Drag The Waters

Drag The Waters
By Shane Waldo

Old Wounds:

Are you unforgiven' too&;#8230;
Every night Shawn goes to the local dinner, every time he goes alone.
He just sits, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes thinking about how
it has all gone so wrong. His inner workings screaming out, being
stopped by his stony character and granite will. Every night he watches
as others dine and talk and have fun. Once in a while he will see
himself in that diner. See the past creeping up on him. Watching
himself with that old love he used to know so well talk and giggle and
laugh and flirt. Watch young love, feel it stab him with the icy blade
of regret, of longing. But the wounds are never mortal, are they? No.
They do heal. Still the scar remains. A constant reminder of times that
were better and ways that have parted. Sometimes if you pick at the
tissue of those scars they will bleed again and again they shall bring
pain.

Shawn Jackson is sitting in the far corner of the dinner, as he always
does. Sipping his coffee and smokin' his cigs but tonight is a bit
different you see. Tonight he has a visit from an old friend, another
scar to tear at with jagged nails. Shawn was always amazed how little
talk he was invited too when he was in the place. Well, you grow up
somewhere and think you know every one and their brother. Then you move
away, for a job maybe. When you move back you don't do so as you left,
an ambitious young man, no. You move back a tired man in a town of
strangers.

Most of us have that old drawn out put me to sleep story about the one
who got away. Shawn of course, was no different. But there was
something different about him wasn't there, well yes and no. His temper
was sometimes out of control, like a long fuse on an atom bomb. But,
again no, that is not quite it either. It has to be the way he works,
on an interior level that is. His insides kept insisting that the
illogical and irrational things of the world did not have an
explanation and if they did it was a romantic one. This inner romance
was kept running straight lines by Shawn's sense of reality. The mind
interfering with the heart's insisting that things didn't run black and
white, on a straight line, that things in fact ran on a circular path
and connected to itself again to create a circle; a circle where all
things come to par and there is no black nor is their any white just
the melancholy gray of love and loss. So he sits and thinks about his
lost love, how beautiful she was. About how much he loved her in all
the idiocies of childish immaturity and how he might still, as a man,
love her. Even after all the lies and betrayal.

Shawn sips his coffee as he exhales a plume of bluish white smoke that
wraps itself around the cup and whips up over his head. His gray-blue
eyes smolder dully as he looks through the smoke at the patrons of the
dinner. And that is when she walks in. The old love once lost, Marie.
Frozen in his seat he sees her walking toward him from the front of the
place, the host looking at her long legs as she goes by. Shawn's heart
swells with anger and hatred and longing and maybe even love.
Conflicting thoughts race thought his head and crash together in
explosions of glass and steel, a demolition derby stream of
consciousness. Marie apparently knew where Shawn would be, with no
hesitation she walked back to the corner of the dinner studying her
shoes most of the time but chancing a glance up just to look where she
was going. She has gorgeous eyes, Shawn thinks every time she gives a
glance in his direction.

