This is NOT Over

Here is a life in desperate need of a rimshot

June 30, 2012

Saturday June 30, 1990 Cousin Trouble

Too many damn 7&7’s with Megs and her mom last night. Went with Megs to Zupec’s Truck Parts and returned her grandpa’s car. Cranked up some Mars Needs Guitars on the way. Uncle Larry’s deck kicks ass! Megs certainly has better taste in music than Susan but not quite as good as the two I/Eileens.

We brought the keys into the office. Uncle Larry looked up at Megs and asked, “You didn’t smash up Grandpa’s car did ya Pinky Tuscadero?”

“I think that was Leather Tuscadero,” said Megs.

Uncle Larry was right. It was Pinky. It doesn’t matter.

“What the hell happened up in DeKalb? You crashed your sister’s car in the middle of a cornfield of something?” Uncle Larry asked as he lit a cigarette.

“Something like that Grandpa,” said Megs, quietly.

“What were you doing during all this gugutz?” Uncle Larry asked as he shook the pack of Chesterfields at me.

I slid one out, thanked him and said, “I was just along for the ride.”

“I bet you were,” he said as smoke trickled out both nostrils.

The three of us smoked and threw out the kinds of topics odd groups always talk about when they don’t have much to say to each other. ‘How about that thing…?’ ‘Have you seen…?’ ‘Whatever happened to…?’ Then Uncle Larry wanted to take his youngest granddaughter to lunch and I didn’t want to eat another meal with the old man, at least not so soon after the last one.

March, I think. I can wait to have our next dinner and talk until March…1997!

I borrowed the office phone and called Danny. He was in town for the old parish picnic. His mother would kill him if he didn’t come. He seemed glad for an excuse to get out of the house for an hour, so he came to the truck parts yard and gave me a ride to Cousin Mike’s house.

Cousin Mike and I relaxed and listened to a Wimple Witch record he picked up earlier in the day. Don’t know how relaxed you can be with the sound of that bass in the middle of your skull but we tried.

Mike wasn’t interested in going across the street to St. Joe’s Park. I guess he can legitimately say he wouldn’t cross the street to drink beer with some of the bums I knew growing up around here. He is my classy cousin and I am sort of proud of him.

I walked over to the park around 5:30pm. Ronnie and Jimmy were already stationed in front of the beer pavilion. Jimmy was, and I’m sure would be the only person at St. Joe’s Park in military garb that weekend. It’s not something that guys are all that proud of around here, uniform of any variety suggest marching band or ROTC and those things suggest NERD! Not to me, but to folks I know and don’t have much respect for…

Jimmy did not give a shit about what people thought of him in uniform or him in general. That’s one of the reasons I liked him. He wore his fatigues with his thick, black crew cut, smoked Winstons and said he did because he heard Fred Flintstone smoked them and was more than a little overweight. He was the only guy who could join the service, already sort of fat, gain weight by the end of training camp and somehow convince the drill masters they produced another killing machine.

“I bought my brother a bottle of Johnnie Walker to celebrate. You’ll come back for a drink after we’re done here,” said Ronnie.

Sometimes experience demonstrates the old expressions are quite right. Beer before liquor, never a good idea for me so I drank hi balls the rest of the evening. They are so weak at the park. I think all drinks there have to be weak-ass drinks by local ordinance. I didn’t care. I felt like I was doing the right thing…

…or I was the poor man’s Andrew Patch with a vowel at the end of his name, or I don’t know what.

“Where’s Megs?” I asked.

“She didn’t come with you?” Ronnie shot back.

“I left her with your grandpa. They were going to have lunch. I assumed he’d drop her at your house and she’d come with you,” I explained.

Some shitty band started playing, Ronnie went for cigarettes and Jimmy wandered off to talk to some guy he blocked for in high school. JCH is a cult around here. Not to me. I will always be more of a baseball/basketball guy. Definitely not a football guy and definitely not a JCH guy. Fuck those brown-clad fanny pinchers.

What? The point is, I was the only person from this whole damned crowd to go to public school, and while I’m not exactly proud of that, I’m glad I’m not them. Clear or not, I’m moving on with the story of our evening at St. Joe’s Park.

Saw Patty and Annette and their cousin Krista. Patty and Annette only said “hi” and then went to the sausage/food pavilion. They were volunteering for the festivities. Where’s the fun in that? Krista was just dropping them off before she had to work at Salerno’s. She asked me to walk with her to her car so we could catch up, and even though I haven’t seen Krista in a year it is entirely possible that we could catch up on anything of interest in our lives in a five minute walk to her car.

