Dzedu

Short Story

Peter was making his rounds through the apartment, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything.  Cigarettes, lighter, wallet, keys, phone, and ChapStick.  Everything was there.  Bella, the little white and black spotted Chihuahua circled around his feet.  “The stove and oven is off, the coffee pot is off, and the backdoor is locked,” he muttered as he smiled down towards Bella.  “You ready to go for a ride girl?” 

Bella’s tail moved swiftly as she continued circling his feet.  “Let’s go outside and go potty before Lisa gets here.”  Peter stepped towards the door of the small two-bedroom apartment, being careful as always to avoid the dog spinning and dancing like a ballerina.  He stooped to pick up his travel bags before opening the door.  

Bella trots out onto the small cement porch.  Peter sets his bags down and shuffles back through the doorway before emerging once again with a metal dog crate in his right hand.  Bella continues to spin about on the porch before nearly stopping to pee.  She leaves a half circle of urine upon the pale gray pavement.  

Peter lets his bags and the crate lean upon the door of the apartment as he locks up before carrying Bella down the steps and into the grass.  Bella prances around in excited anticipation and then empties her bladder once more.  

He pulls the pack of Camels and a lighter out of his shirt pocket and fumbles the box open.  In one fluid motion he lifts the slender cigarette to his lips and sparks the tip with the light.  Smoke billows away from his face.  He never inhaled the first bit of smoke; in his mind it was like inhaling the butane from the lighter.  

‘Lisa should be here soon’, he thought to himself as he sat down on the edge of the porch.  Bella runs over and hops up a couple steps, rubbing her nose at Peter’s legs.  “Hey girl.”  He knocks ash off his cigarette with one hand, while reaching down to stroke the short soft fur of his dog with the other.  

“This is gonna be a tough trip, girl.  You ready for all this?  I’m not sure I am.”  Bella’s ears perk up and she turns her head slightly, her eyes transfixed on her companion. 

He stares off into the distance, ignoring the passing cars, ignoring everything.  It’s what he enjoyed most about having a cigarette, it was his time to let his mind drift.  Ten hours in a car with Lisa would be its own kind of challenge.  He’d have to listen to her talk, while counting down the minutes until the next stop where he could light up again.  ‘It’ll be fine’ he thought to himself, but he didn’t feel fine. 

He stands up and instantly feels his back tweak, sending a grimace running across his face.  ‘Perfect, this is really gonna be a fun trip’ he thought as he struggled to bend over and squash the Camel in the dirt.  Bella continues to dance around at his feet.  Peter tosses his butt in the old coffee can below the steps and turns around to see Lisa pulling up in her bright red Equinox.  

 

                                                                        ~~~

 

The struggles of the 10-hour trip washed away like pollen from the hood of a car after a rainstorm.  He stood gazing down with Bella sitting snuggled against his midsection, in a pouch slung over his shoulder.  He was looking into the face of his grandfather, his Dzedu.  He reaches towards the edge of the bed, momentarily touching his grandfather’s hand.  ‘It’s later than I thought.’  

He strode out of the living room where Dzedu’s bed stood, making his way down the picture filled hallway and into the kitchen.  He cracked open a Yuengling Lager, tossing the cap in the trash before taking a heavy swig from the bottle.  Standing in this kitchen, standing in this house, with death just another member of the family, he thinks about a cigarette.  As he reaches for his pocket and heads towards the door, his mind is already drifting.  

It's mostly little flashes, little visions of the past.  He can’t remember how old he was the first time he made the trip up to Bubba and Dzedu’s new home in the Adirondack mountains.  But he remembers standing next to the green Oldsmobile on that two-lane road.  His Aunt Michelle hiding her tears behind the raised hood of the car.  His cousin John standing next to him, both oblivious.  He remembers riding in the tow-truck, four across the leather bench seat.  He remembers a shopping center.  He remembers standing next to his aunt as she put quarters into a payphone.  And he remembers the house, as it was then.  Just a two-bedroom home with a back porch.  That little television set which was more like a radio with a small screen.  And the lake, Rainbow Lake.  The old dock before it twisted and sunk, his grandfather’s hands, the wiggle of the worm as he baited the fishing line, and the sharp prickly fins of the Sunfish.  

Then the sharp prickly pain of his grandfather’s words.  

“It’s an addiction Pete!  Do you know that your aunt and uncle were able to afford a new car after they quit?” 

This was the last face to face exchange Peter can remember with his grandfather.  It wasn’t the words that hurt the most, but the look of disappointment on his grandfather’s face.  He still didn’t have his own car.  He’d let Judy have everything in the separation and divorce.  On some days the cigarette was the only thing to grapple on to, the only thing keeping him afloat, keeping him away from the dark place.  

 

                                                                        ~~~

 

The sun had yet to break across the sky as Peter was stirred from sleep by his Aunt Michelle’s voice.  

