As usual, Carter set a blistering pace. In less than thirty minutes he’d introduced himself to over one hundred patrons of the bar, inviting each one over to the table for a birthday drink. Each bartender got a brief visit and a generous tip. He ascended the bandstand and made the acquaintance of each member of Fleetwood Macaroni. His rapid circumnavigation of the establishment complete, he sat down with a contented sigh. No congressional candidate stumped harder than Carter when a good time was at stake.
The sunburned customers crowding the establishment still irritated Rudy. The tequila trickling through his brain hadn’t done its job yet. He hadn’t stopped thinking. That was what they were all here for. Right? To stop thinking for a while.
So he tried. He tried not to think about the anglers in the photographs on the wall. He tried not to think about the mounted…
Toni’s dad Robert named his 3 girls with names that sounded like they were boys. The Cocker Spaniel’s name was Princess. He called Paula ‘Pauli’. Vicky hated it because she knew why he did it. He loved them and was present with his love in so many ways. They had the clothes they wanted, summer camps, a sun vacation every winter so they could return and show off their week old tan. That the same sun might have shone brighter on a son went unmentioned.
After Paula and Samantha got home from camp they went to visit Uncle Charlie before going back to school. Robert felt peace as he drove in the summer night while his wife and daughters dozed. They had crossed New York State and were now in Vermont on their way to his brother’s place in New Hampshire. Sabotaging his own peace Robert thought ‘No son could be better than a daughter obviously. But he could generate a different satisfaction.’
Robert thought otherwise after their visit. Greg, Charlie’s boy, was a handful. Greg was 10 and the current diagnosis was he was dyslexic and had ADHD; each one triggering the other.
“How is Greg doing?” said Robert.
“Man, you don’t know how much work it takes,” said Charlie. “Which is actually, you know, it comes with the territory of having children. But it is exhausting the whole one step forward – two steps back dance with Greg. Everyday. Every hour.”
“You and Sandra are doing great work. I mean you must get tired.”
“Ya sure. You just have to find another gear because in the end it’s not his fault,” said Charlie.
They drove in two cars half an hour to Hampton Beach on the ocean. Greg and Toni went with Charlie and Vicky to give Sandra a break. It had been a long summer and she was past ready for school to start again. For Greg and for Charlie. Paula and Samantha went looking at cute boys on the boardwalk with Sandra and Vicky tagging along. Robert and Charlie stayed at the beach watching Greg and Toni play in the sun with Princess.
The brothers tossed the rubber football that was bought for Greg.
Charlie was lost in the therapy of the moment of shooting the shit with his brother and running barefoot in the sand; he felt like had one handcuff off as he threw a nice spiral.
Catching the pass Robert breathed in the seasonal richness of the late afternoon sun and felt a rush of longing seeing his daughter, nephew and brother each happy in their way.
In the first awkward silence of the visit Robert filled the gap,
“Mom asks about you a lot.”
“What do you tell her?”
“Lies.”
“Ya, I have to get up there,” said Charlie.
“The summer would have been a good time. You weren’t teaching.”
“Listen, with Greg it isn’t so easy.”
“Doesn’t Sandra have a family member that can come and stay for 5 days to help her out while you visit your mom for the first time in what, four years?”
“But she did visit last fall.”
“It was actually two years ago.”
“Chill man. I know. I don’t like it either. ”
“Then do something about it.”
“Like what,” said Charlie.
On the last afternoon Robert held a cold bottle of beer and Charlie’s bloody cesar was sitting on the wood railing of the deck. The only thing Charlie asked Robert to bring from Canada were 6 cans of Clamato juice to make ceasars. Charlie focused on the barbecue with his long fingers shiny with olive oil as he skewered the beef, red onion and red and green peppers.
“The girls just love him,” said Robert watching Toni and Greg play in the willow trees way at the back of the yard. They played barefoot with twigs and the rope swing and Princess. The three girls were a giddy, flower patterned rhythm connecting Greg with the moment with love.
“What? Ya, Greg thinks they’re angels. Sandra is amazed by the way Toni keeps Greg amused.”
In the lineup of cars at the border, Vicky up front with Robert, the three girls in the back seat, the dog in her cage in the back and the luggage on the roof everyone was feeling cramped and hot. Toni insisted they keep the windows down so Princess could breathe fresh air and not pant so much.
Paula asked, “Why did uncle Charlie move all they out to New Hampshire?”
“He got a job teaching at the university,” said Robert.
“What does he teach,” said Toni.
“He is an English professor,” said Vicky.
“Is that why they have so many books?” said Toni.
“Yes,” said Vicky, participating in the conversation because she needed to stop finding similarities in her marriage with Sandra and Charlie’s.
“Your uncle Charlie was a pretty good hockey player so they gave him a scholarship,” said Robert.
“What’s a scholarship?” said Toni.
“It’s when you are good at sports they give you free stuff,” said Paula.
“He liked it so much there he returned there to teach,” said Robert.
“Is that where he met Aunt Sandra?” asked Paula.
“No. They met when he was studying his masters at McGill,” said Robert.
“I don’t think she likes New Hampshire,” said Paula.
“I don’t think she likes Uncle Charlie,” said Samantha.
“Samantha, you can’t say that,” said Vicky.
The car advanced one spot towards the Canada Customs booth.
With no segue Samantha asked, “What would our names have been if we had been boys.” Without losing a beat dad answered:
“Paula would have been Paul – not very creative I know. Antoinette would have been Anthony. Samantha was gonna be Robert Jr.” When Vicky had been pregnant they talked about names they liked but she could feel it was a ruse. Although it was unfair Vicky knew it was a fight not worth fighting so it never revealed itself to be a problem. Years later, when she heard this Toni hated it. That’s not how she wanted to think about her parents. Especially her mom.
Robert was not a man’s man. He was Robert and not Rob, Bob or Robbie. Which minimized his traction with other men. He loved the idea of a school of fish because there are so many that you can’t really highlight one of them. So he did need community but not at the expense of his sense of self. And about this he wondered. Was he cheap? In his marriage; with his family.
Vicky opened her craft gallery when Paula was six years old and Samantha four. The gallery was called North/South as it showcased artisans from the arctic and south America. Three years later Robert named his third daughter Antoinette; Toni was born with art in her blood.
When Toni was born Paula was 9 and Samantha 7. Toni didn’t fight like Paula and Samantha. Nor did she have the camaraderie and connection as a teenage girl that they offered each other. The older sisters loved Toni. In no way did they exclude her – it was the age difference that changed how the words could carry advice.
While studying industrial design at OCAD in Toronto Toni’s dad arranged for her to go on a semester abroad. For him it felt as if she got a football scholarship. She did her fall semester of her second year at ISAD in Milan. Except for Samantha who was already married they made a family trip out of visiting her. Her dad said that her mom loved talking with her friends. That wasn’t a lie but it didn’t justify a 10 thousand dollar trip to Italy. “I want to walk the streets, eat the food, speak the language poorly. Get some perspective on life,” said Robert. Again all true but a long weekend trip in Quebec would cover all those bases.
~~~
“Have you heard from Greg lately? Ever?” said Toni.
