Prodigal Blues

I hadn't realized she would be next.  I missed her already.

"Who's after Rebecca?" I asked.

"That would be me," replied Arnold.

"You worried about how it's going to go?"

"I was until I saw you in action back there."  He smiled at me.  "You do that with my folks and I think it's go

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"That's how I meant it."

I looked at Christopher.  "Can I not have a gun pointing at me next time?"

"I'll have to check your Brownie point score, but so far it looks good."

"Christopher?'

"Yeah…?"

"I'm not trying to put you on the spot, okay?  But how did Grendel get his hands on you?"

"Yeah," said Arnold.  "It's about time you told us something about this rumored family of yours, anyway."

Christopher sighed, thought about it for a minute, then looked at Arnold and said:  "If you laugh, so help me God I will stop this thing and dump your ass in the middle of the highway."

"What'd I do?" said Arnold, then pointed at me.  "He's the one who asked."

"Yes, but if there's anyone here who'd going to make a smartass remark, it'll be you."

"That hurts my feelings."

"You'll live."

Arnold shrugged.  "Yeah, well, still…."

"No laughing?"

"I'll try.  But I ain't go

"Fair enough."  Christopher glanced at me.  "That goes for you, too."  He turned his attention back to the road.  "My folks own a bar and grill outside Ashland, okay?  It's one of the last places like it you'll find before you get into the heart of coal country.  They hand out maps so that folks don't get lost.  There's a lot of abandoned roads up there, and just as many abandoned mines.  If you don't know where you're going, you could drive into the opening of a mine shaft thinking it's a tu

"Anyway, one day Dad and me head out to one of those big warehouse stores, the kind you have to be a member in order to shop there, right?  Dad wants to lay in a supply of peanuts and chips and popcorn and tons of other stuff—he always stocked the bar snacks from there because you could buy fifty pounds of nuts for twenty bucks, that kind of thing.  For him, that made it worth the ninety minutes it took to drive to the place.  Plus we always stocked up on non-perishable groceries for ourselves."

"This is really exciting so far," said Arnold.  "Suspenseful, even."  He caught Christopher's look.  "What?  I'm not laughing."

"May I continue?"

"Wish you would.  Can't hardly stand waiting to hear the next part."

Christopher sighed.  "I wasn't feeling too good that day, but it was my job to go along with Dad on these supply runs.  My younger brother, Paul, he stayed to help Mom with the receipts and cleaning and inventory—he was always a lot smarter than me when it came to numbers and organization, but I had him beat when it came to stamina for physical labor, so it worked out pretty well.

"Like I said, I wasn't feeling too good that day.  It was October and it was cold—Jesus, it was cold.  And raining.  It took us almost two solid hours to make it to the store, and of course this was the day when everybody and their brother was in there shopping, so the aisles were crowded and nobody was in a good mood.  I kept getting weaker and weaker the whole time we were there—we didn't know it then, but I was coming down with pneumonia.  We were about half finished with the shopping when I almost passed out, so Dad takes me to this little place they had in there to eat.  He buys me a hot dog and a lemonade and sits with me while I eat, then tells me to go out and lay down in the back seat, he'll finish up the shopping.  Dad was real good like that.  He didn't want any member of his family doing anything if they were sick.  I really loved him for that on that day.  I don't remember if I told him so or not.

"Anyway, I stumble out to the parking lot and find the car—we'd parked all the way at the far end, so it felt like I was hiking halfway to Washington.  But I make it there and I climb inside and curl up on the back seat and fall asleep.  I don't know how long I'd been laying there.  I kept waking up for a few minutes and trying to lift my head but I felt too sick, so I'd just stay like I was until I fell asleep again.  Somewhere in there I remember feeling the car getting loaded up, and then Dad climbed in the front and felt my forehead.  He covered me with a blanket and then started driving."  His voice had become tight and angry during the last few moments, and as he stared out at the road, I had the feeling that what was about to come was utterly humiliating for him.

"I was really sick.  You guys need to understand that, all right?  Whenever I opened my eyes, everything was hazy, like I was seeing the world through a fog.  I remember the long drive, and I remember the car stopping and Dad picking me up and carrying me inside and putting me in my bed.  I remember every once in a while someone waking me up to give me medicine or something.  That's about all I do remember.

"Then one day I woke up and the fog was gone.  I could see really well.  And I wasn't in my room.  I did not recognize this place—at first I thought maybe I was in the hospital, but I'd never seen a hospital room with a wood dresser and locks on the doors and chains hanging from the walls.  Then I look down at the foot of the bed and see this man who is not Dad sitting in chair and staring at me."

"Grendel?" I asked.

He nodded.  "The one and only."

"Wait a second," said Arnold.  "How did the Big Ugly get you out of your parents' house?"

"He didn't."

"Then… what?"

"My folks owned a 1968 VW microbus, is what.  It was gray, but that day in the parking lot, as sick as I was, and with all the rain, I couldn't tell the difference between gray and silver, is what."

Arnold shook his head.  "Holy shit."

"That's right:  I climbed right into the back seat of this very bus and fell asleep, and when Grendel found me, he took me home like some lost puppy."  He shifted in his seat, then stretched his neck.  "So you might understand now why I haven't wanted to talk about it.  He didn't have to do any work or pla

"You were sick," I said.  "You can't hold yourself responsible for mistaking one vehicle for another."

"Bullshit.  Do you have any idea how many 'what-ifs' I've thought up since then?  What if I'd been smarter, better with figures, better at organizing things than Paul?  Paul wasn't sick that day—hell, Paul never got sick!  What if I'd been the one to stay with Mom and Paul had gone along instead?  What if I'd been stronger that day?  What if I'd've told Dad that I'd just wait at the table with my hot dog and lemonade?  I could've just sat there for a while, he'd've let me do that if I'd asked.  Hell, he probably would've let me ride in the fucking shopping cart if I wanted.  But, no, I had to be weak!  I had to go lie down like some wimp who couldn't take it.  Fuck!"  He banged the steering wheel with his fist.