Page 66 of Existential
“Thanks, Jo. I’ll be right out.”
He gives us both a jerk of his chin and shuts the door again, his footfalls evident now that Dagne and I have broken our little bubble of truths. I glance over to find her smiling awkwardly down at me.
“Sorry.”
“What for?” I came here to see her. What the hell does she have to apologize about?
“I probably gave them something else to talk about.”
I chuckle, rising awkwardly to my feet. My hips and legs ache, an unpleasant side effect of going cold turkey on my fledgling heroin addiction. Should have stuck to coke.
“What are you going to do?” Dagne sweeps up the spilled washing powder with her hands, dumping it in the compartment for the fabric softener.
“Place my fate in their hands, I guess.” I nudge her aside and remove the drawer compartment from the washer, tipping the contents in the tub. “Explain where I’m at, and if they think a reshuffle of the table is in order, I’ll support them in it.”
She watches with a thinly veiled smile as I wipe the remnants of the powder out with my finger and then set the drawer back in the machine, finally placing another scoop of powder in the correct side.
“Some women find that quite sexy, you know; a man who can do the washing.”
I glance down at her out the side of my eye and smile. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.” She closes the top and twists the dial to regular, stepping back with a smug curl to her lips.
“You one of those women?”
Her smirk grows at my innuendo, but quickly dies to mortification when I lean over and pull the dial out to start the machine.
“Almost had it, fairy. You have any more trouble you give me a holler, you hear?”
She laughs as I leave the laundry room, the sweet notes of her humor following me down the hall as my mood shifts to one of apprehension.
My brothers sit gathered around the bar and pool table, chatting amongst themselves. The sudden silence is a slap in the face as they all catch sight of me.
Crackers slides off his stool and meets me halfway. “You good now?”
“Not quite.” I tip my head to the back deck. “You got a minute?”
“Sure.”
He accompanies me outdoors while the rest of the crew goes back to business. Before long the clink of glass, and crack of a pool ball punctuates the rowdy conversation.
“So,” Crackers starts, pulling a pack of smokes from his pocket. “What’s going on with you, brother?”
I hold my hand out for a cigarette. He shakes a stick out of the packet and passes it over, holding the flame for me before lighting his own. It’s not cocaine by any stretch, but it’s something to fool the senses and ease the cravings.
“Ain’t ever been right since they died,” I say. “Time hasn’t lessened the pain, my man. But it’s not the table’s problem to bear, so I haven’t said anythin’ to the lot of you until now.”
“We’re not blind,” Crackers states, staring out across the dark grounds. “We know you took it hard, and to be honest, not one of us blame you for it. Any one of us would be fucked up if we lost our loved ones like that.”
“Which is exactly why I don’t think I need any special treatment.” I suck back on the stick, going cross-eyed as I focus on the glowing tip.
“You’re our pres, man,” Crackers states softly.
“Exactly. Even more reason why I need to keep my shit in line. You rely on me to lead, not cry into my teacup.”
He shakes his head, scuffing a boot against the worn timber. “You’re just as stubborn as your old man, you know that?”
“I’ve been told it a time or two.” I can’t keep the smirk off my face. We may have butt heads over the years, and we may have lost time to wounded prides, but I loved the old fool more than he’d ever have known.