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Chapter 6

Darnell’s life was a strange one for a while. That was pretty long ago now. He made himself lunch a few weeks later and went back to fixing people’s places.

Harry Gruber on the other hand went away from Leesa’s funeral with a lump beneath his breastbone that would not go away. His wife Norma had had a hard time at the funeral as well. She had been insanely jealous of Leesa. Norma saw poetic justice in Leesa’s death that made her scream with joy.

She cried and carried on at the funeral like a shocked monkey. She knew that everyone in town would put the blame on Harry and that she could appear overly contrite and overly guilty. Which she had no trouble doing. Norma and negativity had a sweet marriage.

But she knew now what extreme trouble Harry would be in at the quarry with Leesa gone and that made her spine tingle. She would be able now to exacerbate his life to the point where if he didn’t get elected congressman he would do things so outrageously materialistic in compensation for his inability to cope with the tragedy that she would benefit shamelessly. And she could definitely live with that.

She hired Darnell to work on their colonial estate. He could not catch up or keep up with the things that she wanted improved or created repaired or painted. Their estate was simply so elegant that it defied being real. Of course that was if you blotted out the piles of leavings from the quarry looming on the hill behind the house.

Norma helped Darnell to deal with Leesa’s remaining belongings that Darnell could not decide what to do with. He was simple enough to know that to look at the things that Leesa had left behind would drive him somewhere where he could not stand to go. He couldn’t though just make a fire and burn them or give them away. Leesa’s sister didn’t have room for the stuff so she said. He was at a loss until Norma volunteered to come over and get rid of things. So he let her.

Norma took quite a bit of satisfaction from the condescension she could employ rooting through Leesa’s things at Darnell’s house. It was Darnell’s house again the old log and wattle cabin on the hill outside of town. She didn’t feel the affection that others might have had for the leaf collections or the feathers in jars or the beadwork that Leesa had secretly done for much of the last decade of her life. She put it all in cardboard boxes and stored it in the attic in the Gruber house. She knew it would fetch a good price someday. Darnell loved the stuff, but he could not look at it without crying.

Norma watched Darnell grow up. She didn’t dislike the young boy. He had something that you couldn’t mess with and she admired that. When he became a young man she could only laugh at the circles in which he seemed to go. She chuckled at his staring off into space that occurred every ten minutes or so. Sometimes she deducted this from his wages. He never complained. That made her laugh more. She had imagined that kind of trust had died. Like the indians.

Norma watched also as Harry scrambled to deal with his business’s realities, the realities he had formerly left in the hands of Leesa, the realities he had never once thought that he would have to shoulder himself. His clients loved Harry but he was no replacement for Leesa. They couldn’t withstand the pressure of Leesa’s honesty. They could not take Harry’s sanguine hangdog face seriously when he pressed them for what he was owed. They’d offer him eighteen holes of golf at their new jersey country club and the bill would go unpaid until they were good and ready to pay up. Harry would never become poorer through all of this. He would just grow guiltier. His little businessman’s brain knew the politics of it all. He loved himself less each time. He knew who and what had made him rich. He wanted to create a small memorial to Leesa at the quarry. He couldn’t quite decide how to do it.

 

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Chapter 7

Many of Darnell’s workdays were spent at the Gruber estate. Mrs. Gruber as he called her took good care of him he thought. Darnell unflinchingly trusted women. His experience with Leesa had made this trust possible.

Mrs. Gruber was an immaculately pretty woman. Every detail of her appearance was attended to and was made perfect within her parameters of perfect. Her dark hair was magnetic and alluring no matter in what style it was done-short and feathery, shoulder-length and layered, or long cascades. Each hairstyle met her clothing with the same seamless flair. She favored soft sweaters in deep hues or smooth cotton shells. Sassy skirts or designer khakis met those tops over a figure that made voluptuousness perfect for every occasion. But when Darnell looked into Mrs. Gruber’s face his heart faltered. Where in Leesa he found there the source of her beauty in Mrs. Gruber he found the source of her discord. Her eyes were dark and held no light. Her face though pretty enough had a scarcely concealed fierce displeasure. Darnell could not tell this but she was shrewd beyond his wildest imaginings.

