Broken Halos

Broken Halos.

Please be warned. This story involves drugs, drinking, and some not very nice people. It is not a "feel good" kind of story. If it sounds like something you'll hate, please do yourself a favor and save the time of reading it. For those who do take the time...enjoy! Cheers. Frankie.

As per usual...most of my stories are corrected and edited by Aaroneous. His help and input make them readable. If he didn't spend so much time working on my crap, he might be able to write more of his own incredible stories. The help is truly appreciated.

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You can only be so lonely.

Everyone needs someone. Everyone needs something. A human connection. The human touch. A partner to talk with. A friend to walk with. A lover to share a special moment. Companionship. Some of those who have it, do not cherish it. Some who need it, never realize it. Others...others hold onto it with all their might. They never walk alone.

Me...I walk alone.

I've walked this same dusty road almost every day. Every workday for as long as I can remember.

My course never changes. Things around these parts never do. People come. People go. But the surroundings never really change. They might deteriorate, fade away, or be re-built, but they really don't ever change.

The road I walk is one of those things.

Every journey brings back painful memories of time when things were better for me. It also reminds me of times when things were far worse. But either way, when I'm all alone, walking down the road, I have plenty of time to recall the events from my past life. Events that seem to have happened in a bad dream. A lonely, empty, dream. This road will be the death me me.

*****

Unlike most things in my life, this road stays the same. It always treats me to stinking hot and empty walks during the summer months. And it always gifts me with freezing cold and barren landscapes during the winter months.

The old road has hills rising up out of the ground and dropping down out of sight. Yeah, the rolling hills remind me of movies I had seen where the waves go up and down in the middle of the ocean. Seemingly endless waves that roll on forever. Never touching a shoreline and never seen or enjoyed by a single human being.

On some farms, the old wire fences with rickety posts did and do little to keep anyone out, or for that matter, keep anything in. For miles the fields line the roads with feed crops. Soybean, cattle corn, and sunflowers. It often made me wonder about the bother with fencing it in at all. There was nothing to cause anyone a reason to cross over.

During the hot months, shade along the serpentine road was a commodity on my walk, because trees were randomly spread out over every couple of miles. At one time, maybe a century ago. A farmer and his family had decided to plant trees on the edge of their property. They didn't help much in the morning on my walk into the mill because the sun came up from the east. But in the evening, the shade from the oaks, made the walk home a bit more tolerable.

Today was one of those days. It was early May, and I was just walking into work, but it was already hot, and even this early in the day, I was looking forward to my walk home.

I always daydreamed about the future. Things always appeared to be better when I looked ahead. And the walk I was thinking about was still 10 hours away. Yeah, even in the early morning, the heat was shimmering. It was hot and humid. And I knew full well that I would sweat off a pound or two before the day was over.

Carrying a bag containing two peanut butter sandwiches and an apple, I kicked stones at the edge of the dirt freeway. I would guess that for every twenty times I walked back and forth to work, I would get an offer from some generous person. They'd be offering me a ride into town, but it wasn't always easy to accept.

With every ride I take, comes a price. They all tear or chip away a piece of my heart. It would be ripped from my chest and thrown out the window of a moving vehicle. Never to be found again.

Most were sincerely generous, with their offers. But some others, were just being nosey. Prying and gathering information so they could spread gossip at tea socials or ballgames.

"Steve, why no car?"

"Steve, have you heard from Ally?"

"Steve, how is the little one doing?"

"Why is it that you and Ally split?"

"You plan on seeing your little one soon?"

"It's such a shame. You two made a cute couple."

I had answers to their questions. Questions they already had answers to. But when I did provide them with answers, they were answers they didn't want to hear. But the comments hurt. And for the hurtful comments, I never had a rebuttal.

But my daily, shitty walk, is only a part of my journey. Just a sliver. Only a tiny piece. My true journey started long ago. It has been a rough one. Down many bumpy roads. Roads with lots of twists and turns. But one day it finally started to go downhill. Downhill without brakes to slow or stop me. And no matter who or what you are, you can only go so far down. There is no such thing that is lower than, nothing.

It was on these walks that I started to reminisce.