“Guys, guys.  He’s gone.  He’s gone guys.”  Her voice struggling to produce the words.  “Why don’t you come on down.”  She closed the door to the bunkhouse and retreated down the steps.  The bunkhouse was just a little apartment above the garage, a cozy nook containing its own memories that Peter could almost see floating about the high ceiling.  He propped himself up on one arm, Bella still snoozed under the blankets beside him.  His cousin John lay motionless in a bed across the room.  

Everyone was buzzing about, many with coffee cups in hand.  Bubba sat near Dzedu’s bed, slowly wiping tears from her cheeks.  Aunt Michelle was placing her father’s hands around a box of cherry instant Jello and an old rosary.  Only in America, Peter thought.  Food and Jesus.  His grandfather had apparently been on a Jello kick in the last few weeks, but he felt a twinge of embarrassment for his Dzedu.  Anger tried to push to the surface as he realized that this was a photo opportunity for Facebook.  The picture would be sent away for others to view, with a campy little blurb to go along with it.  It wasn’t right, but Peter pushed down his emotions and headed towards the kitchen for some coffee. 

His Uncle Bill was already on the phone.  Calling the folks who would take away his Dzedu.  And then the men were there, in their oversized suits, their faces worn from years of doing business with death.   

Peter slowly closed the sliding door to the living room.  Most of the women waited in the kitchen as the men helped lift Dzedu into that dark green bag.  And then the deafening sound of the zipper and that last look upon the face of a man who had impacted so many lives.

~~~

“I think it’s our job to clear out this cabinet tonight!  What do you think?” 

“Well, let’s see what we’ve got, Pete.”

In the center of the kitchen stood an island with a large wooden countertop.  The base of the island was hollow with two cabinet doors.  The doors stood wide open as Peter and his Uncle Bill crouched, staring into an abyss of liquor bottles, most close to empty.  

“I never could stand Jack.  Maybe the Gentlemen Jack is smoother?” 

“Yep, I’ve never been a big whiskey guy.  Do we have any mixers?” 

“Uncle Bill, I’m pretty sure you’ll drink anything.”

“What.  And you don’t?” Uncle Bill said as he turned his gaze into Peter’s brown eyes before pulling two bottles from the cabinet and setting them down on the counter.

  

                                                                        ~~~

Peter woke slowly.  He noticed the grogginess and pain before opening his eyes.  His hand moves to his forehead where he feels a bump and small cut.  He’s happy that Bella is safely nestled under the covers of the bed.  He then realizes he’s not in the bunkhouse, but in the bedroom near the kitchen.  A room reserved for married couples, usually his Uncle Bill and Aunt Cindy.  Anxiety and worry flood over him.  As he pulls himself from bed, he notices the light shining through the bottom of the curtains.  He knows it’s no longer morning.  He creaks the door open, leaving Bella staring after him.  

“Pete!” Uncle Bill called out with a small chuckle.  He sat at the long wooden dining table next to Peter’s father Pat.  Both men had long dark hair and beards peppered with gray.  Pat’s hair fell about his face and down his back, while Uncle Bill’s was pulled into a neat ponytail.  

“So did I fall last night or what?” 

“Well, according to Abigail you were hitting your head,” said Pat.  

“Like against the wall?” 

“I guess you were having a bit of an episode.”  

Peter’s mind tries to flash back to the night before.  But it’s all a blur after mixing drinks with his uncle.  He can’t remember when the drinking had started, but the men drank while the women had cried.  

“Sorry for going to the dark place,” Peter muttered as he turned towards the bathroom.  

“Pete, we had a good time…” his uncle called after him as he disappeared behind the bathroom door. 

He stood staring into the large mirror above the toothpaste crusted sink.  His light brown hair was wavy and dangled around  his shoulders, while the stubble of his beard was beginning to grow out.  Although his hair was long, it had begun to recede in the front.  He examined the bump and scrape located an inch and a half above his right eye.  It was already beginning to bruise.  His eyes then drifted to the center of his forehead where there was an old, jagged scar.  

Peter’s mind races back to his days at college.  It was the night that he discovered the dark place.  Looking back now, Peter knew that he’d been burying his emotions for months.  Building a ticking time bomb within himself.  But it was that night, with his mother and younger brother in town, that the bomb went off.  Of course, there was heavy drinking involved.  Peter remembers being shoved to the ground repeatedly.  That was enough to start the countdown.  He remembers madly walking between vehicles in a parking lot, kicking and punching out at side mirrors and against doors.  His brother begging him to calm down.  Then he’s staring into the back window of a large white van, as if in a daze.  Then he hears his own screams and moans.  He's in a hospital and a nurse is sewing up his forehead.  

Peter knew it was the divorce of his parents and breaking up of the family that shattered that back window.  The booze never helps of course.  And here he was again, banging his head in a drunken stupor.  There is never enough time with family and the ones you love.  As Peter splashed cool water from the sink on his face, he thought about Dzedu.  That last image sketched onto his psyche and again he heard the deafening sound of that zipper.