Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 21: The Wind Cries Mary

21
The Wind Cries Mary

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Maybe I sort of regretted not letting Danny drive me home. I'd forgotten how crappy Gilmore Park public transit was. The idiot bus drivers were always off schedule.

Bus A was late, so Bus B had already dipped from the terminal. So I ended up waiting, like, an hour for another Bus B to come on by. Although, I guess being seated on the bus with only Homeless Josh and Matilda (she just looked like a Matilda) made sense because they were from my "world."

Matilda crocheted the entire time, even though we ran over like six hundred potholes, and Homeless Josh just kept staring at me. Not in the creepy I'm gonna rape you way, but as an outsider looking into a world he's never been a part of, kinda way.

Days went by without any signs of life from Danny. I hadn't seen or talked to him since that day when he'd lost it on me. It wasn't like I had a cellphone, and Danny didn't call my house phone. Which was probably a blessing in disguise, because my heart skipped not one, but two beats, every time the phone did ring because Jim didn't leave the house all week.

"What are you doing home?" I asked, surprised to see him loafing on the couch, watching TV in the middle of Monday the following week.

He waited until whoever was on the TV to finish speaking before answering me.

"Lester had a heart attack."

It took me a minute to remember who Lester was. He was an old friend of Jim's from years ago. They didn't see each other very much, or at all, really. Lester had been to a few of the barbecues Jim would throw back in the day, and I remember going on Lester's sailboat once at Port Milford when I was a kid. That day on his sailboat had been particularly memorable because I still remember how cold I was watching a bunch of old fat people jumping into the water, and wondering if I would ever get fat and old and enjoy jumping into cold water.

"Oh," was about as much of a reaction I could muster upon the news of Lester's death.

What? I didn't actually know him. I wasn't gonna pretend like I was all bent outta shape over his heart attack. Ol' Lester had been sort of an asshole anyway, and more than likely would've tried telling me that he was my uncle if I were ever alone with him.

Jim was zoned in on the TV, and it didn't look like he was gonna get his ass up and off the sofa anytime soon. I didn't dare bring up anything Danny had told me. Instead, I kept my head down and walked down the hallway to my bedroom, and when the voices on the TV stopped again, I heard Jim say, "Yeah."

Jim, the TV, and I were soundless. I anticipated more. Then chattering cued up again on one of those afternoon talk shows that Jim usually had no interest in watching, and I continued walking down the creaking hallway to my room.

I really should get my own stall on the boardwalk as Madame Mary (no, you freak, I mean as a fortune-teller) because my prediction came true; Jim did not get up from that couch for almost a whole week. Whenever somebody he was close to died (passed away) he couldn't handle it. He couldn't even handle it when his favorite old bar from high school closed down. Hell, you'd had thought that his beloved first-born son died in a tragic accident when he had to sell his Trans-Am.

So, I guess it wasn't just death he couldn't handle; it was change. He didn't like anything changing, not that floral print couch, not that barbecue on the porch, not the cabinets in the kitchen. Nothing. He wanted everything frozen in time, exactly how he wanted to remember it.

When my grandma died (I was too little to remember living with her), Jim let his life go for so long without moving on, neglecting everything, including me, until our hydro was eventually cut. That I do remember.