I am an old white man in a dark dark world.
The young redhead had told him all about her life the night they’d met. A long long walk along the river and back again. She said fairly horrifying shit should never happen to anybody. He told her he believed her and that was all okay. He had actually told her very little about himself. Said he wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t say anything.
I am the toughest, most dangerous man you will ever meet, he told her. She told him she believed him and that all was okay.
Been together ever since. Which wasn’t really a long time but seemed like forever for both of them.
Finally he was exactly where he wanted to be. Doing exactly what he wanted to do. With exactly the woman he wanted to do it with.
One night she had said like apropos of nothing in particular, neither one of us like to be told what to do.
They talked about it. Admit it, it’s true. Oh, no question.
Actually, the bedrock, the foundation of their relationship. Not one argument in ten years. Knock on wood.
She couldn’t be told to do anything she didn’t want to do. Couldn’t tell her anything.
He couldn’t – this is key here – couldn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.
He didn’t tell her much and she didn’t push.
What is so hard about that?
I am an old white man in a dark dark world.
You ever notice since the Here Comes Donnie Doo Doo show just took off, the anti-hero has become the hero.
Couldn’t you be satisfied with just making the neighborhood great again? Hell, yeah. That shit be sweet. Then it got crazy.
Bubba Roy Bobbie Lee Moore, who supposedly died peacefully surrounded by his family’s love. The son of Giselle, “Burble” as he was known to kinfolk, that guy, he was back. Was this Satan’s idea of a practical joke?
Had to be him, the old man muttered to the dog. The big dog growled. He didn’t want to go take a look. But a butt crack was hardly a definitive identifying feature at this distance. View obscured by the hill-size pile of yard debris suddenly appeared in the front yard. All that showed through was the faded red table umbrella. The old man had talked about putting a tiki bar in his own front yard. But then somebody might mistake that for an invitation.
Couple days of surveillance. Debrief witness. Still don’t know if it’s Burble or his twin or some other form of lunatoid. A exact same double maybe, like that Mexican drug lord that took over Jack Abbott’s identity on The Young & The Restless and Phyllis never noticed the difference. You’d have to know by his kisses, the young redhead avers. How he, you know, makes love. I’d know, she assured him.
Whoever this guy is, he hollers, “Mom! Watch this.” Here’s where it gets weird. He’s on the roof and he jumps and grabs onto a dead limb, Tarzan-like. He crashes to the ground – harsh – still holding the limb, Wily Coyote-like.
Now what does this tell us? He called her Mom, but that could mean anything. And he leaps up, dusts himself off and heads around back. Here’s where it gets strange. He’s like a cartoon monkey who pops up again, hollers again and grabs another tree limb. And crashes again. That had to sting. And he is all smiles. Now what does this tell us? Twin, lookalike, younger brother, older brother??
Demon spawn, decided the old man. Nothing else made as much sense. This guy was like Burble on speed and kale shakes. He’s up before dawn with a power blower making sure the driveway is lint free. He’s up late tuning his riding mower. Been pulling trash and appliances and medical equipment and trash, so much you’d wonder if they were bringing crap in through the back door. Like a clown car.
Whoever he was, whatever it was, he had a speaker in the front yard. Liked to sit there smoking a stinky hand-rolled cigarette and listen to the classics over and over. If you like Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain, if you’re not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain… And over. So I wrote to the paper, took out a personal ad… Even when he wasn’t even in the front yard. And though I’m nobody’s poet, I thought it wasn’t half bad… And over. I’m not much into health food, I am into champagne… You can hear it across the street and down the road. If you like making love in the dunes of the cape, write to me and escape.
The old man wanted to escape. He wanted to write:
Dear noxious asshole, turn the noise the fuck down.
Sincerely yours,
Anonymous Annoyed and Armed.