His heart wanted to embrace Norma as it had embraced Leesa because of the mere fact that she had brought Darnell into her world. He was glad to be attracted to her; he felt less alone.

Norma was a beautiful animal and only nominally acknowledged Darnell’s affection. She knew exactly what to do with it-or at least she had with other men. Keep in mind Darnell frustrated everyone-Norma included.

Darnell’s love of women was a musk on the wind. Norma hadn’t any real use for it but it was in the air anyway. Norma’s niece had not felt anything like that musk. Within minutes of Darnell’s arrival in her world Nikki was caught and fascinated.

Darnell was handsome-of course. Unaffected and unassuming broken hearted and strong. Coppery and six foot with left over hippie hair he too was a beautiful animal but of a far different type than Norma. He was the loyal war pony. He was the animal one met in a dream on a windy hillside and stole away with through the canyons of dawn. Nikki had a rebel spirit. Darnell thought of her as a young girl.

 

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Chapter 8

Darnell met Donald at a beer party one Saturday night the summer after Darnell had given up on college. Donald had tried to drive his ‘64 Chevrolet Biscayne into the bonfire they were all partying around. Something in the act caught Darnell’s attention. It was probably the sheer absurdity of it. Donald was whooping like a TV indian when he did it. The cries ripped the muscles of Darnell’s stomach to shreds. He jumped in the passenger side as the car lumbered by and managed to stomp his foot on the brake pedal just in time to slow it enough so that the drunken party could scatter out of the way. Donald swore at him and then flipped him the finger. But drunk as he was he instantly admired the way Darnell had jumped into the car. It was a bit magical. Darnell slapped Donald across the back of his head with all his might and Donald began to sob. That’s how it started. Darnell had not hit another human being in his life until that moment.

They went to auctions together. They would drink beer on the weekend nights and listen to music on Donald’s stereo. Donald hadn’t grown up around there. He was from someplace out west. He came to college but had dropped out and become part of the local scenery. He was a big guy. He sort of leaned forward when he walked. Sometimes Darnell made fun of that and called him “Don Wayne.”

They didn’t talk much. Donald was like the other side of the moon for Darnell. Donald would turn on the stereo and put in a tape or lay up an LP (later CDs) and the music or the words and music would do the talking for both of them. He had the weirdest music Darnell had ever heard. It was music that shook the roots of Darnell’s being. It spoke of life in ways that Darnell had only incidentally felt on rare occasions. Donald’s music took Darnell to the backside of the moon.

They’d go to auctions on Tuesday and Friday afternoons or whenever they were held. Donald would take a six pack of beer. Darnell did not like to drink as much as Donald did. Donald liked to look for guns. Darnell was creeped out by a lot of the stuff. For him it was like being choked by cigarette smoke at the bar-you couldn’t avoid the bad stuff that was contained in all of the things that the others had consumed, lived with.

Darnell would rarely buy things at the auctions besides chili and hot dogs. He bought a set of used Macgregor golf clubs one time. He purchased six kerosene lanterns for a quarter apiece. And another time he bought an excellently crafted red three foot square frame with a screen that was secured with brass tacks. The screening was about a half inch square and very rigid. The frame had come with an assortment of the old garden tools that were smooth from wear and had no rust. He bought these thing because they were the only things he had touched at all of those auctions that didn’t give his spine that creepy feeling. Those things had actually given him a pleasant fresh air sensation. So he took them home.

 

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Chapter 9

After some years Darnell and Donald began to drift apart. They were always best friends but Darnell did not like pulling Donald back from the dark side of the moon. Donald had other buddies who liked to live there no problem at all. The other reason they drifted apart was because of that aroused feeling that had lurked inside of Darnell, the one that landed him in Leesa’s world. Of course that is another story.

But one end of a drunken night of listening to the Allman Brother’s Eat a Peach album on Donald’s stereo by the light of some red citronella candles Donald said “Jesus Christ, if somebody doesn’t start banging that Leesa Reeser, I’m gonna.”

Darnell didn’t think much of it but the next day at the hardware store he met the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was in line in front of him buying blue spray paint. She waved to him after she pulled a u turn on Main Street. A week later she introduced herself to him (not Donald-who was there with him) at The Rail.

