A Storied Man

Bernie is a poverty-stricken woman whose life takes an unexpected turn when an old friend returns to town. This is Part Two.

Parts: 1|2|3|…

Related reading: Talk With a Killer, Wall

Part Two

Bernie stopped where Searcy Street crossed Seventh. A lot full of gleaming new Dodge cars and trucks sat to her right, across the street from Plymouths and Chryslers. She recalled that the last car she drove - a 1977 Dodge Aspen she bought for $500 from a local kid, came off that lot brand new. Already 10 years old when she got it, the car ran about a month.

That was when she lost her last job.

She followed Seventh about 1/4 mile. It still was part of Hwy 25 here, and its lack of a turn lane made crossing an all-or-nothing affair.

Jim Flanagan, Bernie’s former high school classmate and now a cook at Lockard’s, waved from the restaurant’s walk-up window across the street. She waved back and smiled at his white paper hat with a red border she called his “racing stripe.”

Cars rushed past. Bernie’s muscles tensed up and she pulled her wagon closer in anticipation of getting hit. It had been her natural reaction ever since an incident from her childhood.

Her father, a laborer at the local Aromatique plant, had let the kids out of his truck that morning and said, “Just don’t get into trouble.” She and her brother Scott, two years her senior, enjoyed the freedom of wandering the streets unabated by adult influence.

Outside a dentist’s office on a hilly, winding road on the west side of town, Scott picked up a used fluourescent light tube leaned against a Dumpster. “Hey, Bernie, it’s my light saber.”

“Light sabers aren’t white, goofball!” Bernie replied.

“For me they are. Get back, Darth Bernie, before I make you disappear with one swipe of my Jedi weapon!”

Bernie waved her hand at him. “You’ve just been force-pushed to the ground and all your bones are broken,” she said.

Scott lowered the glass shaft. “Hey! No fair using the Force!”

The bulb hit the asphalt and exploded, sending out frosted white shrapnel.

“Scott! I can’t believe you did that!”

“I didn’t mean to.”

A young woman with bobbed blonde hair walked out the front doors and gave them a stern look. They ran.

Leading the way, Scott looked back at the woman, an unwelcome presence on their day of liberty.

“Scott, watch out!” Bernie shouted.

A log truck crested a hill.

The next thing Bernie remembered was the sound of the rig’s air brakes releasing pressure as she ran toward Scott, who lay still, face-down across the double-yellow line. The trucker threw open the gleaming blue cab door and started running before his feet touched the ground. That blue was the first color she saw after the dark red flowing from her brother’s body.

Scott never moved again.

Mostly family showed up to the service. Few in their parents’ social circle could take time off work to honor the dead.

Now, Bernie stood on the narrow shoulder of a similar road. Though it was a very flat stretch, an 18-wheeler sat in the middle turn lane, blocking her view of what was coming in the far lane. The driver glanced at the passenger’s side mirror and then waved her across.

“I can make this,” she said. In a blink she stepped off the faded white line and dashed across both lanes. As she reached the opposite white line, a Jeep blew past, its wake chilling her and giving her empty milk containers the shakes. She managed a few more steps before she had to stop.

She closed her eyes a moment to let her nerves settle, then swept her hair from her forehead and set her eyes back on Lockard’s. Not long after she started living on the streets, she had resolved to always walk with her head up and look people in the eye. “Anything else and you’re one step closer to giving up, losing yourself,” she had said.

Jim saw her and signaled for her to go around back. As she turned that direction, her eyes fell on a woman about her age leaving the restaurant. It was Shonda Burke, a former high school Quiz Bowl Team member who always encouraged Bernie to try out. Why did so many people from her school have to come home to visit? Didn’t they know they were supposed to move away when they became successful, and forget this place ever existed?

Bernie immediately tilted her head down and looked at the ground. “Don’t let her see me, please.” She started across the parking lot, her back now to Shonda.

Less than half way around the side of the building, Bernie felt a tap on her shoulder. She jerked around faster than what felt normal, but composed herself quickly and somehow remembered her vow to never be ashamed. She smiled to acknowledge recognition.

Shonda’s kind blue eyes stared back at her. Her hair remained just red enough to get her noticed without seeming dyed. She wore little makeup even though she didn’t need any at all, and her lips were a deep, healthy pink without lipstick. Her beauty was striking from a distance and up close. A woman most others would have hated, but whom Bernie had always respected.

“Bernie? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“I haven’t seen you in years!” She stepped in and threw both arms around Bernie. Bernie awkwardly put her arms around Shonda and they both squeezed. Shonda smelled like honeysuckle.

As they let go, Bernie said, “Are you here alone?”

“No, I’m in town for –” she kept talking as she turned her head and pointed at a parked pale yellow Nissan 300ZX. Bernie lost her old friend’s words in the roar of traffic. Shonda turned back and smiled expectantly.

“Oh, I didn’t hear any of that. You have to look at me so I can see your mouth when you talk. My hearing’s shot,” Bernie said.

Shonda’s face turned from excitement to concern. She used her fingers to comb wind-blown hair behind her left ear, then put a hand on Bernie’s shoulder. “What happened?”

“It’s congenital. It’s why I lost my job and can’t find another steady one.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Do you have hearing aids?”

“Yes, but they’re old and they only help a little in one ear. The other’s pretty much a lost cause. What were you saying?”

Shonda looked her up and down, and for the first time noticed the wagon. Her smile faded. “I’m sorry. What were we talking about?”

“I’m guessing you’re with whoever’s in that sports car over there.”

“Oh, him. Yes, that’s just Jeremy. Still together. We’re in town to see his brother, Jeff.” Shonda’s eyes opened wider. “Are you understanding me now?”

“Just fine.” She remembered Jeff Stivins as a cute boy who had moved out of town when his parents divorced after his freshman year. Jeremy had stayed behind with their father to remain close to Shonda.

“Wasn’t Jeff that boy who killed a vagrant in self-defense?” Bernie said.

“He’s not that boy anymore, to hear him tell it,” Shonda said. As a loud truck passed, she added what sounded like, “I’d be surprised if the cops believe the same.”

(Continue to Part Three)

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 10th, 2008 at 8:32 pm and is filed under Drama. You may follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed, and/or leave a comment below.