Broken Black Thread

        In a couple of hours my life will be over. Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t sorry for nothin’ I’ve done.  No regrets, and no askin’ for no pity either.  My life’s been lived better’n most.  Takin’ a few others with me along the way made it all the sweeter.
        No regrets, no pity.
When did the idea of killin’ first enter my mind?  I don’t rightly recall, but the first thing I ever killed was Old Man Hallerin’s dog.  Mean thing.  Big, too.  Don’t know what kind of dog, though.  Guess it don’t rightly matter.  It’s a dead dog now!
        It must’a all started the day before my eighth birthday.  Pa was drunk.  So, what else is new, huh?  Ma was too busy worryin’ ’bout things like cleanin’ house and mendin’ Pa’s clothes everytime he’d fall down drunk.  Had no time to much notice what her two brats was about, or much care even if she know’d.
        Old Man Hallerin just finished givin’ me and my older brother, Tom, a good tongue lashin’.  It’s true we weren’t up to nothin’ but no good, but the way we figured that don’t give no old man any rights to the skin off our teeth just for stealing some cheap old clay pots full of dirty old flowers.  Well, anyway, Tom shot the old guy the bird.  That’s what really got it all started.
        The look on that old fart’s face, when Tom shot ‘em the bird, caused me a fit of laughing so hard, falling and rolling on the ground I could hardly run.  Nearly got myself caught, too.
          Yea, that’s what really got it started.  That old man!  If he just hadn’t let his dog out. Who knows…?  I could’ve been somethin’ important now instead of sittin’ in this here eight by eight box with nothin’ but a aluminum slab to sleep on and a john to sit on and bars to look out from into a world not really mine.  Yep, I might be a banker or somethin’ if it weren’t for that old man. Guess I’d still be a criminal though, all the bankers I’ve ever know’d are.
          Take Jason McDermit.  Works as assistant to Old Man McGruff at our hometown bank.  If Jason was honest as days are long, we’d all be livin’ like the North Pole where they get no light for six months of winter.  Man, you’d best believe winter would be twenty-four/seven with Jason around!  That boy’s been to no good since he was six years old.  If I had the time we could talk a few things ’bout that boy!  Yes sir, if only we had the time.
          Time?  Huh!  Ain’t got much of that now, do we?  You know, with this being The Night and all, well, if we get time, we’ll talk on him later.  Some people seem to have more time than others.  That’s OK, though.  I got no regrets.  I lived my life and those I took out, deserved it.
          Anyway, Old Man Hallerin got real mad when Tom gave ‘em the finger.  He let out a whoop so loud I stopped rollin’ my laughter and looked back at the old fool.
          He unleashed that dog of his, yellin’.  “Go get ‘em, Spike!”
          I lit out of there quick as I could when I seen what he was goin’ about, but not quicker’n Spike could run. That dog caused me to leave a piece of myself behind.  Just a late evening snack for ’em, I was, or so that old hound thought.  Anyway he got me right under the left butt on the back of my upper thigh. See?  Right there.  That’s the scar!  Ripped the pants and took a four by two inch of meat down to the bone. Nothin’ but a flap left.
          Boy, talk about pain.  That truly was a limpin’ pain. Huh, I remember that as well as what I had for breakfast today.  And with a fonder memory, too!  Ma noticed right off all the limpin’ and favorin’ that leg.
          “Boy get over here!”
          “Yea, Ma?”
          “What’s wrong with you?”
          “Nothin’ Ma.” That’s when she hit me.  Ma never was much on patience.
          “Don’t lie at me, boy!” Smack, she hit me again, grabbed me, pulled my pants down and turned me over her lap: All in one smooth, like water flowing down the road durin’ spring thaw, motion. And there I was, exposed. Didn’t even ask what happened. Just reached over and took that little sewing kit of hers, threaded a needle using black thread ’cause it shows up best against white skin so Ma knows if any is left on the inside after healin’s done.
          Anyway, I had no thoughts of killin’ that dog until Ma started in me with that needle. With every stab, I thought on it more and more.  Funny though, the more I thought on it the less that needle hurt.  And the more I thought about how to do it the more I liked the idea.  So, I did it.  Yes sir, the next day I just went up to that old dog on its leash, when I know’d that Old Man Hallerin’d be in town, just me and Pa’s meat axe.  Yes sir!  I paid ‘em back flesh for flesh.  I collected my due.
        Now I reckon ya’ll are gonna collect your due from me, huh?  That’s OK.  I ain’t got no regrets.  I always pay my due.
