Sinners
“...that’s three you broke this week...” The rest he didn’t hear as he slammed the door. He walked to his 1998 Chevy 1500 W/T and he knew it bothered her when he drank. He had to drink – he had to drink. He called her Barbie when he was upset and he was upset now and he forgot that he already had three shots of whiskey. “Where are my goddamned keys” he mumbled [1]. They’d fallen on the ground a few steps earlier so he backtracked to pick them up. He rolled down the driver’s side window like he always did and he could hear the front door opening and he saw her standing barefoot in the grass. The truck started. He pulled out of the driveway towing a fourteen foot aluminum boat with a 9.9 horsepower outboard.
He liked her when she was angry; she was usually quiet. She usually wore her hair straight and she usually wanted to go dancing on Saturday nights and she always had tears in her eyes when she fought with him but she rarely cried. He could barely remember the night they met – they were both drunk. She agreed to go out with him anyways and their first sober date was even less memorable. She was kind of shy and in his mind she was afraid that they might touch. But they hugged goodnight and she went out with him again. And again. And again. He would drive an hour just to see her: he liked how her hair felt between his fingers and he could sit happily next to her not saying a word. When the light finally turned green he made a left onto West Road.
It was Sunday afternoon. The cool September air brushed against his left arm and he pretended it was warmer than it really was. The sun was out and the wind was coming from the south at only five kilometres an hour: a great day for everyone but the fisherman. He drove slowly and he passed the Shell gas station and he thought about the road trip to Alabama he never took. He hated launching the boat alone but he hated fishing with company even more. “I can’t…stand her” he thought as he backed in the trailer. He let the boat drift without anchoring while he parked his truck. As he waded through the water he swore he’d never go back to her and then he climbed aboard and started the engine and saw that the playground to the north was empty. He missed Ava.
- - -
She was a wine drinker. But she rarely got drunk. Light shone through the window onto the coffee table. She curled up into a ball on the couch and ran her fingers through her hair and after fifteen minutes she poured herself a glass of cheap white Bordeaux. She let a bit trickle out of her mouth and down her chin and onto her neck. She wished someone would kiss her there. Broken glass littered the carpeted floor; Barbara dreaded cleaning up his mess but she knew she would end up doing it anyways: he would just leave it there and let it cut his feet and then act like it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t like the pain; he just liked looking tough. He liked looking like the kind of person who wasn’t bothered by the things that bother normal people. He was different. And still she thought of his fingers and how even now he sometimes listened to her every word when he was sober. He was always faithful and he didn’t hurt her like the others did.
A year ago she lived in Orillia. She worked as a waitress and on Friday nights her shift usually ended at around two or three in the morning. On one October night after a long day her back was sore and her feet were sore and she’d forgotten to buy groceries and her fridge was empty. She had to work again the next night; she wanted to quit and become a hairdresser but the money wouldn’t be as good and she didn’t love it enough to leave the job she had now. She didn’t really think about it anymore except when she felt lonely. Her friends were all in relationships and so was she and in their futures she saw children and maybe a few divorces and probably lots of disappointment and pain. She wanted to cry. Then she saw his truck in the driveway.
She walked in and he was cutting vegetables. He wasn’t a very good cook and he was making a mess but she didn’t care. When he saw her he kissed her on the cheek and asked “How was your day?” and she just stood there quietly and she couldn’t move at all. She loved him so much. He put his arm around her and ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her on the forehead. “I poured you a glass of wine. It’s in the living room. Dinner should be ready in like five minutes.” She hadn’t allowed herself to be vulnerable for a long time and in the hallway she thought about how much she wanted to bring her body close to his and to bare her soul and to share the things she couldn’t share with anybody. But she didn’t. She took her drink and sat on the same couch she was sitting on now; she had wine on her neck and there was glass on the floor.
- - -
The water was still and he looked around aimlessly for a place to fish. He settled on the shoreline of an island where he’d only caught small bass before. But he didn’t know of any spots that were better. The spool opened and his plastic worm swam to the bottom of the lake. As a teenager he wanted nothing more than to be with Ava. He would find her at parties and see her surrounded by boys. Only once did he ever see her alone. She was nursing a beer and he thought she was upset but when she saw him she came alive. She smiled but her eyes were sad. “Mom says I shouldn’t hang out with you anymore if I don’t like you. She says you should give my cousin a chance. She really likes you.” And then Ava put her hand on his lap and her head on his shoulder. He wanted to kiss her but he never did. “Ah, shit!” He didn’t set the hook.
He often made the mistake of moving after missing a fish (and staying too long at a spot after catching one). But sitting and waiting was doing him no good and so he put the trolling motor down and started covering water with a jerk bait. Twitch. Pause. Twitch-twitch. Pause. Nothing worked. But he kept casting and casting and casting until he found a rhythm. The sun shone brightly but he refused to wear sunscreen. He didn’t feel young anymore and he wanted to feel young. His hands were brown and weathered. When Ava didn’t talk to him he felt like the best moments of his life had passed. But when he heard from her again it was as if the best moments were yet to come. He hadn’t seen her in years. Now he liked being alone – far away from his whiskey and his woman.
