I studied the specs on the old Edwards home sitting on Duncan Lane, trying to figure out why that couple from Montgomery had backed out of the deal, but when I looked up from my desk, I immediately noticed the blue beer delivery truck Derick Monroe drove to fill orders for Wetumpka’s bars and restaurants. The company’s stock was mostly craft beers, a selection of IPA’s, other ales, a couple of porters. “We’re the poetry beer people, I deliver the good stuff,” Derick liked to say. The blue truck turned the corner for the fifth time that morning. I couldn’t square why Derick would be making laps by my real estate office five times within two hours.
Derick worked for Lanier Distributors, named for Sidney Lanier, the 19th century poet, musician, and lawyer who had briefly fought with the Confederates in the Civil War. His history was taught in many of the local schools, including Wetumpka, “the poet of the Confederacy,” a Southern tenet. The owner of Lanier Distributors was a graduate of Sidney Lanier High School, the Poets, a Montgomery high school established in 1910, 29 years after Lanier’s death. The Poets included among their alumni Bart Starr, Hank Williams, and Zelda Fitzgerald. The building, a beautiful Gothic Revival structure dubbed The Castle, held a white student body until the 1970s when it along with two other Montgomery high schools, Robert E. Lee and Jefferson Davis, transitioned to predominantly African American. White flight gave birth to private white schools all over the South during this time, but in 2022 Lee and Jeff Davis had their names changed. Lee became Dr. Percy L. Julian High School, after the noted Black chemist. Jefferson Davis, the Confederate President, changed to JAG High School, an acronym for Judge Frank M. Johnson whose rulings ended segregation in Alabama schools and Montgomery buses, the poll taxes, and granted the legality of the Selma-to-Montgomery March; and civil rights icons Ralph Abernathy and Rev. Robert Graetz. Lee’s name change included a school plaque instructing students to not defame the Confederate General.
I kept the phone to my ear listening to Len Self, the owner of Self Realty, tell me for the hundredth time that this virus was a hoax, “nothing to worry about,” that I should be working normal hours now even though I had twice contracted the virus. He was my boss, so I tread lightly. A dynamic that includes your boss can expand your patience. Expressing facts was an affront to this Southern man. I was able to quickly change the subject to his girlfriend, a young woman twenty-five years Len’s junior, who according to Len was madly in love with him. I did not believe Len’s tall tales, these fantastic fantasies documenting his sexual conquests, but these were little more than fish stories. Insecurity, though distasteful, was much easier to tolerate than weak reasoning and low credibility. And if Len was liquored up then the stories could be entertaining, in an anything sexual is palpable kind of way.
“She can’t keep her hands off me.”
“Right,” I said as I read through my day’s schedule on the desk calendar. As I glanced out the window, I saw the blue truck drive by one more time. Something was afoot.
“Can’t get enough of me.”
“You dog, you, she sounds like a wildcat.” I wasn’t convinced this woman even existed. I admitted that Montgomery was big enough to hold many young women out of my scope of reference, but Len wasn’t very attractive, a bit goofy looking, his charm stood in the hillbilly realm, and he possessed a fraction of the money he barked about to anyone who listened.
“Hey look, I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes.” I didn’t. “Let me let you go, you snake.” I ended the call as I rose from my desk and walked to the front window, eyeing the beer truck as far as the window allowed. I kept my eyes glued to Wetumpka’s main drag when the truck disappeared from my sight, trying to think of a legitimate reason for Derick’s laps through town: new accounts, boredom, some crazy bet with Dinkey (a mutual friend). I walked back to my desk to grab my coffee cup, took a slow sip. Then I knew. Suddenly I felt tired.
I sat back down at my desk and began to think of Derick’s ex-wife, Belinda Pugh. The three of us graduated together from Wetumpka High School six years ago. Belinda and I dated for most of the first year after graduation, but I ended things for reasons I’m not proud of, reasons which are nothing short of shameful. I was a coward. Explained to all who would listen, “fell out of love,” “time to move on,” and “just not compatible,” all ending with “it happens,” all lies.
