Page 5 of Losing a Piece of Me

“Yep. I can pick up the check on Monday. I was going to quit today anyway.”

“So you have a job for me, right?”

I nod my head at him and rub my forehead. “You know I do, man.”

“Yes! Fuck this place; I’m quitting today too.” He starts to walk off but I call him back.

“Stay where you’re at for now. Gather up some guys to bring with you. I want to run his ass into the ground.”

He laughs with me. “You’re evil.” He points at me before walking away.

Evil may be a harsh word to use. Pissed? Yes. Tired of busting my ass six days a week for shit pay? Yes. But evil? No, I’m not evil. I’m just passing on the shit he has been pawning off to everyone dumb enough to work for him.

It pains me to admit that I rarely hold a job for any significant length of time. Hot-headedness runs in my family, and my capacity to deal with other people’s shit is minimal, so it’s only natural that I regularly butt heads with supervisors. An unfortunate consequence of this emotional characteristic is that I usually end up walking out of a job shortly after starting. Luckily, I have been able to adapt and learn many different avenues for making money. I’ve had every job under the sun, but construction is where my passion lies. I love being able to build something with my own hands, and I love the commitment and hard work it takes. Nothing else compares to watching something come to life before my eyes, to transform a jumbled pile of building materials into a fully functioning house.

I can’t wait to get that check and start my own company. Today is the first day of my new future.

Gone are the days of me being a piece of shit, bouncing from job to job. Don’t get me wrong, I work hard, have a nice place to live, and always have food on the table. But I also know how women are. If you can’t hold a job for long, you are automatically labeled as “afraid of commitment”, and women don’t want any of that shit. Not that I have ever actually been in a serious adult relationship.

Which is something else that I’m determined to change. It’s time for me to settle down. It’s time to straighten it up. Not for her, but for myself. I’m tired of being the son of the town drunk. All bets are on me to follow in his footsteps, to spend my days and nights stumbling down the sidewalk toward whichever neon light is the closest, but fuck them. I will prove them wrong. I am more than that, and more than their bullshit expectations.

The hands on the clock announce that it’s dinner time, so I make a guest appearance at my favorite diner on the way home to rustle up some food. I pull my truck to the curb and walk in, where I’m greeted by the sound of crashing pots and pans.

I run around the counter and into the kitchen to find Earl picking himself up from the floor. I rush to his side. “Are you okay?”

The skinny old man jerks his arm away from me before brushing off his pants. “Of course I’m okay. I fought in the war, you think a wet floor is going to take me out?” He adjusts his glasses, looking at me.

A laugh escapes me. “You scared the shit out of me, Pops.” Earl has received the honorable title of ‘Pops’, since he is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real dad.

“Go sit your ass down so I can make you some food. I bet you haven’t eaten in days.”

“I do know how to feed myself, you know,” I say, sitting down at the counter. Pops’ head is visible through the opening in the wall, and I watch as he cooks my food, completely absorbed in the process. He may be seventy-something-years-old, but he still moves like he’s fifty.

My eyes fall to the static-filled, black-and-white TV screen hanging in the corner of the room. Behind the static, I can see the remnants of what looks like a football game playing out. Whatever it is, it certainly isn’t worth straining my eyes to watch. Instead, I reach behind the counter and turn on the CB radio. Pops always leaves it on the frequency the local police use. We’ve spent many enjoyable evenings listening to this, laughing hysterically at the police harassing the neighborhood kids.

Our sheriff is a bitter old man. I should know, he’s arrested me over fifty times – which, if I recall correctly, is the record. Well, there may be one other person who has a few more than me.

I push her from my thoughts and listen as the line suddenly becomes clear, which has historically meant that something exciting is about to go down. “Pops, he’s got someone else,” I yell.

Pops tosses his spatula aside and sticks his head through the opening to hear the radio. “Turn it up, would ya?”

I reach over the counter and turn up the radio.

“I got her again, boys. What’s that make, now… seventy-two times?” Barney Fife lets out a deep belly laugh. “I can finally retire.”

My blood runs cold. I know who he has. What’s she doing in town? And seventy-two? Fuck, she still has a lot more than me and she hasn’t even lived here for the past six years.

“What’s she done this time?” one of the deputies ask over the radio.

He waits a minute before he answers. “Obstruction of justice.”

That’s bullshit and everyone knows it.

“Let her go, Tom.”

“But…”

“Tom, you and I both know that girl hasn’t been in town in years. There is no way she showed up here meaning to cause trouble. I know you need to get her one last time before you retire, but it ain’t happening today. Now, let her go.”

---