Southern Legitimacy Statement: Grew up in rural Texas climbing barbed wire fences, wandering the woods, and fishing in forgotten ponds. I got myself out of the small town as soon as I could and read poetry at open mics, danced poorly at raves and goth clubs, and over-indulged in all the things Mama tried to steer me away from. I settled down (mostly), sobered up, and have a little place in the DFW suburbs with my wife and son.
Clozapine
Thin streams of steam snake out from under the hood of my old Ford LTD.
“Well, shit.”
I pop the hood and get out to investigate like I know what I’m doing. Under the hood I can isolate the source of the steam. I figured it was the radiator, and I figured right, but have no idea what to do other than let it cool down during my shift and add water before I leave. I let the hood drop, and the metallic POP punctuates the steady hiss of the radiator.
I’m uncharacteristically early, so I lean on my decrepit car and light up a smoke. Dozens of grackles are making a terrific racket while they catch and peck at hundreds of panicking crickets. Each time one of the birds gets a hold of a cricket it tries to fly away and eat in peace but is pursued by a half dozen other birds trying to take it. Even in the midst of this feeding frenzy the males are competing for females, strutting, shaking their obsidian feathers, screeching, and then looking straight up, stretching their necks, like whoever is the tallest wins. The slightly smaller brown females ignore them and eat crickets.
In a burst of black feathers, and panicked flapping all the birds take to the air. In their place, in the now silent parking lot, there’s a man walking carefully, staring at the ground, trying not to step on the crickets. The grackles barely made a dent in their numbers, and the man weaves his way through what looks like a pan of popping black popcorn.
He’s wearing a crisp new gray trench coat. It hangs loose from his shoulders as he deftly weaves around the crickets. As careful as he is trying to be it’s impossible for him not to crunch some underneath his old brown loafers. After each step, “Shit! Shit! Shit! Dammit! Shit!”
The gray trench coat and closely buzzed hair are unmistakable. Here comes Walter Kilgore.
Once he reaches me, he’s clear of the crickets, and the grackles descend on them again.
He scratches his shaved head and cheerfully proclaims, “Well, that’s about a million years of bad luck!”
“If that’s true those grackles are fucked.”
He covers his mouth and his shoulders bob as he laughs his odd blowing raspberries laugh. It’s impossible to tell how old he is. His skin has fine wrinkles and is damaged by the sun, but his face has youthful features. His eyes are always wide open, and he has beautiful white teeth. He always smells incredible. I once asked him what kind of cologne he wears, and he said he makes it himself.
“You got a cigarette for your boy?”
“Sure do, Walt.”
“Thanks!”
“Comin’ in for a refill?”
“Aw, come on, man! You’re not on the clock. We’re just chillin’. We’re just hangin’ out right now.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I got enough time to smoke this cigarette with you. How have you been?”
He narrows his eyes. “You just making general conversation or making a diagnosis?”
“Just general conversation.”
“OK, then.” Satisfied, he goes back to being his usual cheerful self. “Man, I been good. Been doin’ all right. You know. What about you, dude?”
“Pretty good, man.”
“Hey, you ever listen to the radio?”
“Sure. Sometimes.”
“Brother, DON’T. Radio waves are sticky, man. Pick up all kinds of bad energy. The longer they travel the more shit accumulates, and when you turn on the radio all those bad vibes ride the sound right into your brain, dude.”
He sticks a finger in each ear, then removes them and spreads his fingers wide. “BOOM! It’s in there, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I hope I am maintaining a poker face. The last thing I want to do is spook him by asking if he’s OK. I’m not sure what I should do. He’s staring at me like he’s waiting for me to say something. I don’t know if I should act like I agree or not. He might spiral either way.
Several excruciatingly long seconds tick by.
Then he makes that weird laugh and points at me.
“GOTCHA!”
Relief bursts out of me in a gasp. “Jesus.”
“You thought, ‘Oh, shit. Here comes crazy Walter!’”
“Yeah, you got me. Good one.”
