Ham Sammich

“Look at those two guys over there.” “What about 'em?” “Just look at them, standing in line with their 2x4s, OSB, and plumbing supplies.” “We're standing here with the same.” “I know.” “You know, that will be us in 20 years.” “It'll be you in 20, I've got 30.” “You got fat, real fat.” “And you got skinnier. How in the hell did you get skinnier?” “All the softness is gone, son, hard as iron.” “Even iron breaks.” “Eventually, but I'm more worried about rusting.” “Stay out of the rain then.”

They paid for their things and walked out just in time to hear thunder and feel the wind bring in the rain. “Great, you had to mention rain.” “We'll be inside.” “I know. In some shitty, literally, prison cell sized bathroom. It makes me claustrophobic. I can't take it.” “I get it now.” “What?” “Why you hate driving through Memphis.” “Shit is too crowded.” “Have you always been that way?” “Nope.” They loaded the van, he got in the driver's seat, lit a cigarette, and headed towards Memphis. “Want me to drive?” “Nah, you can drive home, it'll be worse then.” “Alright. I'm gonna take a nap. I didn't get any sleep last night. The baby woke up three or four times.” “You get him every time?” “Yeah” “You're a good man.” “Eventually.”

He opened his cooler and felt around for something that he could eat with one hand, an apple. It worked. It was cold from the ice and had a nice fresh taste to it, crisp. On his last bite he felt eyes on him from the right. “You eat real loud.” “It's an apple, not oatmeal.” “I was having a nice dream.” “Tell me about it” “It was just an ordinary day, well what most folks think of as ordinary. It was perfect.” “Details, sir, details. Use your vocabulary.” “I was mowing the yard, finally. It was hot but not brutal. The babies were playing on the front porch and she was sitting down, acting like she was reading a magazine, but she was really watching me. She was watching me like she did when we first met. It's been 10 years now. Since we met” That's nice, the watching.” “Yeah, it is.” “Carry on.” “I stopped the mower and walked up to the porch and sat down next to her, but not too close, I was sweaty and filthy. She asked me to come inside and cool off but I told her I wasn't fit to be inside.” “When are we ever besides right before we leave for the shop?” “She got up and went in the house, I thought she was upset, but she came back a few minutes later with a cold ham and cheese sandwich, “Sammich, it's called a sammich”, some plain chips, the ridged kind, and a beer, already opened. She didn't ask, she just brought it.” “I get it, I'm the same, I hate to ask for anything.”

“She smiled at me, handed me the plate, the beer, and a napkin. Then she sat close and told me I smelled like yard work. She told me I smelled like a man, then she whispered in my ear that she loved it.” “That's Heaven. It's got to be.” “Everybody was happy, satisfied to be right there, nobody wanted to be doing anything else.” “That is a spectacular dream. I'm sorry I woke you up.” “It's alright, it ended just like it should. What's your perfect day?” “You just crawled into my head and drug it out.” “I'm so damn tired.” “Me too, brother, me too.” “When is it going to end?” “The tired?” “Yeah.” “It ain't. At least not until it don't matter any more. Just keep mowing the yard, stay out of the rain, and hang on. We're here. I want to leave early; we can stay later tomorrow.” “Why?” “I'm going to grab some Ruffles on the way home and mow the yard.” “I think I will too.”

Cooking

She looked beautiful, calm and relaxed. She was a sight at any time but when she was sleeping, really sleeping, she was radiant. He bent down over her and listened to her breathe for a moment. Then he reached out to put his arms under her and hug her, she hugged back almost immediately if a little groggily. “I love you, so much.” “I love you just as much.” He didn't let go, didn't want to. He kissed her cheek and smiled as she moved her head to the side to refuse him a kiss on the lips. “I hope you have a good day, sweetheart. Good-bye, love.” “You too, good-bye, love.” He walked out of the room, looking back one time to see that glow again, smiled, and counted his blessings. Nothing hurt when she was holding on to him.

He grabbed his cooler off of the kitchen floor, checked for the third time to make sure his insulin was there, put his wallet in his back pocket and headed out the door. It was 6:30 in the morning and he had time to stop and get ice for his cooler, some smokes, and much needed caffeine. Not that the caffeine really woke him up any more, it just kept him from sleeping. He would get to the office early and have time to sit in the sun for a few minutes before anyone else got there. It was going to be a long day today, he would probably miss supper, and he was worried he would be too tired to do anything but shower and sleep when he got home.

