Cracks – Chapter Two

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2.

Caleb buried his mother at a quarter-past-two on a Thursday afternoon. The middle of January in central Alabama was no time for a funeral. The temperature stayed in the forties, but the wind chill bordered on freezing. Caleb pulled his leather jacket closed and waited for his mother’s coffin to drop into the earth.

His emotions were a mixed bag of fear, grief, and relief. He was afraid of the days to come, how his father would handle daily life without Mom by his side. Caleb mourned his mother’s passing as any son would; he missed her, thought the world was a lesser place without her presence. He felt relieved, mainly because Mom was no longer in pain. If Heaven existed, somewhere up there above the world, he hoped she’d gone to that place. Maybe she could breathe easily now, unlike him. It occurred to Caleb he might die the same way Mom had—sucking wind, as Dad put it—,his lungs finally give out.

Chance Combs cried. Caleb’s heart grew heavy while watching the old man grieve. Dad had never shown much emotion, other than anger, so the sadness present on the man’s face pained Caleb greatly. Their relationship wasn’t peaches and cream. More like nails and barbwire. The father and son grated on each other. Dad was static, while Caleb needed to be constantly moving. The old man denied change, didn’t welcome it. Caleb coveted new experiences, sought them out like shiny trinkets and fancy baubles. Then there was Caleb’s sexual orientation. No matter the length of time, he doubted highly that Dad would ever accept the fact that his son was gay. That, more than even the death of his mother, made Caleb sad and angry.

Father Carlisle, with his gray mustache and receding hairline, said, “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”

Caleb made the sign of the cross over his chest for the first time since he left Our Holy Mother’s pews for a dose of the real world. Once upon a time, his family had been devout Catholics. Mass seemed to be the only time the Combs ever spent together as a family. Mom would usher them along every Sunday morning, hollering orders, judging attire, fixing bad hair and smelling armpits for deodorant. Bad hygiene used to be something Caleb and his father had in common. Showers were, for the most part, an activity performed only once a week. By the time Caleb turned sixteen, all that had changed. Suddenly, Caleb wanted to impress people. He began to dress nicer—cardigans, button up dress shirts, and high priced slacks filled his closet, all paid for by an after school job at the Fresh Market in Prattville. He drove the Nova, even back then, but the car was rusted out in those days. He still carried pictures of the ride’s evolution everywhere with him in his wallet. Rust changed to primer. Primer turned to cherry red paint. Bald, bare-radial Firestones were replaced with classic whitewalls, and gun-metal gray bumpers transformed into chrome you could style your hair in. When Caleb graduated from high school, and got on at the Hyundai plant in Hope Hull. Church became the last thing on his mind. For one, he didn’t feel welcome, as Catholics frowned on homosexual lifestyles. For another, he just thought religion was full to the brim with steaming horse manure.

He saw the old man sign the cross, and Caleb resisted a grin. Chance Combs had only attended church because his wife had made him. Caleb didn’t think he knew any other individual further from the Lord than his father. Dad was just going through the motions, like he did with pretty much everything else in life. His father firmly believed, that to rear a child, you must be forceful and unbending. To have a happy marriage, a man must pay the bills and pleasure his wife. These were all things he tried to instill in Caleb at a young age. The birds and the bees happened on the tailgate of a pickup truck that was five years in the junkyard by the time Terri Combs died. The day was hot, damn near a hundred degrees according to the mercury in the thermometer that hung on the wall of the garage. Caleb remembered how he’d squirmed while his father taught him about sex, and how to protect himself against diseases and unwanted children. Caleb shifted from butt-cheek to butt-cheek, not because the topic was uncomfortable, but because the bed of the truck was branding the back of his thighs. The talk was half informative, half trite. Disease might be a concern for Caleb, but there was no need to worry about fathering any children. He knew his seed would never find fertile ground long as he lived.

Uncle Lucky and Aunt Felicity—Caleb’s grandparents on his father’s side had been professional gamblers in their heyday—came over once Mom was lowered into her final place of rest. Lucky looked forlorn, as Caleb expected, but Felicity was smiling, her face matching her name. Chance shook his brother’s hand, and Lucky pulled the old man in by his wrist into a bear-hug.

While the brothers embraced, Felicity spoke to Caleb.

“How you holding up?” The question almost made Caleb laugh. It was the stuff of funeral etiquette, and he didn’t quite know how to answer the query.

He shrugged. “Well as can be expected.” Felicity put a hand on his shoulder and her face contorted into a look of compassion.

“You ever need someone to talk to, you just call me. Okay?”

“Sure.”

Felicity asked Chance. “How you doin’, little brother?”

Caleb’s father looked at Felicity over Lucky’s shoulder and shook his head. The way the two siblings stood there—Lucky and Chance—arms around each other, tuxedoed bodies mashed together, made Caleb think about how Monty and him might’ve looked had they ever seen their wedding day. He shoved the thought to the back of his mind, focused on reality.

