Swim

by Tammy Fourteen

There he is now, my sweet pathetic son. Stammering his way toward mama. Can't walk a straight line.
"John, hand me the bag."
Stupid shit dropped his keys. Gotta get the bag before he drops that too.
"Hand me the bag John."
Maureen emptied its contents onto the table.
Benson & Hedges, Wild Turkey, egg noodles... dummy forgot the sauce. But cigarettes....
"Where's the sauce John? Ya want noodles without tomato sauce, you like that?"
John stood facing the door, speechless. It struck Maureen how the last rays of sunlight glistened off her son's nose.
"Go wash your face." She closed the door eclipsing the bright light.
Greasy like his daddy was. Might need a shave tomorrow. He's got more gray than me.
Need a drink... sun's goin' down... can't have that.
She swished her drink and, raising it upward, addressed him in a toast.
"Make one for yourself, huh, a little medicine for the sick."
John walked to the freezer and took out the ice tray. He gave it a twist then jostled the cubes from their slots.
"Making one for myself," he said.
Ice makes it wet, fizz... Ma doesn't use it. I'm different though... she's looking... it'll be soon.
"Making one for myself," he said. His head hung forward bobbing side to side, searching his mother's face for approval.
Maureen screamed across her bourbon, "You don't know how goddamn lucky you are!"
John walked to the bathroom and placed the drink on the edge of the sink. He soaped his hands before wetting his face. The water drained off, tickling his skin. John glanced at the mirror.
Not like her. Gettin' a shave tomorrow.
He hit the corner of his mouth with his hand.
Feels rough. Shave tomorrow.
John's hands, bulky and red, reached for the towel, hanging. He patted his face dry then remembered the drink. Grabbing for it created a nervousness that loosened his already slipping grip. He dropped the glass into the sink where it split apart, spilling Wild Turkey into the basin. The vapors stung his eyes so he wiped them, only to notice in his reflection, a steady stream of sweat beading at the brow. He heard his mother scream through the hollow door.
"What'd ya break in there, John! I heard that! Should only give you plastic to drink out of. Breaking things... If it weren't for you I'd still have a husband! I wish you were never born!
John turned to the sink splashing cold water over his red cheeks. He slouched down on the edge of the tub, tired, and peered down the sides of his nose, watching, as the water streamed down his face.
John woke with the sun. Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he noticed the smell of his Mother's hash.
Won't give me any, though. I can try. The smell's good.
"John, your cereal's ready!" came Maureen's morning welcome. He ignored her and scratched the back of his head, stopping momentarily, as the night's dream came creeping in. Swimming in the water. The waves were so big.... Ma. She was different, though, she was him. He yelled at me. Bought the wrong cigarettes. I was riding in the water.
John walked to the kitchen pulling his pajamas up by the draw string.
"Can I have some hash and eggs?" he asked.
"Eat your cereal. You're goin' to get a shave today, and a haircut too." She tossed his peppered hair playfully with her hand. The bangles around her wrist caught the tip of his nose.
"Ouch."
"What's the matter? Ya don't wanna shave?"
She does things on purpose, that hurt. Shave will be good.
"Shave will be good."
"Damn right. You need it." She flicked the underside of his chin with her fingers.
He doesn't know, chin scrapes are Italian for fuck you... better eat all that cereal... stuff's expensive. Maybe I'll put him on a diet. Wants my corned beef.
"When you're done at the barber go to the store. Pick up a can of tomato sauce."
Maureen threw ten dollars down next to John's bowl, and said, "If you get back before noon you can have your medicine." She walked to the living room and scooped up the remote while falling into the recliner. She sat staring at his silhouette in the kitchen. John's hunched shoulders reminded her to sit up straight.
Wouldn't take much. A simple blow... he could choke.
Maureen squinting an eye, aimed the remote at her son's head.

John dressed himself. He walked through the kitchen pocketing the ten dollars, and let himself out the side door. Dora who lived in the apartment upstairs, passed by him. She carried a bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other.
"Hey John... where ya goin'?"
"Gonna get a haircut and a shave."
He smiled showing off creamy tartered teeth.
"Lucky... " she sang, feigning envy, "Wish I could get a hair cut. I gotta go to work."
"I work tomorrow."
"Doing what?"
"Clean the gym."
Hey, do you get to pump up your muscles?" She squeezed her limp bicep and laughed.
"Pump up your muscles," he repeated.
He flexed his own and felt it. He laughed out loud.
Don't have any muscles. Need a haircut though. Maybe tomorrow's hash. Maybe Dora will give me another record... Rolling Stones. Tomorrow.
"Do you have any Rolling Stones?" he asked. "I want Rolling Stones."
"No way Jose," she quipped. "You know the moon tonight? It's going to be eclipsed... are you gonna come out here on the porch to see it?"
"I'm not lookin' at the moon. I'm goin' to the barber... what time is it?" he asked.
"It's about nine thirty."
"Medicine at noon."
"What medicine?"
"Mom says medicine at noon."
"What's the medicine?"
"Alcohol."
Dora looked him over. Usually, she could tell when he was simply mimicking something his mother had said to herself. But, this time, she couldn't tell.
"Your mother doesn't let you drink, for real. John... does she?"
John smiled, embarrassed. He walked out the gate locking it behind him.