“Got you good! Naw, man, I’m on the medication. I’m doing what the doctors say. I haven’t heard voices or seen shit that isn’t there in weeks.” He pulls some papers out of his pocket. “Got the blood tests right here, bro. I’m all good for a refill.”
The blood tests are to make sure the potent medication isn’t destroying his liver, and they are mandatory for each refill. “Pills working out, huh?”
“Yeah, man. Like night and day.”
Then, all the way across the parking lot from the entrance of the store, “WAAAAALLLLTERRRRR!”
Walter spins around and howls, “DAAAAAAAAAYYZZEEEEEEEEEE!!!”
They run at each other and meet in the middle of the parking lot and hug. They talk and laugh for a bit, too far for me to hear, then walk up to me holding hands, swinging their arms like little kids.
Daisy is smiling. She has those massive sunglasses on and a thrift store quarter sleeve baseball tee, white with red sleeves and blue hems and a faded Budweiser logo. The bottom third of the shirt has been cut off at an angle showing a pie slice of her sun kissed abdomen. Hugging her hips and tied with a royal blue satin scarf are billowing unbleached linen pants.
Walter points at her large Aubrey Hepburn sunglasses. “These fuckin’ things used to terrify me.”
I point at my basic mirrored aviators. “What about these?”
“Naw, man. Regular old shades are cool. You see those everywhere. But not these fuckin’ alien eye lookin’ things. -Oh, wait a second.” Walter rummages through the pockets of his trench and pulls out a pink Gerber Daisy. “Here you go. Daisy for Daisy.”
“Thank you!”
She admires it for a bit, then puts it in her pocket with the flower sticking out. For a few seconds I’m mesmerized by the petals of the flower bending slightly at the tips, tickling her skin. I snap out of it, and it must have been obvious, because she is looking back at me grinning.
Walter takes a few steps back, his hands held up, palms facing us. Through chuckling he says, “Whoah ho ho! What was that?” He lunges forward and throws one arm around Daisy’s shoulders and one arm around mine, bringing us all inches from each other’s faces. He adopts a weird Masterpiece Theater accent. “Are you two embroiled in a scaaaandalous affairrr?”
Daisy adopts the same accent. “Perhaps.”
I try to adopt it and fail. The country drawl sneaks in. “Methinks.”
They both laugh at me. I’m laughing with them. I know my attempt was terrible.
Walter’s grip on my shoulder tightens and he jostles me a bit. “Your real accent is so thick it shows up in your fake accent!” He swings his other arm over Daisy’s head and pats my chest with his hand a couple times. “You know why her name is Daisy?” I shake my head no. He drops his arm to hang by his side and pivots so we’re both facing her. “Because she’s so pretty flowers sprout up wherever she steps.”
Daisy smiles and blushes. She’s embarrassed, which I have never seen before.
I can’t take it and make a smart-ass comment. I point at the parking lot. “Man, I don’t see no flowers.”
Walter grins at me. “You ain’t looking hard enough. See there?” He pulls me closer so our heads are side by side and points at a crack in the curb. Growing out of a it is a lone yellow dandelion. He admires it for a moment, then lets go of my shoulder and steps back. “Besides, doofus. They don’t sprout up right away. Her influence plants seeds that sprout up and bloom long after she’s gone.”
I’m a little worried he’s being literal. “That’s beautiful.”
He gives me a friendly shove on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. It’s a metaphor! All because of her I’m spinning the monsters into poetry, brother! Life is fuckin’ beautiful!”
Walter puts his hand to his lips and blows Daisy a kiss. “Au revoir! I gotta go get these pills.” He jogs away.
I shout, “See you in there!” and he waves without turning.
I’m laughing, “Man, he’s doing well, huh?”
Daisy watches him round the corner and slip through the automatic doors. When she turns to me, she is smiling, but her lips part and she takes in a slightly shuddering breath. I wrap my arms around her, and she rests her head on my shoulder, her face on my neck.
I gather all the sincerity and conviction I can manage. “He’s gonna be OK.”
Her arms tighten around me, and I hold her closer.
I’m leaning on my car, and she’s leaning into me.
“Yeah. He is.”
