a fine blush

Posted on March 5, 2012 by Cynthia G.

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brothers in arms

Posted on February 20, 2012 by Cynthia G.

Oil In Water

Pam Lazos

Chapter Fifteen

Robbie backed out of the driveway and cranked up the volume on the radio to override the noise of the engine. Ten minutes later, he pulled into a strip mall and parked in front of the Army Recruiting Center. Sweat formed on his upper lip and his knuckles bulged white from his vice-grip on the steering wheel. He realized he was holding his breath and let it out. After a single, agonizing minute, Robbie grabbed the keys and his backpack and strode inside.

A young, pimply-faced young man, no more than twenty-two with a well-pressed uniform and excellent posture sat behind the reception desk. He stood when Robbie walked through the door.

“Can I help you?”

“Captain Russell, please.”

“Your name?”

“Robert Tirabi.”

The young man disappeared and after several moments returned. His stone face beckoned Robbie to enter.

“The Captain will see you now.” The boy stood aside allowing room for Robbie to pass, and closed the door behind them.

➣➣➣

Captain Russell occupied a spacious office that overlooked the shopping center’s parking lot. He knew better men who’d risen to lesser ranks and, although the Army didn’t pay well, he’d enjoyed a modicum of success first in Grenada and then in Desert Storm. More importantly, his men respected him. But his last combat mission was fifteen years ago and he’d be the first to admit his reflexes had slowed since then. Now he was killing time until retirement.

“C’mon in, son. Sit down.” He pointed to a chair. “I understand you’re having second thoughts.”

Robbie nodded and shifted uneasily in his chair.

“Well, how bad do you want to get out?” asked the Captain.

“Pretty bad. I told you over the phone what happened to my parents…”

“It’s a damn shame, that.” Captain Russell sighed. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you. The army’s desperate for bodies. You signed. I’ve got you scheduled for a six-week basic training starting end of the month. Think of it as a sixteen-week crash course. We’ll teach you how to shoot. How to survive with just a pocket knife and an aspirin. That kind of stuff.”

Robbie stared, wide-eyed, managing little more than, “But, I…”

“Look, I’m real sorry about your folks. You can appeal. Might be out by Christmas next. But unless you know somebody.” Captain Russell leaned forward, folded his hands. “You know anybody?”

Robbie shook his head, a helpless look overtaking those few facial muscles that hadn’t gone numb.

The Captain smiled. “Hey, those siblings of yours can use the money. You do get paid, you know.”

Robbie nodded

“You’re a car guy, right? Stuff’s always breaking down there in the desert. Something about the sand causes everything to go to crap ten minutes after you get there. You’ll be in demand. Probably pull the beauty duties because of it.” He laughed, an infectious, light-hearted laugh. Robbie smiled in response.

Captain Russell paused, stood up, and looked out the window across the parking lot like a man surveying all he owns.

“It’ll be over before you know it. I promise.” Captain Russell handed Robbie his business card. “Call me if you have any other questions.”

➣➣➣

Gil sat on Robbie’s bed asking a million questions as Robbie packed his life’s essentials into two large duffle bags. After throwing in several pairs of jeans and a bunch of underwear and socks he routed through the closet, talking to himself. “How many shirts….”

“But why do you have to go?” Gil asked. While Robbie’s back was turned, Gil pulled out the seven pairs of socks Robbie had just stuffed in the duffle bag and hid them under the bed.

“Because I’m doing my duty for my country,” Robbie replied. “And besides. I can’t get out of it. I tried.”

“What’s duty, anyway? Duty to who?” Gil removed Robbie’s underwear and placed it underneath his pillow.

“I have a duty to my country just like you had to feed ZiZi every day. We all have obligations.”

“But why do you have to go so far away? Don’t they have people who live there to do their own duty?” Gil removed several pairs of jeans from the duffle bag and shoved them under the night stand. Robbie turned and tossed his shirts onto a pile on the bed. Gil leaned back nonchalantly, distancing himself from the duffle bags. Robbie began taking his shirts off their hangers and folding them neatly.