The fishing was slow. He changed lure colours often but stuck with jerk baits. Once every so often he ran his fingers along the line to check for weak spots: he’d been using the same mono since June. He’d pull the line and sometimes it held up and sometimes it’d break. It was better to break it yourself than to have a fish break it for you. He was glad that he brought his sunglasses: the pair Barbie bought him for his birthday. For her birthday he wrote her a song. He was nervous when he first played it and he didn’t know if she would like it and he didn’t think the moment would play out like it did in his mind the night before. His voice faltered as he strummed the final few chords:
I love you girl – your green-blue eyes
Your mystery and what’s inside
Your mystery and what’s inside
When he finished singing she looked at him and said “Thank you, Dan. That was very nice.”
- - -
She couldn’t believe he said what he said and it made her want to stay on the couch forever or at least until he came home so that he could see how she was hurt. But after about twenty minutes she couldn’t sit still anymore and she started picking up the glass on the floor. She threw the pieces into the trash and thought about throwing his bottles of Budweiser in there too. When she was mad at Dan she used to think of all the things she wanted to say to him. She didn’t anymore because she knew she wouldn’t say anything – Barbara knew her words wouldn’t change anything. He would calm down and tell her that he was wrong and he’d say “I’ll make it okay” and if he was drunk he’d kiss her and if he wasn’t he wouldn’t. She washed her hands and then vacuumed the carpet.
He was still fishing. Maybe he was gone forever. Maybe she could replace him with someone stronger. She liked strong men. But they couldn’t hold her through the night like Dan sometimes did and they couldn’t bring home a paycheck every two weeks and they didn’t sing for her. She looked at herself in the mirror in the hallway between their bedroom and the kitchen. Her body was thin and her lips were thin and her chin was soft. She wondered what she would look like if she curled her hair. And how she would look if she dyed it brown or cut it short. And how she would look if she wore make-up. But Dan told her she looked better without any. She knew she was prettier than any of the girls he’d dated before.
It was getting darker. She didn’t feel like making dinner so she ordered a pizza. She decided to go outside. The grass on the front yard had been in the sun all day and it was warm and she liked how it felt on her feet so she sat down so that it touched her legs and she looked at the empty driveway and then at nothing in particular. She thought about cutting hair for a minute or so. Then she didn’t want to think anymore. She wanted to be touched; she wanted to be held; she wanted him to come home. He would probably fish for another hour. She wanted him now and she wanted to text him and tell him that she loved him and that she needed him and that she would do anything to make him happy. But her phone was inside. She closed her eyes and put her hands in the pockets of her jean shorts and she thought about the first time Dan kissed her near the swings in the park at Hutcheson Beach.
- - -
He tried working the weeds in the north-east part of the lake. Once in a while he had to pull them off of the hooks. Just a few hours ago he’d been yelling at Barbie. After his second drink she told him to stop and he said “don’t tell me what to…do!” so she told him to stop swearing. “I’ve worked all week and you’ve just been sitting on your ass doing…all! I do all this nice shit for you and you don’t…do anything.” She looked at her feet. “Dan. I. Dan.” But the words wouldn’t come out. He stared at her and waited for her to look him in the eyes. He poured another shot and drank it and in a quiet voice that slowly became louder he said: “You’re not mysterious at all. You’re the most boring…person I know.” He threw the glass against the wall and walked away.
His arms were getting tired. He moved the boat into shallower water close to some submerged trees. He tied on a drop-shot rig again and he knew he’d go back home soon and in another day or two he’d yell and drink and fight with her again. But he regained his focus and for a moment could only hear the plopping sound of the tungsten weight hitting the water. He aimed for the biggest tree he could see and as soon as the sinker hit the bottom he had a bite and set the hook. “… finally.” He reeled in the fish and swung it into the boat because it wasn’t very big: a one and a half pound smallmouth. It quickly swam away as Dan threw it back in the water and he thought about calling it a day. On a slow day one fish was good enough. He lifted the trolling motor and started the outboard and slowly made his way to the launch.
It was getting darker. The clouds were pink on the horizon. He wanted to say sorry – he knew she deserved better. The September air was cooler now and he knew it would be even cooler once the sun set but he’d left his hoodie in the truck. The playground was still empty. He cut the engine and exhaled. In five years he’d be thirty and he’d have the same job and the same boat and the same truck. He looked up. The stars would be out in a few hours and the water would be black and he’d be asleep next to her. She’d keep him warm through the winter. The boat rocked gently from side to side. He had a sudden urge to hold Barbara and never let go.
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