“No. I did see him after Ted died. Do you remember, I went to New York. I asked you if you could come but… Anyway, it was you know, just something I needed to do, it was spur of the moment. I was at my wit’s end,” said Samantha. I went to MOMA which by yourself is amazing but once you come out you want to talk so then it sucks. That’s when I contacted Greg. What can I say? He’s a weird guy.”
“Weirder than who exactly?”
“True. But weird in the sense that he, he was thwarted. I think more by his parents than by the whole ADHD thing and whatever else he was dealing with. He took his meds and what dad told me is he found a way to be funny,” said Samantha pouring a bit more Pinot Grigio.
She knew he was a man in real life but not in Toni’s mind because she semi idolized her cousin; like a fly in amber she froze him in time. She had heard he was divorced and living in an apartment in NYC with a bad back. He had never invited T. but she had never asked him if she could visit either. The enchantment of those family visits in that big old house in New Hampshire was the lasting image of him. Toni loved the magic of the trees and the familiar feel of her family accompanied by the weird feel of the place and the people. The tug of authentic connection triggered her heart:
Toni wanted Crane to make her feel different than she saw her mother feel. She wanted her husband to make it important but in an organic way, so that she felt special. To show her that being married to her intrigued him and moved him so that he wanted to show the world what his wife means to him.
What Toni knew was, according to Crane, he did whatever he was asked. No questions asked. He wanted his wife to be proud of how her husband looked so he dressed immaculately casual, day or night, Tuesday or Saturday, on vacation or at a funeral. Loafers, slacks and a blazer. Others might have called it predictable but he wanted it to be seen as reliable. Crane’s dad Wes was a wild card. He was either 100% there for his family or he would fall off a cliff. For weeks at a time the real Wes would get abducted into alcoholism and some mix of depression and a lack of life traction. Meaning Wes had no idea how he got this far as a man, husband or a father – and what he was supposed to do now and how did his life fit into the scheme of things. During those bad stretches he would actually sit in St James cathedral on King street at lunch time to get some peace and unhand some of the demons that poked him with their hot pokers of anxiety.
Wes was a stock broker and when he was ‘on’ he made a ton of money. As the months went by Crane, his brother Harrison and their mom knew the cycle would come around again and he would cave in on himself. The closer they thought ‘D-day’ was coming the more anxious they became – on edge. Crane didn’t want that for his family so he made his wardrobe reliable and his attitude always positive. Which could drive you crazy if you were in a crisis and needed to address it with urgency and worry.
Crane wanted to choose the genes in the family chromosome. So Crane decided he would inherit his dad’s charisma and knack for success and sociability. And that he would spread these out over everyday as opposed to the chasm-to-mountain-top roller coaster ride of his dad. Crane told Toni “I’m gonna be a rock for my family. A rich rock.” He was dependable and a cheerful bully executing his good intentions. Crane ended up being there for his loved ones but with little sense of the people he was being a rock for.
Toni resurfaced from her deep dive into her emotional archives,
“I know I was difficult,” said Toni, vocalizing the tail end of a stream of introspection. “It was strategic. I spoke my mind and pushed for more time, more attention, more love. And recognition of what it is to be a woman in a relationship. It was the men in my life that made me impossible.”
“Starting with dad and continued by your two husband(z),” said Samantha looking at her half smoked cigarette wafting in the ashtray. Since Samantha’s husband had died and her children were grown she picked up smoking again. She had invited Toni over a few days before the crane was coming to install her studio. The footings, electrical and plumbing connections were all recently installed so Toni had a double dose of Crane lately so she needed to get out of the house and be received by someone who knew.
“And then it just became a modus operandi of flirting not to flirt with all men.”
“I saw it backfire on you a few times because there were some good men that you could have been closer with” Said Samantha butting out the cold cigarette.
“I had two children and was successful. Galavanting around with some divorcee was just so gauche,” said Toni.
“Why would he have to be a divorcee?”
“It’s the wine. One glass of wine and I am running off at the mouth.”
“Toni, you make wrinkles look, I don’t know, majestic.” Samantha didn’t get the family art gene and had no confidence in how she might bring a little poetry to a conversation.
“Get out of here.”
“Ok not majestic but chic.”
“Ok, I can live with that,” said Toni, curling her short hair around her ear. Then sipped her wine. She looked at the back of her hand seeing patterns in the wrinkles, age spots and blue veins. Neither of them wore their wedding rings anymore.
“I divorced the same guy I married,” said a philosophical T
“That’s impossible.”
“That’s my point. Normally I agree with you but C deified change.”
“So then why did you get divorced if he was the same. That means you changed. You grew up.”
“The whole midlife mess divorced us. Romance gets usurped by kids who get usurped by a whopping mid-life crisis that gets decapitated by divorce.”
“More wine?”
“It’s the whole trajectory of the male and female journeys that diverge as we mature and become elders.”
“Nice. Are you channeling Gary Zukav?”
“Is he still alive?”
“No idea.”
“Do you still love him?”
“Crane? Ya. For the same reason he is so annoying. He is as even keel and perky as ever. I loved him because he made me feel interested and interesting. He didn’t care where or when, we would just pick up where we left off talking. He didn’t care if I was right or wrong. Neither did I. I just wanted to be engaged. Engaged by life with my husband. Not just engaged to my fiance for 9 months and then slowly sliding into a morass of unspoken emotion of marriage.”
“Like mom and dad.”
“I just didn’t want to have better conversation with my daughter’s orthodontist than my husband. You know what I mean?
“Ya.”
“What does that cryptic ‘ya’ mean?”
“What does it mean?” Samantha asked herself. “It means I fell in love with how he made me feel. And how he did it. I also realized he was like an excellent appliance, like a blender to avoid falling into the potholes of self pity and depression. Along the way, to be honest, I realized I loved my husband everyday and still do. And I still believe marriage is a good thing.”
~~~
Crane – is from the Short Story Series – Tool by Kevin McNamara
“If you break one branch off any of her trees Toni will rip your balls off,” said Crane, smiling at the general contractor. Crane knew that it would be him, not the GC having to hear from his ex-wife how those mystical blue spruce trees were part of the family and basically grew up with their children. Toni was finally getting her studio with floor to ceiling glass doors.
Crane rationalized paying for the reno because he was proud at how well a son of his turned out. Crane would have expected someone more like him. He hadn’t expected his own flesh and blood to be able to resist the ancestral magnetism of his genes.
Crane stood across the street from his old house as they hooked up one of the walls. The neighbour with the most seniority on the block appeared.
“Crane, good to see you,” said old man Dixon.
“You too Mr. Dixon,” said Crane as they shook hands.
“Quite a production you have on the go here.”
Hearing that really pumped Crane’s tires.
“Does Toni divorcing for a second time after a much shorter marriage than ours – and no children – give me pleasure. It didn’t. At least it shouldn’t. But yes, it did,” admitted Crane to old man Dixon. He loved Toni because she put up with him with grace. And for a long time. He knew it.
“I was just telling old man Dixon out there on the street that you’re a good mother after all,” said Crane.
“What? You sound surprised that I possess compassion for my own children,” said Toni.
“Not really. It’s just that you actually did something about it. Ya know, your mother …”
“You are no longer my husband or part of my little circle. And you haven’t been for a long time so you cannot comment on my mother like that,” said Toni.
“Your little circle,” repeated Crane, nodding his head.
