& that night in my sand-colored 1987 Ford van with the American flag decal covering the rear window cruising Cedar Street, Dale Springs & parked in shadow & with my binoculars trained to the mostly shaded or darkened windows I thought, If this is where I am this is who I am. & so it was.
40
HOW THINGS PLAY OUT. July 28 telephoned Dad’s lawyer he’d hired for me last year, hadn’t been in contact since that day we walked out of Judge L__’s chambers. Saying in a fast voice Don’t tell my Dad please! I’m kind of scared the cops are tailing me, harassing me, not in actual actions nor in words but day & night there’s squad cars cruising North Church Street. & I have reason to believe they have questioned some of the tenants of this house. & if the tenants move out my voice was rising, panting, & Dad takes away my caretaker job—WHAT WILL I DO?
Purchased a second-hand folding “dinette” table. Not at the Salvation Army downtown but a furniture outlet in Grand Rapids. The man helped me carry it & load into the rear of the van. Hey don’t you want the chairs?—four chairs come with it. & I say, Chairs? Why?
Purchased rubber gloves of the ordinary household kind. The kind for dishwashing. Purchased a roll of gauze in a drugstore. To prepare a surgical mask.
Fed & watered baby chicks. In three cardboard cartons with airholes. I’d run a long extension cord into the old cellar & it’s handy. The farmer advised keeping them warm with 50-watt bulbs one to each box. CHEEP CHEEP CHEEPING. Tiny beaks & clawed feet, & yellow fuzz-feathers looking like they’re dyed. You don’t think of Easter chicks born this time of year.
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Final week in July. My will power is such I stay away from Humpty Dumpty Wed. & Thurs. but there I am, Fri. & SQUIRREL is not on the premises that I can see. & I almost freak. In my booth at the farthest rear corner near the swinging kitchen doors. & I’m wearing a Tigers baseball cap backward on my head & dark plastic shades over my regular glasses & my blueberry-stain birthmark & NO SQUIRREL. Has he quit, is he gone? How will I hook up with him again? Oh Christ. Oh God if You exist help me now!
& the kitchen doors swing open with a blast of heat & smelly air—& THERE SQUIRREL IS!
Time 5:07 P.M., date July 29.
My jumpy eyes lowered to my plate where I’m eating Humpty Dumpty Special Fried Chicken Parts & Special Ranch Fries & Homemade Coleslaw but I track SQUIRREL in the corner of my eye where he’s clearing tables of dirty dishes etc. Perspiration gleaming on his upper lip. If you would look at me. If you would smile. Just once! But like Barry he does not see me. Like Bruce, he does not see me. & there’s three young girls in shorts & halter tops & sliding curtains of shiny hair in one of the booths. & they’re teasing SQUIRREL who’s their friend. & he’s blushing self-conscious in his soiled apron. Yes but loving it—for sure. MY ZOMBIE strutting like a proud little cock before such cunts! & a sidelong smile at them showing his dazzle-teeth & a dimple in his right cheek I had not seen before & I swallow a mouthful of gristle & almost choke & the little cunts shiver & giggle together like the three of them are coming at the same time squirming their asses on the vinyl seat. & SQUIRREL strutting past with a big tray of dishes on his shoulder, their master.
MY ZOMBIE betraying me in full view!
At 5:58 P.M. Q__ P__ left Humpty Dumpty & crossed to the van parked inconspicuously at the rear of the Lakeview Food Mart. A busy place this Friday evening. & in the van idling the motor for a minute then easing out into eastbound traffic & there shortly emerges SQUIRREL pedaling his bicycle east along Lakeview. & keeping in the right-hand lane I follow at a safe distance slow like I’m looking for a parking space. Note how SQUIRREL turns as usual south on a narrow side street Locust & I don’t follow where he turns into a one-way alley (parallel with Lakeview, a half-block in) & proceeds eastward toward the rear of St. Agnes Roman Catholic Church past the point of GROUND ZERO (where the van will be parked for the capture). Instead I accelerate & at Pearl turn right, which is south, & pass the church & the adjoining cemetery & there in my rearview mirror after a minute or so appears SQUIRREL again pedaling oblivious! Like he is in a movie, & does not know it. But I know it. & I park at the curb & allow him to pass me. His strong legs pedaling, & his lean back bent over like in a swoon! & I follow him slowly & cross Arden (where Grandma lives a block away, east) & two streets down to Cedar (where SQUIRREL lives a block & a half away, east) & SQUIRREL turns onto Cedar & I continue south on Pearl. Just between you & me. Our little secret.
