The Old Desk

I keep beer out on the covered front porch.
It’s winter in Northwest Illinois
and the relentless cold makes for great
refrigeration. My wife hides my beer
behind an old school desk she bought
at an auction; she says
she doesn’t want it to be
the first thing people see
when they visit. I laugh and tell her
her worries are cute and that somebody,
(not me) ought to be concerned. It’s possible
to derive some comfort from knowing
all your paranoia is justified. Our neighbor
notices when I take walks, asks me
when I see him at the post office
if I’m looking for work, and he pays attention
to whether we use our car, or when we leave
the garage door open. I can tell in people’s faces
when I see them on the street, or at the (only) bar
they’re trying to decide if I’m “ok” enough;
I want to tell them
the beer on my porch is probably
their best indicator, though most of them
will never come close enough to notice.

When she brought the desk home,
she (proudly) informed me
she only paid 50 cents. (She said)
It was too good a deal to pass on
and besides (she insisted) she was thinking
of me. It would be cute upstairs, where I write;
It could sit in the corner and I could use it
to put books on. But the desk
has done its duty; the seat
is smooth and splinter free –
worn by countless student asses,
made sore by the wood
and by the hours spent
learning cursive and reading
from old primers and struggling
with long division. The wrought iron legs
are rusted from years of exposure
through creaky floor boards and clapboard windows,
wet boots, and the dry heat
of a coal or wood burning stove. The desk top is
splinter and graffiti free, and has a hole
in the right hand corner for a bottle
of fountain pen ink. When I carried the desk in
from the car, I left it on the porch
where the orange rocking chair was
that she left to sit in when she goes
out on the porch to smoke. The desk will hide
a couple of cases of beer and some liquor,
too. Every night when I lock the front door
I think about locking the screen door too; but then
(I remind myself) this is not a town
where people steal your beer;
it’s much more intoxicating
to take note of visitors and
driving habits and the frequency
with which I (do or don’t) leave the house

Tostadas Can Catch Fire, Too

The way Elwood figured, it was their only way out. What surprised him was that Lilly agreed.

But she still had her doubts. “How are we going to pay for it?”

Elwood cracked open a beer. “I told you how,” he answered after a very deliberate sip. “I just need you to trust me.”

Lilly was standing in the kitchen preparing dinner. It was Mexican night. She liked to cook when she was thinking about things; it gave her something to do besides worry. Elwood had learned not to take her worrying personally. He knew it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him; she was just a worrier by nature. He knew she believed in him. He just wished he had the same kind of faith in himself.

He wanted to get them out of Phoenix because he’d brought them there. It had been his idea. He’d dragged Lilly across the country, away from her family and the dismal prospects that faced them in Chattanooga. The economy was bad and it was only getting worse. He couldn’t find a regular job to save his life, unless it was temp day labor. The advantage was that he got paid at the end of the day. But then he had to get it cashed, which meant paying a fee at the Check-n-Go check cashing/payday loan place. What was left was never enough. He’d considered sticking up the Check-n-Go a couple of different times, but there were a lot of cameras and security. Besides, he’d promised Lilly he’d find regular work. He’d known some people who were doing well in construction out in Arizona; the real estate boom was making people rich and there was plenty of money to go around if you weren’t afraid to put your back into it and if you could outwork the Mexicans. It hadn’t taken long to talk Lilly into the move, because she wanted to get away, too.

But by the time they got out to the desert, the economic bubble went bust. All the money that could be made had already been made. New home constructions were almost non-existent, and the people he had known wouldn’t help him. “Tough luck,” they told him. “We just can’t use any new people right now. Sorry, Bro.”

Over the years, he’d had a lot of different jobs. He was a fast food line worker; he’d been a janitor; he’d been a bartender. Garbage collector. Night watchman. He even tried to better himself and struggled through half a semester of technical school trying to learn about computers. None of it was any good.

He was a crook, and he knew it. Sure, he was small time – but it was always the big timers with their big egos and their grand schemes who always got caught. It wasn’t like they showed it in the movies: crooks with big plans and big crews ended up doing hard time and being some bull queer’s midnight bitch. No, small time was better. Small time was safer. He even took a small amount of pride in his work. Carjacking. Mugging. Purse snatching. A little B & E. The occasional convenience store. Ok, he told himself. It wasn’t glamorous. But the problem with most small timers was that their lifestyles were incompatible to the job. He didn’t mind living simple. He didn’t own anything that he could pack in a single bag, or ditch entirely in case he had to run. He didn’t mind the cheap motels and rooming houses, the dive bars and lousy food. The problem, as he saw it, was that people built up expectations for themselves, and expectations made them sloppy. He knew he’d never amount to much. He’d never have the big house and the brand new car. But he would stay alive. And he would be free.

