This appears in a pre-2010 issue of cc&d magazine. Saddle-stitched issues are no longer printed, but you can requesting it “re-released” through amazon sale as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.

Order this writing in the book Laying the Groundwork


paperback (just issues) 5.5" x 8.5" book w/ b&w pages: $15.95	paperback perfect-bound 5.5" x 8.5" book w/ b&w pages: $17.95	paperback 6" x 9" cc&d perfect-bound book w/ b&w pages: $21.95	paperback 6" x 9" cc&d perfect-bound book w/ color pages: $114.95

Payback

Mary Chandler

    Billy stuffed his bent foot into his correction shoe, swung his leg over the seat of his Harley, and headed toward the courthouse.
Never mind the pain that crawled up his back and the headaches that never stopped.
He’d face that pimply twit who ran the light and slammed into him and Alice if it was the last thing he ever did.
    Alice.
Gone.
His hand cupped his mouth.
A tear slid down his wrinkled cheek.
He settled himself on the bench outside the courtroom and closed his eyes, remembering.
    “I love you, Billy Barnes,” he heard her say-and he was back again in church.
Back with Alice.
    Church.
Billy was no regular, but at seventy-three he’d found himself scrambling to redeem all those misspent years along life’s way.
Still, he’d eased back to church slowly. Cautiously.
He remembered singing in the choir as a boy.
But that was before the skepticism set in.
Millions of questions.
No answers.
And the know-it-alls always answering questions no one was asking.
Too confusing.
Much too complicated.
    Long after he ceased to believe, the music kept him coming back.

    “Billy, I want you to sing the solo next Sunday,” Brother Stevens, the choir director, had said.
“I like the way your tenor voice resonates throughout God’s holy house.”
    He never refused.
He felt like a hypocrite, singing in the choir like that and not believing.
But on the off chance there was a God, maybe his singing would count for something.
    Even after Bill stopped attending church, he sang often-in weddings, community choral groups, musicals-anywhere he was asked.
The women flocked around him.
He loved the attention.
The ladies.
But when the drinking started, the singing stopped.
    The road back had been long and difficult.
Along the way he’d shattered two marriages.
Alice knew about both of them, but she’d taken him anyway.

    Billy buried his face in his hands.
Dear Alice, he thought.
The only woman who really mattered.
She brought me around.
Made me want to be a better person.
    The courtroom door swung open.
“Mr. Barnes, please follow me.”
    Dutifully sworn in, Billy took the witness stand.
He answered the routine questions-name, age, place of residence-all the while glaring at that pimply face and those defiant eyes staring back at him.
    “Search your heart,” he thought he heard Alice say.
“He’s just a kid.
Try to forgive him.”
    “Tell us about the accident, Mr. Barnes.”
    Billy’s heart pounded in his chest.
His throat felt dry.
Constricted.
He reached for his water.
Gulped it down.
Cleared his throat and recounted the gory details he wished he could forget.
    “The kid’s pickup ran the light and crashed into my Saturn.
My car rolled twice before it overturned, pinning me beneath the hood and the steering wheel.”
Billy felt his lips quivering.
“I could hear the blood gurgling from my wife’s throat.
I knew she was dying-and I couldn’t do a damn thing to help her.
It was horrible.”
Billy’s hands shook.
His head throbbed.
“‘Somebody help us!’ I screamed.
No one came.”
Sweat covered Billy’s forehead.
“The cops found the wrecked pickup, but not the kid.
He didn’t stick around.
Didn’t care what he’d done.”
Billy glared at the dressed-for-court punk in his white shirt, navy suit, and matching tie.
“The little coward ran.”
    The kid shook his head and sneered.
Billy wanted to strangle him with his bare hands.
    Alice’s voice whispered in his head.
“Calm down, Billy.
Finish your testimony.”
    And somehow, he had.
    Taking a seat in the courtroom, Billy listened to the speech about how the 17-year-old’s whole life lay ahead of him.
How his childhood abuse and lack of parenting somehow excused his behavior.
How society, not the spiked-hair delinquent, was to blame for Alice’s death.
Billy felt sick to his stomach.
He knew where all this was headed.
    The judge lectured the boy about putting the pieces of his life back together and let the little creep off.
Just like that.


