Lessons From Fathers and Vagabonds

I remember the very last thing that my dad said to me before I left for college. My bags were packed and I was finally ready to leave for the campus. I shut the trunk of my car, which was overflowing with clothes and money, appliances and electronics, all the essentials; then I took a step back into the soft grass and across the yard and up to the porch where dad was waiting. He wrapped his strong arms around me, and then he whispered, “Alex. I am so proud of you.” After a second he pulled me out of his embrace, and while keeping a hold on my arms, he looked into my eyes and further insisted, “And the most important advice that I can give you before you head off into the world is to guard your heart,” and he said so jamming his finger into my chest. His eyes were starting to glaze over, “Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you, Alex.” For a moment, we stood there just looking into each others eyes. Then with a chuckle he shook his head, kindly slapped my arm and proceeded to trod back into the house. So I stepped off the porch, headed back across the yard and onto the edge of the road, climbed into my car, and drove off; barely remembering a word that he said to me.



* * *



It was about mid way through the second semester of my freshman year. Times were hard, my grades were slipping, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had talked to Dad. It had been a while. We talked on the phone every now and again, but I never told him about what was really going on. No food, no hot water. No good grades, no job therefore no money.

Then one day, out of nowhere, he showed up at my dorm. It was weird, and strangely uncomfortable seeing him in the midst of it all, like the sun in the midst of a hurricane. He didn’t want to stay at the dorm though. He just said that he’d been thinking about me lately and he wanted to take me out to eat, anywhere. A restaurant of my choice. And to think that it had been three days since my last meal!

Together we marched out of the stingy residents’ hall and across the street to the parking lot. As we came upon the Porsche, dad just threw me the keys with a smile, “Come on, Alex, you’re driving.” He was beaming.

I was shocked, “But Dad, I can’t. It’s your car and I,”

But he cut me off kindly, “Come on, kiddo. Stop making excuses and drive.” He was almost laughing. I couldn’t explain his happiness.

I had more excuses lined up though. But he never let me offer up the reasons as to why I wasn’t good enough to drive the Porsche.

As we were cruising down the highway, he turned to me and said something that made me sick. Dad turned to me with those kind eyes, and said, “Alex, if you ever need anything, you know I’ll provide it for you. Don’t you?”

“Sure,” I said out loud. But there is no way that he could know how bad things were. I couldn’t tell dad of my situation. It would break his heart, and I just couldn’t bring myself to get real with him because it hurt me to disappoint him, and I had done enough of that in the past.

Dinner was great. I can’t remember the last time that dad spent so much money, just to feed me. The conversation started out with small talk, but Dad kept digging deeper. I could see the concern on his face. Every time that Dad would ask a tough question though I would manage to change the subject, or the waitress would come around taking orders, refilling drinks, and I was doing anything to keep him from knowing what was really going on.

When we left the restaurant, the stars were shining bright in the tar black sky. It was one of those nights where there wasn’t a cloud up above, and the night seemed to render you into pure fascination. The moon was massive, like a silver dollar, and it rose steadily over the highway as we drove home. Again, Dad let me drive.

We pulled into the parking lot, and I got out of the silver Porsche. With the moonlight reflecting off of the car, Dad stepped out and engaged me at the back of the car. He pulled out his check book and a pen, and without looking up he asked me, “So, Alex, how much do you need?”

Almost without even thinking, I shot back, “I’m good, Dad.”

“Really?” He just stared at me dumbfounded. “Are you sure about this, Alex?”

“Yeah, Dad, I’m fine.”

He just kept on with that befuddled stare before he sighed, “Ok, Alex.” Words and actions temporarily conflicted for a second as he hesitated with the pen still on the check. But shaking his head, he put the pen and check book back into his pockets. He stepped in closer, still confused, but with arms wide open.

As he hugged me he asked, “Have you been guarding your heart like I told you?”

Like every other response that night, my answer came like a reflex, “Yeah.”

“Ok. Good.”

As we separated, I could see the trust in his eyes. So sincere. But there was something deeper. It was as if he saw right through me. Past the mistakes, past prior disappointments, past my masks of security, past the wall that I had tried to build against him, and with parting words he said, “I love you, son.”

And with a mouth spasm, I responded, “Love you too, Dad.” In the sense that dogs love leaves or a guitar loves the notes which it plays. Indifference, really. Not a love for him strong enough to be willing to “disappoint” him or be real with him. Just a love to exist before him in my own reality.