Within a year of my disgraceful cowardly display, Derick and Belinda became a couple. He fell for Belinda like a sack of rocks, which required little effort. She was fun, smart, sexy as hell. A good soul, through and through. Derick is stronger and purer than I, a source of bravery that elicits admiration, especially from my weak as a noodle soul. They married a year into their relationship that lasted nearly three years. They were a good fit, genuine caring souls. When you were around them you couldn’t help but notice how happy they seemed, their cohesion emanating off them like fresh cut grass on an August afternoon. A few people around here didn’t understand why Derick pulled the cord on the relationship, a couple so in love. If you knew Derick’s family, especially his daddy then his decision made sense, a sad sense, a sense full of shame, though for some no shame at all. The no-shame shame that people around here lived every single day.
I took a couple of calls from clients, but my mind kept drifting back to Derick and Belinda. Derick and I had been friends in high school, but never very close. In a graduating class of approximately 300 everyone knew everyone, the circles small and tight. He enjoyed people, made lots of friends. I remember when Dinkey told me of Derick and Belinda’s marriage plans over four years ago. I was happy for him, for both. Seeing soulmates hookup gives you a little hope about the world, the constant grinning around each other creating a vicarious happiness in you.
Derick rounded the corner and drove by the real estate office one more time. I ran out the front door waving my arms and shouting Derick’s name, but the beer truck had already passed the office by the time “Derick!” left my lips for the first time. Two blocks down the street I saw the traffic light change to red and immediately began jogging down the sidewalk in the hopes of catching the truck before the light changed again. The light turned green as I opened the passenger door and stepped up on the foot ledge.
“Hey, Derick, mind if I come along for a ride?” The aroma of marijuana and the sight of Boskoe, Derick’s Rhodesian Ridgeback, lying next to him knocked me on my heels.
“Hey, you need to put on a fucking mask, Bob.” Derick grabbed a mint green mask from the dash and threw it at me.
I snatched the mask from the air as my eyes bloomed big as saucers. I stood in silence.
“Put it on, man.” He pulled up a bank robber mask revealing a largemouth bass then gave me a nod.
“Yeah, man, sure.” I fiddled with the mask, after a few seconds I had it over my nose and mouth. “So can I come aboard?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Look, this ain’t the fucking flu. These hillbillies can do what they want, but not around me.”
“Right,” I said. “Just thought we’d catch up.” I looked over at the small office building on the corner where Belinda’s father housed his law practice.
He nodded, then froze for a moment, silence filled the cab. Traffic was light, no one behind us, a couple of cars drove by traveling the other direction. “Sorry, man, I gotta get my deliveries done.”
“Where you headed?”
“Need to make a run out to the Peppermint.”
“Mind if I just ride out here with the window down?”
“Hell, just hang on.”
I rolled the window down, closed the door then jumped back on the step and grabbed the seatbelt.
“Look, I know, I’m not really supposed to be doing this.” He pointed at Boskoe and a joint in the ashtray, “but…I don’t know, things aren’t making sense right now.”
“Sure, man, I get it.”
Derick then let off the clutch and we were off.
“Hey, you can pull that mask down as long as the truck’s moving. The wind should blow the virus down the road.”
“Right, right,” I said then pulled the mask off my face. Derick did the same.
“So you were driving by her daddy’s office?”
“My mind is whirling right now. Not sure what I’m doing.”
“Getting pulled over smoking weed won’t help matters.”
“True, but I’m tending my mental health right now.”
“Sure.”
“Pretty stupid, though. Guess I’d better get rid of this thing.” He grabbed the burning joint from the ashtray and threw it out the window.
I looked at Derick. “That hurt me, man.”
“Here, son,” he reached in his shirt pocket, pulled out a joint and tossed it on the seat by the passenger door.
“Thanks,” I said as I shoved the joint in my pants pocket.
“What are friends for.”
We passed a few more businesses before the Bibb Graves Bridge took us over the Coosa River.
“How’s old Boskoe doin’ these days?”
Derick scratched Boskoe’s right ear. “He’s doin’ all right. This is a treat for him, just needed some company today. Boskoe’s a hell of a listener.”
“One of the best.”
“You been doin’ any huntin’ lately?” Derick asked as we rode over the river.
“Hell no, I ain’t hunted since last October. Spend most of my time trying to sell houses so I can buy shit I don’t need. Been going to the beach a lot, Panama City, Gulf Shores. I think I should just make a monthly payment to that damn Flora-Bama. I get drunk every time I’m there.”
