A Walk Around Town On a Chilly Evening
by Sasha Fletcher
After the sun set and the last of its heat dissipated from the baked bricks of the buildings lining what amounted to a boulevard, the cold winds started in from the North or the East or some other place full up with trouble and nonsense, and whistled their way through the town.
Outside the bar are several drunks drunk and lonely, their secrets spilling out their mouths and on down their shirtfronts, their bile spelling out a few choice phrases like WE FIND NEW WAYS TO DEFEAT OURSELVES BETTER THAN THE WORLD EVER COULD EVERY DAY and IF I KNEW BETTER HOW TO LIVE WITH MY LONELINESS THEN MAYBE YOUβD SPEAK TO ME AGAIN, OR AT LEAST COME HOME and I WOULD SAY I AM SORRY BUT THE WORD FOR WHAT I AM FEELING IS NOT A WORD, IT IS A FEELING, AND FURTHERMORE IF I BROACHED THE SUBJECT OF MYSELF TO YOU IβD BE A DEAD MAN AND A HALF and THIS WAS NOT WHAT I MEANT TO ACCOMPLISH and WHOOPS, GUESS I REALLY MADE A MESS HERE, HUH?
Such are the feelings we spill from time to time on the shoes of strangers, our sadness a thing we choose to choke or choke on as the moment dictates, and depending of course on the price of whisky, which at the moment is on sale, and the road to the bar is wide, roughly as wide as my weaknesses, which will swallow me whole, just you watch. But before that, let us hold our heads under the water until something magical happens. Let us hold hands and walk through the fire in the manner of people in nicer clothes that we can afford, and let us do it with the gusto and commitment that we would like to be better known for.
Outside all of this is the jail, in which several men are interred for inflicting their feelings on unsuspecting citizens with varying degrees of violence. βTell us something!β they call out to the Sheriffβs father. βTell you what he?β says to them. βTell us something lovely and true and only a little vicious, just enough to draw some blood, to get the scent of living in the air.β He says βFineβ and reads them the letters he has written to the ghost he loves and when he is finished they say βAnd then what?β and he says to them βAnd then nothing.β He says βAnd then we keep living as best we can with our hearts on fire in a way that not even death will extinguishβ, and this shuts them up for the night while they sit with their thoughts which have, it turns out, sincerely let them down.
Upstairs from the jail is the Sheriffβs fatherβs apartment, next to the sign that says JAIL, and notes are falling from the ceiling, and have been for years, and then the wind comes and scoops them up, because the wind is a fucking asshole, and romance does not always get to win, because if it did, well, what then?
What then? is a game the children are playing that they invented earlier wherein they reinvent the wheel and by the wheel we mean history.
What then is then everyone gets the ball scores in in a more timely fashion. What then is the double play and the complete game shutout and the invention of the ground rule double, which is a thing people have got some opinions on, but fuck their opinions, because the ground rule double is a law, and youβre just an opinion with a mouth. The town paper has got some things to say about the ground rule double, but is keeping them to itself. The town paper sits alone in the dark, writing editorial after editorial. The town paper thinks for a moment about what it might be like to date, to sit across a table from a body and to risk something of their feelings, or at least maybe to sit down to a meal, for once in its life. After thinking, the town paper writes an editorial, and after that the town paper writes another editorial. In the basement of the town paper, an idea, unspoken, rustles.