Toni still lived in the house they bought together 20 years ago just after their daughter Jessica was born. Six months before Jessica brokered them into agreeing that Toni would design her studio using pre-fab construction. Which was after he couldn’t get her to move to a different house completely.
“Toni, it’s not even on the market yet. You have first dibs. And it’s got your studio out back.’
“Where is it?”
“Pinewoods.”
“In other words the burbs. I refuse to be put out to pasture.”
“Toni.”
“Crane.”
“Jessica,” said Toni, crossing her arms and staring Crane back into last Tuesday, “Tell your father no.”
“Dad.”
The tension subsided so Crane answered in an instant.
“Ok.”
“I can’t believe it. One fuckin word from Jessica and we are good but with me you fuckin treat me like a fuckin client, selling me ‘a gem’ of an opportunity,” said Toni waving her hands around.
“Mom…,” said Jessica not surprised at her mom’s backbone but more at the loose canon of emotions.
Toni didn’t want to move because: the house is where her children grew up and return to, the trees make it an urban Glendalough, the short street has so little traffic, the neighbours living in their narrow houses are so close knit together with their graffitied back alley garages and snow removal issues. She updated her CAD program to design the new garage with her studio on the second floor. She imagines living in her studio in a few years with one of her children (Jessica), living with her family in the house.
The corner into the back alley was too tight for a flatbed truck to get the building materials down and build it on site. They could have delivered them with smaller trucks. But that would have required more drawn out logistics forcing Crane to be more hands on than he wanted to be. Plus he liked the show of blocking off their little street to set up the 50 ton crane and have the whole neighbourhood standing in the street, craning their necks, watching him orchestrate the construction of the studio the mother of his children has always wanted.
“Actually I went into corp real estate because I didn’t want you to see my smiling face on all my for sale signs all over the neighbourhood,” said Crane, trolling for love.
“Bullshit. I saw the pictures you had taken for your for sale signs. I remember you didn’t like that your hair was receding and you were looking soft under your cardigan. That’s why you went into corp. Real estate,’ said Toni.
“Well, that too,” smiled Crane. “And the money. Which is paying for that 50 ton crane hosting your studio into place,” said Crane pointing his eyebrows to the sky because he was busy pouring himself some more coffee.
‘You’re a 50 ton Crane’ Toni said to herself. It would have been cruel to say that to him. And he really only has a beginner’s beer belly and sagging jowls from all his talking.
“No doubt you called in a few favours from what’s his face so you are probably paying little or nothing for that massive crane outside,” said Toni. She hates how nonchalantly he puts his hands on her stuff, her kitchen island, her authentic porcelain door knobs, her children.
And here he is like nothing happened, nobody had needed him year after year. And he didn’t have to knock on the door to come into the house of his ex-wife, their children and her other ex-husband even though he is the one that paid for it all these years.
Toni watched how Crane refilled his coffee from her French press and could feel some weak, middle aged sexual vibe coming off him. Or was it her middle aged wrinkled vanity wanting to be wanted. Or was it her vibing.
“Dad, why don’t you go outside and boss someone around,” said Jessica, their de facto emotional plumber.
“So mom,” said Jessica rubbing her mom’s shoulders. “I actually don’t know the story of how you and dad met. By the time I was interested in knowing, your marriage was a shit show. So, you know, it wasn’t the time.” Now it was either the best moment or the worst moment to ask that question. It wasn’t the time but Toni likes how Jessica’s directness was a reflection of her.
“When others get tired by talking, Crane gets energized by it and kind of surfs his own participation in the conversation. Any need he had to think was sandwiched into talking. Just press play. But that is what made him attractive. He was upbeat. He noticed my necklace. I knew what he was thinking. I didn’t sense any sort of macho agenda. Except the night we met. We both, everyone at the bar, had their own obvious objective: meet someone you want to spend time with and share your life. For Crane the time was tonight and he was eager to share sex with someone. Anyone. What do you expect? We were in a bar on Thursday night. But where Crane had the moment under a microscope I was using a wide angle lens in case this guy had future potential. His purple v-neck sweater was tight and annoying so I just kept my eyes off his chest. He seemed to be able to do the same when talking with me – which was a good sign.” Toni referred to him as Crane and not her husband or their father as a way to minimize the flow of history between them.
“So what was his big line?”
“It was the summer before I was going to Italy to study for a semester.
“‘Very cool, Italy,’ he says to me ‘I was in Rome on the proverbial backpacking trip after university.’ He looked at me to see if I was impressed. ‘Great vibe. You’ll love it,” he said.”
Jessica loved that her mom could remember their first conversation after all these years.
“I could tell he was implying he wasn’t looking for anything with me Tonight,” said Toni, reliving the moment with her whole body.
“In the hope that I am less resistant. He was pretty good at his whole…,” Toni moved her palm in a vertical circle to sum up Crane’s style and attitude back then. She was trying to compartmentalise everything because as a result of that Thursday night and the subsequent 20 years of slow downhill marriage momentum she was sitting here with her beautiful and capable daughter. And she wasn’t going to throw Crane or romance under the bus just because the two of them couldn’t get on the same page when life demanded they grow. “His whole shtick; the clothes, the leaning on the bar posture, the witty conversation. He didn’t want to appear desperate. He wanted to be a funny guy on the patio at a bar on a hot July evening.”
“What were you wearing?”
“What was I wearing? There was that turquoise necklace and probably some awful blouse to appear artsy.”
Crane was the same person that night when they met, and when they moved in together, when they got engaged, at the wedding, when they were married, when they got divorced, being divorced.
“Whether you are his wife, neighbour or a client, he wanted you to be happy with him and happy for him as he did what he wanted to do. He would say, ‘I can’t understand why there is a problem. I don’t want a problem. I don’t look for problems like some people. Like my Aunt Tessa. She can manufacture drama like a woodsman can start a fire using only belly button lint and a shoelace.”
Crane made a lot of money in real estate and that meant rich women would ride in his car to see properties.
“It’s part of the job,” Crane would say. “I have to chat up these potential clients because that is what puts money on the table.”
Apparently, as far as he could grasp that was the cause of the divorce. So as they were getting divorced he switched to corporate real estate so there weren’t all these women getting their perfume all over his nice blue blazer. Corporate or residential real estate; regardless they were long days and weekends. Meanwhile their children had soccer games, tennis tournaments; there were parent teacher meetings, and birthdays. The children were seeking approval, guidance and the mundane love experience of being taught how to ride a bike, him checking their homework, groaning at his dad jokes and getting scolded because someone didn’t return the Phillips screwdriver to his toolbox.
~~~
Crane – is from the Short Story Series – Tool by Kevin McNamara
Sandoval, pointing his tanned index finger from atop the conference room table, told his VP of development Andrea to make sure there was a fresh shitter onsite for when the engineer visits. Andrea emailed Andre the project manager to take care of it. So Andre texted Gerry the site supervisor to take care of it. Sitting in his pickup truck in the curving line of the Tim Horton’s drive thru waiting for his large double double coffee Gerry got an idea. He was going to get Ricky to take care of it. Ricky has this inborn arrogance that makes it seem when he asks you for something it is more like a fact than a favour. But Gerry was scared of Sandoval’s son Ricky one on one.