“Bob, that’s what you go for. Why else would you go there?”
“For the music?”
“Okay, we can break that down. For the music, the drinkin’, and the women.”
“Oh, that’s right, the women.”
“Right, I remember you hookin’ up with a blonde there last year. What did she call herself? Holleywood?”
“Ahhh, Holleywood. I need to call her.”
“Didn’t she have a boyfriend who was looking for you?”
“I’m always on the lam for some shit.”
Derick slowed the truck as we approached a gas station on the left side of the road. A young man, tight trimmed blond hair, blue jeans, a green t-shirt, and a navy baseball cap with words I couldn’t make out perched on his head, stood straight pumping gas into his faded gray pickup. He turned, saw Derick driving by, nodded his head.
Derick gave him a wave, raised both hands then began to speed up. “Look, Ma, no hands,” he shouted to the blonde boy. He turned to me, “Ol’ Lewis.”
“I was in love with Linda, buzzed around her for months, so got to know Lewis some,” I said still hanging onto the side of the truck. Derick pushed the truck up to 35, which made me uneasy.
Derick spoke as flat as a pancake, “Always thought it was strange to date a friend’s sister.”
“But not strange enough to not do it,” I said with a grin.
“True that.” He reached over and stroked the top of Boskoe’s head. The dog looked straight ahead with a grin on his face. A few miles later Derick turned right onto a narrow country road.
“Goddamn it, Bob,” he shouted.
“I know, breaks my heart, man.”
Derick shook his head.
I tried to keep a watch on Derick’s demeanor, “gaugin’ the ragin’” my mama always said about Daddy on Saturday nights. I slipped and nearly fell off the ledge, grabbing the side mirror just in time. He looked bug-eyed, like something had broken deep inside.
The trouble appeared not long after they eloped. Once word spread that Derick and Belinda had turned a New Orleans weekend getaway into a private midnight wedding that included an Elvis Justice of the Peace, a gallon of Hurricanes, and “We got married at the French Quarter Wedding Chapel” T-shirts, Derick’s father cut all contact with his son. Avoided him like he had rabies. Derick confronted his father on several occasions, but the response was always the same, “I’m done, son.” For a few months, Derick stood his ground. “Your loss, motherfucker.” But his mama, sisters, and most of the rest of the family’s soft support began to leak like a worn-out Dodge. The smiles and hugs replaced by smirks and cold shoulders. Sunday dinner invitations turned to smoke drifting through the pines. Belinda never wavered, just laughed it off, “Who cares?” Her family hesitant at first out of fear for the couple, for Belinda, but they eventually loved Derick, not exactly like one of their own, but with a love that glows like a campfire.
Two years ago, Derick finally broke, the loss of his family’s love more than he could bear.
“Have you seen her at all lately?” I asked. Two days ago, a midnight phone call from my girlfriend Amanda informed me that Belinda had passed away with a nurse by her side in an ICU at a Montgomery hospital. Some said COVID, others said a fentanyl OD.
He shook his head. “Ain’t seen her in months.”
We were in the country now. I looked at the speedometer, close to 60, which felt like 200 while hanging on the door.
“Hey, now, you need to pull over,” I screamed.
Derick looked down at our speed, then at me.
“Sorry, Bob.”
The truck slowed then eased off the blacktop and finally stopped in the weedy shoulder. I stepped down and backed away from the truck. Several cars passed us from each direction, a few honked. I looked up at Derick, he seemed nearly catatonic. He slowly shook his head, 10 seconds, 20 seconds. I thought he might not stop, but he did as his head drooped down, his chin rested on his chest.
“Hey, didn’t you say you needed to make a delivery out at the Peppermint?”
“I need to run by my daddy’s place first.”
“Alright, your mama doing okay these days?” I climbed back onto the foot ledge.
“Hell, just get in the cab. Fuck it, right?”
I nodded then climbed in.
“She’s doing a lot better since she and Max split up.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“That ol’ boy drank beer like water, 24/7. Not pointing fingers, mind you. Got mean by evening. I think the final straw was when he lost her car. Said he didn’t know where it was, that someone stole it from the VFW parking lot. I betcha that fucker lost it in a poker game. Hard to hold on to someone that loses your car. First, daddy left her, then the next card she played was Max. Her luck with men ain’t too good.”