Krista asked me how I was doing and then told me a bunch of shit about herself. Salerno’s was going great guns even though, according to her, the owner was trying to bang her. She just about had enough money to go back to school in the fall. Then she asked me a thousand questions about Zupecs, mostly Ronnie. She thought she was one of Ronnie’s legitimate ex-girlfriends when really all she was was someone Ronnie fucked in order to scratch her off a list of “girls from St. Joe’s he always wanted to fuck.” I didn’t bother telling Krista that. Why should I be the one to break the spell? After the flurry of Zupec family related questions, Krista said some really disturbing things about Megs and who she hangs out with since she left CSF. I don’t know why Krista told me this shit. I don’t know what she knows about Megs and me, probably nothing. I know Megs hated her guts (as much as Megs could hate anyone’s guts) since they were in grade school together.

Then she talked about John Roepke and his cousin. They are a coupla dirty, fucking junkies I used to know and still hate. Now of course, I only associate with the highest caliber of shit shooters and/or snorters. The more I think about it, there are a lot of troubled, shitty cousins in this story. John R is a piece of shit for sure, but his cousin is a thousand times worse. Patty and Annette’s cousin Krista is a total bitch…the only cousin in this story worth a damn is Cousin Mike and he is the only one with enough decency not to be here.

And then Krista went on to tell me how she saw Megs at some party on the East Side making out with one of the Roepkes in the yard by the keg and sleeping with the other cousin in the coat room and I don’t know if it’s real and at some points I couldn’t even make out what Krista was saying. I assume it was some sort of moral outrage but it literally made no sense to me, not in this context. This girl had this thing where she’d speak fast and then slow down substantially and then speed up suddenly, for no reason at all. She was like a fucked up cassette. By the way, this is exactly how she gives head and I am not proud to say I know this from both second hand sources and personal experience. I’m just glad this evening never went this way. Once we got to her car, Krista leaned her butt against the driver side and got comfortable because she wanted to keep talking about Megs and how she heard she went down on a black guy at a party while people were in the room. I watched Krista’s lips move fervently as she told this last story. I could tell she enjoyed it and I sort of enjoyed it too, especially hearing her whisper “going down” when there was no need to whisper. We were the only damn people in this part of the parking lot. I thought about the first time she and I made out in Ferdinand Hall. She was flat-chested and bitey, and it was a sorry junior high make out session. Krista told me being here reminded her why she went vegan and how St. Joe’s Park smelled terrible and she still couldn’t believe Patty and Annette convinced her to even give them a ride to this place.

She pulled a pack of Marlboro Light 100s from her silver and purple handbag. I lit her cigarette and she said, “Thanks Eddie,” kissed me on the cheek and left.

That bitch.

Walked back inside the park to look for Megs, even though I knew she wasn’t coming. Jimmy and Ronnie were playing the wheel and smoking cigarettes with Fr. Dave. Father left St. Joe’s a few years back but he is always at the park for the annual picnic. He was the coolest priest I ever met. The younger crowd loved him because he had long hair and smoked, the old Slovenians loved him because he spoke their language, had a beautiful singing voice and drank Slivovitz.

He put his arm around me and asked, “Where’s Margaret?”

“My mom will be here tomorrow,” I answered but I’m sure he meant Megs. Everyone who knows my mom calls her Marge or Margie.

The Zupecs told Father their sister was MIA but might be here later.

“How are things at school Eddie?” Father asked, “Are you home for summer?”

“No, I am taking classes.”

“What are you studying these days?” Father asked.

“The history of political philosophy,” I said.

Then from behind us, the guy running the wheel called out, “Three lovely deuces.”

Father was playing deuces so three quarters were added to the one he laid down on the 2. I wanted to ask why he didn’t play 3 for the Holy Trinity but Father Dave’s at the wheel so much he probably has to mix things up once in a while.

Some more shit bands played as we all drank and ate smokies. Saw a few more people I hadn’t seen in awhile. We stayed until St. Joe’s Park closed for the night and Megs never showed up. Ronnie and Jimmy invited me to walk with them back to their mom’s house.

They walked, I stumbled.

The first thing I did when we arrived was to look in Megs room. I called out, “She’s in here sleeping.”

Ronnie broke out the bottle of whiskey and we all had a shot before more of Jimmy’s friends from JCH showed up. We were all drinking, Jimmy and Ronnie were being pretty loud with the football friends. I was content to sit quietly on the couch. At some point Megs emerged from her room and sat down next to me. I put my arm around her and asked if she wanted a drink. She shook her head.

“These two,” said Jimmy at about 3 in the morning, “I wouldn’t like Posega at all if it wasn’t for my sister. One time him and Megs were in the truck parts yard after hours. You guys remember what you were doing in there?”

We shook our heads, but we both remembered why we snuck into Zupec’s Truck Parts on the night in question.

“Anyhow,” Jimmy continued loudly, “These kids sneak in the truck parts yard, they’re in high school or some shit like that. Grandpa’s meanest fucking dog back then…uh, Lenny?”

“Larry,” said Megs.

“Your grandpa called him Larry Jr. because he said that dog was the only thing alive as tough as he was,” I added.

“Yeah, Larry,” said Jimmy, “Larry comes out of his house and barks his ass off at these two and runs straight for them. My sister tells me later she freaked out, grabbed a brick or something…”

“A carburetor,” Megs corrected him.