“Hey I need one of you two geniuses to order a new port-a-potty.”
“What the fuck for?” said Oddie.
“Don’t those guys just show up on schedule every like ten days?”
“Ya, well it’s potty time,” said Gerry, making Oddie smirk.
“Fuck that farmer Joe, that’s your job and you know it. You’re trying to pawn that off on us because you don’t have the huevos to do it yourself,” said Oddie. In mid sentence Oddie remembered that it really annoyed Gerry when someone threw in phrases from their mother tongue. Spanish wasn’t his mother tongue but it still slid the job.
“You tell Ricky he has to order the new shitter,” said Oddie, imposing on Gerry the 4 inches taller he was to punctuate his point; then walking off.
Gerry was fuming because he didn’t have what these assholes did. Oddie had an x-factor. He had a way to receive a problem and without doing anything crazy; without yelling and droppind f- bombs all over the job site, he got stuff done. 50% Mike Holmes + 50% Macgyver but with better hair than both of them. Ricky had money.
“We make that dumbass’s life way too easy,” said Oddie, including Ricky. “Dude I’m getting tired of Gerry not givin me any recognition. Does the office even know I exist? What Gerry should do is tell his superiors that Oddie is a man who can think on his feet and is great with managing people on the job site,” said Oddie with Ricky nodding his head and just trying to stay neutral.
~~~
Oddie didn’t like complaining to Trina but he needed to vent. Trina was more surprised at the level of pettiness than bothered to have to hear about work drama from her boyfriend. She told him “Just speak your mind on the job site. But do it in a way that highlights your ability and your effort. Especially in front of that Ricky in case he can go over Gerry’s head and say something to his dad.”
“Just look at how I basically transformed Sandoval’s son into a young man who believes in his ability to do shit. He is outgrowing that insecure spoiled brat his dad dropped into Gerry’s lap and Gerry passed off to me,” said Oddie to Trina as he cooked dinner. She looked up from building the app on her laptop and saw his afro grazing the bottom of the stove fan and wondered how a hard hat could actually stay on his head all day without falling off all the time.
“Gerry is such a weasel. The least he should do is throw a few gift certificates my way: $200 for a nice steak dinner,” Oddie talked to himself while seasoning the onions. He liked how the grains of rock salt gave his finger tips a mini massage. He loved the sweet fragrance of frying onions but today he couldn’t smell anything because he was stewing in his own thoughts. “Ya know, Gerry is like a house cat: he is afraid of the outside world,” said Oddie.
The outside world for Gerry is anyone under 30 years old, an assertive woman, anyone whose first language isn’t English, doesn’t approve of his e-cigarette or has creativity and leadership.
~~~
When Ricky ordered the new port-a-potty he got the day wrong.
“Where’s the fuckin port-a-potty Ricky!” said Gerry inviting cardiac arrest.
“What’s that Gerry?” said Oddie. “You’re not happy with how someone else did your job for you? Then instead of sucking on your phallic e-cigarette why don’t you dial Justin Time?”
“Ricky!” yelled Gerry.
“Sup Gerry,” said Ricky, taking off his orange hard hat and wiping his forearm across his forehead.
“Where’s my fuckin port-a-potty?”
Oddie took a step back and watched as this moron turned purple in the face thinking that we waste so much of our emotions on such silly things.
“I dunno Gerry, I ordered it so it should be here. Relax, the engineer doesn’t get here till tomorrow, right?” said Ricky with his moneyed coolness.
“Fuck it,” said Gerry as he pulled his cell out of his pocket and called Justin Time for himself.
“What!” Gerry yelled at his cell phone pacing down the suburban street where they were putting up new 5,000 square foot homes in a cul-de-sac. “I need that port-a-potty here today. Now.”
Gerry got to the job site at 6:15 the next morning just in case their port-a-potty was the first delivery of the day. He leaned on his truck, took a pull off his e-cigarette and a sip of his coffee. The morning in the cul-de-sac was cool and quiet and the sky was clear. For some reason he looked over his shoulder in time to glimpse two deer bound down into the ravine. He thought of just quitting and moving back to Manitoba and taking care of his parents. He felt guilty everytime he e-transfered money but wasn’t there to help out.
“Gerry looks like shit, how do you think he slept?” said Oddie in a mock conversation with Ricky so Gerry could totally overhear it.
“Fuck you.”
“It’s just a toilet,” said Oddie.
“What’s his problem?” said Ricky, putting on his gloves.
“Last year Gerry phoned Justin Time yelling at them, droppin f-bombs that he needed a new port-a-potty right away because Jean was totally hungover and he puked all over the inside of the port-a-potty. It was a stinkin hot August day and the shitter smelled like shit.”
“What happened?” said Ricky adjusting his safety glasses.
“Their boss called someone at our office who emailed Andre who yelled at Gerry. So Gerry is ashamed to talk with them.”
“Did they give you a new port-a-potty?”
“No. Gerry made Jean clean it up. After telling me to do it of course. I told him to go to hell.”
The engineer is scheduled to arrive at 9:30 a.m. and the architect should arrive around then too. Andre the PM was already on site and looking pleased with the progress.
No one thought to reschedule the lumber delivery so Peter from Access Lumber was walking on site with a purchase order in his hand and trivia in his head.
“Where do you want me to put it down? Same place as last time,” said Peter. His last delivery to this site was about two months ago.
“Who are you?” said Andre.
“Access Lumber bro,” said Peter.
Oddie started to hum a song that made Ricky giggle but a glare from Gerry shut them down.
“Why is he here?” asked Andre.
“I need the lumber or my guys are gonna be just sittin around all day playin with themselves,” said Gerry in an attempt to sound like a decision maker.
“What’s your name?” said Andre.
“Pete,” said Peter quickly while taking a step forward.
“Ok Pete,how fast can you get that lumber unloaded?” Andre asked Peter.
“I can be pullin outta here in 90 minutes if nobody gets in my way,” said Peter.
“It’s 8 am. I need you outta here in 60 minutes. These guys can help you,” said Andre motioning to Oddie and Ricky.
“That’s right Peter of Access Lumber. We are at your service. We got 60 minutes together,” said Oddie with a wry smile. Andre could tell there was something going on between these guys but he didn’t care. He wanted the lumber offloaded and this guy off his job site before the engineer arrived.
“Get it done Oddie,” said Andre. With that comment Oddie felt that the people in the office might know that he wasn’t a bobblehead like Gerry.
“Why the fuck is everyone so tense becaue of one fucking engineer?” Ricky whispered to Oddie. Oddie was directing Peter to back up the truck onto the front lawn, chewing it up a bit more.
“Ya I know. It’s complicated,” said Oddie. Ricky had learned the vocabulary of evasion on site when the guys didn’t want to talk with him about shit the company did or rumours about his dad. Ricky stood between Oddie and the space to get out from the back of the truck with a stance that declared that he was not his dad. “Dude. Now’s not the time,” said Oddie.
“Is this guy a real fuckin hard ass or what,” said Ricky walking with Oddie.
“No. Not really. She’s pretty fair from what I understand. Not being an engineer myself. She just doesn’t take bullshit – and therein lies the issue,” said Oddie.
“Right,” said Ricky as they walked around the truck.