“Good morning, ready to get started?” “I'm ready to be finished.” That was the end of that exchange. There wasn't a lot left to be said. He put his drink down and headed back to fill in his time card, at least he didn't have to “punch” it. It would be another 12 hour day, busy week, and he hopped that the boss man would get a little tight and give him Friday off. He could get some chores done around the house and be home when everyone else got home.

His cohort walked in the door. “Morning.” “Morning.” “You ready for this?” “Everyday.” “Let's roll.” “Alright, you drive and I'll drive back.” “Works for me.” He grabbed his cooler and headed for the van, he had to wait for the door to be opened from the inside because it didn't from the outside. He sat his cooler down, grabbed an apple, buckled his seat belt, and put his sunglasses on. “I'm glad she finally talked you into wearing sunglasses.” “Why?” “Because, and don't take this wrong, there are some times when you've got this look in your eyes like you're about 4 minutes away from burning down the whole city.” “Well, I don't have a poker face and sometimes I am. It's usually more like 6 or 7 minutes though. There would be time for you to have a head start.” He took his shades off and looked to his left. “You're an asshole. Stop looking at me like that.” “Change the subject.”

“What did you do when you got home last night?” “Cooked some shrimp kabobs and red potatoes on the grill.” “How did you cook the shrimp?” “I took a cup of honey, a cup of Italian dressing, some chili powder, mixed it all in a big ass Ziploc bag, let it marinate for about an hour, then cooked then for a few a couple minutes on each side and used the marinade as a baste.” “Sounds good, was it?” “I cooked a couple pounds of it, and she and I ate it all.” “Guess it was then.” “You like to cook don't you? You talk about it a lot.” “I love to cook. It's the closest thing to making love that you can is safer to do with your clothes on.” “What?” “What, what?” “You're crazy.” “It runs in the family.” “Explain what you mean.” “It'll take a minute or two.” “I'll listen.” “I'll lay it out plain, it's metaphorical, but you're a smart dude.” “Thanks.” “You've got to get things warmed up first, then you get everything laid out in front of you, within easy reach, you need some room.” “Aw, come on, man.” “I”m done, turn the radio on.” “I'm kidding!” “You don't need a recipe, unless you're baking, just some ingredients, some love, a general idea of what you're doing, and then you make a mess. That's it.” “You're still crazy but I appreciate the imagery. I'm going to stop up here so I can wash my ears out.” “I could have went into way more detail like the difference in cooking roux and cooking gumbo.” “What's roux?” “The base for a good gumbo.” “You don't make any sense.” “I make plenty of sense to me.”

“You think if I've got over 40 hours Thursday that he”ll tell me stay home Friday?” “He didn't tell you?” “No, tell me what?” “We've got a rush job Friday, has to be finished that day.” “How big?” “Two days worth, easy.” “Shit.” He tossed his apple core out the window, put his sunglasses back on, lit a cigarette, and opened his phone to send a text. “I miss you, love.”

Khakis and a Polo

“Look at that guy.” “Which guy?” “The one with the khakis and polo on.” “Poor bastard.” “Looks lucky to me.” “What's so lucky about having to wear khakis and a polo five days a week?” “Air conditioning, he's clean, he isn't sweating.” “They used to call that a eunuch.” “Whatever, I'd trade. I've been swinging a hammer for too long.” “I just started, I'll take the open sky and the hammer; but I get it.”

He cut the conversation short and tried to light a cigarette. It wasn't happening. He tried again then put the lighter away and just let the cigarette hang from his lips.

“Let me see that lighter.” “Your pen quit writing again?” “Hand me the lighter.”

He passed the lighter to his right and almost immediately he had a flame in front of him, close enough that he didn't have to move to finally light his cigarette.

“Thanks.” “Still want the hammer over the khakis?” “There was this hike in Montana, 20 or 22 miles, give or take. I decided to give it a go on July 5^th, there was still snow on the ground up there; The High Line.” “What does this have to do with hammers and khakis?” “Just listen, it'll all come together. About 12 miles into that hike, I hadn't seen a soul all day, It was getting late, cold. There was a big grizzly about 200 yards back. I was upwind, he was sniffing the air. He looked right at me.” “Hammers? Khakis?” “You got somewhere to be?” “A nursing home when you're done with this story.” “This grizzly, he looked right at me, and he started moving a little faster.” “Polo shirts?” “Here's the thing, I felt alive. This ache in my body, my hands, I feel alive. I never felt alive working inside all day wearing loafers, khakis, and a polo.” “You're a masochist.” “It's a give and take.” “What?” “Never mind. I'd rather be chased by a bear across the Continental Divide every day than put on those khakis and sell shit to keep people away from conversation, or just stillness, ever again.” “What happened with the bear?” “Fuck off, I'll tell you in the nursing home.”