*****

Although it was never great, my world started to collapse when Ally left me. She took my baby girl with her when she did. One morning she woke up and realized it was time for a change. For her, it was over. Being a dirt farmer was no longer the glamorous life she wanted.

My Ally was beautiful. The prom and homecoming queen. She was my breath of fresh air. The light at the end of my tunnel. She was the girl who, I thought, loved me for who and what I was. Ally made me feel like being a better person. But it didn't last.

At first, she loved me for being a bad boy. I suppose the word 'love' is strong. She liked me, or at the very least, liked the idea of me. I was the "cool" guy from the wrong side of town. Ally knew what her parents would think about her dating "white trash", but she didn't care. She wanted to be a bad girl. Even if it was for only a brief period in her life.

Ally was always the apple of everyone's eye. She could easily do better than me. Everyone told her so. And one day, she listened to what they said to her.

On a cool fall day, while I was at work, at the same shitty sawmill I still walk to every day, she packed up her stuff, our child's stuff, and left. She left me behind to start a new and better life for herself. A life in which there would no longer be anything bad. She rid herself of me. Once again, she was a good girl.

*****

I stayed drunk for a week. When I sobered up from the initial shock, I found myself exactly where I knew I'd be. Alone and lost.

Angry and without direction. No guidance or anyone to answer to. This wasn't a good place for me to be. Alone and free to do as I pleased. Being gifted an unwanted freedom, I turned to the dark side. Booze. Pills. Gambling. Whores.

From that point on, things only got worse.

The gambling didn't stop me from driving, but the booze did. Three intoxicated charges in four months were more than enough to cause a license suspension. The judge didn't suspend my license, he tore it up. Gone for two years. It was no more driving or go to jail. Easy enough choice to make. Even for a stoned drunkard like me.

Luckily for me, the state was kind enough to do the math on what I owed. Weekly, they removed my alimony and child support payments from my check. Although Ally could no longer stand the sight of me, she loved the sight of my money. Even if it was only a little bit. I was glad the courts garnished my wages, because if they didn't, I'd be in jail for being behind on those payments too.

All of this was too hard for me to understand. How and why did I, and do I, continue to fail? What are the underlaying factors that keep contributing to my demise.

When I was sober, I was sometimes able to comprehend the facts and reasons for why I was alone. But when I was drunk or stoned, I was filled with loathing, hatred and self-pity. And there were times when the contempt was directed at myself.

*****

The century old steam whistle sounded. My shift was finally over. The buildup of hours waiting for a cold beer had come to an end. It was the weekend, and I was once again free to overindulge.

As predicted, it was hot, and the day had gone longer than it should have. We worked extra to finish a plank board order. Loaded it on the trailer and cleaned up the shed. Looking at the clock. I laughed to myself. Over two and a half hours late, yet I'd never see a penny of overtime on my pay stub.

"Steve, you need a ride home. I'm going by your place to make this delivery," yelled Mr. McLean. His family had owned the same mill for a century. He was a good boss, just cheap.

"I'd...I would Mr. Mac, but I need to stop at the Piggly Wiggly."

"Hustle up. I'll pick you up out front I ten minutes."

Still covered in sweat and saw dust, I raced down the street to the nearest grocery store. "The Pig" as we called it in town had the best sales. Not that what I wanted happened to be on sale. I wanted hard liquor, but I settled for beer. The cheapest beer I could find. The more, the better.

Pushing the cart to the curb, I got there the same time Mr. McLean pulled up. I put the two thirty packs and the three bags of ice in the back. Having a ride home, I doubled down. There was no possible way I could carry all this home if I were walking.

The luxury of air conditioning hitting my face made me close my eyes and dream of better times and better things. The McLean's always had nice trucks and this Ram was no exception. It smelled new and fresh. Not musky and old like the trailer I lived in.

"Son, I know it's not my place. But there are times when I feel like it might be. Draw yourself a line. It's time for a change. It's needed, and you gotta start somewhere. And again, it's none of my business, but, if I were you, I'd start with the booze and drugs."

Easy for him to say. If I started with the booze and drugs, what would be left? I smoke reservation cigarettes. I don't give a shit about them. I only smoke because I've done it forever. I don't even like it. And gambling? Gambling can fuck off too. I only bet on football. Sometimes the World Series. Or if I get a super good tip on a horse running in big races like the Breeder's Cup and Kentucky Derby, I'll put a little bit down on that. Plus, I'm in a NASCAR pool, but it's not much money. So, when it comes right down to it, I hardly gamble at all.

