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cc&d v201

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 Weathered
Two Shovels

Joseph B. Cleary

    Curt punched the steering wheel. It jiggled. He was going to have to get it fixed again. He put down the window of his red 1995 Sable and spit. Every turn he made got him more confused. He should have printed out the directions, but after he made his decision and found out where he had to go he grabbed his rifle and headed out the door. He didn’t want to suffer for another second of the last year of his life. Still, he didn’t recall the directions saying anything about turning off into a ghetto.
    He stopped at a red light. An overweight teenager sauntered across the street. He had his head down and was eating something out of a plastic container. Curt was surprised that he was wearing a Van Halen tee shirt. He took off his sunglasses and rolled down his window.
    “Excuse me. I’m trying to get back to Route 44.”
    “And I’m trying to get into Harvard so I guess we’re both fucked.”
    “Sorry I asked,” Curt said as he rolled up the window. “Shithead,” he mumbled.
    “Wait man,” the kid said as he dropped his fork into the container. “I was just fooling with you. I’ll help you out.”
    “Good, I was about to lose it.”
    “Now what you want do is head down this street here. You should see a yellow house. If you don’t see it then you fucked up.”
    “But how could I fuck...”
    The kid held up his hand palm out.
    “Then what you want to do is go to Bobby’s house and then go by Eddie’s place and then... you know what? I don’t think those guys are going to like you so maybe you shouldn’t go that way. In fact maybe you should just get the fuck out of here.”
    “Yeah, well fuck you too,” Curt said. He shoved his foot down on the gas pedal. He wanted to drive at the kid and scare him, but instead he made a right turn away from him. He went two blocks and saw a sign for Route 44 South. He shot up the ramp and headed for Centerville.
    He slowed down when he hit the highway and turned up the radio. “Got My Mind Set on You,” by George Harrison came on. His brown eyes widened and he started to chew on his lower lip. He switched the radio off. He used to love the song when it came out in 1988. That was the summer he went to the shore every weekend, the summer he met his girlfriend Linda. But since it was also the summer Brandon messed him over, whenever he heard it he couldn’t get Brandon’s face out of his mind. It was like it was burned into his brain. Things were never the same for him after that. He never went to the shore again.
    As he drove he reached into his top pocket of his yellow buttoned down shirt for a Camel cigarette. He put it in his mouth and then he put it back in the pack. He hadn’t felt the need for a smoke since he decided he was going to deal with Brandon. The relief he felt told him that he should have done this years ago. But everyone had told him to forget about it. They acted like it wasn’t a big deal, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case if it had happened to them. He even saw a shrink for a while, who he paid to tell him to forget about it.
    He ran his fingers through his thin reddish brown hair. He had let it grow long since he found out he was going to die. He chuckled. He had worried so much about losing it and now the chemo was going to take care of that. When his doctor told him he had lung cancer he decided he was going to live his last year in peace. He was going to turn a negative into a positive. It was time to put out the fire. Holding onto it wasn’t healthy.
    He got to Centerville around three thirty. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. It felt like he had gunpowder in his stomach. His hand shook as he chugged down some bottled water. He hadn’t been this close to Brandon in years. He started to get out of his car, but he knew how he looked when he was thinking about the guy. Sometimes he would even talk to himself. His old boss had mentioned it a few times. But while he looked crazy, he wasn’t. He was just trying to calm his nerves and quell the pain in his stomach.
    Since it was too early to do anything he decided to get something to eat. He found a Big Bear Burger Shop. As he waited in line at the drive-through it occurred to him that it didn’t matter if people noticed him. No one knew him and he probably would be dead before they could catch him.
    He ordered two Big Bear burgers with extra horseradish, but without pickles or lettuce, a large order of fries, and a large diet orange soda. He went to a park he saw on his way into town. He bit into a pickle and smashed the burger into a tree. He grabbed the bag and pitched it into the garbage. People were always ruining his day. But once Brandon was gone every day would be a good day.
    When the sun went down he headed for Brandon’s street. He found the address and parked the car in a dark spot between two streetlights. The neighborhood was just like the last one Brandon lived on. For some reason the guy had to live on a tree-lined street. He laid down in the front seat. He could see out the driver’s side window but no one could see him. Curt smiled at the thought of taking back the tranquil life Brandon had stolen from him.
    At five thirty a white Volvo station wagon pulled into the driveway. A brunette was driving and two blonde haired girls were in the backseat. Curt assumed the brunette was Brandon’s wife. He got his binoculars out of the glove compartment. The gray streaks in her hair supported Curt’s assumption. So did the fact that she appeared to be scolding one of the girls after they got out of the car.
    Curt put down the binoculars and spit out the window. The crud got to live with his family while he hadn’t seen his in years. But once he got this out of the way the road would be cleared for a family reunion. His wife would notice the change in him, and if his wife took him back so would his daughters. He might even take them down the shore.
    He picked up the rifle and aimed it at the smallest girl. Brandon’s last thought would be that he caused his family’s deaths. Curt breathed deep. Beads of sweat slid down on his forehead. The rifle’s sight was set between the young girl’s eyes. His hand shook.
    He put the gun down. They didn’t deserve to die. Curt was here to fix the situation, not make it worse. Besides, Brandon was not going to live long enough to suffer the loss.
    At six thirty Brandon pulled his Beige Altima into the driveway. He got out of the car, smoothed his suit, and grabbed his briefcase from the passenger’s seat. He looked around with a self-satisfied grin. Curt had planned to take his time and savor the event, but instead he sat up, grabbed the rifle, and fired.
    Brandon clutched his throat, trying to stop the blood from squirting out. His eyes widened. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He fell backward onto the hood of the jeep and then slid to the ground. He tried to grab onto something as he fell. His head slammed onto the driveway.
    Curt slumped back in his seat and sighed. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. It was almost worth getting cancer to feel this good. He didn’t know he could be this relaxed. He took out a cigar, lit it, and blew smoke rings on his windshield.
    The front door of Brandon’s house flew open. The brunette stepped out. She stared at her husband’s body for thirty seconds and then she shrieked. Her daughters slid by her and ran for their father’s body.
    Curt threw the rifle into the backseat and put the car in drive. The car fishtailed down the street. Porch lights went on and people came out. Curt knew there was a good chance that someone got his plate number, but even if he got caught spending his last year in jail was better than the prison he had been in.
    As he headed down the highway he thought about the little prick that wouldn’t give him directions. He wondered if he could find him. He rolled down the window and spit out his cigar. He started to chew on his lip. After a block he took out a cigarette and lit it.



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