He did get it. There wasn't anything wrong with being that guy, it was just wrong for him. He liked being still these days. That ache was gone, but he wanted the sky, and he never wanted to worry about what soles his shoes had or where his name tag was, ever again.

“What you gonna do tonight?” “Mow the yard. Kiss my girl. Play UNO with the kids” “You haven't had enough sun today?” “I've had enough sun, just not enough sky. What about you?” “I'm going to hold my baby boy for awhile and read Winnie the Pooh to my little girl.” “Now that's lucky.” “I might put a pair of khakis on too.” “No softball game tonight?” “I've had enough sun and sky.”

He pushed the turn signal down and turned left into the parking lot. “What's the mileage?” “145, 376” “See you bright and early.” “See you tomorrow.”

9 Pound Hammer

He wasn't much for manual labor. He had worked long hours, in hot places, doing dangerous things; but it hadn't been manual labor. It had been work, hard, but not labor. People that have never held a hammer in their hands and used it to either build something or tear it down in the hot summer sun had no idea what labor meant. His hands hurt, they hurt like hell, from wrist to nail. Most mornings he had to use both hands to light his first cigarette, sometimes his second and third. He looked down at them as he moved them from fist to open palmed slap, over and over. He was afraid that one day they were going to eventually just be perpetually stuck in the grip he held the hammer with.

“It's damned hot out here. I swear I saw the devil walk by with a glass of ice water a little before noon.” “I don't suppose that son of a bitch offered to share did he?” “He said he'd be waiting for us in the shade.” “There ain't no shade.” “And there ain't going to be any.”

The conversation stopped and wouldn't start again until the next declaration of extreme temperature. He looked down at the 2x4s and decking planks that lay strewn across the ground in front of him, waiting to be turned into something greater. The sweat rolled off of his shaved head and salt stung his eyes. He had nothing to wipe the sweat away, anything he could have used was already soaked in midday perspiration. He bent over to pick up a board and continued his labor.

The wood didn't talk and it didn't listen. It just waited to be made into something more. He hammered at it, sawed, and drilled. He hammered it like it was an opponent. He was a carpenter, a handyman, a laborer. He had nothing left to fight but the remnants of old forests. He beat on those planks and 2x4s like they had called his mother nasty names and spit in his face. He didn't think about anything but securing one more board to the frame. His mind was clear. His body ached.

“It's hot as Hades, it has to be.” “Pretty close to it if it ain't” “You got the hammer over there?” “Yeah, you need it?” “I do.”

He had to get another hammer. One of his own. He didn't mind sharing but sometimes he just wanted his own. A man needs something of his own to hold onto and a good strong hammer would do during the day. He tried to wipe the sweat away with a soaked sleeve, he looked ahead of him at what remained to be made into more. He glanced over at the remaining remnants, soldiers valiantly waiting to be vanquished. There wasn't much left, just a few more feet to be decked, and it looked to his eye like he had planned things out well enough that he wouldn't have to make any cuts to make the last piece fit square. It was doable.

“It ain't got any cooler has it?” “Did the Devil ever bring you any ice water?” “Here's the hammer back, let's get this done and get out of here.”

He took the hammer in his stiff hands, held onto it tight, and went back to join the fray. His body ached, but his mind was clear. It was filled with thoughts of something softer to hold in his hands, a cool place to lay his head, and the shade of a porch.

The last board was in place. The tools and surviving pieces of wood were loaded. He took one last look around him at the shimmering waves of heat and noticed something there that was not there the day before. Something more. He climbed into the work van, rolled the window down, and started for home. As he cooled off he started to think. He reached down, grabbed the hammer, and gripped it as tight as he could manage. The thoughts slunk back into the darker places and he relaxed. He pushed down hard with his right foot, he had to get home where there was someone softer to hold onto, someone that could keep the thoughts away and not hurt so much in doing so.

“It's going to be even hotter tomorrow.” “It's going to be hotter for a long time to come.” “It ain't even started yet. Two weeks til July.” “A long time.”