Lonny,
I didn’t tell them out at the job site that you quit, in case you come back and need your own story. I just said I was worried, that it wasn’t like you to disappear. I figure that might buy a few days. I’ll try to stretch it out by doing more, taking up the slack so they don’t just hire another decker. The framers are going like a bunch of fire fighters, trying to stay up with the concrete guys, who don’t talk to anybody. I swear they must be setting up lights and working at night. We get out here every morning and there’s a dozen new slabs. Do you think even if you can catch up with her she’ll come back? I’m not trying to get you to quit what you have to do, but I hope you see what’s what quick and don’t let it get a hold of you like that time before. Mama says she might can get this letter to you because she can feel where you are. Shit, sounds like writing to Santa Claus to me, but she’s done it before, so I told her to try. That old man who runs the catering truck that comes around at break times asked where you were. I guess you were keeping him in business, buying three lunches a day. Let me know if you need some money, brother, and I’ll get some to you. You can fly back here like you did coming out of Nam, people bringing you drinks all the way. Or I’ll drive to where you are. Screw this job if they can’t wait. I’ll bring your saw. Somebody out there is bound to need a roof. Let me know and I’ll do all I know to do.
—Bud
:::
Dear Bud,
Got your letter here at the VA hospital. Mama said she knew to check all the hospitals first like she always does, and I guess it paid off this time. Marcy didn’t want me back, didn’t want to go anywhere with me, and she had a gun, and I was drunk for courage to talk to her anyway, and that was a bad plan. Do you know what a pancreas is? Mine’s got a hole in it. At least it’s not cancer I guess. It might be a while before I get out of here, so you best tell them out there to go on and hire another decker. I’ll be okay if I get to keep being anything. Ha. It looks like lots of 3-2s being built out here in Vegas too, so if I can get my legs under me I’m pretty sure I can find work. If I do, you can come out too. We may as well lose our week’s pay in a real bright place instead of shooting craps in a pickup bed on Friday afternoon. Could you do me one thing? I’m sorry to ask. Could you go get that metal lunch box of weed I stashed up in that cottonwood tree at the creek where we used to watch the drive-in picture show, even though we had to make up the words? Do you remember that time we saw Last Tango in Paris? Damned if that didn’t ruin me putting butter on my toast for a long time. Anyway, it’s up in that hollow place in the big limb where we used to keep that bottle of whiskey we stole from Grandma that one Christmas. Wasn’t it funny how she could never say anything about that?
—Lonny
:::
Lonny, I can’t get your weed for you. I’m sorry. It’s just that I have kids now and I can’t do things that may as well be like me robbing a gas station with them waiting out in the car. I told Becky when Stevie was on the way that I would always be careful. It’s kind of hard for a grown man to climb a big cottonwood on a damn neighborhood creek bank, and not cause some old guy looking out his sliding glass door to call it in. I tell you what, if we end up out there in Vegas I’ll give you the money to replace whatever the squirrels end up eating here. Let me know how things are going with the hole in your middle. You got out of Nam missing only one ear lobe and the end of a pinky finger, and now this.
:::
Lonny,
I hope I didn’t make you mad about the weed. I mean really, if it means that much to you I’ll risk it. We decked and stapled down four houses yesterday. They brought in that kid Billy Pruitt. You remember him from high school? He had that L88 427 Impala his Daddy bought him and he does pretty good because he’s not a talker. So anyway let me know.
—Bud
:::
Lonny? Mama’s worried. I’m worried. Those people at the VA don’t know anything, and probably wouldn’t tell even if the person asking on the phone walked right in and looked them in the face. I mean Lonny, just get in touch okay?
:::
Dear Bud or whoever’s at this address, this is Marcy. Lonny said I’m his beneficiary, which means zero, and don’t let anybody know because they might show up with bills. It was self-defense and he never pressed charges. I’m sorry for your loss. Sorry it worked out the way it did. He just didn’t come back right, from the service. Old story—I loved him, he loved me, something killed him way before I did.
The VA gave me his billfold if you want it. Nothing much in it. I think he lost his pickup before he went to the hospital.
:::
Bud? Did you get my letter? Could you please write me a note back if you did? I know even that is a lot to ask. But, please. Hearing nothing never seems to end.
—Marcy
—From the author’s collection of flash literature, The Light I Want to Keep, forthcoming from MacQ
Bio: Daryl Scroggins