“She grabs a carburetor and smashes the fucking dog’s face in. They run home to me and I said ‘Oh shit. You better tell Grandpa what you did. People will lose their fucking jobs or get their asses handed to him.’ You know that’s how much Grandpa Larry loved that mean dog and loves his shit in general. So they go in there the next day. I’m unloading some shit and I see Eddie and my sister come into Grandpa Larry’s office looking all sad and I think ‘Oh shit, it’s really gonna happen now. So I quit doing what I’m doing and go inside because I wanna hear this. The dog’s dead by now, right? He wasn’t smashed up or hanging on or anything, right?”

“Yeah, Megs killed him,” I said, “We knew before we left. That’s how we knew we were fucked.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy continued, putting out his cigarette, “They go into the office to tell Grandpa what happened and before the girl can say anything Eddie tells Grandpa Larry that he smashed Larry Jr. in the face and killed him and he was so sorry and he was going to buy him a new dog or give the shop money or whatever he wanted.”

“Why did you tell him you did it?” Ronnie asked.

“Partly because I didn’t want your sister to get in trouble and partly because I didn’t want your Grandpa to think Megs had to save me, even though that’s what she did,” I said.

“Yeah, when Larry Jr. almost bit you, you peed your pants,” said Megs.

Everybody laughed. I said, “Animals are unpredictable. That dog scared the fucking shit out of me. And I did kick it in the face after Megs hit it with the carburetor.”

“Just to make sure it stayed down,” said Megs.

Everybody laughed more.

Jimmy continued, “So Eddie and my Grandpa are standing in the middle of the office. Grandpa asks him ‘What the fuck were you guys doing in the yard out there in the middle of the night’ and…what did you tell him?”

I said, “We were just being kids or something like that.”

“Yeah,” said Jimmy, “He says that and Uncle Larry freaks out and screams in his face and starts bumping and shoving him around the office. I’ve seen him do that to big guys, real guys who fucked up in the truck parts business or guys who Grandpa thought were stealing from him. I’ve seen him break those pieces of shit down, begging him to stop. We’re all scared in the shot that Grandpa Larry is going to beat the shit out of this skinny, fucking kid with stupid hair. And even this one,” Jimmy pointed at Megs, “…this one looks worried. Nothing ever gets to her and she’s looking scared. Posega just takes it. Finally Grandpa shoves him against the wall, almost right through it.”

“The walls are pretty thin and shitty in that office,” I said.

“Yeah, but still,” said Jimmy, “Anyway he gets shoved against the wall and I think slapped first. Grandpa’s face is all red and mad and he’s breathing hard and this guy pulls out his smokes like it’s a cigarette break in the ass-whoopin’ and Grandpa leans against his desk and says in a quiet voice, ‘Get the fuck out of my office’ and they leave. That old bastard has beat me until I cried and my brother too and we never killed his dog. This guy never goes down even though Grandpa Larry is shoving him and slapping him pretty hard.”

“I don’t think he slapped me Jimmy,” I said

“I wonder why he didn’t slap you?” Ronnie asked.

“I think your Grandpa was just getting older and figured he was too old for this shit, there was no point in kicking my ass so he quit.”

“Maybe that’s it,” said Jimmy, “You know we never seen him grab anyone in the office after that. You may’ve been the last guy who ever got the business from Grandpa.”

“I guess I’m honored,” I said.

“What did you do about the dog?” Jimmy’s friend from the football team asked.

“I got their cousin Danny to go to the pound or some shelter to get me a new dog for the shop,” I said.

“Why Danny?” Ronnie asked.

“Because it was his idea to go to the truck parts yard that night,” said Megs, yawning, “We had some alcohol and no place to drink it. Danny convinced us to hop the fence and that’s when all the bad stuff happened.”

“So you covered up for Megs and Danny?” Ronnie asked.

“I guess there was no need to get Danny involved since he was the first one to run away. He didn’t know what happened to the dog. But since he didn’t have to eat shit from Uncle Larry, and it was his dumb-ass idea in the first place I said ‘Why don’t you find him a dog? The last time my family got a dog I was three.’ I didn’t know how to get a dog or what sort of dog your grandpa would like.”

“He’s still got the dog,” said Ronnie.

“Yeah, I saw it there today,” I said, “Cindy right? I think that’s what the dish said.”

“Yeah,” said Ronnie, “He loves that fucking dog even though it’s the biggest pushover. Doesn’t do shit to protect the yard at night and it’s even afraid to fight the cat.”

“End of an era in the truck yard. No more mean-ass dogs,” Jimmy said.

“Why’d he name the dog Cindy,” I asked.

“Grandpa doesn’t like dog names,” said Megs.

“Oh, well that makes sense,” I answered.

Then we all drank whiskey and listened to Double Trouble. Jimmy and Ronnie love that stuff. Weird day, weird night.

posted by edP # 7:21 AM

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This is NOT Over

June 30, 2012

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