    “Ironic, isn’t it, Alice, that just when I’d managed to fit the pieces of my life back together, Mr. Cool over there managed to destroy everything,” Billy said aloud.
    “Wha’s that, old man,” the kid hissed as he swaggered past.
“You talkin’ to me?”
    The odor of aftershave clogged Billy’s nostrils.
“Surly sonofabitch,” he muttered.
“Watch your back.”
    The kid whirled around.
“You say somethin’, old man?”
    Billy studied that face.
Those cold eyes.
The grimacing mouth.
    “You deaf?
I axed you a question.”
    Billy shrugged.
“Yes and no.”
    Outside, Billy watched the kid join his friends.
Whooping and hollering, they climbed into a red Chevy.
The car darted in and out of traffic and zoomed out of sight, but not before Billy memorized the license.
His head throbbed.
He swallowed three aspirins and settled himself on his Harley.
    Back home, Max, his German Shepherd, greeted him at the door.
Max lived for his walks.
    “Not a great day for the beach, Max,” Billy said, “but what the hell.”
    Clouds blanketed the sky.
Waves crashed, and seaweed littered the sand.
Soon the drizzle turned into a downpour.
Max tripped on a hunk of driftwood and sank onto the sand.
    “Get up!” Billy demanded.
    Max whined, but he didn’t move.
Billy tried to lift the dog to his feet.
No luck.
    “Be patient.
He’s half blind, old, and tired,” he thought he heard Alice say.
    Billy’s hands flew to his ears.
“Dammit, Max,” he yelled.
“Get up!”
He wanted to hit the dog.
Pound some sense into his thick skull.
Show him who was boss.
And then he remembered it was Max lying on the sand, not the surly little shit that killed his Alice.
    He knelt down and coaxed the dog to stand.
“You’re soaked, Max,” he said, rubbing the dog’s head.
“I need to get you home.
C’mon, boy.
Get up.
You can do it.”
    The dog finally stood, and the two of them limped home.
    On Sunday, Billy tried to go back to church.
Again.
He knew that he needed to lift the load from his heart.
Try to forgive the teenager.
Start over.
From the church parking lot, he heard the choir singing.
Billy sat on his Harley, listening.
Struggling with his emotions.
Trying to see things Alice’s way.
God’s way.
    A red Chevy pulled up beside him.
    “Hey, old man,” the familiar voice said, “I been lookin’ for you.”
    The kid got out, banged his car door shut, and stared at Billy, his hands balled into fists.
A cross dangled from a gold chain around his neck.
    Seeing that cross, Billy came unglued.
How dare he?
Billy put a finger to his lips.
“Don’t say a word, Alice,” he warned.
“Not one word.”
    “Wha’ you say?”
    Billy didn’t answer.
Instead, he revved his Harley and drove like a madman from one end of the parking lot to the other.
When he had all the power he needed, he slammed into the punk, sending him reeling to the cement, a look of terror permanently etched on his pimply face.
    “Payback time,” Billy said, ripping the cross from the dead punk’s neck and tossing it as far as he could.
    The weight from his heart lifted, just like that.
He felt vindicated.
Whole.
When the cops came, he’d be waiting.
Meanwhile, he’d talk to his Alice.
Explain.
Try to get her to see things his way.
She’d forgive him.
To Billy, that’s all that mattered.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...

This appears in a pre-2010 issue of cc&d magazine. Saddle-stitched issues are no longer printed, but you can requesting it “re-released” through amazon sale as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.

This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of cc&d magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book!
Email us for re-release to order.