and stood up. She held his hand and swung it back and forth like a child on a swing trying to go higher and higher. Back home E and Mr. Long Beach went upstairs, and I went into moms’ room to watch some TV. I couldn’t find the light switch for anything in the world, so I groped to find the television. I turned it on, and it gave enough light to allow me to make my way around the room. I noticed a picture of who I assumed was mom just off to the right of the closet. It was a black and white photo and in it she was wearing only a negligee. She was lounging on the very bed I was on and even though she was older she looked fantastic.