Marie walked right up to his booth after almost five years of nill
contact and sat down in the bench across from Shawn. She took a pack of
Camel's from her purse, shook one loose and lit it up looking Shawn in
the face. He happened to look, again, right into her big brown eyes,
dark as caves. How many men' s hearts lie in those endless caverns, he
thought with some dismay.
"I can tell you are a bit surprised to see me." She said, white smoke
billowing from her soft pink lips as she spoke.
Shawn's tong was glued to the roof of his mouth, his vocal cords bound
with concrete. But he had to try, try and say at least something.
"Why are you here?" ok a valid question. He wondered if she could hear
the palpitations of his heart.
"Well, I hate to answer with another question but have you ever done
something and wished you could un-do it?"
He thought about saying he wished he had never carried her from that
creek bed when they were in grade school. Wished he had never met her
at his friend's house years later, exchanged numbers, started going
out, and explored the deep depths of sexual desire with her, wished he
had never shared his feelings with her, his pent up love which used to
burn for her so brightly. But he said none of this; there was five
years of water under the bridge after all and he was no longer a teen
with is middle finger raised high so the whole world could see.
"Yea I suppose so." Shawn's voice sounded meager and childish in his
ears.
"That's why I came, I needed badly to talk to you, maybe reconcile our
past so you might help me. My life lately has been in like, shambles
and well I just kept thinking if I talked to you then you could make it
all better, like you used to." Marie said puffing on her cigarette at
the pauses.
"I don't know if I can, or want, to help you." He was getting slightly
angry now.
"I know you are probably still upset with me but I know you and you
are a good guy and I assumed-
- You assumed what? Baby you made your bed, now you gotta' lie in it.
You chose to do it all without me, with my best friend no less, so if
you think you can just&;#8230; never mind." His anger was swelling,
swarming like angry wasps. How dare she, after the shit she pulled,
come back to him and expect every thing to be ok.
"I was hoping you wouldn't get so angry, I have always hated your
temper." She said.
"Fuck you and Fuck my temper, I ain't MR. Fuckin' Rogers and I hold
grudges, I don't forget whom screwed me, will you just fess up, tell me
why you came here diggin' up the past, because you know it ain't cool
the way you just waltz in here and expect me to be just hunkey dory and
do as the massa' says." Shawn said, his anger was feigning, deep down
where that romanticism was he was actually hoping she would show up,
wasn't he? Isn't what why he came here in the first place putting on
this woe is me act hoping the hands of fate would come by and drop the
one who got away right back in his lap.

"I understand and I am sorry. You have every reason to come right over
this table and slap me silly, if you wanted but Shawn, I know you or at
least I did and if you are half the man you were you would not be so
rude." Marie said in a pleading tone.
"OK I'll hear you out."
"No, not here, somewhere private."
"What do you.." he started but she interrupted, "The motel on third
street room twenty three, if you still want to talk to me, if you will
hear me out than come, tonight." She said, getting up.

"Wait, what the hell are you trying to pull?"
"No tricks and no games, if you still love me than you will help me
and you will come, if you don't than you won't." She said then turned
and left without a word more.

Shawn had no idea what to do, God why did this stuff always happen to
him, he thought. Again those conflicting voices in his head, she left
you for your best friend, they did it and they lied and they lied and
they lied, But you do still love her? Yes and yes, they were both true
as they almost always were. Shawn stood on legs of rubber and treaded
leaden steps to his car. He left a twenty on the table for his coffee
but tonight didn't care if he got change. Once in his car he rolled
down the window, just a crack, and lit up a smoke. He sat and smoked
and thought for the better part of an hour, eventually pulling out only
slightly knowing where he was headed.

At The Motel:

She loves me not, she loves me still, will she ever love
again&;#8230;
Shawn Jackson had, in his whole life, only slept with two women. The
first being Marie, the second, well he had actually forgot her name,
hell he had forgotten what she even looked like. It was vodka and
depression induced hate-fuck. She slapped him and ran out of the room
after he climaxed. Her name apparently wasn't Marie, as Shawn had been
screaming.

Now here he was at the proverbial and literal Fork In The Road. Two
paths and I take the one less traveled. Straight ahead through the
traffic light, home, turn left Third Street, the motel and Marie.
Choices, choices, why such a hard-ass choice, as he thought of these
things he spat his cigarette out the window in disgust, gripping the
wheel with white knuckles as the traffic light approached.

Shawn's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Black and white chess pieces
battling for the prize, the turn, the choice. Home, a stale dry empty
place with no love or Marie, a love hate kick in the emotional nuts
learn far more than I ever wanted. He came to the light and slowed.
Just a reaction he told himself. Bullshit. Shawn let his right hand
come over his left, turning the wheel. What am I doing he thought, but
knew. He was taking the road less traveled, he was taking a
chance.