So, if I gave up booze, drugs, and gambling, what and where would that leave me. It leaves me with whores. And in a small town like this, there aren't many. In fact, there is only one that I know of.

She goes by the stage name Vanessa. She strips at the only bar in town. Four shows of three songs, daily. George, the owner of the Bunker, put a small stage and pole in the corner. It happens to be by the T.V.'s, so when Vanessa was on stage, everyone is looking her way.

Vanessa also doubles as the town escort. Her husband Bob takes all of her bookings. You have to pay in advance, and there was no such thing as a refund if you couldn't make it for you appointment. For those in a rush, you could use the back of Bob's old 1981 Ford Econoline van. That is if you didn't mind the entire world knowing what you were doing in the parking lot of the Bunker.

The cost of a thirty-minute adventure in "Vanessaland" is fifty bucks. It seems fair, but I rarely take a ride. I'd much rather spend the fifty bucks to drink myself into oblivion. I keep telling myself that it helps ease the pain.

"You're right, sir. I try. Every Monday I tell myself I'm stopping, but every Friday..."

"Son, have you ever turned to Jesus?"

"No sir. Can't say that I have."

Mr. McLean pulled the big Ram up to the stone shoulder, outside of the trailer park where I lived. The ride was way faster than walking. He handed me a brown paper bag.

"These are from Margaret. Put them some place cool, or they'll spoil for sure."

"Thank you, Mr. McLean. And please tell Mrs. McLean the same."

"Such a polite boy. Steve. You're a damn good worker. Even with all your pitfalls, you never let me down." He had the saddest look on his face. "For the love of God. Please, find yourself some help."

"I'll try sir."

The McLean clan were nice people. They ran a tight ship. Working for them paid poorly, but they were honest and treated us good. Mrs. McLean often brought egg salad sandwiches and tuna fish to us at work. There was always a well-stocked cooler full of water, with a vat of sweet tea at the side. And some days, when the mood struck, she would bring in enough coconut cream or lemon meringue pie to feed us all.

Today, I was carrying home egg salad and a container of potato salad.

*****

My trailer is old. It's an Airstream. An old silver bullet from years gone by. Someone had abandoned it and it fell to me. It is still parked in the original spot where its owner put it in. The thing is parked on the back side of the park, but I like the location. There is a field behind me, so I can piss back there when the need arises. And the trees back there give me some much-needed shade and privacy.

While the trailer is still hooked up to the park sewer, I have no real running water or hydro. Don't get me wrong, I have it, but no one knows about it.

From a pair of units over I run a couple of garden hoses to my place for water. I'm also plugged in two extension cords. All of them are buried away so they go undetected. And the owner from one of the places loaning me utilities, is blind, so it's not like he will ever notice.

I have no shame.

The hydro is nice. It helps me run a small beer fridge. A microwave. A toaster. And a heater when needed. Not all at the same time, because doing so would be risky. If I ever overloaded and blew a fuse, someone might come digging. If they started asking questions, I'd be up "Shit's Creek".

Putting one case of beer and two bags of ice in the cooler, I had a shower. The outdoor rain barrel I used worked perfect this time of year. Lukewarm water used to wash away another day and another layer of dirt from my shitty life.

By the time I was finished the beer was ready. Cold or not, it was always ready.

Sitting down at my wood rotted, old, picnic table, I laughed to myself at how my nicest piece of furniture was my beer cooler. I hadn't bought it. No. I found it along the road on my way home from a rare Saturday shift. It was sitting roadside under one of the few trees I walked past.

Beside the cooler was ten or so empty beer cans. A car jack, a tire wrench, a flat tire, a pair of sunglasses, and a lady's hat. The only thing I took was the sunglasses and the half full cooler. I struggled to carry the load home, but I made it. Every time I open it, it makes me smile.

*****

"Evenin' Stevie."

"Miss Lily."

Lily was also known as Vanessa. Yes, "that Vanessa". It's her alter ego. A persona and a name she can hide behind. An alias to help ease her pain. Try calling her Vanessa when she isn't working. You'll catch her wrath in a heartbeat.