“Now level out that area where the plywood goes. And I want the 2 by 4’s over there,” Gerry gave redundant instructions to Oddie and Ricky who already knew what the drill was.
They got the lumber offloaded and Peter pulled onto the street at 9:15 and he sat in his truck doing paperwork or on his phone.
“I just got a message from the engineer. She can’t make it today” said Andre.
“Fuck me,” said Gerry.
“Not today,” said Oddie.
“So when?” asked Gerry.
“We’ll let you know. Just keep on schedule and don’t fuck up or we’ll have to tear everything down,” said Andre.
Gerry was exhausted. “I’m goin for coffee,” but then he saw he was already holding a large coffee in his hand.
Peter jumped down from the cab of his truck and walked across the street to the job site.
“Hey guys,” Peter said.
“Is that you Peter?” said Oddie.
Peter loved his job because he would visit different job sites all the time and could use the same trivia on all of them but get a new reaction each time. He ached to overcome his sense of lack of accomplishment as a man by bringing his own Jeopardy show where he is the host and the contestant. He just kept talking when the guys rolled their eyes or he heard others laugh at him. He was like a comedian who came to practise his routine on the guys before going on stage.
“Brother, I think you’ll like this one,” started Peter. “The original Zeppelin, the LZ 127 Graf…”
Oddie got a kick out of giving Peter a hard time but also admired his spirit to do his thing regardless of what others think. And he occasionally had a good story to tell. He was pretty sure the trivia Peter came up with was determined by his children’s homework assignments. Ricky now used wrist braces because his wrists weren’t used to the framing. He pretended he was adjusting his braces so he could listen to Peter.
“Knock it off guys. Get to work?” said Gerry, breaking up Peter’s seminar on airships.
Oddie laughed to himself and started singing so Peter could hear as he walked to his truck:
“There’s a skeeter on your Peter knock it off. There’s a skeeter on your Peter knock it off – there’s a dozen on my cousin I can hear the fuckers buzzin, there’s a skeeter on your Peter knock it off.”
~~~
From the Short Story Series: Tool by Kevin McNamara
It’s morning in the Cumberland Mountains, and sunshine has crested the peaks, flooding a hillside of the valley with warm light. My photography is available on prints in my gallery – come check it out!
“I can’t believe someone would be so stupid to pay $280 thousand for a freakin NFT,” said Matt. “It’s a measly pdf.”
“Who paid that much?” said Hector.
“Eminem,” said Matt.
“He’s got too much money,” said Hector.
“They aren’t just payin for a pdf,” said Andy.
“Well that’s what they get,” said Matt.
“They are backed up by the blockchain,” said Andy.
“That does Jack shit,” said Matt.
“You don’t know what you are talking about,” bluffed Andy.
“What the fuck is a NFT?” said Hector squeezed between the other two on the work truck seat.
“It means a non refundable ticket,” said Matt as if that closed the conversation on the topic.
“No it doesn’t,” laughed Andy. Even though Matt could hear everything Andy spoke in a hushed voice to Hector on his right, “Don’t listen to that kindergarten drop out. He was so in love with Kristen what’s-her-name from the Twilight movie he quotes the movie whenever he can. But then she came out as a lesbeen and now numb nuts over there has PTSD.”
“Good morning can I take your order?” came a cute voice over the drive-thru speaker.
“Ya, can I get 3 large double doubles. Do you guys want a breakfast sandwich?” Then Andy turned back to the outdoor speaker, “I’m gonna get a bacon egger – no cheese.”
“Did you want a hash brown with that?” said the nice voice.
“What the hell,” said Andy.
“So then that makes it a combo,” said the bored voice.
“Sure.”
“Hector, you want some chow?” said Andy.
“Ya gemme a bacon eager too,” said Hector.
“Another eager bacon,” said Andy, playing around with Hector’s accent.
“Was that a second bacon egger?” said the tired voice.
“Yes please,” said Andy then turned back towards Matt. “Yo, numb nuts, quit holdin up the line.”
“Ya make it a combo for me too. I need the grease to take my morning dump,” said Matt.
“So it’s you stinkin up my truck with beer farts,” said Andy.
“Sorry chump, that’s just your bad breath,” said Matt.
Hector laughed hard at everything.
Hating to be laughed at, Matt elbowed Hector in the ribs.
“Owww.”
“Watch what you say, pipsqueak,” said Matt.
“I didn’t say anything. I only laughed”
Andy saw that Hector didn’t grasp the meaning of ‘pipsqueak’.”
“Pipsqueak comes from the old Ojibwa phrase meaning ‘ye of large penis’. Did you know Matt here is part native?” said Andy.
“Hector, did you know that gorgeous Andy over there is 100% dumbass?”
Being the first day of spring work the guys hadn’t been together as a group since early December so their banter was especially vigorous as a way to say ‘I missed you’. Instead of doing snow removal, for the past three winters Matt surfs in Mexico. Andy and Hector would bump into each other at the yard when they drove snow plow. As the winter wound down Andy took March off this year and Hector hung drywall with his cousin.
They couldn’t slide out the plastic cup holder because Hector’s knees were in the way so the tray with coffees and the bag of food were on his lap. Over the winter Hector had pretty much cut out coffee but didn’t want to open himself to the circus of ridicule from Andy and Matt if he ordered a green tea so this morning he just let it ride.
“Rub-a-dub-dub, where’s the grub?” said Andy rubbing his hands together as he drove. The paper bag warmed Hector’s thighs as he listened to the song on the radio. He had no idea the band was Lowest of The Low and the song was called Salesman, Cheats and Liars but he liked the tune. He had no idea Andy was asking for his breakfast sandwich.
“Oye guey, reparta la comida,” Matt translated. As he worked over the years Hector had learned English yet many sayings escaped him. On purpose Andy would use colloquial sayings in a passive/aggressive way that helped Hector broaden his vocabulary while portraying himself as cultured and wise.
“How was Parco el Escondera bro? Some big surf and a bevy of hotties?” said Andy through a mouthful of artificially round sausage.
“Que vergüenza ese pinche guey,” said Matt making Hector laugh.
“It’s Puerto Escondido. And I’m not telling you anything because then you will want to come down there one winter and you will ruin the vibe and scare off all the bikinis,” said Matt.
Hector took a bite of his breakfast sandwich, then looked to his left in expectation of Andy’s response.
“Las nenas guey, una chulada, te digo,” said Matt.
“Orale,” said Hector. Hector likes working with Andy. But Andy has this way of joking with Hector’s English that Hector can’t figure out. So he likes it when Matt speaks his Spanish to kind of even things out.
Out of nowhere Andy slammed on the horn because some idiot didn’t put on their left turn signal. He squeezed his coffee so tight with his right hand that the brown plastic top popped off and hot coffee soaked his leg and crotch.
“Asshole! Learn to drive! Even better, don’t drive at all,” yelled Andy.
“You really told him. I don’t think he is ever going to drive again,” said Matt.
“Gimme your coffee,” said Hector so Andy could dry his pants.
“Great, now it looks like I pissed myself,” said Andy, steaming.
“So what does Eminem get for $280k?” asked Hector.
“A bored monkey,” said Matt.
“Exactly. That’s what Matt sees when he wakes up in the morning,” said Andy.
“No Seriously,” said Hector.
“Google it,” said Andy. Hector pulled his phone from his inside pocket.