          Anyway, where was I?  Oh yea, that’s when I musta know’d I wanted to be a killer.  Right then and there I know’d.  It felt, well, it felt good!  That old dog was a barkin’ and a pullin’ at its chain one minute, and the next just a layin’ there, pantin’: blood and brains coming out its head.  I was pantin’ too.  That be the first for me knowing what it was to be a man. 
          So, don’t pity me.  I became a man at eight years old.  How ‘bout you?  How old you be now and probably hidin’ in your house afraid someone like me is gonna come and take your tender baby girl and teach her somethin’ she only sees on TV?  Or, maybe show your son how to be the kind of man he can only imitate off the big screen?  Imitating men like me.  You call that livin’?  Cowards the lot of ya.  Cowards!  Have no pity on me, I ain’t got none for ya’ll.
          Here comes a guard. I ain’t got time for no guards.
          “Skid, your lawyer is here to see you.”
          “I ain’t got no lawyer. I fired ’em.”
          “You don’t want to see him, then? He says he’s got a paper for you to sign and maybe he can get you a last minute stay.”
          “What paper?  Let the man in here!  But just so I can sign that paper.  And Mr. Bartz, you being a good guard and all, would you mind readin’ it first.  I don’t trust ’em.  He may be getting’ me to sign over the rights of these memories I’m having the priest put down for me!”
          “Sure Skid.  I’ll look it over for you.” 
          I’d of asked you, priest, to look it over being a man of the cloth an’ all, but Mr. Bartz, he knows these types of things.  See how he just casual like took them papers.  He finished readin’ real fast, too!  That Mr. Bartz, he’s a real smart man. Too smart for this place and watching these losers.  He deserves better.
          “They look OK to me, Skid. I’d sign if it was me.”
          You see how fast those papers got signed?  That’s ‘cause Mr. Bartz’ the only guard on Upper East B that’s been half ways OK. Yeah, he never hits me, or pushes me around just for fun of pushing. He’s OK by me. 
          Did you see that big shot lawyer?  He stayed his distance from these bars while Mr. Bartz read them papers, huh?  I think he thought I’d really try somethin’. 
Never know now, will we? 
          Where was I?  Hell, can’t remember…No ways matter, though.  It’s all the same ya’ know.
          Funny, memories and life, huh?  They both start off strong, then the older we get the weaker they come.  Why?  I don’t rightly know.  But I do know life sometimes, just like that there memory I forgot ’fore the shyster lawyer come in, can be cut short.
          God knows I done my share a cuttin’.  Reckon God might not see that the same as I do, huh priest?  Know my Ma, she don’t.  No matter, no never mind. 
          Ya’ know what I really hate in here. My TV is broke. I can’t even see my favorite shows.  The nature ones with those big predator cats.  Watch ’em sometime. They pace quiet like with nothin’ visible they pace their prey. Back and forth, hidden by the changing scenery of tree, then space, then tree, then space.  Back and forth between those tall slender trees.  First left eight paces, then right eight paces, then look out at a world never really theirs.  Yea, not mine, neither.  The world belongs to the prey.  Really it does.  They’re meek and mild until one of us predators crosses their path. Then they jump up and throw us in cages so’s all the other prey feel safe an’ can gawk an’ oh an’ ah at us.  Yep, too bad my TV is broke. I’d like to see them big cats one more time.
          It don’t rightly matter, though.  What with my thoughts all jumbled up and wanderin’ backwards to what put me in here.  It’s as clear as what I ate for breakfast, but not nearly as enjoyable.  Being just eighteen and all, a couple of us had gone to the movies to see the latest action show, then got our hands on some cheap wine.  Cruisin’  time!  Not them babies.  They said they had to get home.  Their mommies’d miss ‘em.  Not me!  I’ve been a man since eight years old.  Since killin’ that dog.
        My Pa couldn’t care less if I never come home. Probably a good thing ’cause now I ain’t ever coming home again.  Tom, he won’t miss me none.  Since the accident he don’t know nothin’.  Just a veg’table: lying there so still an’ all.  If he could talk he’d be tellin’ how it was worth it.  Took out two squad cars and three cops.  Only Ma’d miss me, if she had the time.  Caring for Tom and all.  I wish I could tell her I’ll miss her.  No never mind on that.  Wouldn’t want any to think me weak.  Ma wouldn’t want that! 