On his way to the barber John spied a neighborhood dog lifting a leg in relief. The dog's owner, who held the mutt by a string, scowled at John.
Can't have a dog. Mom's allergic. What's that dog's name?
What's his name?" John asked following the man.
The man continued walking without turning around. John followed mimicking the little dog's legs at a trot.
Be nice to pet that dog. I think his name is Joe.
Here Joe, come here Joe," John said.
John grabbed hold of the dog's tail. He didn't pull it, but held it firm. The dog yelped and the owner turned a newspaper in his hand catching John on the shoulder."Leave 'im be," the man said.
John winced as the man hurried away, his toy collapsed under his arm like a football.
That hurt. Get a deal on dogs. I have ten dollars. Need sauce though. She's always yellin'. Medicine. She does though. Scares me when she takes it. Hope they give me two quarters back to buy gum.
John rounded the corner mechanically. The barber's striped pole within sight, caused his steps to quicken.
A woman blew on a saxophone with a cigarette displayed in the foreground on a billboard high above John's head.
Mom smokes. But she can't play the horn. That lady's black. My friend Bob is black. He gives me his left-overs at lunch break.
No monkey business at work. No monkey business on the job or no left-overs. Bob says... no monkey business.
He walked up to the barber's door. The blinds were drawn and the door was locked. A sign hung from the handle. John managed to sound it out... "Closed," he said.

Maureen sat motionless as the Home Shopping Network offered to turn her entire house into an antenna.
"This microelectronic box uses your home's electrical wiring to get rid of that snowy television picture."
Sounds good. Turn this dump into something worthwhile. Antenna. Wonder if I could get the girl upstairs to install it. Dora. She helped put the Christmas tree up last year. Cute girl. Talks too much. Nosy.
Maureen wrote down the code and called the phone number which she'd memorized. While talking to the operator she mixed herself a drink.
Yeah, that's J-16833... Oh, it comes with a ninety day... risk free... wow. yeah, I got lousy reception... I got snow and ghosts and big gray lines through half my screen... oh, my visa number... of course, and thank you very much. Bye, bye...."
Maureen lit a cigarette and downed the drink. Before she could place the glass fully on the coffee table a knock came from the side door.
"Oh shit! Who the hell's bothering me," she groaned.
Don't have to answer it. I pay my bills. People come knocking uninvited. Better find out who....
"Who is it?"
"Dora."
Damn. Straighten up. Can ask her about this antenna.
Maureen opened the door wider. Dora stepped in and sat down at the kitchen table. She watched Maureen's mouth collapse around a fresh cigarette. The entire apartment reeked of smoke. Dora found herself slightly aroused by the old temptation.
"John told me that he takes a medicine."
"Yeah, well, John needs more than medicine. You spoil him. Giving him records."
"He likes music, come on, it's not a big deal. That's not why I came to see you."
Maureen took a drag from her cigarette and blew smoke out of the corner of her mouth.
"Ya quit didn't ya?" Maureen asked.
"How'd you know?" asked Dora.
"No more butts to sweep up. You never used an ashtray, just pushed those little butts through the cracks in the stairs. Where's ya think them filters were gonna land? In the trash by themselves?"
Listening to Maureen made Dora's lungs ache for the refreshing feeling of delicious smoke. She changed the subject.
"John's medicine, he told me it was alcohol. Is that true?"
"Course not. Can't give a boy like that alcohol. He'd be a mess.'
"Well, that's what he told me."
"Well, thank you for your concern. I wanted to ask you . . . do you know how to install antennas for televisions... like for the whole house. It's a big antenna."
"Oh... I'm not all that good at... Maureen, could I trouble you for a cigarette?"
Maureen smiled and handed Dora the pack. "Sure, I know how it is," she said.
"Yeah, so this antenna, what exactly do you need me to do?"

John sat on the barber's steps waiting for the place to open. He played with the ten dollars in his pocket. He pulled it out of his pocket and folded the bill in half then creased it back and forth. He played with the scruff under his chin.
John stood up to yawn and began walking. He stopped at an intersection where a boy in baggy trousers held a giant radio. the song blasted out from the speakers with extra bass. John could not place the song, but he liked it. He followed the boy with baggy trousers, entranced by the music and happy to be moving.
Never heard that song. I like oldies. Ma'll be mad if I don't get a shave today. Maybe the barber will be down this way. Wonder where? Have to get the sauce. Can't forget. So don't want her mad. That boys pants are gonna fall down. Someone wrote big in the sidewalk. He's got baggy pants. He's painting.
John watched the boy as he shook the can then moved his arm upward. The spray hit the cement and John smiled broadly, laughing at the music and the fumes.
"Saturday Night Fever?"
"Fuck no."
"I think it's The Beegees."
The boy turned the song off and said, "It's not no fuckin' Beegees."
John laughed. The boy, irritated, pointed his spray can and hit the nozzle. Blue paint streamed out coating John's shirt. John staggered back, blinking. The boy laughed and continued his painting, ignoring John who began to scream. John screamed so hard he lost his breath and wheezed. He walked past the boy and beyond the cement wall where sand suddenly covered his shoes. Gazing outward, he saw the ocean, green and wide, the waves advancing to greet him.
At the beach. Mom took me. Long time ago. At the beach there was a surfer. Good song... Beach Boys. Mom wore a suit. Looked funny in it too. Nobody went to swim though. Told me not to go in. Wishing I was never born. I know the water will wash it.
He bent down extending an arm. The small tide washed over his sleeve then fell. Paint's still there. Can't rub.
John withdrew his hand and slipped his shirt from his frame. Noticing blue across his belt loops, he wrestled himself from his pants and shoes. Sanding half naked, he submerged his feet.
Can't hurt. Rub it. Can't be.... never born. It's getting heavy... the water.
A wave came knocking into his white thighs, covering them. His step extended. The water graced his belly, then another foam wave appeared above his head. It came to a halt at its peak then crashed over him, taking John under.
Air. Need some now. Air.
He held his breath, then didn't. Air bubbled out his nose and he opened his eyes to watch.

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