(3)
— Originally published in Pangolin Papers, Fall, 2003
Continued from page (2)
That was before the divorce. Joey was different
now, almost like he was afraid or didn’t trust Riley. Had Doris
told Joey about Riley’s nightmares and the couple of times
he’d gotten kind of wild? That was all past now. Mostly. The
VA’s counseling had helped.
With nothing better to do, Riley washed several
days’ worth of dishes. Dishwater got the dirt out of the cracks
in his skin and loosened the grime under his fingernails. As he put
the last dish in the drainer, the old refrain jostled through his head.
I’ve got sixpence, jolly, jolly sixpence. A bum’s song.
No money, no responsibilities. I’ve got sixpence to last me all my life.
He and Doris had enough money before the marriage
went sour. Of course, she made more than he did. They didn’t care.
They had each other, their little house, their baby. He hunched over
the edge of the sink. Swaths of grease floated on the surface of the
brown water. I’ve got tuppence to spend . . .
Even with the cut they’d given him,
Riley’d paid almost a hundred dollars for Joey’s cherry
tree. It hadn’t bloomed much while Riley was living at the
house—too young. But when he’d taken Joey home from camping two
weekends ago, the tree was fully budded, its limbs touching the lawn. Should
be full out by now on Joey’s birthday. And Joey wasn’t home
to see it.
Riley shook his head and dumped the dishwater, cleaned the sink, and
swept up. In the living room-dining room-bedroom, he considered making
the bed and folding it back into a sofa. Instead, he tossed his pillow
on top of the twisted sheets. Tuppence to lend . . .
He sponged the plastic tablecloth, took his Penthouse from the
coffee table, and flipped on the floor fan. Up in the eighties already.
He dreaded the onset of summer heat and the daily decision about how
much air conditioning he could afford. He’d try to get through
the hot days with shorts and tank tops. Tuppence to send home to my wife, poor wife.
TOM'S TALES