Chatters on the Tide

  Chapter 7

  “Thanks for the walkman,” Harold said. “I’ll give it back when I’m done with the CD.” He repositioned the aluminum legs of his chair so it wouldn’t rock on the lumpy grass struggling for life in the shadow of Lucas’ sweet gum tree.

  Lucas shook his head. “No, that’s a gift. Besides, you won’t finish it any time soon. There’s twenty hours of music on that thing.”

  “Huh?”

  “It plays regular CDs and it also plays audio files from disks. That one has most of the Blue Oyster Cult’s mainstream catalogue on it. I figure we’re getting to know you pretty good. Now you can get to know us.”

  “You guys are big fans?”

  Opal smiled. “You could say that. We’re in a fan club of sorts. The music is real dear to us.”

  “Well cool,” Harold said. “I’ll let you know what I think. Thanks again.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Lucas said.

  Slumping in the nylon-webbed lawn chair, Harold looked over the mildewed light gray pickets into his grandparent’s backyard. When his eyes began to wander toward the little red car, he turned away and focused on Lucas and Opal sitting opposite him in the shade.

  “It’s weird,” he said, “sitting here looking over there. It’s like a world away, like some stranger’s yard. Maybe it’s the thing with the car, I don’t know, but that yard doesn’t seem so innocent and homey anymore.”

  “Don’t let it freak you out so much,” Lucas said. “Give it time to make sense.”

  “You smoked too much weed in the 70’s. You’re permanently stoned. Nothing fazes you.”

  “Not Lucas,” Opal said. “That was me. Weed, speed, liquor, you name it. Lucas was high on power back in the day, weren’t you honey?”

  Lucas smiled with his mouth but his eyes looked serious. “Sad, yeah, but it’s pretty true. I liked the money I made selling junk, and the control. I liked feeling like I had power over the people I supplied. Power to evade the cops. I was a big man inside my head. Folks are just plain scared of drug dealers man, they’ve been educated by Adam-12, you know? So I didn’t have to do that much to scare the piss out of junkies and hoods, although there were a couple things I did I wish I could take back. I was on a real power trip. But I pulled up before I crashed.”

  “Thanks to me,” Opal said, and patted his arm.

  “What did you do to snap him out of it?”

  “I got toxic drunk and high and almost died. Lucas realized he cared, and that saved him,” she said.

  “And they lived happily ever after?” Harold asked.

  “In a pig’s eye,” Lucas said. “That was fate gettin’ even with me. I got on the straight and narrow once I saw I loved her. But she didn’t give me the time of day. She went right back to her old ways, and since I wasn’t a supplier anymore, I was old news. A couple of years later, after she decided to get straight, we finally got together for real, finally. That was a long time ago.”

  “It’s still a neat story,” Harold said.

  “So write your own,” Opal said, “with your wife.”

  Harold deliberately overlooked the comment. Someone was coming through Lucas’ side gate into the back yard.

  “Harold, this is Gator. Gator, Harold.”

  Harold was riveted. Gator sat on the grass next to Opal’s chair and accepted a glass of iced tea with lemon, covering the top with his opposite hand when offered sugar. His hair was one length, down to the elbows, brown, wavy, and oily. He was wearing a black t-shirt faded at the seams and creases to the point of matching his khaki pants. For shoes he wore all-terrain sandals. In the July heat, overtop it all, he had on a flannel Carhardt jacket, navy and yellow checked, with a quilted lining that would have kept him warm in January. Sandy dirt caked his feet.

  “Gator’s a mute,” Lucas said. “He don’t talk.”

  “Yes he does,” Opal said. “Just doesn’t use words, that’s all.” She let her hand rest on Gator’s head, stroked his hair as if he was a child, although Harold reckoned him to be in his early thirties. He looked up at her without smiling, but it was clear he enjoyed the attention.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  For an answer Gator looked at him and nodded. It was the look of a dog, an expression so blank that Harold didn’t know if Gator wanted to bite him or lick him all over the face. There was no tail to check for a wag, so Harold looked at Lucas to escape Gator’s eyes.

  “I don’t think there’s a darned thing wrong with his voice box. I just don’t think he’s got anything to say,” Lucas offered.

  “Lucas, sometimes I don’t believe the mess you say!” Opal said.

  “That’s okay. It’s so hot out here it takes your breath,” Harold said.

  “I heard that,” Lucas agreed.

  When the tea was done, Gator jerked a thumb in the direction of the house, and Opal gave him a wink and a nod. He hopped up and took off his shirt and jacket, then crossed the yard to the water hose, proceeding to drink and bathe without soap.

  “He’s off-the-wall, but he’s good people,” Lucas said. “He’s been a good friend to me and Opal. But he comes and goes like a stray dog.”

  “Why do you call him Gator?”

  “That’s a funny story,” Opal said. “We were down in Florida at a concert some years ago, and he just kind of attached himself to our club. Just like a stray dog. He was hanging around us at the campsite, staying near us at the concert and stuff, you know? And when it was over, when we came out into the parking lot, he was sitting on one of the bikes. It was creepy. It was like almost midnight, and the parking lot was really a grass field with woods all around. We were near the last to leave. There he was, sitting on Billy’s bike, on the back...”

