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Sawdust on the Floor

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quiet_domino



Joined: 12 Apr 2007
Posts: 1
Location: Milwaukee
Sawdust on the Floor

The bar was dark with swaying silhouettes of drunken figures. Scruffy working class men played pool, their faces only visible under the lights above them. Mackey’s was a small bar. It smelled like cigarettes and saw dust from all the lumberjacks that come through here. There was a small color television in the corner of the room above the bar. Although it was on, the sound was drowned out by the bellowing of the logger men and the jukebox in the opposite corner switching out country records.

I only come here ever-so-often, not enough to be considered a regular but enough to know the bartender by name. The stool I usually sat in was taken so, naturally, I took the next seat over. The man who was in my usual spot was about 60 years old, with a gray beard, about 5’ 11’ and had a protruding belly which flapped over his Levi’s. He wore an old baseball cap with “Budweiser” sewn onto the front although he was drinking a Coors. He sat there glazed with bloodshot eyes, sipping his beer and was leaning in such a way I could tell he was drunk.

“Hey Max, toss a cold one my way.”

The bartender grabbed the bottle, opened it and placed it in front of me. I took a gulp, letting the taste of yeast stay on my tongue.

I grew up here in Monterrey, lived here all my life. It’s a small town, no more then 200 people I suspect. We have two cemeteries, two churches, a grocery store, more liquor stores and bars then I can count on two hands and an array of homes, trailers, cabins and the occasional farm. But, the town is in the middle of the woods so most of us here are lumbermen. When my father died I inherited his lumberyard, employees and hell, even his house, not to mention half of his fortune. I believe the other half went to one of his war buddies. So I quit college, came back to little Monterrey and took up the family business. Who knew that twenty years later I would’ve bought out more than half of my competitors and started to make my own fortune relatively quick.

I gave Max a look and motioned for another beer. It was placed in front of me and I chugged it.

“Long day huh?” commented Max.

“Yup.” I replied, wiping a bit of beer from my chin.

The man next to me, the one in my stool, stared at me with a drunken gaze.

“Norbie,” he slurred, “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“The names Al… nice to meet ya…”

“You don’t remember me do you Norb… Ol’ Jerry?” He smiled, He was missing three teeth and his breath stunk like alcohol and cigars. This guy was defiantly trashed.

“Names Al. Nice to meet ya Jerry.” I extended my hand for a handshake but it went unreturned. Jerry looked confused, probably still trying to piece together why my name isn’t Norbert.

“Norbie,” Jerry laughed, “you’re such a fuckin’ jokester!”

At this point I already finished my second beer and was onto my third.

“Right.” I sighed. I placed my elbows on the bar counter and slouched forward.

I don’t know why I do this. Come to this bar, spend my money, and sit here with uneducated, ignorant men who don’t know shit from sunshine. But, maybe it’s the simplicity of it all that draws me here. There is no intellectual façade masking emotions and if there is… well, its probably unintentional.

I suddenly became aware of my suspenders grabbing at my shoulders. Then, becoming increasingly self conscious, I realized I was the only one in here with a suit. My work attire never consisted of jeans, steel toed work shoes and plaid button downs. I had a business to represent… or perhaps I was hiding from… no I wasn’t one of these people. They smell like saw dust and grit with dirt under their nails and cigarettes in their breast pocket. That’s not me. Dammit, I didn’t even want to come back to this town, this rotting stench of a place. Now that I look back I’m not all too sure why I didn’t sell this company when I inherited it.

My father used to come home from the mills the smell of fresh lumber lingered on him. My mom would hand him a beer and he would scoop me up in his arms and ask me how my day went. His hair was slowly graying and he always had a scruffy beard. His gray eyes always looked sad, as if puddles of rain water stained his eyes. I never knew what he was thinking, he was a guarded man. I doubt even my mother knew went on up there. He was distant, too distant. When he died he was dead to me already. It’s unfortunate that every time I look in the mirror I see him. I suppose my mom was right that I look just like him. I have gray eyes, my hair is thick like his was, my face was drawn and my square jaw was hidden by a thin beard. A spitting image of the man I hate.

“Wanna smoke?” Jerry asked.

“No.” I shook my head. “No. I don’t smoke.”

Jerry put a cigarette in his mouth.

“Your loss Norb.” He lit is cigarette and took an unusually long drag. “When did you quit smoking, you and I used to have smokes all the time.”