“Yeah, but sometimes people need more help.”

“But we need more help. Especially because of Mom and Dad.” Robbie stopped folding shirts and knelt down next to Gil.

“Hey. C’mon.” He held his arms out and Gil jumped into them. He cradled Gil as best as you can a 5’2″ baby.

“I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll see.” Gil crinkled his nose and buried his face in Robbie’s shoulder.

“Are these people more important than we are?”

“Nothing’s more important than you are.” Robbie rubbed Gil’s back. “It’s just that some people don’t have the same freedoms we have and so that’s why I have to go. It’s about democracy.” Robbie shifted Gil back to his spot on the floor.

“Isn’t democracy when you get to choose for yourself?” Gil asked. Robbie nodded.

“Then maybe they’ve already chosen.”

“Well said, little brother.” Kori tossed several books on the bed and flopped down after them. “Some of my favorites. For the plane ride and apres.” She smiled at Robbie. “Sorry. I was eavesdropping.”

“Since when did you become a philosopher?” Robbie asked.

The lock sprung open in Gil’s hand and his smile spread-eagled across his face. He closed it and tried again. It pinged open and he began anew.

“Since my brother became a right-wing bonehead. What’s next? White cloaks? Skinheads? Listening to Rush Limbaugh?” Kori laid down on the bed next to the books.

“Kori, weren’t you an apolitical arteest like two minutes ago?” He pronounced the word with a mock French affectation. “What the hell happened?”

“Mom died. And someone had to take over for her. Besides, the more I think about it, the more I realize that Mom and Dad died for oil the same way you will if you go.” She bit the nubby nail of her right index finger.

“Yeah, well, Mom knew what she was talking about. You haven’t got a clue.” Robbie walked to the hall closet, pulled his shoe shine kit out and tossed it onto the bed.

The roar of a motorcycle could be heard coming down the street. The driver stopped in the Tirabi driveway and cut the engine.

“Jack!” Gil jumped off the bed and ran downstairs.

“Great,” Robbie said. “Who invited him?” Robbie glared at Kori and strode to the window. “If that mother is riding without a helmet, I’ll kill him myself. Then he won’t have to worry about wrecking.” Robbie peered down to confirm that Jack was not wearing a helmet. He watched as Gil ran out the door and jumped into Jack’s arms. “Stupid Jackass! He turned to Kori grimacing. “And I mean that in the nicest way.”

“Why are you getting so bent out of shape? They passed the no-helmet law, ya’ know.”

“Yeah, but if anyone truly thinks it’s safe to be riding anywhere without a helmet, they don’t have two brain cells to rub together. You know why they did it, don’t you? Because you’re more likely to die in an accident if you’re not wearing a helmet. The other way, you just run up exorbitant medical costs.”

“You’re so critical.”

“Did you ever see a guy driving down the highway at sixty miles an hour with no helmet? His skin’s plastered to his face, rippling in the wind. Even with glasses, your eyes are squinting and tearing from the pressure. Let that guy get hit with a bug, like a bee or a cicada or something, and at that speed, I’ll bet you he gets a welt the size of a half dollar. And that’s if he doesn’t wreck first.”

“Enough. I’m going out.” She tossed the book she was fingering back onto the bed.

“Will you watch Gil, please?” Robbie nodded and turned back to the closet.

“Take the helmets off my bike,” Robbie warned.

Kori slammed the bedroom door in reply.

“Like talking to a wall,” Robbie muttered. He peeked out the window, careful not to let Jack see him. Once Robbie’s best friend, the partnership had waned when Jack started courting Robbie’s sister in earnest. It was just too tough for Robbie to be best friends with the guy who was sleeping with his sister.

Kori walked over to Jack and handed him a helmet. He shook her off, but she cocked her head, a coquette, and he obliged. He looked up to Robbie’s window and saluted. Robbie flashed him the finger and resumed packing. The roar of the motorcycle filled the room then faded into the distance.

to be continued. . .

to read what came before, click here. . .

boys don’t cry

Posted on February 10, 2012 by Cynthia G.