Then he met Lilly. She was beautiful, but not in that fake glamorous way. Quiet. He hadn’t expected her to talk to him, and when he told how he made a living, he expected her to run. But she didn’t. When she looked at him, he got the feeling that she saw something else. Not who he was, but who he could be. He liked that. But her family hadn’t liked him. They figured him almost immediately, and he wasn’t what they had in mind. Both of her parents were hard working, semi-religious folks. The time clock was as important as the bible. They thought he was lazy. They thought he was dangerous. They tried to tell Lilly that he didn’t really love her – but she knew better. When Elwood married her, they accepted it. The day before the wedding, Lilly made him promise.

“I need you to tell me you’ll try,” she said.

“I’ll try.”

“I need you to promise. Promise me you’ll try and find a job.”

“I promise. It’ll be ok. I promise.”

But it was proving to be a hard promise to keep. She wanted him to have a regular job and a regular life; but she was also scared of being poor. She didn’t want fine things; but she couldn’t live the way Elwood could. He’d been supplementing his occasional paychecks with a few snatchings here, a few muggings there. Just enough for some cash to keep the lights on, or to take Lilly to the movies. She worked two jobs. Elwood didn’t like it – not because he objected to her working. But it made him feel horrible, watching her wear herself down.

He was trying to think of some way he could get them out of Phoenix, but there was nowhere to go. That was when the phone call came from Lilly’s mother. Her mother, Lilly’s favorite grandmother had died. Of course, there was no money to make it back for the funeral. But when she died, she left her house to Lilly.

Elwood’s first thought was that they could sell it and use the money to move somewhere else. He could tell from the look on Lilly’s face, though, that she had other things in mind. She wanted to move back, to live in the house. It was a small house in Cape Cod, right on ocean. She’d spent summers there as a kid. Elwood used to get her to talk about it so she would smile.

He knew he had to get her there. And there was only one way to make it happen. He needed a big score.

It was day of the job and he was trying to relax. He enjoyed Lilly’s cooking, even Mexican night, though he couldn’t eat the refried beans. She was finishing up the meat. All the fixing – the lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and sour cream – were ready. She’d bought tostadas instead of burrito wraps this time. “Something different,” she’d said. They looked like flat taco shells to Elwood; but he didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying to stay calm and think things through. Trying to remember how many tellers would be working and how many cameras there were and which window would give him the least visibility to the cameras. He knew to make sure they didn’t put the ink pack in the bag. It was a federal bank, so they wouldn’t fight him. It was Friday, so there would be more cash in the drawers to accommodate paychecks. He was going to use the cell phone gag. He’d walk in, hand the teller a note with all the information. Then he’d hand her a cell phone. On the other end of the cell phone, he had a friend with a kid who agreed to pose as a kidnapper. People get extra antsy when they think a kid’s in danger. The teller would empty her drawer and ever other drawer, or (according to the note) the kid would die. If there was a dye pack, the kid would die. If the alarm went off, the kid would die.

Of course, nobody was going die. Including Elwood.

Just as Lilly was putting the tostadas in the broiler to warm them up, the telephone rang. “Can you watch these, honey?”

“Sure,” Elwood answered, a little annoyed by the distraction. He was thinking about things. Important things. He was sure Lilly knew something; but she didn’t say anything. She wanted to go to Cape Cod. That would take money. She’d been talking about having kids, too. And that would also take money. He didn’t know what kind of work he could get up north – maybe shoveling snow or some shit – but he knew he had to make it happen. That was what she wanted, and goddamnit, she deserved something in this life. Something solid. Something good.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the smell. Something was burning. There was smoke pouring out of the stove. He jumped out of his chair. When he opened the stove, the flames jumped, and he closed it fast. He turned off the stove, and looking around, noticed Lilly’s water glass sitting on the cabinet. He filled it at the tap and then, very quickly, opened the stove and through water on the fire. It took a couple of glasses, but the fire went out.

By this time, the place was filling with smoke. The alarms weren’t going off. Fucking great, he thought. Elwood opened all of the windows and the patio door. Then he looked up and saw Lilly standing there.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I turned my head for a second….”

She walked over and hugged him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “ I just…”

“It’s ok,” she said. “Tostadas can catch fire, too.”

He looked at her. She’d been crying. He hugged her for as long as she wanted to be hugged. Sometimes that was all there was to do. It wasn’t taking long for the smoke to clear out. But the smell, he knew, would take a little longer.