Chance said, “I’m gonna miss her, sis.”

Felicity gave a beleaguered smile. “I bet.”

Caleb had an uncontrollable urge to flee. He wanted to be gone from all of them. Mom, soon to be six feet under unsettled earth, was gone. Time to move on, to get away from everything for a while. He began walking, not knowing where he’d end up, only knowing he couldn’t stand to be around family at that moment. His feet seemed to carry him away on a cloud of air without any effort needed on his part. Caleb floated toward the Nova—a ghost traveling through the surrounding tombstones. No one stopped him. Nobody called after him. When he hit the road, he rounded the end of the Nova. He expected to see someone, anyone, chasing him down, intent on stalling his departure, but no one was there. In the distance, Lucky stood alone, graveside, his back turned to Caleb’s escape while Felicity and Chance talked amongst themselves. Caleb’s stomach tightened with the thought that they had not noticed he’d gone.

Caleb slid in behind the driver’s seat and started the car. He sat there for a full minute, glancing up every now and then to see if any family members were looking around, hunting his whereabouts. After he was certain he would not be missed, he pulled out of the cemetery and turned into the afternoon sun. The glow of the stellar body glinted off the crack Monty had put in his windshield. Caleb needed to get that fixed, but the chore would have to wait. He was driving north toward Prattville, approaching Day Street at a steady clip. Maria and Aubrey Driver lived there, and they would be a sight for sore eyes.

He needed someone to talk to, someone to confide in, and whatever he wanted to get off his chest would be welcome in the Driver’s home. Those two women would understand, if for no other reason than they’d pretty much been through it all.

Maria’s family disowned her when she came out of the closet. The same situation befell Aubrey when she told her parents she was in love with a woman, but shortly after Aubrey’s confession, her father had a stroke. Aubrey made it through with her sanity, so she might have some words of encouragement for Caleb. If nothing else, she would be an open ear connected to a shoulder in which he could shed some tears.

The couple wasn’t quite married in the legal sense of the word, but they’d exchanged their vows, had a modest ceremony, and settled on Maria’s last name. Everyone who knew the two women knew them as The Drivers. Caleb included.

Caleb pulled into Brookshire Estates just after three-thirty that afternoon. He got out of the car and strode up the cobblestone walkway to the Driver’s front door.  The one-story Spanish-style-villa had been painted since the last time he’d seen it—the drab tan of the exterior swapped for an avocado green. Dead Kennedys could be heard through the walls of the house. Caleb knew the song, but couldn’t place the name. He thought the song rather fitting, given his current state of mind. The angst-driven guitar, accompanied by the staccato assault of a drummer seemingly possessed by Satan, mirrored the warring thoughts crashing through his brain. He walked up the two steps that led to the enclosed front porch—fully equipped with mesh to keep Alabama’s giant skeeters away during the swampy months—and yanked the screen door open. The floor of the porch had changed in the weeks he’d been absent, as well. Gone was the beer-stained, egg-shell carpet that had covered the floor. Instead, green Astroturf crunched under his feet.

“Don’t dirty near as easy,” Maria said from the door, pointing to the faux grass. The punk music died. Caleb thought perhaps Aubrey had turned it off.  ”Glad to see you ain’t dead, CC.”

Maria Driver was every bit of her fifty years. Her crew-cut-style, salt-and-pepper hair dripped perspiration at her temples even though the day was frigid. She had her left hand under one heavy breast, scratching an itch that must have been annoying her by the look on her face. Her bare body didn’t unsettle Caleb. The woman was a nudist, thought clothing was an inconvenience she couldn’t be bothered with. She’d been a red head in her younger years—the ginger triangle between her legs proved as much.

Caleb gave her a nod. “Hey, Mare.”

“All I get is a little movement of the head and a ‘Hey, Mare?’ You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me. Aubrey! This bottom done went and lost his manners!”

“No shit?” Aubrey’s high-pitched squeal was lighter than her partner’s muted baritone. “What made him go’n do that for?”

“Beats the tits off’ah me!”

Caleb smiled. “Kiss my ass. I get plenty of pitching time.”

“Not what Monty says, catcher.”

“Doesn’t really matter what Monty says, Mare. Me and him are a done deal.”

“So’s I heard. Come the hell in before you freeze off what little meat you got left on them bones. You look like shit! Boy-hoo, do you ever!”

Caleb stepped past Maria into the foyer. The heater welcomed him like a warm blanket, and he understood the sweat present on Maria’s brow. “Hot enough in here for you?”

“Shuddit. Winter tends to harden the nips if’n I ain’t diligent with the heat. Cuttin’ glass ain’t my thing. You need a brew? `Cause you look like someone upped and died on you.”

Caleb stopped just inside the door, his head dropping quicker than a bag of concrete down a well.