OIL IN WATER

a novel by

PAM LAZOS

Chapter Fourteen

Kori pulled salad fixings out of the refrigerator. She piled the lettuce and veggies in the crook of her arm and squinted out the window. A shadowy figure, illuminated by the barn light, moved inside.

“That’s it,” she said.

“What’s it?” Avery walked in as Kori slammed the refrigerator door.

“I’m going to get him. He’s been out there for three days with no food and probably no sleep.” Clutching the vegetables to her chest, she peered into the darkness.

“You know what he’s doing,” Avery said.

“Actually, I don’t.” Kori whirled around to face him and the carrots flew from her arm. Avery grabbed the bag before it hit the floor.

“He’s making something for ZiZi. Or himself. Probably not you.” Avery blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s just, well, he’s processing it. That’s how he does it. And you need to let him.”

Kori dumped the her armload on the kitchen counter. “Doctor Freud, I presume?”

“Hey, I’m not the one that made them go outside.”

Kori snorted and turned her back on her brother. “It wasn’t my fault,” she murmered, but her words carried no conviction. “The point is, it’s three days and you’re not even a little concerned.”

“Oh, geez, Kori. Mom and Dad. Zizi. I’m having a hard time dealing with it all and Gil’s only ten.” Avery sat down. “He’s doing what he always does. He’ll be in when he’s done.”

Avery poured a glass of milk. As if on cue, the door flew open and Gil sauntered in, handing Avery the contraption in his hand in exchange for the glass of milk. Gil sat down, placed ZiZi’s urn on the kitchen table, and drained the glass.

Kori snapped at Avery. “You planned that!”

“Yeah, right,” Avery laughed.

Gil looked at each of them in turn and held up his empty glass. “More milk, please.” Avery refilled his glass.

“You must be starving,” Kori said.

“Just thirsty,” Gil replied, downing the second glass. “Avery brought me breakfast, lunch and dinner. Except, it’s not dinner yet, so I didn’t have that today. It’s just – well you forgot the milk at lunch.” Gil leveled an accusatory look at his brother.

“Life was getting a little too cushy out there, Gilliam. I thought if I put the pressure on, you’d snap to it.” Avery handed a half glass of milk to Gil who drained it and pushed it forward for Avery to fill again.

“That was only half,” Gil said.

“A half too much,” Kori said, grabbing the glass. “We’re going to eat dinner in an hour.” Gil shrugged, grabbed the urn and retired to the living room. Kori torpedoed an agitated glance in Avery’s direction, but humor danced on the edge of her eyes.

“Sorry,” Avery said. “I couldn’t help egging you on. You’re so…maternal these days. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I should make you do dinner for that.”

“No way, Jose. I did dinner the last three nights.” He raised two fingers in an imaginary salute, grabbed Gil’s invention and joined his brother in the living room.

➣➣➣

Gil took Mad Max, Beyond Thunderdome , out of the DVD player and replaced it with The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers . He didn’t know if he could ever watch Mad Max again. Bummer, because it was one of his favorites. He sat, cross-legged on the floor, ZiZi’s urn wedged between his legs.

“It’s funny,” Gil said to Avery as he walked in.

“What?”

“I was in this exact same place three days ago, but I was rubbing ZiZi’s ears instead of holding a can of them.” He tapped the urn and looked at his brother matter-of-factly. Avery grimaced and sat down. “You slept outside the barn the last two nights,” Gil said, a statement not a question. “Thanks.”

Avery wrapped a protective arm around his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “Do you want us to get you another dog?”

“There is no other dog.” Gil said. “And no other Mom and Dad.”

Gil hadn’t cried when his parents died. Nor had he processed their deaths by locking himself in the barn and building something to fix it. What he had done, after the ashes were scattered, was hang a “do not disturb” sign on his bedroom door and retreat. For a few days he surfed the web, researching the topic of drunkenness, hoping to find a cure.