“Not board you Mexican midget. Bored,” said Matt watching Hector type.
Matt knew Hector was from El Salvador. Matt was born in Poland and came to Canada when he was one year old so he had no accent but spoke decent Polish.
Hector’s belief in himself as a man was in flux but his spine was strong. He loved Canada. He loved that his daughter could walk to school. He loved Matt and Andy because they looked at him with eyes that demanded results from a peer. Hector was having trouble with his wife because he was having trouble ridding himself of a third world mentality.
“How do you spell NFT,” joked Hector.
“I’ll let Andy tackle that one,” said Matt.
“Bro, it’s a cartoon!” said Hector looking at the picture of the NFT on his phone.
“Hector hermano, but actually you should see some of these NFT’s; they are like a psychedelic trip. But without the drugs. They are really cool. It’s a whole experience. Not just a static image.
“What’s the point?” says Hector.
“Money,” said Andy.
“Yes, money. But the tech behind it can root out forgeries because if you cannot connect your pdf to the blockchain it is a fake,” said Matt.
“Fake what? It’s right here in front of me,” said Hector.
“That’s what I’m sayin,” said Matt.
Andy had reached his limit of his Google search sound bites and succumbed to the most comfortable defence; “Fake news,” he said.
“Blockheads like him,” Matt motioned towards Andy, “Don’t have the mental bandwidth to grasp blockchain implications. De hecho hay un guey que me está ayudando con todo eso. Se puede ganar un chingo de dinero,” Matt confided in Hector about his investment.
Hector’s wife would pummell him and then divorce him if he were to risk their savings on a bored monkey.
He was impressed with how much Matt’s Spanish had improved. Matt just got back last week and was all tanned. He could tell Matt loved tossing around slang and swear words but it resonated as an empty cool. Plus his gringo accent made him sound like a congested substitute teacher.
“What the hell, why is Fields calling me?” said Andy looking at his phone and putting it on speaker.
“Ron, what’s up?”
“Kurdak is calling me wondering if you guys are coming today. What’s going on?” said the boss.
“Nothin. We’ll be there in like 20 minutes,” said Andy.
“Hey Ron this is Matt. First day of the season ya know. We had to find where everything was in the sea can,” said Matt.
“Where the fuck is Hector?” asked Fields.
“Right here boss,” said Hector.
“Ok good. Well, welcome back boys. And let’s get this Kurdak thing done and get outta there. He’s drivin me crazy,” said Fields.
“You got it,” said Andy.
“Should be maximum five days work,” Matt said smiling at the other guys as he leaned towards the phone on the dash.
“Five days!?” said Fields.
“Ya the ground is probably still frozen in parts at the side of the house. If we can wait a few weeks then it will probably only take three days,” said Matt trying to muscle Andy out of being team leader.
“I can’t wait any longer. I need this done. Go rent a jackhammer to break up the frozen shit,” said the boss.
“Ok,” said Andy, knowing that he would drop the guys and the tools at Kurdak’s place and spend half the morning going to get the jackhammer.
“Update me at the end of the day,” said Fields.
“Roger that,” said Andy feeling good about his position in the tug of war with Matt for the team lead.
“Hector bro, sounds like Fields is grooming you for upper management,” said Matt.
“Fields wouldn’t even recognize me if I ran him over with my car,” said Hector.
“You have a car?” said Andy looking across at Hector.
“Ya bro. Didn’t you see me all winter pull up in that blue Nissan?”
“What year is it?”
“2015. Runs pretty good. Got it off my cousin so I can pay it off by hangin drywall for him on weekends he said,” said Hector.
“Nice,” said Matt.
“Last week Fields told me Kurdak had called him like 5 times to confirm we were going to be there today because he wanted to ‘monitor our work’ is what Kurdak said,” said Andy.
“Kurdak. That’s the spooky guy that stands behind the curtains all day to watch us work?” said Hector.
“No. That’s Mrs Moosavi. She’s a whole nother kettle a fish,” said Andy.
“Do we have to go back there?” asked Hector.
“Nope. We finished her driveway in October I think,” said Andy.
“Don’t these people ever work!?” said Matt.
“Who knows,” said Hector.
“Man they come here with wads a dough and buy a passport,” said Andy, throwing around his sayings again.
“Not like Hector the Erector here who works for his money and pays his taxes,” said Matt.
“Hector the erector, is that your porn star name?” said Andy.
“Hey, there goes a Pyramid Landscaping truck. Those guys man, they work fast and dirty. They have the worst Yelp reviews,” said Matt.
“Those guys offered me a job in January,” said Andy.
“As what?” asked Matt, both jealous and curious.
“Territory Manager,” said Andy.
“Obviously you turned it down because here you are. What kind of money did they offer you?” asked Matt.
“More than what Fields pays,” said Andy
“So why didn’t you take it?” asked Hector.
“My wife sat me down and showed me the on-line reviews and she told me there must be a reason they are looking outside the company when they need a territory Manager,” said Andy.
“It must be a real shit show,” said Matt, convincing himself where he worked was alright and his feelings weren’t hurt that he didn’t get a job offer over the winter.
Shit show; Hector liked that saying. He was going to use that.
“Basically it’s sales and customer service,” said Andy. “Putting out fires and dealing with Kurdaks. I wanted the money, of course. To buy a house and stupidly chain myself to a mortgage for 30 years. But my wife told me I would have become exactly like my father. And we don’t want that for her or for me. So now I am stuck with looking at your sad faces everyday.”
“I know, I am getting these bags under my eyes,” said Matt checking out his tanned face in the mirror in the passenger sun visor.
“You sound like a woman,” said Andy.
“You look like a woman,” said Matt with an instant response.
“No seriously, you remind me of one of those women in her flowing dressing gown,” said Matt as they turned onto Kurdak’s street. “You know the 1960’s kind who sit at their boudoir with a cigarette and their Martini to put on their makeup to go out for dinner with their aloof husband,” Andy continued. “Their young daughter stares as her mother gets ready, ‘you are so pretty mommy,’ and mommy smiles to hide her sadness.”
Hector typed boodwar into google translate.
“It’s tocador guey,” Matt told Hector then to Andy he said,
“That’s a whole lot of Disney princesses you got going on in your head bro”.
“I’m an artist,” said Andy.
“You’re an idiot,” said Matt.
“Now Matthew quit teasing your sister,” said Hector in a scolding voice.
Matt turned toward Hector, “If you were a woman Hector, you would be …,”
“If Andy was a woman …,” interrupted Hector nervously.
“What are you talking about, Andy is a woman! I mean have you ever seen him take a piss? Me neither. You know why, cuz he’s gotta sit down,” said Matt.
“Now who’s got the rabid imagination?” said Andy to Matt as he put the truck in park.
Mr. Kurdak was waiting for them in his garage with the garage door up.
“Good morning Mr. Kurdak. How are we today?”
Also from the Short Story Series: Tool by Kevin McNamara is Jerry Rig
Entering the Mind by C von Hassett PURCHASE . . . Read Chapter 3 Excerpt: The View . . . Back Cover Blurb In these extraordinary teachings that speak to the way one confidently enters the mind and observes it in its natural state, C von Hassett…
Anna Eleanor Roosevelt was an American political figure, diplomat, and activist. She served as the first lady of the United States from 1933 to 1945, during her husband President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s four terms in office, making her the longest-serving first lady of the United States.Wikipedia
Thank you for visiting.