Up in her room is Meg who has stopped seeing Daniel, but is unsure if she wants to see Sam. Sam on his porch down the road is decidedly sure that he would like to see Meg if she would let him, while up in her room Meg thinks of how glad she is to know Sam, of the joy knowing him has brought to her life, and the ways in which their conversations have expanded the borders of her life to encompass things she had previously only dreamed of, but how that doesnβt mean she wants to marry the guy. Meg thinks of Sam and is, for a moment, overwhelmed by a rush of blood and warmth let loose by her heart. Meg thinks of Sam and of how much more glad she would be if he would just let things be. βSamβ says Meg βI get it. There is such stuff in my heart that you could not get over if you tried, which who even knows if you have, but that doesnβt mean things between us would work.β βIn another worldβ says Sam to Meg from his porch βWanting would be enough.β βIn another world βsays Meg to Sam from her upstairs in her room βIβd like that very much.β
Past them is the moon, which is, in its own way, another world beyond all of us, and below the moon is the barbershop. Outside the barbershop are a group of men with large ideas and new haircuts and nobody cares about those men and if they do care about them well then thatβs their mistake, and not one which we are willing to indulge. Past the barbershop is the Jail, where the Sheriff sits with a pipe as the prisoners ask him questions to which he responds βWell, I reckon youβll stay there until such time as you learn to not be a shit heel. No Tom, I donβt rightly reckon I know when that would be either. Dinnerβs beans in a cup with some burnt ends. Well because itβs all I know to cook, or itβs βcause I donβt rightly feel like expending the effort to make you more than that. Also youβre drunk Tom. You pissed in your gun and thought youβd be shooting piss in Billβs ear instead of the shell in the chamber. Yes, Billβs dead, with an ear full of piss, too. Yes, Tom, I reckon youβll hang. Yes it was misleading earlier. No, I donβt feel too torn up about it. Well Tom, I have known love. Well I left that love, Tom. No, no it was just. Well, Tom, she was a witch, and I was greatly terrified of her femininity, and her power, and quite frankly I just felt like I was out of my depth. Do I regret it? Sure. Some days. I mean, who doesnβt have a few regrets? Iβm sure you regret leaving Bill dead with an ear full of piss. But that donβt preclude an attempt at justice and whatever subsequent punishment is decided upon for the taking of a life unjustly, which, if youβve been following along here, tends in this town to be a handing. Yes, Tom. I too weep at the sheer fucking impossibility of it all. Practically every night.β And then they both weep at the sheer fucking impossibility of it all, because who wouldnβt? And anyway past the jail is, fittingly enough, the graveyard, which is not so much a yard as it is the plot of land at the bottom of a hill reached by a winding staircase at the top of which is the church.
Outside the church sits an old priest and a young priest. Earlier today the old priest and young priest woke up in their rooms and they yawned and stretched and the young priest worries a bit about sleep, which is not a thing he does well at all, and the old priest cataloged his dreams so as to better distinguish them from his visions and the young priest just assumed that whatever happened inside his head was the thing he was meant to think or see, but that he should, if he could, hold those thoughts up to what light of day there is so as to compare them to the wide world and better get a grip on what plans there are that exist for him, and after al that they got dressed and met downstairs.
βWellβ said the young priest to the old priest βI guess weβd better open up.β βThatβ said the old priest βWould be the thing to doβ, and so they went and they opened up the doors, and no one is there. βThereβs nobody thereβ said the young priest. βSeems as though nobody is in need of a church at this hourβ said the old priest. βCoffee?β said the young priest. βOh yes, pleaseβ said the old priest, and they retire to the back, and prepare some coffee. βSo last nightβ said the young priest βOh?β said the old priest βYeahβ said the young priest. βWere you going to tell me about last night?β said the old priest and the young priest said βI wasnβt planning on it but I could if youβd likeβ, and then they both sat there with their coffee, and then someone stuck their head in and said βHi Hello Can you help me?β βHow can we help?