That was one freezing winter night. By the end of the summer they were living together.

You’re my blue sky

You’re my sunny day

Lord, you know it makes me high

When you turn your love my way

Yeah, Yeah…

 

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Chapter 10

After Leesa was gone Darnell could not go back to hanging around with Donald all the time the way he had before he met Leesa. There were occasional Saturday nights in front of Donald’s stereo and a judiciously spaced auction here and there but something inside of Darnell made him restless and impatient especially with Donald’s unwillingness to change the substance abuse. Darnell was a changed man. He would never have said as much to anyone especially Donald but he wanted to see change in others. He wanted to see things move on. He wanted to walk into a new day. He felt that others were not willing to try to do that. After his setback he didn’t see any other way for himself. If he could have put a finger on it in his own mind he would have said that he felt free. But before saying that he would have had to sadly admit that he also felt like shredded meat. He felt like shredded meat for more years than he could ever have thought possible. It wasn’t that he gave up on the better parts of himself or let things go beyond reason. He just laid himself back so much that he could be perceived as going backwards. That’s if one wasn’t looking closely. And others were not looking closely. The general opinion as has been said was that Darnell just didn’t make sense. He could have given a crap about that from others. As was said, something made him free.

Like in his house. He had been grateful to Leesa for making his old house like something you could look at and say “My God, that certainly is a beautiful place you got there Leesa and Darnell.” But once she had gone and he had tried to maintain the beauty she had put there he was unable to make it work. He had watched things literally deteriorate from the lack of her.

He finally in his restlessness and impatience (unnoticed by others) began to alter the house. Little by little he threw things away or sold them quietly and then found things at the flea market in town with which to replace them. He was now able to better utilize the others’ stuff from the past. Those things now made a little more sense to him but not much. The stuff he bought though wasn’t the traditional antiques. He would pick up the stuff that was manufactured when he was little which was meant to represent what modern stuff should be. He called it Jetson Stuff. He bought Jetson Stuff to put in his house. It made him laugh or at least smile. It was stuff that walked into the new like he felt he wanted to walk into the new day. Much of it was well manufactured. Darnell appreciated that as well. It had not been meant to be so disposable. And in the house it all amounted to a landscape from somewhere else-maybe New Mexico or the Black Hills or maybe beyond the other side of the moon. Anyway he was content with the changes he had made.

His parents were dead for many years. They had lived a hard life. The great depression had made them very insecure. The second world war had solidified that insecurity into an image that he had dreamed when he was just four or five. In a dream his parents were on the landing of the last car of a passenger train like politicians from the middle of the twentieth century. They were waving to him as he stood by the tracks, leaving him behind. They looked happy. Darnell had a nauseous stomach in the dream and when he awoke. It made him cry and run over to snuggle between his parents in their bed. They told him it was only a dream. They lied.

Darnell’s family loved to shop at the huge department store in the county seat. They would go there once each season it seemed usually on a Saturday afternoon. Darnell loved to go to the department store. It was fantastic. He found all kinds of toys when he was little. His parents were never refusing. If they could find the money they would buy him the little toys he would find interesting. He really appreciated that.

As an adult he would still shop there long after the malls took over and the store was in decline. He was browsing though the record department one day and a ten year old boy was looking at albums next to him. Darnell had picked Jackson Browne’s Late for the Sky album. It was new. The boy spotted the album in his hand and came right over to him. He said “You have to buy that album. It is so good.”

“You’ve heard this already?”

“Yeah, man” the kid said “You’ll really like it” and forced Darnell to keep it in his hands.

He took it back to Donald’s and they played it by the light of the silent TV.

But the angels are older

They can see that the sun’s setting fast

They look over my shoulder

At the vision of paradise

Contained in the light of the past

And they lay down beside me

To sleep beside the road

Till the morning has come

Where they know they will find me

With my maps and my faith in the distance

Moving farther on

Back then Darnell had an inkling that something was afoot and he started to feebly pay attention to things that happened like with the little kid and the album and the music and Leesa and Donald. Something was definitely going on. It was cool. It was also frightening. He was still a young man. Leesa was still alive.

 

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Continue reading: Chapters 11 thru 15