“A man who loses your car ain’t good to have around.”
His daddy’s house was a couple of miles from the Peppermint, a red brick rancher with a huge vegetable garden filling a field to the left of the house. I asked if he wanted me to go in with him.
“Don’t worry, we ain’t going in.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
Derick turned into the field next to the house and drove straight through the right side of the garden, the truck running over two rows of beautiful tomato plants. He turned left out of the garden and drove back down the last three rows on the other side, green beans. He stopped at the very end to survey the damage.
“Those cabbages and squash are just begging me.”
He pulled out of the garden then used the side mirrors to back over those next three rows.
Boskoe seemed to survey the damage, then he looked at me, a “Can you believe this?” look.
“Goddamn, Derick. I don’t think your daddy’s gonna like this.” I was glad to see there were no vehicles parked at the house.
“That’s the point, Bob.”
He had backed all the way through the garden, the smashed plants easily seen through the windshield.
“That row of hot peppers looks really nice. Durwood loves him some hot peppers. Think I’ll take out some broccoli and okra, too.”
He slowly drove over four more rows of vegetables, stopping at the end then reversing to make sure he took out a specific row.
“Want to make sure I get those peppers.”
We sat in the middle of the garden, no one spoke. When we finally started moving he turned left and drove to the middle of the yard in front of the house.
“I need to take a leak.” He jumped down, walked over to the front steps where he relieved himself then made it back to the cab.
“Feel a lot better now, Bob.”
After leaving the vegetable garden massacre we drove to the parking lot of the honky-tonk Peppermint Lounge, stopping in front of the service door on the right side of the building. After Derick cut the engine, he sat motionless. I looked out my window, wanted to give Derick time to contemplate what he had just done. As I turned to look at Derick he suddenly punched the windshield with his right fist, causing a spiderweb of hairline cracks in the glass. Boskoe shot up into a standing position on the bench seat.
“I should have been there,” he said, nearly a moan.
“No sense in beating yourself up.”
His face drawn tight, he just stared straight ahead. Neither one of us said a word for a couple of minutes. Boskoe stared at Derick, eventually licked his face while Derick’s right arm rested on the dog’s shoulders.
“Are you okay, man?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know, Bob.” He pulled up his mask and pointed at me.
“Sure, man.” I pulled up my mask again. “Why don’t you make your delivery. Always good to get your mind on something else. Don’t let it get the best of you.”
“Easier said, right? It’s just gnawing at me now.”
We both stepped down from the truck leaving Boskoe alone in the cab. Derick walked to the rear of the truck and opened the door to the refrigerated storage compartment. He pulled out the hand truck then sat two small kegs at the edge of the door.
I looked over at the few cars parked in the main lot and noticed a young man close his car door and start walking towards the front entrance.
“Hey, ain’t that Benny?”
Benny was a mutual friend who had graduated from Wetumpka High the same year as us.
“Hey, boy,” Derick called out.
I walked a few yards towards Benny, “Hey, Benny! Benny!” Benny turned around and looked at us.
“Hey, man, what’re you up to?”
“Hey, Derick, Bob, what’s goin’ on?”
Benny walked up to Derick but a few steps before he reached him Derick shot his hand up. “Hold it, man. You got a mask?” asked Derick.
Benny stopped. He gave me a quick glance then a look of shock stretched across his face.
“Yeah, okay, a mask.”
Benny jogged back to his car.
“Nobody wears a damn mask,” said Derick.
He returned wearing a crimson mask with Roll Tide printed in white across the front.
“Sorry to hear about Belinda.”
“Yeah, hell fire, I’m still processing it.”
“What you up to, Benny? A little early to be drinking at the Peppermint,” I said.
“I’m working here now.”
“Really? When did that start?” asked Derick.
“About two weeks ago. T-Bird said he needed somebody. You know it don’t take much skill to pour beer in a glass.”
“I thought T-Bird was in jail,” I said.
“Naw, that’s BS. That’s just some people hoping he was in jail. You doin’ alright, Bob?”