I hope you have enjoyed reading my blog. See you later! (❤´艸｀❤)
“So you’re telling me you’re angry at your wife because she bought you a pair of work pants,” said Tali.
“That’s right,” said Bruno.
“No, that’s wrong.”
“They’re not the right kind,” whined Bruno.
“So what.”
“I don’t want them.”
“Who cares?” said Tali.
“I do.”
“No you don’t.”
“Fuck you. You can’t tell me I don’t care,” said Bruno.
“Sorry. You’re right. You do care. You care what the fuckin hammer heads on the job site might think of you if you aren’t wearin Carharts. Instead of caring that your wife loves you. And wants to buy shit for you.”
Tali put on his hard hat and got up to take a leak then turned back to say,
“Bro, didn’t your dad teach you that whenever you can say yes to your wife just say yes.”
“That makes no sense. And my dad never taught me anything about women,” said Bruno, screwing the cup back on the red thermos his wife bought him.
“When?”
“I. Don’t. Know,” said Bruno.
“I do,” said Vanessa.
“When?”
“Never.”
“It’s not never. It’s just not now,” said Bruno.
“I’m not waiting till I’m forty to have children.”
“Who’s saying you have to wait till you are freakin forty.”
“You’re a fuckin broken record,” said Vanessa.
“I need to feel more stable in my work.”
“Then stop getting fired,” said Vanessa as she turned and walked to the cramped kitchen.
“Let go is the proper term. And it isn’t my fault.”
I don’t care if it’s your fault or your boss is an asshole. Deal with it. Your buddy Tim does. And Manuel does. Why can’t you?”
“I don’t work with them anymore.”
“My point exactly,” said Vanessa.
“Why can’t you stop hounding me?” Bruno’s posture slid from tired to defeated.
“Hounding you?! I’m …,” said Vanessa, shocked that Bruno couldn’t see what she wanted.
“Ya. Where are the children?” said Bruno in a falsetto voice imitating Vanessa. “Don’t get fired,” he continued, karate chopping his right hand into his left palm. “Tim is better than you.” Another karate chop. “Just say nothing to your stupid supervisor when he wants to cut corners all over the place,” said Bruno out of breath.
“You seriously think I am criticising you?” said Vanessa.
“All I can hear is how I am not good enough for you,” said Bruno glaring into Vanessa’s back. Vanessa spins around,
“I am supporting the man I think you are!”
Bruno grabbed his coat and his phone and slammed the door.
‘I am not going to chase that loser’ thought Vanessa. As she banged utensils around the kitchen Vanessa heard the pitter patter of little feet from the ceiling above her.
Bruno and Vanessa were living in the house where he grew up. They occupied the basement apartment and rented out the bungalow above them.
“And if that baby isn’t crying all night, it’s running around all day – pumpum pumpum,” said Bruno about the same little footsteps that make Vanessa edgy. But for a different reason.
“It’s like the only thing Vanessa and I agree on these days,” he said.
“You know I know the total layout of the upstairs so in my mind when they are walking around I picture it. I can’t turn it off. I can’t focus on anything because as soon as they move it’s like I become their tour guide or something. But only in my mind.”
“Take it easy bro,” said Massimo Bruno’s older brother.
“That’s the point, I wish …. I take the wrong things easy and make easy things difficult or whatever. Anyway that’s what Vanessa says.”
“Ok. Breathe Bruno. If I had a beer I would offer you one but I don’t keep any in the house anymore,” said Massimo.
Massimo shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and leans against the frame of the open garage door of his home literally 4 blocks from Bruno’s place. Bruno had walked here in a huff on a crisp November evening. He loved the clean fresh air but tonight he was too busy running his revenge movie in his head of the stupid things he would do and say.
Instead of selling their parents house they had all agreed that Bruno and Vanessa would live there and pay his parents rent for the whole house while collecting rent themselves from the tenants upstairs. Bruno would attend to the tenant’s needs or complaints with the enthusiasm and customer service of a teenage tree sloth. Bruno and Vanessa lived there almost rent free because the rent from upstairs covered the mortgage payment. They just had to pay utilities. Still the mortgage was in Vito’s name, Bruno’s dad. The plan that Vito and Massimo put together was for Bruno to buy the house in 2 years from the date of moving into the basement. Three years later Bruno was still flailing professionally and financially.
Vanessa didn’t bring much to the table. She had learned from her vitriolic parents that, upon their immature version of divorce, she was a commodity that had value even if she did nothing but breathe. Up to this point she had found sufficient success with this model so that it didn’t occur to her to have initiative. So for her it didn’t make sense to her to invest in a career if they were going to start a family and then move upstairs.
“Bro, take her some flowers, kiss her like you love her, go for a tumble in the sack.”
“Ya, you’re right,” said Bruno.
Bruno let himself get drawn quickly into an abyss of fear you could see in how his eyes went distant in an instant. The flowers were a great idea, Bruno thought, but having sex would only reinforce his place as the one guy who can’t get it done. Massimo had seen this look many a time before;
“And find some fuckin sunshine in your day. If there aint no sunshine in the vicinity – fuckin make your own. Dude. It’s life. You’re young,” said Massimo punching Bruno in the shoulder.
“You have a woman who loves you, bro. Make any mistake you want but don’t make that mistake – of not loving her. And being loved by her. I will slap you so hard if …”
“Ok, I get it,” said Bruno.
“We’ll see if that is true, Romeo.”
Massimo was tired of Bruno’s broken record of woe is me.
“I really appreciate … I know I just dropped by and you’re probably about to have dinner and,” Bruno went on.
“Dude,” said Massimo. “This is getting old. It’s so old it’s stale. Ya know. Not stepping up to the plate and then complaining you’re not on base. Bro …”
“Bro, I came here for a little commiseration,” said Bruno.
“What does commiseration mean?”
“It means, like to be, on the same page.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Drink wine from the same bottle?” tried Bruno.
Massimo didn’t want to be the perfect older brother but he couldn’t help shaking his head. In a flash he had visions of their dad and childhood; and the stupid teeenage things they did together amazingly all fitting into a few seconds in his mind.
“Ok, so then what does it mean?”
“Bruno. There is no perfect time to have children. Bro. Make your wife happy. Make us all happy. Fuck – make yourself happy. It doesn’t fuckin matter what you do! Just get her pregnant as you do it. That will answer 90% of your imaginary problems.”
“Ok it’s time for ….”
“You don’t have any issues?”
“Issues?”
Can you get it up?”
“Yes, I can get IT up.”
“Then are you shootin blanks?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Well, If your Vanessa isn’t pregnant in the next 6 months you gotta get your junk analysed.
In the cool silence of the dusk the honest cold of the night lovingly takes over. In that bare moment teasing intimate conversations Lisa, Massimo’s wife opened the door at the back of the garage.
“Hi Bruno, good to see you.”
“Hey Lisa, you too,” said Bruno.
“Are you gonna stay for dinner? I am reheating Massimo’s for him now,” said Lisa looking at her husband.
“Thanks Lisa, I gotta get goin,” said Bruno.