“Ah, fuck,” Maria groaned. “Not her. Goddamnit! Aubrey! Get the hard shit, darlin’! Caleb done lost his momma!” Caleb kept no secrets where his mother’s health had been concerned. Maria knew the deal, was smart enough to figure things out without being told the details.

If Maria Driver was a bull, Aubrey would be considered a lipstick. As nude as Maria always was, Aubrey tended to seem overdressed.

Aubrey came out of the kitchen clothed in a silk blouse and a flowing, knee-length skirt, a fifth of Maker’s Mark in her left hand and a gallon of Crown in the other. Her strawberry-blond tresses were pulled up in a bun. Caleb had seen that hair when it was down, and her locks about reached her ass.

She asked, “Short swallows or overnight gallows?”

“I don’t have anywhere to be.” Caleb sat down on the mauve couch in the middle of the room, and put his feet up on a Marshall practice amplifier. The well-used amp made for a comfy footstool.

The first time Monty had brought Caleb over to meet the Driver’s, Caleb had been uninformed of the couples’ band, The Mass Debaters. It seemed he’d committed blasphemy by asking if they actually played the twelve vintage guitars that lined the walls of the living room. Maria and Aubrey didn’t own a television. They made their own entertainment—if that’s what you wanted to call the thrash-punk their three piece band played. The only missing element lived in Troy, Alabama—an hour and a half drive from the Driver’s home in Prattville. Her name was Dude, and she played drums like Animal from The Muppets. Caleb had only met Dude once, and she was the only woman—other than his mother—that he’d ever been scared to be around.

“You got a new guitar.” Caleb pointed to the odd-shaped, axe-looking instrument which held center attention on the wall.

“It’s a B.C. Rich Bich. Cost me a grand and some change. Fuckin’ thing wails balls when you crank `er.” Maria wiggled her fingers as if she were riffing on a fret board.

Aubrey retreated back into the kitchen, but Caleb heard her screechy voice clearly when she asked, “Ice?”

“Please.”

“Comin’ right up to fuck ya up!”

Maria flopped down across from Caleb, raising the footrest of her old, beat-up Lazy-Boy as she crashed into the recliner. “When’d she go?”

“Week ago.”

“She go peaceful?”

“I `spose so.”

Maria’s brow furrowed. “Did you get to tell her?”

“At the end… yeah. She was talkin’ nonsense, though, Mare. Doubt she fully understood me.”

“Sorry, CC. That shit’s rough, buddy. Never wished no hurt on nobody other than myself.” Maria rubbed the hesitation marks on her forearms. The scars were old, wounds from a life Maria no longer lived. Aubrey had dulled the need for the razor. Maria told Caleb as much the first time they got drunk together two months before, long after Aubrey and Monty passed out for the night.

Caleb said, “So, you heard from Monty. What’d he have to say?”

“Nothing good `bout you, kid. But that ain’t why you’re here, so quit changin’ the damned subject.” Maria stuck her middle finger in her mouth and chewed. She ripped the tip of her nail off and spat it into the brown carpeting.

“I’ll talk about it when I need to. Let me settle a bit.”

“This place is good for that. Settlin’, I mean. You come to the right place, CC. We’re settled, me and Maria. Might help you settle some. Might help that junk that’s causing your engine to misfire settle down at the bottom of your tank. Get me?”

Caleb laughed. “Words of wisdom from a bull-dyke. Just what I was hoping for.”

“Look, CC, I know you need to joke `cause you’re all fucked up right now—what with losing Monty and your mother in a week’s time—but you gotta take life as a lesson, or else you end up lessening life.”

“Lor-Dee! Pull up your pant legs, Caleb. Shit’s getting deep ‘n here!” Aubrey was shaking her head as she walked back into the living area with two glasses of amber liquid. She handed one to Caleb, and gave the other to Maria. Aubrey leaned down and kissed Maria on the cheek.

There it was again, Caleb thought… happiness.

Maria yelped. “You’re go’n make me spill my drink, heifer. Go on, now!”

“Yes, sir, ma’am.” Aubrey slapped Maria’s left breast as she retreated to the sofa. The pale flesh rippled—a spoon dropped in Jell-O.

“Insufferable twat.” Maria blew Aubrey a kiss.

“Them words `bout as big as your boobies, hon. Watch how you throw ‘em around.” Aubrey winked at her partner.

Caleb laughed. It felt so damn good to laugh again.

He’d known going over to Maria and Aubrey’s house would serve a greater purpose than just a venue where he could shoot the shit. The women seemed to be the light at the end of his tunnel. For a while, he could stop watching the center line without the fear of running into the walls of the dimly lit corridor of life.

Caleb felt something wet spreading on his lap. He looked down and saw his whiskey dripping from the bottom of his glass.

Caleb growled, “Shit!”

“What’s wrong, hon?” Aubrey asked.

“Could I have another glass? I think this one’s got a crack in it.”

 

Chapter Three coming 1/3/13

 

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