β they said, and the person says βYou can dieβ, and then like twenty people swarm the church, guns blazing, and the priests said together and in unison βWeβd rather you didnβt do this. God loves you, and violence is not the answerβ and this statement got answered with more gunplay, and the young priest sighed and said to the old priest βOK so about my dreamβ and the old priest said βUh huhβ and then grabbed the nearest church-swarmer by the neck and removed their head from their body and gripped the spine with both hands and whipped it around, smashing a few heads together, while the young priest shot out the eyes of the church-swarmers and said βLast night I could have sworn there was a mountain walking around the desertβ and shoots out a few more eyes, which are the windows to the soul, and anyone that would visit such violence upon these men, well, their soul is fucked unto death probably, and the old priest said βGo onβ and the young priest said βI mean that wasnβt what happened, really. What happened was I was a much older manβ and the old priest says βLike me?β and the young priest says βAnd I was standing on the roof of a house on top of a mountain that was roaming the desert carried along upon a series of tumbleweeds, and I was standing there with my daughter, in the dream I had a daughterβ and he shot four more people through the eyes while the old priest switched out his shattered-to-shit skull on the end of the spine of his church-swarmer basher for a fresh one from the neck of a real asshole-looking fella, and the young priest said βI donβt know how I knew she was my daughter, but I just didβ and the old priest said βThe worldβs funny like thatβ and the young priest said βAnd anyway her name was America, and it wasnβt a symbol or anything it was just her name, America Resplendent Adams, and she and I were standing there, her mother had been dead a year that morning, we stood there, and we wept, and our tears formed a waterfall, and it flooded a town, a town by the sea, and the town was swept away, and America looked up at me, and she opened her mouth, and then I woke up.β βShitβ said the old priest, breathing slowly, and stacking the bodies into a sort of mountain. βYeah, wellβ said the young priest, panting from the exertion. βGuess we should bury them.β
And so anyway thatβs why theyβre here in the graveyard, where the old priest, sweating, mostly out of breath, and leaning against a tombstone on which they have inscribed HERE REST SEVERAL POOR DECISIONS, he says βI was in love with a ghost onceβ and the young priest says β1) Who wasnβt and 2) We can talk about that later.β The old priest says βWhat of America?β and the young priest says βThat isnβt funnyβ The old priest says βAmerica.β The young priest says βYou can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that?β The old priest says βI worry that America has forgotten how to loveβ, says βBrother and sisters, we are gathered here today huddled up amongst the rocks and the hard places, begging the Lord up above for guidance, because that is all we are good for, is begging. Brothers and sisters I say unto you βFuck your beggaryβ, for it will get you nowhere. Does the lord love you more when you cry out for him to fix things? When your child ceases not with its pleas and tears, does this inspire you to love the child more? or to strike it about the face and body with your hands or some other implement of tact? This is a question put to you out there in America where we no longer know what love means.β The young priest says βThat was a nice start but it gets a little aggressive towards the end there.β The old priest says βPeople respond to aggression.β The young priest says βNot wellβ says βRecall earlier, if you will.β The old priest says βI thought that went wellβ and the young priest says nothing. He says βOnce upon a time in the west I was tired, and after that I went to bed, and in the morning a whole bunch of jerks sat around worrying about everything except whether they were trying to be better, more decent people, who attempted more sincerely to connect to others around them, and really grow the kind of community that would make anyone proud.β He says βLetβs change the subject.β he says βSome people talk about the soul and where it resides. They say that the deepest part of you is in your head, or your heart, or your blood. βHis blood is badβ theyβll say. βHis heart is cold.β βHe has got an evil turn of mind.β βThere is a darkness to himβ is what theyβll say. But the worst of us, what we leave behind, what heaven never wants, is our bones.β He says βFuck.β He says βI donβt really know where Iβm going with all this.β He says βI am not really going anywhere with this.β The old priest says to the young priest βOh yes you areβ and the young priest says βAnd where might that be?β and the old priest says βStraight to hellβ and then they both die laughing. Now theyβre up in heaven, and thereβs God, saying βStop thatβ, and the old priest and the young priest say βMake usβ, they say βWe dare you.β They say βWe double dare you.β They say βWe double dare you and stamp it with a Presidential seal from the President of Loneliness, with whom we have got a real close and personal relationship.β God says βYou guys know the President of Loneliness?β The old priest and the young priest say βFuck yes we do!β And God says βDang.β And the old priest and the young priest say βTell us about itβ, and so that is what God does. And, in the morning when the sun comes up, there they are, the old priest and the young priest, still dead as all creation, and loving every second of it.
Β