“Staying busy. You’d be surprised how much time it takes to fail at selling houses?”
“I could have told you that. Failure is a full-time occupation,” said Benny.
“I gotta get this beer delivered. I’ll be right back,” said Derick. He grabbed the hand truck and wheeled the kegs through the side entrance.
I told Benny about seeing Derick driving by my office earlier, how I ended up on the truck, how we ran over Derick’s daddy’s garden, pointing at a few plants caught up in the driver’s wheel well.
“He’s taking it hard. Lots of regret.”
“That ain’t good. That’ll eat a man up.”
“He’s got his dog in the cab. And he’s a little high right now. He just gave me a joint.”
We walked over to the cab and saw Boskoe looking straight ahead out the windshield. I looked at Benny.
“Whataya think?”
“About what?”
“About monkey butts. About Derick, man.”
Benny laughed. “I don’t know, you probably made a good call. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“Yeah, he’s a bit on edge as it is.”
“Why don’t we smoke some of his dope. I’m just here to pick up a check; I don’t have to be back until five. Maybe we could go roller skatin’. Get his mind off it. I think the Roller Castle is open.”
“Roller skating? Hell Benny, you already in the wacky backy? I don’t feel like breaking an arm today.”
“How about bowlin’?”
“Bowling?” I looked up at Boskoe. “Maybe. We could drink a few beers, too.”
Derick popped out the door pushing the hand truck and kegs. He stopped and turned to face the door.
“Wear a fucking mask, you goddamn redneck.”
A middle-aged man built like a refrigerator with a head, T-Bird, walked out and stood by the door. “The plague is over. Besides, you can’t make me wear a mask in my own bar that’s not even open yet. Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I’ve had COVID twice, fuckface. And I just lost someone I loved to the virus. That’s who I am, T-Bird.”
T-Bird twisted his head a second then looked over to me and Benny. I nodded at him.
He looked back at Derick. “Just leave the beer here. I’ll get it inside myself.” He turned to Benny. “I guess you’re here for your check.”
“Well, I didn’t come here to look at your ugly snout. I’ll be in shortly.”
Derick pulled the small kegs from the hand truck, walked around the back of the truck, eventually wheeling up a couple more kegs, setting them down by the other two. He stepped up to the cab, pulled out a clipboard from the front seat, wrote a few things down then walked over to the kegs and squeezed a sheet between a couple of the kegs.
“I’m leaving. You comin’ with me?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s go.”
I turned to Benny. “Meet us at the bowling alley,” I whispered.
“Okay,” he said. “You okay?” he asked Derick.
“Yeah, man, I’m just fucking dandy.”
Derick quickstepped it up to the truck, stepped in, and cranked the engine. As soon as I made my way to the passenger seat, Derick put the truck in gear, and we were off.
Derick scrunched his eyes. “These people wearing ignorance like a badge of honor.”
“It’s a sad sight to see. Folks acting like science is propaganda.”
Derick wheeled out of the parking lot and began driving back to town.
“Hey, Benny and I were thinking maybe we’d all go over to the Pin Palace and bowl a few games. To be honest, we thought it would do you some good.”
“Bowling?”
“Yeah, man, drink a couple of beers. Could be just what the doctor ordered.”
“I don’t know. I got a couple more deliveries I need to make.”
“You want to make those right now?”
Derick looked out the windshield. He reached up and touched the cracks as if he just now saw them for the first time.
“You know what? Fuck the deliveries. I can make those in the morning.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Haven’t been to the Pin Palace in a couple of years. They used to have five-dollar pitchers,” Derick nodded as he rested his hand on Boskoe’s head.
Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the Pin Palace parking lot that held three cars.
“Got the place pretty much to ourselves,” Derick said with a grin, “exactly what I was hoping for.”
“I think that’s Benny’s car.” I pointed to the black compact parked by the side door. “He said he’d meet us here.”
Derick parked the truck past Benny’s car near the back corner of the building.
“There, looks like I’m making a delivery.”
“Lanier sells beer to the Pin Palace?”
“Not a whole lot, every now and then. The Palace is mostly a Bud Light crowd. That and Coors Light.”