“Thanks Babe. I’ll be in in a minute,” said Massimo before Lisa could close the door.
”You see what it is? It’s the whole package. It’s a marriage. It’s a family. It’s a circus. Everyday there is a ton of bullshit if you are gonna count the cost. Bro – the point is to make important things important. If Vanessa is important to you, make her happy, give her a baby.”
—-
From the Collection of Short Stories: Tool by Kevin McNamara
Picking out the one or two authors we want to work with among the many submissions we receive grows more and more difficult each year. This year was no exception. But I’m pleased to announce that we have a new addition to the Mirror World family joining us in 2022 and his name is Warren […]
Back in November, I announced that Experiments In Fiction was going into business, and ever since, I have been working on the business side of my creative venture. If you have not already done so, please sign up for my newsletter to find out more! New publications on the horizon… I will be publishing my […]
“Oksana asked me what Haka meant,” said Oddie, “So I gave her my best version of it.”
On his first day Ricky had seen the word in black marker on the back of Oddie’s hard hat but figured it was his last name or something. That was when he hadn’t asked questions because he feared it would only have shown how little he knew.
“What is Haka?” asked Ricky.
“It’s the warrior dance the All Blacks do before each game.”
“Who are the All Blacks?”
“New Zealand’s national rugby team. Watch this,” says Oddie as he stands right in front of Ricky and starts slapping his forearms as he squats and shouts with his tongue out.
“What the fuck … are you two love birds talking about now?” asked Gerry the supervisor out of breath.
“Nothin,” said Ricky.
“What in the world could possibly motivate you to get out of your truck and climb that ladder?” said Oddie.
“Sandoval is coming later today,” said Gerry, feeling awkward talking about the boss to the boss’s son. “He hates a messy job site and he will yell at me saying the minister of labour is just around the corner …”
“The Minister?” said Oddie.
“Yes the fn’ Minister of Labour is comin down here to find us,” said Gerry.
“Fine us,” said Ricky, the boss’s derelict son.
“Fine,” said Gerry.
“Ok we’ll clean up your job site Gerr Bear,” said Oddie.
“Now,” said Gerry.
Sandoval got his start in Quebec 30 years ago renovating apartments when the tenants moved out so the owners could jack up the rent. To avoid the unions in Quebec he brought his guys to Ontario. Two of his best men, Rejean and Frederick, were machines 20 years ago. They had forgotten more about how to build a house than these young guns would ever know. Frederick became a supervisor years ago but Rejean had framed himself into a corner. He told himself he couldn’t do anything else.
“Tabernac, Jerrie. Kick doze feckin punks inta gear.” said Rejean.
“Relax, Jean. I got em cleanin up the job site. Nothin you need to sweat your little French balls about,” said Gerry.
Gerry found himself squeezed between this wrinkled and weary red seal swearing at him in French and these newbie cowboys knocking in nails as they gabbed about energy. Oddie could see Gerry stressing because he didn’t have skills to get the team to work together. Oddie loved sitting back and watching Gerry squirm.
Strapping on their tool belts after tidying up the job site, Oddie wondered,
‘Why is it that some people are just so easy to make fun of?’
“Ok Gerry-atric,’ Oddie yelled down to Gerry, “Looks real cute your job site.”
“If by cute you mean tidy then get back to building my fuckin house,” said Gerry.
“He’s not coming,” said Ricky.
It took Oddie a few seconds to realize that Ricky was referring to his dad; the boss, Sandoval. Ricky obviously had the inside scoop. Oddie inched a 2 by 4 stud until it was on centre with slow taps of the side of his hammer trying to think of something to ask.
“It’s Tuesday. We won’t see him till Thursday. Chill,” said Ricky. Seeing Gerry leaning on his truck, checking his phone and pulling on his e-cigarette he said “It’s like watching a rat in a lab experiment.”
“Bro, who are you tryin to kid. Ya gotta shorten up on the handle so it will be easier to get the nail in the middle of the block. Shorten up,” repeats Oddie. “You never played baseball as a kid?”
Ricky purses his lips.
“Fuck,” said Oddie. “Gimme that thing. With all your money you couldn’t get yourself a real hammer. Who made this thing? Fischer-Price? Watch me; it’s like this.” Oddie shows Ricky and Ricky gets the hang of it.
“That’s better. Now you only look like a spaztic rookie instead of a complete moron,” said Oddie.
Oddie does anything complicated and Ricky works around Oddie. Oddie is the only one who isn’t afraid to whip Ricky into shape:
“Ricky don’t be picky – grab a couple of those lovely 2 by 4’s and let’s frame the shit outta this wall.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph Ricky. That’s not how I taught you to put in the blocking. You’re makin me look bad.”
“Ricky, you don’t have to advertise you’re a rookie. We already know.”
Ricky was still slick; hair coiffed down to the nanometre. But now his boots were nicked and scuffed; the leather on his tool belt was softening up and wrinkling. His posture was strong; his gait potent.
“Who is Oshkania again?” asked Ricky.
“Oksana. She’s Tali’s girlfriend. He says she’s his fiance but I haven’t seen any rings yet. Anyway, Saturday morning she has a Zoom call about intention. with this group of people all over the world who are into well-being. You know, healthy living. What they do is they take turns sending each other good vibes. And apparently it cures people of diseases and other shit,” Oddie loved having an audience.
“Whaddya mean intention?”
“Intention. It’s something you want. Something you want to happen. Something you want to be in the world,” said Oddie.
“What have they cured?”
“I think she said cancer but I find that hard to believe.”
“Cancer?! What… what’s her group called,” asked Ricky. Oddie feigned needing to pick up a block and looked over at Ricky who, for the first time, was radiating confidence. And purpose.
“I don’t know bro. But I’ll get that for ya,” said Oddie.
Oddie can see Ricky is just here till the waters calm between him and his family and he will move on to whatever project his father’s money can finance. In the meantime Oddie is a whole golf bag of services to the little prince; Oddie is the 3 wood of focus; the 7 iron of curiosity; the sand wedge of problem solving; the pitching wedge of nuance; the putter of belief.
“Where’s Reggie?” asked Ricky.
“You know you came along just in the nick of time. Reggie’s knees went a few years ago. Now his wrists are so shot to shit he really shouldn’t even be working. He has to take a couple of days off sometimes. So that would mean I would have to work with Rejean over there. You saved me from a long slow death.”
“What’s wrong with working with him?” asked Ricky reeling with the realization that his privileged upbringing was financed on the backs of these guys.
“I dunno. It’s just that he is so out of touch and out of shape,” said Oddie, hiking up his jeans.
Oddie could feel he was getting soft because everyday after work he would step up into Ricky’s Rubicon after putting his lunch cooler on the back seat. Now Ricky gives him a lift home when at first it used to be just to the subway.
At the traffic light a woman in cat eye sunglasses pulled up beside them in a yellow Jeep Wrangler. Ricky gave a casual three finger Jeep wave; she waved back. Oddie pushed his sunglasses down his nose to get a better look.
“Bro ….” Oddie loved this.
The yellow Jeep sped ahead while Ricky shifted into second on his own time.
“What kind of name is Oddie anyway?”
—
Shorten Up Ricky is from the Short Story Series – Tool by Kevin McNamara
The Wild Coach 