“It’ll be something you can take and in fifteen minutes you’ll be okay to drive again,” was all Gil would say about his proposed brain child. He made a pill, a spray, and a lotion, all of which he tested on Robbie one night, but whether it was due to being out of his normal environment or just out of ideas, or maybe because his heart was too broken for his head to focus, Gil gave up and resorted to sleeping, watching T.V., and playing computer games. Tray upon tray of his favorite foods, placed at the bedroom door by his concerned siblings, he left on the floor, untouched. He drank only water, milk and juice.

For the first couple days the rest of the Tirabis allowed his withdrawal, but by the third day Robbie began pacing the floor and threatening to break the door down. Avery alone knew that this was what Gil needed and pleaded Gil’s case for him. It was through Avery’s intercession that Gil was allowed to continue his self-imposed isolation. At the end, he cried. On the morning of the seventh day, the door swung wide and a gaunt and starving Gil emerged, catharsis completed, despite his failure to cure drunkenness.

Avery squeezed Gil’s shoulder again before removing his arm.

“Awww, this is a good part!” Gil said. “He’s gonna toss the dwarf.” Avery fingered the collar-like contraption Gil had given him.

“Hey, Gil? What’s this?”

“A dog collar,” he responded without taking his eyes off the T.V.

“But we don’t have a dog anymore and you just said…” Avery turned it over and over in his hand, trying to figure out the mechanics.

“It’s not for us. It’s for the people who have dogs. Now their dogs won’t ever get hit by a car again.” He looked up and sighed, taking the collar back from Avery.

“It’s looks like an ordinary dog collar, just with a battery pack on it. What’s it do? Some kind of electric charge?

“A zap?” Gil asked, poking Avery. “Would you like to be zapped?”

“No. And I don’t suppose that dogs do either. Pardon my insensitivity.”

“That’s okay.” Gil reached in his pocket and pulled out a bracelet identical to the collar. “Here. Put this on your wrist.”

Avery obliged. Gil adjusted the volume and held it up to Avery’s ear.

“Ready?” Gil asked.

Avery nodded as strains of Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head poured out. “It’s different, I’ll give you that. But how do you expect a dog to keep this thing on its wrist?”

Gil’s tongue probed the interior surface of his bottom lip, a wacky smile on his lips.

“Hey, cut it out. I’m not condemning your project. I just want to know how it works.”

Gil grabbed the bracelet, his exuberance apparent, and wrapped the collar around Avery’s neck.

“It’s a training device. There’s fifteen different songs so you can train them to do whatever you want. Here.” Gil put the earphones in his own ears and pressed the remote, his head bobbing in time to music Avery couldn’t hear, but could feel. His hands flew to his neck, probing the device.

“What is this?” Avery demanded.

“The music’s in the collar,” Gil responded. “The dogs can feel it. Every song has a different vibration.”

Avery furrowed his eyebrows.

“You train them to do different things to different songs,” Gil said. “You want them to come to dinner? You play, Everybody Eats at My House . You want them to go outside and run around? You play, Who Let the Dogs Out. You want them to do tricks? You play, Jump . You want them to come right away when you call them and turn around and not run out into the street and get hit by a car, you play, Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head. Gil’s throat felt thick and it was hard to swallow and since his brain was screaming something about boys don’t cry, he squeezed his eyes shut and forced back the mighty tears trying to storm the gate of his pre-adolescent dignity. He stopped talking and slumped over the urn.

“Why, Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head? ”

“Cause that was Dad’s favorite song, Avery.”

Gil opened his eyes and looked to his brother, but Avery avoided his gaze. They sat in stoned silence, each wrestling with their internal demons, until Avery’s cowed in submission and he gave Gil’s arm a light punch.

“I think it’s an awesome idea, Gil. I’ll take it over to Roley’s Hardware in the morning and see if I can talk them into buying a few.”

Gil nodded, pushed his bangs to the side and swiped at the three or four tears, running full-out down his cheeks like escaped convicts.

to be continued. . .

to read what came before, click here. . .