We, including Boskoe, walked around to the front door where we entered. Danny Sharpe, the manager and owner’s son, would let us do whatever we wanted when the place was empty. Danny had graduated from Wetumpka High a year after us. Benny waved us over to the last lane next to the side door. He sat sipping a beer, his shoes already on. He had shoes and beers waiting for us.
“Danny remembered your sizes. At least that’s what he told me.”
“Mask?” Derick asked.
Benny quickly pulled on a mask that was sitting next to him.
“Just fuckin’ with you. I really don’t care. Don’t really care about anything right now.” Benny shot me a worried look.
Derick and I slipped on the shoes, they fit, then quickly found balls and made our way back to where Benny sat.
“I feel safe with us being the only folks bowling on this side of the lanes,” said Derick and pointed at a couple bowling on the far side from us.
I waved to the desk where Danny stood. He waved back.
“Oh, Danny boy,” I called out.
The first game we played was rife with gutter balls, but we laughed and poked at each other. After the game we decided to take a break behind the building, so we slipped on our street shoes, gave Danny a wave as Derick shouted, “We’ll be right back,” then made our way out the side door. I pulled the joint out as we leaned against the rear of the building, each of us hit the joint a couple of times. We talked about Auburn and Alabama football, the Braves, eventually making our way to a weekend trip to Atlanta a bunch of us took a couple of years ago, a strip club getaway. Benny and I had paid for lap dances from the same gal who called herself Karenlina.
“Did you really get her number?” Benny asked.
“I’ve driven up to Atlanta a few times to see her,” I said.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
“Whatever, man,” I said with a smile.
When we made it back inside Benny went to the bar for more beers, and Derick said he was “gonna try this time.” He waved his hands over the blower when Benny returned with the beers. He took a sip, set the beer down, then began his approach to the front of the lane and released the ball. The ball started down the middle, curved left and hit the end pin. Derick walked back to the ball return and faced me. “Man, this is all over me.”
I nodded. “It’ll take a while.”
Benny grabbed the chair from the scoring table and turned it around so he could rest his legs on the seat. “Hmm, hmm,” Benny grunted as he nodded his head.
Derick looked at Benny, then at me. He reached over and grabbed his just returned ball from the rack. He let the ball dangle from his right hand.
“I did her wrong, man, broke her fucking heart. I hurt her. And, here’s the pathetic part, I never stopped loving her.”
Benny and I nodded.
“I don’t think she ever stopped loving you,” I said.
“My daddy made me choose, but I’m the one who chose. That’s on me.”
Derick squatted down and placed the ball on the floor between his legs.
“Y’all remember Lisa Wilkens?” I asked.
“Of course. Cheerleader, two years ahead of us. I think every guy in school was in love with her, even the teachers,” said Benny.
“Especially the teachers,” I said. “I dated her little sister in 10th grade, Cindy. She was cute but she wasn’t a goddess like Lisa. I think a big reason why I dated Cindy was so I could be around Lisa. Their parents have a pool, so I’d go over there to swim around with Cindy. I swear to God I’d get a boner when Lisa would come out there with her bikini on. I’m not kidding. I’d have to jump in the pool so they wouldn’t see my woody.”
Benny looked over at Derick and rolled his eyes. Derick smiled.
“So, there was this one time the three of us were sitting on the edge of the pool.”
“You, Lisa, and Cindy,” said Benny.
“Yeah, yeah. So, we’re sitting around talking about one of Cindy’s friends, I forget which one, who was all heartbroken because some guy had dumped her.”
“The friend was Karen Williams, and I was the guy who dumped her,” said Benny.
I stared at Benny for several seconds, my mouth agape. “Well, you’re just a mean son of a bitch, aren’t you?” I finally said.
“There’re three sides to every story. I ain’t no saint, but neither is Karen.”
“Nope, Mr. Tin Man, and the Wizard never did give you that heart, huh? So, anyway, while we’re sitting there by the pool discussing Karen’s broken heart, the heart you broke,” I pointed at Benny.
“Whatever.”
“Lisa Wilkens, the object of my wet dreams, gives me some of the best advice I’ve ever had about love. Profound.” I looked right at Derick. “Lisa told us that love always comes with a price, and it’s always the same price. Pain, brother. Whether you’re dumped, the person dies, or the love just ends, there’s always gonna be hurt.”
