The Hollow Men - Episode 34
Uncle Bill makes a demand of Drew, and Sam decides to keep a closer eye on Uncle Bill.
Last week in Episode 33 of The Hollow Men Drew gets a phone call from west Texas that changes his world. Sam's smile manages to break a somber, sad mood.
The Hollow Men is the second collection of not quite true tales of Texas. If you have recently subscribed and like to read things from the very beginning feel free to start with The Cold Days of Summer, the first collection of not quite true tales of Texas. Each episode of The Cold Days of Summer and The Hollow Men contains a link to the previous and next episode so you can easily move through the story line.
Split in two
It had been almost two years since I had been back to Odessa, it had been a longer time since I had been in touch with my past.
I looked around the living room, at the furniture, at the pictures on the wall, the photos on the end tables and at the people in the room. Tired from the Austin to Odessa drive, tired of everything, I scanned one more time around the room and noticed that Uncle Bill was steadily looking at me. He motioned with his head towards the back door, leaned over to his wife and whispered in her ear, then stood up and told everyone “I’m going outside for a smoke. Drew, why don’t you keep me some company?”
I stood up and walked towards the door. Sam followed me and Brutus followed Sam. The dogs were the first out the door. Sam patrolled along the perimeter of the fence with Brutus following right behind her. Uncle Bill and I walked out on the porch and onto the dry, browning lawn. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered me one, knowing I would turn it down, then pulled one out and lit up. He leaned his head back, took a long drag and looked up at the sky. The street lights blinded the night, so we could see few stars in the sky.
“Drew, your Mom wants you to speak at the funeral. Just say a few words about your Dad. You always had a way with words and she thinks it would be nice to have you say a few things.”
I felt split in two. One part of me was outside of my body watching the scene while the other part talked to Uncle Bill.
“Man, uh, Uncle Bill, you know that Dad and I didn’t get along all that well the last few years. I don’t think we said more than a handful of words to each other since I left town.”
Truth is, we had begun a mending of fences, at least I think we did two years before, but we were both stubborn, both busy and I always thought that there would be a day we would sort it all out. Turns out I was wrong.
“I know, son, I know. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you. Gene was that way, too quiet sometimes, so determined not to reveal his hand. He was a hell of a poker player, but sometimes that skill isn’t one that serves you well in the real world.
“We talked quite a bit the last few years. We talked a lot about you. He was proud of you. Proud of what you and Rick did with PV Tanks. He bragged about that a lot. Did you know he kept in his glove compartment one of those brochures you had made up about PV Tanks? You know, the one where you had taken pictures of SouthWestern Tank and slapped a PV Tank logo on it. He loved that, he saw it as a perfect bluff and he showed that brochure off to anyone who would give him the time of day.”
I didn’t know that. I had given my Dad a brochure not long after we had them made up but I didn't know what he did with it. Never knew he cared, save for when he was pissed off about something.
Uncle Bill took another long drag of his cigarette and said “It sounds a little ghoulish, but I asked the cops if I could check the glove compartment of your dad’s car. They didn’t see any harm in it.” He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a slim piece of paper and handed it to me. “See, here it is, the brochure. It was in his glove compartment today.”
I held the worn brochure in my hand. I opened it up. It was a trifold, printed on both sides. I read the words that Rick and I wrote years ago and I looked at the small tears and how one fold had worn away but had been put back together by Scotch tape. As illogical as it sounded, it had been lovingly cared for.
“Talk about your Dad, about what you remember growing up, about what he taught you, about what you said and didn’t say. Your Mom’s not looking for a prize winning speech, but she wants someone who really knew him to talk about him. You know how your Dad hated listening to some preacher wax on about someone they didn’t even know. And, if there’s one truth in this world, no preacher knew anything about your Dad.”
That was true, Dad got a mad on over organized religion a long time back. He never went to church with us when we were growing up, no matter how cold a stare Mom tossed his way. Later on, I used his not going to weasel my way out of going and that made things even more fun around the house on Sunday mornings. I figured Mom would have the preacher at her church, First Presbyterian near Grandview and University, give the funeral sermon. She had been going there as long as I could remember. And, like Uncle Bill said, that preacher sure didn’t know my Dad. He knew his name, he knew a little about him from my Mom, but he sure didn’t know my Dad.
“Your Dad was a quiet man all these years. Never had much to say… Funny thing is, when he decided to say something people listened. Guess they figured if someone as quiet as him had something to say it was worth listening to. He can’t say anything any more and I think your Mom is hoping you could speak for him.”
I guess all of the stress of the day finally tore me down, that combined with hardly talking to my Dad the last few years got my anger up. I was angry at Dad, angry at the drunk who killed him, angry at me for being angry, angry at Dad and me for both refusing to fully patch things up. Add it all up, I was angry and tired and I could feel myself getting ready to take my anger out on the nearest thing. I looked at Uncle Bill for a moment then said coldly “Why isn’t she asking me? Why not her instead of you? And who the hell thinks I have anything anyone wants to hear?”