42
It is a requirement, Michigan Department of Corrections, that your probation officer comes to “inspect” your residence every few weeks, or maybe months. Mr. T__ who was overworked (as he complained) had had to postpone his visit to Q__ P__’s residence but finally he came to 118 North Church Street on Tuesday August 2. Q__ P__ who pleaded guilty of “sexual misdemeanor committed against a minor” is in his second year of probation & his employment record, deportment & medical record “model.” Mr. T__ had only ten minutes he explained & seemed pissed, talking on his car phone for a while before he came up the steps & Well hello, Quentin! & shook my hand in that quick pinching way of his like he’s detached from his hand & your contamination. Lifting his eyes inside his bifocals & he’s impressed with the P__ family house you can tell. University Heights neighborhood. He’d gone to Western Michigan State in Kalamazoo.
I opened the door & Mr. T__ preceded me inside & he was saying in a loud voice like talking to a mental defective So you’re responsible for all this, eh? Good for you Quentin. Showed him the front parlor where there’s a sofa & chairs & a TV for use of the tenants. Showed him the kitchen where tenants have “kitchen privileges.” I had cleaned up the dirty dishes & even scoured the sink & there was a strong stink of insecticide but no roaches in evidence. Not opening the cupboard doors where things were shoved inside. Opened the refrigerator like for something to do & Mr. T__ might’ve sighed exhaling his breath through his teeth. Just great, Quentin. So where do you live? Showed him my room at the rear. Q__ P__ CARETAKER in black ink on a white card beside the door. The window air conditioner was rattling & the vent open & I believe the room did not smell too strongly of whatever it might smell of. (My own nostrils were accustomed to whatever this might be, thus not reliable.) Sweat-stiffened socks & underwear needing to be laundered, & damp towels etc. The gray scum of the bathroom sink & toilet & shower stall. But the bed was neatly made & the cover (a purchase of Mom’s) of navy blue with tiny ships & anchors & flying fish drawn to the pillow which was in a straight position. The single window needing to be washed outside & in overlooking the weedy back yard I had not mowed in weeks, working at Grandma’s so much. But Mr. T__ took little notice. Nor of the twelve stones atop the air conditioner. I opened my closet door voluntarily & there on hooks were—for a weird moment I saw my fucked-up ZOMBIES!—my clothes, which were not many but some fancy & funky—RAISINEYES’ leather slouch-brim hat on the shelf, & a zebra-stripe shirt of BIG GUY’s (too big for Q__ P__), & some leather neckties, lizardskin belts, the sheepskin jacket & on the floor my prize kidskin boots courtesy of Rooster. I opened my locker door too & there was my calendar taped to the inside of the door with certain markings * * * & my T-shirts, work-shorts, jogging shoes etc. A strong clean smell of Lysol. In an aluminum foil bag like you bring home a roasted chicken to heat in the oven in, the quart bottle of formaldehyde containing my prize memento of BIG GUY but the object was neatly taped of course & gave off no odor or suspicion. I have not opened it to glance at it for a long time. Mr. T__ did not so much as glance at any of this either for why should he. Q__ P__ has nothing to hide, the five or six knives & the ice pick etc. & the pistol locked in the cellar. Mr. T__ saying Great, Quen-tin. Very neat & clean. Just right for you, eh? Saying, A little responsibility makes a man feel good, eh? My muscle-mags & porn stuff I’d hidden away. & my Polaroids. & the map of SQUIRREL’s bicycle route. Instead, there was a neat stack of many issues of the Dale Tech Blaze & brown grocery bags carefully smoothed & folded on the floor. Just like my wife, Mr. T__ said. Those damned grocery bags! On my bedside table Elements of Geophysics & Mr. T__ picked it up & glanced inside seeing the name. Second-hand, eh? All my books were second-hand, too. Couldn’t afford new. Asked me about my classes at Dale Tech & I told him what I had told him before & he said it was a good school, his sister’s son got a degree in electrical engineering & has a good entry-level job with GE in Lansing.