“Profound? Everybody knows that. I learned that in third grade,” said Benny. “I think you let your boner do your thinking.”
“Yeah, Tin Man, it’s not a truism for the ones of us who have a heart.”
Benny shrugged.
Boskoe, seeing Derick squat down, got up from lying on his side under the scorer’s table and walked over to face Derick, almost eye to eye. His tail made a few brisk waves, then stopped. Derick stroked his head a few times, then stood up.
“I should just get in my truck and start driving west. Just leave all this behind me.”
Derick turned and stood facing the lane for a moment. He took one step then released the ball down the lane, the ball dropped the remaining nine pins.
“I’ll tell you what, Derick,” I said as I got up and walked to the ball return, “why don’t you pack up some clothes and come stay with me for a few days. You need time to clear your head about this. To be honest, I don’t think you need to be alone. I’ve got plenty of room.” I had stopped to face Derick who was staring at Boskoe.
Benny nodded his head. “I agree with that.”
“We can even stop off at your place on the way back to town for you to grab some clothes before you drop me off. Whatcha say?”
“Why do I want to grab some clothes now?”
“I don’t think you need to be at your house later on.”
“Yeah, your daddy will probably pay you a visit,” said Benny.
Derick snatched his beer and walked back to the row of seats behind the scorer’s table and sat down. After a few long swallows which drained half the bottle he growled a burp.
“Oh, what the hell, sure, I’ll do that.”
“Now you’re talkin’,” said Benny.
After the game we drove to Derick’s house with Benny following, a small white aluminum siding rancher on the outskirts of town. Derick turned the blue truck into the driveway that was on the right side of the house and stopped halfway in the backyard. Benny parked behind the delivery truck. We all stepped out and gathered by the side door with Boskoe dancing around the three of us.
“Y’all are welcome to come on in if you want. It won’t take me but a minute, but there’s no sense in you standing out here. I got some Wild Turkey inside.”
“Might as well,” said Benny.
Benny and I followed Derick and Boskoe through the side door, through the den, then through another doorway and into the kitchen.
“Hey,” Derick said as he stopped and turned around by the sink, “why don’t we go out into the backyard and take some shots.”
Derick grabbed the Wild Turkey bottle sitting on the counter and three shot glasses from a cabinet by the sink. He and Boskoe walked out the back door with me and Benny right behind them. “What a day,” said Derick as Benny and I settled in weathered gray Adirondack chairs arranged in a semicircle around a fire ring. He filled the glasses and set them on the wide arms of the chairs.
“Ain’t life grand, Boskoe!” Derick called out after he sipped the whiskey from the shot glass. The dog was happy to be home, running through a small thicket of pine trees deeper into the backyard that led to a thick forest of trees. “I’m gonna have another beer. What you say?”
“Okay.”
“Sure, man.”
He walked into the house and quickly returned carrying three cans of some IPA I’d never heard of before. “This is out of Dothan, not too bad,” he said as he handed us our beers.
He turned the beer on its side, pulled out a pocketknife and tried to jab a hole near the bottom of the can, but the knife slipped and cut his thumb.
“Fuck!”
Derick quickly stuck the cut in his mouth.
“Are you okay? Is it deep?” I asked.
Derick pulled the cut from his mouth and gave it a close inspection.
“It hurts like hell, but it’ll heal.”
Derick managed to punch a hole in the can then quickly brought the can to his face, putting his lips over the hole, then popped the tab dripping blood and beer on his blue Lanier Distributors shirt. With blood dripping from his hand, Derick threw the can into the ashes of the fire ring. He looked over at Boskoe who had stopped in his galloping around the yard to look at Derick. I asked for the pocketknife then punched a hole in my can, mirroring Derick and brought the beer to my lips, pulled the tab, and gulped the yellow liquid. I tossed the can in the ashes, my can clanging Derick’s can. As if on cue Benny asked for the knife then repeated our actions, eventually pitching the can into the ashes with the others. We smiled at one another as we growled deep and long burps.