She and Bob have lived at the trailer park for a lot longer than me. They live a few laneways over. A much nicer place than mine. Theirs is in what might be called the "elite" section of the park, sut Lily slums it almost every night, when she's walking her small mutt by the back row. She always parades her dog up and down the dirt and stone paths. It's her way of telling the world to "fuck-off". I felt that it made her feel human, and not a piece of meat. It was as if she was telling the women, who looked down their noses at her, "I banged your husband, and he paid me for it".

"Mind if I bum a smoke, darlin?"

She reached down and picked up the plastic bag holding a bunch of loose cigarettes from the Indian reserve. There was no waiting for an answer. She was taking one whether I liked it or not. Putting it between her lips, she leaned in for a light.

"Spending your night out here?" Lily asked, while looking up and down the barren laneway.

"Yep. My own private paradise and personal party."

"Sweetie. You got any beer tonight?" she asked.

"Where's Bob?"

"Gone. Him and Big Al packed it up this afternoon. They're headed to some kinda God awful tractor pull. Won't be back until late Sunday."

"You didn't want to go with them?"

Sitting at the table without being asked to, she laughed.

"And leave all this behind? Nah. Plus you get all that dirt in your hair, and I just went to Jeanine and had my hair colored. Don't plan on ruining it so I can watch some assholes pullin shit with their John Deeres."

"Sorry. I suppose I understand."

But I didn't. because it wasn't important to me, I couldn't have cared less. Instead, I got up and grabbed us a pair of beers.

"Glass?" Lily shook her head.

"Look at you baby. Movin up in the world. This beer is ice cold. You musta got a ride home."

Normally I didn't have ice. On hot days, it melted too fast on the walk home.

"Mr. Mac gave me a lift."

Getting back to the not understanding. I looked at the woman sitting across the table from me. For the life of me, I couldn't understand Lily and Bob's relationship. What kind of man sold his wife off to other men for their sexual enjoyment. We all heard that Bob had lots of kinks. Rumors spread like wildfire about how he liked to watch Lily with other guys. I had never been part of it, but I had heard. Also, you could see how her profession had taken a toll on Lily. She was probably around forty, but she looked older. And you could easily see the hurt in her eyes when someone pointed in her direction. At only twenty-five, I was surprised that I noticed stuff like that.

At any other time. In any of part of the country. Lily would have looked like a normal middle-aged woman. That is if that middle aged woman was drinking a beer, smoking a cigarette, and sitting with her tits half hanging out in a trailer park.

"Whatcha doin for dinner baby?" she asked.

"A few more beers. Then, I was gifted some leftovers. Egg sandwiches and potato salad. You?"

"You got enough to share?"

"Sure do."

"Well, your night sounds so good, I might just stay here and join you at this five-star restaurant of yours."

"Fair enough. Tell me when you're hungry and I'll set the table with the finest China I have."

"Ha...set the table. Do you even own dishes? Or did the missus take them too."

"Pretty sure you know that she took everything. Didn't you help her pack it all up and clean me out?" I said louder than I probably meant to. I wasn't feeling sorry for myself, not yet, but any reminder of my past life set me off. The reminders always set me off.

"I know. Sorry, baby. It was a bitchy thing to say. And no, I didn't help. I gave her a roll of tape. That's it. I try my best to stay out of domestics. It's required in my line of work. Taking sides in any dispute is bad for business."

"No call to be feelin sorry. I do enough of it for everyone."

"Don't worry about it, Stevie. One day someone new will come knockin at your door and the both of you will live happily ever after in this here paradise just like me and Bob. You'll find yourself a little cutie to snuggle up with."

"Truly lookin forward to a moment like that. It would probably do me some good."

Extracting two more beers from the cooler, I set one in front of Lily. "You sure about a glass?" I asked her again.

"No baby. This cold freakin can is way better than anything I expected tonight."

*****

My trailer didn't have much in it. Simply because I don't own much. But what I own, I use.

Pulling a pair in citronella candles and a box of wooden matches out of the cupboard, I headed back outside.

"We'll light these when it gets darker. Not sure about your place, but I don't get many bugs back here. I think it's because no water stays on the ground."