          Anyway, after them babies deserted me, I wandered until coming to the gooder side of town. You know where all your kind lives in those fancy homes and all. There’s this one, it’s on Elm Grove Ave., second house from the Northeast corner. What a house!  Brick with pretty white shutters and a fireplace!  That fireplace burnt the sweetest smelling wood.   
          They have a paved sidewalk matches the driveway.  With real pavement.  Just like on the interstate!  Really! 
          There’s a big old oak tree along the edge of her yard, no hers would be a lawn, ours back home’d be just a yard.  And the whole thing’s surrounded by hedge. 
        Everythin’ except that old tree.  It just stands there.  A big, old tree standing free.           
        And the flowers!  Everywhere around that house was gardens!  Archways at every entrance covered with blossoms!  White roses, pink and red roses, even yellow roses! 
        That house and them roses, they reminded me of a poem my mama used to ’cite to her pups sometimes.  Heard it so many times, what seems such a long time ago, ’bout red roses being for passion, white roses for purity and the best were the white rose with pinkish petal tips.  Somethin’ to do with wantin, or somethin’.  Don’t reckon I rightly understood it, but the way of the words sounded good when Mama sung it.  That was what that big and fancy house reminded me of: family, memories, and laughter.
        There was this big old window with fancy lace curtains.  It faced out towards where I was leanin’ against that tree.  That’s the window where I could see her.  Me just lookin’ past those fancy lace curtains to that big rockin’ chair.  Her chair.
        Yea, I had too much to drink, but it still ain’t my fault!  I’d stood there before, watchin’ her rock in that rocker.  She bein’ the most beautiful thing you’d ever see with skin fresh as milk just out a the cow’s udder: warm and creamy.  And that red hair swingin’ back and forth as she rocked.  Sometimes she’d be rockin’ for hours with me leanin’ against that tree watchin’.               
        Anyway there I was mindin’ my own business being careful to be on the county’s side of her yard.  Didn’t want to trespass or nothin’.  You know private property an’ all.  I was just standing there, waitin’.
        Well, like I said it wasn’t my fault and it wouldn’t of happened if that punk of a kid wearing his fancy school jacket with one of them fancy letters on the front hadn’t come strutting like King Rooster out’a the hen house.  You know the kind of jacket I mean and you know the kind of kid, too. Your houses are full of ‘em. Anyways, he takes one look at me and starts in on me.  Not even askin’ my leave or nothin’.
        “What do you want?”
        “Nothin’. Least from you.”  I thought that was real cool.  He didn’t though ’cause he come strutting over stickin’ his nose right in my face.
        “That’s my woman in there.  So I’m asking again, what are you doing out here nosing around where you obviously do not belong?”
          It never took much and this guy was beggin’ for it.  I could hear it in his voice.  So I gave ‘em what he asked for, hittin’ ’em again and again.  It really wasn’t my fault.  My hand was holdin’ a rock without my knowin’ it. 
        The idea must’ve come from the movie we just seen.  There was this real cool guy.  He ran around town smashing windows, killin’ people and other cool stuff. Don’t reckon it be the kind of movie a priest’d go see!  Not much on story, but lots a killin’ and sex and good things like that.  Anyway, it was neat.  Lots a good action.  That’s what it were.  A good action show.
        Like I said it weren’t my fault.  I didn’t know that rock were in my hand. 
        Now don’t get no ideas, neither.  I ain’t saying I was gonna smash that picture window and take Miss Creamy Skin off somewhere just ’cause I know’s her parents weren’t home.  That rock just happened to be in my hand.  That’s all.  Anyway, it don’t matter now.  He’s dead and she’s sittin’ in her picture window with her hair keepin’ time to her rockin’ and some other fancy pants is datin’ her.  Probably took her to the funeral and everythin’.  Bet he don’t even thank me none, neither. 
        Won’t rightly matter now, no how.  I lived my life.  Don’t pity me, it’s me that’s pitying you.
        “What?  Oh, Mr. Bartz you snuck up on me.  I didn’t hear you.  What?  Already?”
        I guess that final stay didn’t mean nothin’.  Damn shyster lawyers!  So much for hoping.  Had to happen sooner or later, anyhow.  You taxpayers must be pretty tired a housin’ me for free these ten years.
        Sorry priest, like I said before, some of us have more time than others and some, like me, less than most.  We’ll have to stop this now.
        “OK Mr. Bartz.  I’m ready now.  Hey wait a minute.  Priest?  Can you give what you wrote there to my ma?  Maybe make it easier if she can know, well, no matter…just give it to her!”
        It’s the only black thread I got left.