Derick sat in his chair looking at the shadows of the afternoon day. A cool wind blew through the yard, fall right around the corner. I looked at Benny who was staring at Derick. Derick raised his shot glass then gulped the remains of the bourbon. Benny and I nodded at one another then poured the whiskey down our throats. Suddenly Boskoe darted by us on his way to the side of the house and the front yard. A shiny red pickup bounded down the side yard on the other side of the driveway. It stopped just in front of the delivery truck, about twenty yards from where we sat. Derick’s daddy shot out of the cab and jogged within a few feet of the fire ring. Derick didn’t move.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted at Derick.
“What do you mean? What are you talking about, Daddy?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, son. Lamar called me, said he saw you in that Lanier truck running over my garden.” He turned and pointed at the blue truck. “There’re tomato plants sticking out of the wheel wells, some pepper plants on your bumper. Are you drunk?” He looked at our shot glasses, the bourbon bottle sitting at Derick’s feet, and the beer cans atop the ashes.
Derick chuckled. “Do either of you know what he’s talking about?” He gave each of us a bewildered look.
I glanced at Benny a couple of times who stared at the fire ring with a blank expression.
“Well now, I don’t think we know what you’re talking about,” he said smiling at his daddy. He grabbed the bottle, twisted off the cap, filled his shot glass and offered it to his father.
Mr. Monroe walked up to his son’s outstretched hand holding the small glass of bourbon. He looked at the shot glass for a few seconds, then like a rattlesnake struck Derick’s hand knocking the glass and whiskey towards me, the glass missing the top of my head by a few inches.
“You think this is a joke, son? Like you can get drunk, run over my garden, and just laugh it off like some big game?”
Derick laughed hard, a gargle of a laugh, which made his daddy even madder, his face turning pink with rage. Derick scratched the back of his head with his free hand then snickered a laugh, doubling over from his guffaws. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long drag of bourbon. “I think you’re getting me confused with somebody that gives a shit about what you think.” He twisted the cap back on then placed the bottle at his feet. He reached over with both hands to the arms of his chair, raised himself up, stood tall then looked his daddy straight in his eyes.
The laughter slid off his face. “I ain’t got nothing to say to you.” After a few seconds Derick walked towards his back door.
“Listen to me, son,” the man snarled as he took two large steps and grabbed the back of his son’s collar.
Derick slapped the man’s hand away, placed his right foot behind the man’s left leg and pushed him to the ground on his back then quickly straddled his father’s chest, bringing both knees down on the man’s arms.
“Belinda is dead. She died a couple of days ago. The woman you shamed me to leave. I ain’t gonna forgive you for that. Shame on you and me.” Derick quickly stood up, took two steps away from his father. “The only reason I don’t beat the shit out of you is because you’re my daddy.”
Durwood looked at his son then gave me and Benny a quick glance.
“Listen,” he finally said to Derick. “Belinda dying ain’t got—”
“Get up and get out of here,” Derick shouted.
“You’re taking this—”
“Get off my property.”
“What kind of son—”
“Don’t make me beat the shit out of you.”
The man rolled over onto all fours, head down. He shook his head a couple of times then slowly rose to his feet and turned to his son. He rushed his son to tackle him, but Derick easily knocked him down again by sidestepping him like a matador to a charging bull, then shoved him down with both hands to his back. Durwood crumbled to the ground on his stomach, this time quickly bouncing up and whirling around to face his son.
“Get off my property. I ain’t got no use for your ignorance and meanness. I’m done.”
Durwood balled up his fists, his throbbing anger reflected in his eyes.
I darted over to stand between Derick and his daddy.
“Don’t, Mr. Monroe,” I said, “you need to leave.”
Benny jogged over to stand next to me, shoulder to shoulder, facing the father.
Durwood looked at me, then at Benny, then at his son.
“Goddamn, you’re no son of mine. Betraying your own people. I’m done.”
“I’ve always known you were full of hate. I just never stood up to your ignorance before. Get off my property, you mean son of a bitch.”
His daddy shook his head, spit on the ground in front of us and slowly walked back to his truck. He started the engine, shifted into gear, then backed out the way he came without one look our way.
“Hell fire,” Derick said shaking his head.
“Your daddy is old school, for sure, Derick,” I said as I turned to face him. “Shit, I think he thought about fighting all three of us.”
“People like Daddy are always angry.”
“He’s still your daddy, Derick,” said Benny.
“I should have run over his garden years ago.”