  “You gotta know Billy to get it,” Lucas said. “Billy looks like the love child of Charles Manson and Vampirella. He’s a scary guy. He’s got tattoos on this neck, he’s as big as the box your car came in, you know? And he comes walking out and sees this character on his bike. He says, ‘get the eff off my bike before I turn you into an effing lampshade.’ And Gator just looked back, pointed at the empty seat in front and made a stomping motion, like he was saying ‘get on, shut up and let’s go.’ After that...”

  “Yeah, after that he was pretty much in the club,” Opal finished. “We called him Gator because we picked him up in Florida. God only knows who he is, his name, and what-not.”

  “Billy will tell you he doesn’t like Gator, but he does. He respects him because he can’t intimidate him.” Lucas said. “You should ride two-to-a-bike sometime. You gotta trust each other, work together, and you can’t be shy about touching together some. It’s a little like making love, you gotta have some trust in there.”

  “There’s a symbolism in it,” Opal agreed. “Something sweet.”

  “I’m surprised your friend let him,” Harold said.

  “We were too,” Lucas said. “But Gator’s got a way about him. Some kind of way he manages to win people over, plain and simple. He helped me get this house in shape when we moved in. He’s a good worker.”

  “That’s right, you guys moved in right after I did didn’t you?” Harold asked.

  “Yep,” Opal said. “It’s a fixer-upper. There was tons to do, yard work, painting, and what-not.”

  “The owner’s letting us work off most of the rent,” Lucas added. “It’s a sweet deal all around. He never could’ve rented it as it was. But when we leave, he’ll be able to rent it our for sure.”

  “It must be hard though, holding down a job during the week and then fixing up this place on the weekends,” Harold said.

  “Naw, not really,” Lucas said. “Don’t have a job right now. Nest egg’s running a little low, so I’ll probably get one next month, you know, work until I get some cash laid by.”

  “You’re kidding. What about health insurance?”

  Opal smiled and looked at Lucas while she answered Ha
rold. “We don’t need health insurance. We do without things and pay for the things we really need. Honey, don’t kid yourself, your grandparents never had health insurance, and I bet they lived to a ripe old age, didn’t they? But see, they didn’t have to pay for cable, and Internet, and stereos, and CDs, credit cards, and fancy clothes, and whatnot. Neither do we.”

  “Actually, my grandfather got really sick after granny died, and he ran up a lot of medical bills. They didn’t have a safety net, so the house there has to be sold to pay off the debts. I’m sick about it.”

  “I don’t need no safety net,” Lucas said. “I put myself on solid ground instead of floating around in the clouds. Your grandfather didn’t need one either.”

  “But the house...”

  “But the house is just a house. Sticks and mortar. All the worry and fighting, where’s that getting you? Let it go.”

  “I can’t. It’s where I spent so many summers, and I have so many memories there.” Harold looked over at the yard, his eyes drawn once again to the little red car under the shed’s big awning.

  “The memories aren’t over there in that yard,” Lucas said. “There right there,” Lucas said, pointing at Harold’s head.

  “Shut your eyes,” Opal said. “Now which one is the most real to you; the house or the memories? Nobody can steal your memories and experiences and what-not. Hold onto those and let the rest go.”

  “Opal’s right,” Lucas said. “Hold onto the important stuff and let the other stuff go.”

  Harold looked over at Gator, who was laying on the concrete stoop in front of the back door on his back, soaking up the sun without a care in the world. While they had been talking he had rinsed out his t-shirt and jacket, and they were hanging on the clothesline, held in place with clothespins.

  “He looks comfy,” Harold said.

  “Don’t he?” Lucas said.

  “You know, it’s bright sunshine,” Harold said, “the middle of the day, and I feel like I’m being watched. I can’t get my head together. I want a...”

  “You ain’t getting’ no drink,” Lucas said.

  “...cigarette,” Harold said.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Harold said. “You know, they say quitting smoking is harder than quitting drugs.”

  “It is,” Opal said. “Take it from me. Who do you think is watching you sweetie?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve had the feeling ever since I was at my lawyer’s office, but the only thing I saw was that person sneaking around my house the other night. My skin’s crawling.”

  “That’s the alcohol leavin’ you, that’s all,” Opal said. “But you ain’t no real drunk. It takes more than a few months of hard drinkin’ to make a real, card-carryin’, twelve-step drunk. But you will feel it leaving you dearie, you will feel it.”

  “Could be right. But have you ever had the feeling somebody was harvesting you with their eyes?” Harold asked.

  “What did you say?” Lucas said.

  “Did you ever have the feeling that somebody was just hard staring at you, totally taking you in?”

  “Interesting turn of phrase,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “Ain’t it Opal?”

  “Bizarre,” Opal said.

  “You know what I meant though, right?” Harold said. “How sometimes a person stares at you like they’re going to cut you down? Does that make sense?”

  “Oh, I know what you mean,” Lucas said. “But it blows my mind that you put it that way. The same words are in one of the songs in that player there. Different arrangement, different meaning, but same words.”

  “I must not have gotten to it yet. Huh...that’s a neat coincidence,” Harold said.

  “Okay, well I’ll play it for you then. Let’s go pop a CD in the player and get out of this heat and in front of a cool fan, what say? Ain’t nobody gonna be staring at you in there,” Lucas said.

  “Cool is cool,” Harold agreed.

  “Tonya might be coming by later,” Lucas said. “She reads the Tarot cards for our club. I’ll tip her a twenty and she can tell what’s in the cards for you.”