But maybe I wouldn’t have to love him or tell him the gory truth because right as things were starting to become even more challenging, I caught it; my big break. The man’s name was Bonito DeVille. Bonito was a tall, broad-shouldered, Italian man bearing sharp facial features. Thick hair, coal black eyes, loads of cash, a nicer car, and a gilded voice that sounded from deep inside of him. And for whatever reason he saw potential in me. That’s what he told me anyways. He always said that I understood how to take orders, and after a few conversations Bonito found out about my situation. Then to my amazement, he said he’d like to take care of it. And without asking my permission, he did. Within the next week, the water was hotter. I had a well paying job at a local pizzeria. And that took care of the money and the food. He even hooked me up with a tutor. But there was one minor condition to Bonito’s generosity, I had to follow orders.

Generally this was no big deal. Pick this up. Drop that off. Mail this letter; little errands. No big deal. But gradually the orders got a little bit more demanding and they required more sacrifice than I wanted to give. Against my conscience, I began to reason that the guy was generous enough to pay my bills and land me a good job that I desperately needed, so carrying through on his errands was the least I could do. Another cool thing about Bonito is that as the orders got more demanding, the larger my paycheck got at work. The best part was that I was working less hours and getting paid higher wages, which meant more free-time for me. The more free time I had the more fun college became. It was nothing like high school. There were crazy parties everywhere, every night. I met new people all the time, and the girls, oh the girls, were unbelievably beautiful! It was the life. Few hours, fat checks, and the finest girls in town; all of them at my disposal, and all thanks to my hero, Bonito DeVille.



* * *



One night though, things started to change. My big break was turning into an epic fail. Without notice and for no exact reason, I was fired from the pizzeria. “There’s got to be a mistake,” I thought. So naturally, I called Bonito. Something in his voice sounded different. It was rawer, scratchy; there was less legato in his voice then normal. All that he really said was that he needed to see me. 423 at the corner of Folly and Sage Street.

So I grabbed the bus at the stop down the road. Night was falling. In the distance over town the black sky was permeating through the dark blues and grays. The stars, and what was left of them, hid behind the black clouds as a storm started to brew. Stepping onto the bus reminded me of high school, which then reminded me of home. I could see my last day there as if it were the day before. The sun was shining like the look in dad’s eyes, behind the glare of his glasses. It was warm. He had a tight hold on my arms, he was pleading with me, he insisted! What did he say?! It was so important to him that I heard him, but what did he say? I could see his face, intensely mouthing advice to me. Something about ‘before you go out into the world,’ oh what was it he said?

Before I had time to remember what he said, the bus came to a screeching halt. The air brakes released. It was my stop halfway down Sage street. I stepped up out of my seat and started walking off the bus, past tinted windows and restless people, to realize that the storm had commenced.

The rain fell like a flood from the dark expanse overhead. The ground shook with violence as the thunder poured forth in frightening fortissimo. Every now and again between pauses of pounding rain and devastating thunder, the whole landscape would flash with the bright lights of the repulsive lightning. There were cracks in the sidewalks, dark shadows in the ally way, neon in the lights overhead. Loud music was coming from within the clubs and bars that lined the street, and on the outside, the city seemed lively as ever, but on the inside she was choking on her last breath. She was dying slowly, struggling to stay alive, and loosing blood at a more rapid rate with every step I took up the street: 417, 419, 421, and there was 423. The windows were remotely fogged due to the excessive body heat from inside the building. I could see Bonito clearly though; his presence maybe, or possibly the fact that he was waiting with a few lovely assistants by the window.

To think Bonito DeVille was waiting for me, with those gorgeous girls. This couldn’t be bad, just a misunderstanding, really. The girls looked new. I didn’t recognize them but they were aware of me, as well as the fact that Bonito was looking for me, because the girl on his left tapped him on the shoulder to show him that I was outside. From outside and before he realized I was there, I could see him fooling around with something. And when I realized what it was, I decided that maybe I should see Benito some other time before he could see me, but as I was turning away my worst fear materialized. He saw me.

My steps quickened and I walked as fast I could back up the street, the rain all the while slamming down into my face. Through the loud drops of rain, I could hear the bells of a nearby door begin to ring from the inside as the door shut. Faster, I went. Another sound fell into the mix of rain and thunder. Footsteps. Moving faster than mine. They were heavy. So again I moved faster as I turned down Folly Street. And as I turned down Folly, I peeked to see who the heavy walker was. DeVille. He looked darker, his facial features sharper and thin like a blade. But on I walked, away from him. His footsteps were louder and more frequent, coming all the time around the corner.