I stared at him for a long time, looking at his sagging chin, his beard, his clear eyes, and the yellow of his fingers when he took his cigarette to his lips to take a drag. Who was this man Norbert he keeps talking about?

“I’ve never smoked. Asthma.” I retorted.

This guy, Jerry, was ruining my buzz. I motioned for yet another beer. Grabbed it and chugged it till it was half gone.

“You know what Jerry; Ill take you up on that cig. You mind?”

“I knew once you saw mine you would want one you predictable bastard.” He bellowed which made his gut jiggle and handed me a cigarette.

“Thanks. You have a light?” I asked and reached my hand out to receive his light.

“Here ya go.” He said, blowing smoke from his nose. He handed me the lighter, his hands were rough and callused.

I lit the cigarette. The cool, crisp menthol hit my lungs hard. I took another sip of beer and asked, “Where do you work Jerry?”

“Uhh, fuck you! Ya know right damn well where I work!” He looked at me with question on his face, his face contorted and an eyebrow was raised.

“Oh. No I don’t. Do you work at a mill?” I took a wild guess seeing that most of these men worked at mills.

“No shit. I work at yours.” He slouched forward and ordered a shot of brandy. He lifted the glass to his mouth and took it, a few splashes landed on his shirt. Slamming it down he proceeded to order a beer.

I slowly finished my cigarette and put it out in the ash try and I finished off my beer. Another one, I motioned to Max. Once again I chugged it halfway.

“So how is the lady and the kid?” Jerry asked through his beer bottle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name is Al.” I responded.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this. It’s hard for me to see a friend like you going through stuff and I figured we needed a man to man talk.” He put his bottle down and turned towards me, leaving an elbow on the bar so he didn’t fall off of his stool.

I figured that I would play along. I couldn’t convince him otherwise that I wasn’t the person he thought I was.

“Alright Jerry, what’s on your mind?” I turned away from him and stared at the bar counter.

“It’s Eleanor; she has been trying to get a hold of ya.” He put his hand to my back and patted it. “I told her you was busy with your boy now that he started football and all. But, really, Norbie you gotta call her and you gotta tell the wife what happened.”

“Alright well, what happened then so I can tell her?” I sighed; I wanted him to finish his story. I don’t want to sit here all night listening to some man telling me a story.

“How can you not know, you can’t figure it out can you? She is pregnant. I don’t know how you did this to Mary but you gotta tell her the truth. She has the right to know.” He looked concerned enough.

I waited. I thought he was going to say more. His words went through my mind a few times. It clicked. Just then. Norbert was my fathers name and Mary, my mothers. No it couldn’t be the one in the same. This was ridiculous. This old, drunk man… he thought I was my father?

“Wait, wait, wait. How do you know for sure that she was pregnant?” I shook. My bastard father had a mistress. No wonder he was distant around my mother, no wonder she looked at him in despair. She already knew, she had to have known.

“She came into your office and you weren’t there. She was crying and everything and alls I did was ask her what the matter was.” He shrugged and looked at his beer.

“Oh.” I hung my head low with anger. The bastard, the fucking bastard. I’m sure that the other half of his money went to that bitch. What was her name? Eleanor? The asshole didn’t leave a penny to my mother.

I threw on my sports jacket and over coat. I threw some money on the bar and stormed out of the bar. I fumbled for my car keys in my coat pocket. I was sober now, sober and pissed. I sped home and went through my fathers things in the small attic. His boxes of pictures and finally I found a copy of his will. And I found that it was true what I had theorized earlier. It read, “Eleanor Niver is to receive exactly half of the money withheld in my secondary savings account whilst the rest goes to Allen Carthy, my eldest son.”

The next day I sold the company and gave three quarters of the money to my mother. I kissed her goodbye and simply told her that I was sorry. I was off the city, I signed a lease earlier that morning via fax and I was going to finish out my college career as I had once hoped. My own life ahead of me, finally. I packed my belongings in the car and drove off. Unaware of what awaited me but, free of a past I had longed to escape from.

_____________________________________________
Comments are greatly appreciated Very Happy

Post Thu Apr 12, 2007 10:25 am 
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Allison



Joined: 12 Oct 2005
Posts: 4216
Location: Florida


Nice story. Will there be more?

Alli
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Alli

Post Thu Apr 12, 2007 8:54 pm 
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