Uncle Bill didn’t say a word, just kept smoking that cigarette. He flicked the ashes out into the night as he watched Sam and Brutus on their slow walk around the fence. She stopped every few feet, her nose close to the ground and sniffed the fence and the ground near it. Brutus was imitating every move she made. Then she would look up, back at us, then move on to the next part of her patrol.
“Look at her, she knows she has a purpose. She’s patrolling this place. Man, no one better think of hopping this fence tonight. I don’t think Sam would put up with that for very long. Hmm, and before she's done, Brutus is going to be a fine watchdog as well.
“Drew, your Mom didn’t ask you because she can’t. She’s afraid of the answer. She knows better than you about the distance you and your Dad put between the two of you. Who do you think has been trying to fill in the gap all these years? It was her, you know it. Your Dad knew it, but that Remington stubbornness and pride wouldn’t let either one of you take the first step back. And now it’s too late for that. Hell, I’m not blaming you. I know how stubborn we can be. I’m the same way, just not quite as bad about it as your Dad was, and maybe you are.”
He stopped for a moment, tossed his cigarette to the concrete porch and ground it out with his heel.
“Maybe she’s hoping you can take that first step back. Maybe she’s hoping you can let go of that anger and hurt and just put it aside, if not for good, then just for a little while. She’s hurt bad, Drew. This is not how she had things planned. Things were winding down for your Dad, just a few more years of work and he would retire and just mess around with things in the garage. She was looking forward to that, to seeing him throughout the day, of maybe being on the road with him, just seeing where things took them. But that’s gone and over and now she has to face the rest of her life without him. Right now she can’t handle it. It’s all she can do to keep from falling completely apart but she knows she can’t, at least not for a while, at least not until all the well-wishers and sympathizers have said their sympathies and platitudes and are gone. She’s looking to you, to be your Dad for this week, to be strong and quiet. But she’s also looking for one more thing, for you to talk about your Dad. She noticed, I did too, that you’ve hardly said a word all day. You’ve been listening to everyone’s stories but you haven’t offered any of your own. She needs to hear your story.”
Sam had completed her inspection of the fence and was satisfied that things were safe and sound. She trotted over to us, sat down on her haunches and looked up at both of us. Brutus kept up the imitation, sat down on his haunches and looked up at us as well.
I hadn't responded to Uncle Bill, I was letting everything roll around in my head. I knew he was right but that didn't change how angry I found myself about the whole situation. The part of me that was outside myself was watching the temperature in the other part of me rise. Maybe I didn't have a right to be angry, maybe it made no sense at all, but that's never stopped my anger before. I looked up and was ready to say something, something harsh, when I saw a look of cool anger in my Uncle Bill's eyes that gave me pause.
“One more thing, let me make this clear. You’re going to speak at your Dad’s funeral and you’re going to be honest and kind. You say anything that hurts your Mother, I swear I’ll kick your ass out of that church and out of this county.”
I looked at Uncle Bill and right then I saw a bigger, harder version of my Dad. He meant what he said so I took a deep breath, let go of my anger and said the only thing that made any sense.
“Don’t worry. I’ll come up with something good to say.”
“Damn good thing.” And with that he walked back into the house.
With that the day was over. Sam, Brutus and I walked back in the house. I went over to my Mom, told her I was going to bed, that I was tired from the road and that I needed a good night’s sleep. Mom smiled at me, told me my old room was waiting for me, once Uncle Bill had told her that I was coming home she made sure the sheets were fresh and clean. Again, that need to do something, anything on this day had driven her, just like it had driven me and Bud to wash and dry the dishes.
Uncle Bill was staring at me, staring at me hard, I could still feel his anger, hanging in the air. Sam felt it too, she was standing beside me, but she was looking hard back at Uncle Bill and her hair began to rise up on edge, a sure sign she didn’t like what was going on. I reached down to her and petted her, said a few soft words along the lines of “don’t you worry, girl, everything’s all right” and I gave her a gentle click of the tongue. She looked up at me, relaxed and let go of the tension in the air and swished her tail in a happy arc. I looked back up at Uncle Bill, smiled at him, then said to my Mom “Anyway, I’ve got a speech to write and I need some time alone.” That broke all the ice, the smile on my Mom’s face was big, even though it was tinged with sadness. She looked at Uncle Bill and he smiled back. As I walked towards my room Uncle Bill slapped me on the back, wished me a good night and he meant it.
As I got ready for bed, I looked around the room I had lived in for so many years. Sam didn’t waste any time. She hopped up on the bed, walked round and round a couple of times, found the right spot for her and laid down in a tight circle, nose to tail. I took a few minutes longer but was in bed before she was fast asleep. I turned on the radio to KOCV, turned out the lights and plumped my pillows as she watched me with one open eye. I pulled the covers back, climbed into bed, pulled the covers up and reached out with my hand to give Sam a good night scratch. She sighed gently and was soon asleep. I wasn’t far behind and as I fell asleep I thought of my Dad and what I would say about him.
Next week, in Episode 35 of The Hollow Men, Drew wakes up in the field world, gets no answers there and when he returns to the real world he finds no answers in a strange, rambling journey across Odessa in search of stardust.