First thunder, then lightning. And it was the flash of light that illuminated my escape, an ally way less than 10 feet away. I bounded up the street and into the alleyway before I heard the footsteps turn down Folly. Dead end. Bad idea. Frantically I searched around. Upon seeing the legs of a sleeping homeless man jutting out from between two trash cans, I saw the perfect disguise. In no time, I snatched up the homeless man’s beanie and fitted it to my head. Then I quickly moved out of the ally way as I shot DeVille a glance, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was walking forward with his head down. And right as I turned around to head across the street, I heard something that sent chills throughout my back. It was the homeless man. Apparently, he woke up. And he was not in the mood to be tampered with.

He ran out of the ally way hollering. And the second he spotted me I was done for. The man cried through his disfigured mouth, asking me to, “gimme back his ’a’ wom hat.”

All this ruckus grabbed DeVille’s attention, as he shot a look at me. I attempted to step into the cross walk, but I felt the homeless man’s hand grabbed the back of my jacket while he whined, “come on now suh, it ain’t right for ya tuh take some’um that ain’t yours. Now gimme my hat back.”

When I attempted to shrug the man off, I felt DeVille’s massive hands grab my shoulder, pulling me back onto the cracked sidewalk. I could feel his talons digging into me as he growled into my ear, “come on, Alex, give the man his hat.” DeVille left me no choice as he forcibly ripped the hat off of my head and shoved it into the homeless man’s chest. “Here take it!”

The homeless man shuddered as he clasped the hat in his crackling hands. He whimpered something, but his voice was drowned out by the thunder. DeVille leaned into me and hissed through his teeth, “Go down that alleyway to that wall by the dumpster and get on your knees. I swear on your life, if you don’t follow orders, I will bust a cap into your skull. Capish?” I shook my head, which was consensus enough. DeVille turned and asked the homeless man to leave with the legato and charm of a snake. Then he grabbed me by the neck and stomped down the alleyway only to shove me into the dumpster. “I said get on your knees!”

I resisted, and fired back, “No! First, tell me what this is about?! Mr. DeVille, I thought we had something going here! I did you favors and you were a benefactor to me.”

DeVille cursed at me. After which he proceeded to inform me of the situation. “Let me tell you something, Alex.” He shouted, “I never cared for you. I never needed you.” He cursed at me again. “And the fact is, Alex, you’re becoming quite useless to me now.”

“But I,” I looked down in fear. And I will say that I felt it before I saw it. A searing pain ripped through my chest, as shiny, metal flashes tore through my sky. The tumultuous thunder threw my body limp. Before I could make sense of anything, DeVille had kneeled on top of me pinning me to the cold concrete. I could feel the icy rain falling down on my face as DeVille plunged his hand into the gaping, bleeding hole in my chest. I felt his scaly hands weave their way through my rib cage. Ribs popped, breaking in perfect tempo with the flash of lightning. And in almost one swift motion, DeVille ripped out my beating heart.



* * *



The thunder applauded the predator’s performance as blood mixed with rain that fell to his victim’s chest. The predator crept out of the ally way, looked both ways and went down back toward the music.

After a minute or so, and like lightning, the homeless man appeared at the foot of the mangled body. With his fingerless gloves, he scraped off his hat. For minutes he stood over the corpse weeping and muttering into the hat. And when he had all that he could take, he threw the hat at the dead man, and ran out of the ally only to collapse on the corner of Folly and Sage Street.

He buried his face in his hands. With a heavy breath he picked his head up to scream, “The stupid man, heesta’ ‘posed tuh guard his heart!” His head fell back into wobbly knees.



* * *



About that time, in the midst of the rain, a black sedan slid up to the corner of Folly and Sage Street. A tall, broad shouldered man with black hair and a booming voice leaned out of the car and called to the disoriented homeless man on the corner, inviting him into the car and out of the rain. The homeless man staggered toward the sedan with his hair a mess and his face pointing to the cracked sidewalks with raindrops or tears running down his face. The man from within the car opened the passenger door so that the homeless man could slide into the vehicle, all the while, in the back seat of the sedan, sat a brown paper bag that was bleeding to red. And as the sedan drove off into the dark, the body of a young man laid in the alley—heartless—with a dirty, blood-soaked beanie on his chest that absorbed the cold, falling rain.