Shawn pulled up to the motel and parked. The large numeral of the sign
spraying the parking lot in shades of yellow and red. He treaded water
into the lobby.
Where is room 23?
Up the stairs over there.
Thanks.
Then he was there, at the thresh hold. The two digits mocking him in
their fake gold sheen. Shawn raised a hand on the end of a pole at the
other side of the galaxy and knocked. The sound seemed too loud,
echoing guiltily through his head. He felt a little like a child
playing hookey from school. Footsteps, bare ones on carpet, scuffling
toward the door. The sound of the bolt unlatching, the tingling of the
chain. An eternity of waiting it seems. The door swings back revealing
a not so pretty Marie. Her mascara is drying in runners down her
cheeks. Her eyes are red and puffy. Her hair is messed.

"I'm sorry." She said, "I just didn't think you were coming."
He stepped in and she closed the door.
"You didn't show this kinda compassion when you.." No stop it, not
constructive.
"When I what?" Not a question.
"Sorry, bygones be gone and all that shit." Shawn said.
"OK, down to business." She said.
"Sure."
"Sit down I want to tell you a story. I know you won't want to hear
some of this but if you will hear me out, I would be very
appreciative."
"Go ahead."

Marie sat down next to Shawn at the foot of the bed. She put her hand
on his shoulder and looked into the facing mirror, looked right at
Shawn. She started her story where he left off. She broke up with him.
Messy thing. She did it because she wanted freedom or as Shawn thought
it, she wanted to fuck a variety of dick and drink and snort and so on
with no responsible person to have to answer to. She did this, the
partying and fucking. Her party and occasional fuck-buddy was his old
friend, David. Shawn and David share teething marks on a great deal of
the same childhood toys. She and David had a "Fun Time" she said. Going
to all night parties and not going to school anymore. She dropped out,
moved out of her parents house and oh yea Shawn when you moved away
because the sight of me brought tears to your eyes, me and your best
friend, the person who held you in your fits of crying, started dating.
It just kinda happened, as she put it. Right he thought. An accident.
An old line from an old Bruce Willace movie recurred to him and he
smiled in spite of his tightly clenched fists. She went on, told him
about her prolonged drug use and job hopping over the last five years.
Once, she had said, I even thought about, seriously thought about,
blowing this guy for a rock. Again not need to fucking know info, babe.
But he kept listening, controlling himself the best he could. She
plowed through, Told him about the last year of David's drug use. How
she had stopped doing the heavy shit. She and David were having serious
problems now. No shit. But more recently because of the heavier drug
use on his part. Shawn still at this point is waiting for something he
hives two shits about.

"A week ago, David got a call from his, his, dealer." Marie said,
tears welling in the corners of her masked blackened eyes.
"Go on." Shawn said.
"Well the guy have him a kind of ultimatum, 'Give me the fuckin' two
hundred fuckin' bucks you owe me you piece of shit or you and the bitch
get it, you got one week', or something like that." She was crying now
in sobbing gasps, the words came out in-between breaths.
"He&;#8230;He had one week." She was holding Shawn and he her,
cautious and reluctant. Marie's makeup making a pseudo print on his
shoulder as she cried. Cried in pain and in shame and because of a
thousand reasons all without name.

"That was six days ago." She finished.

Why didn't you sell your stuff or move or call the cops, but no. She
had or he had no doubt already don't that before for similar problems
and similar fixes.

"So where do I come in?" The first honest question he had asked since
they split.
"You make it OK to die tomorrow, if it comet to it."
"I won't let&;#8230;" She put her fingers to his lips.
"Do you still love me?" She was looking at him, looking into him with
her loving longing lustful eyes.

His heart was trip hammering in his chest and he tried to think
through the fog in his head. With little success. In a situation like
this, for better or worse, you usually spoke before taking the time to
think things over.
"Yes, I said I always would." Shawn said.
"Say it."
"I love you." He said and felt it click. Felt that inner romanticism
scream out in ecstasy. Yes, yes, yes, this is how it must be, how it
was always to be. How utterly perfect.
"I love you too." She said. He felt she might mean it.

They made love that night. Two making one through the screens of
depict through the iron clad will of reason. They made long loving
sweet love, sex of lustful teens had again and again by a lonely man
and a distraught woman. They made love and made one. First loves
reunited through physical portals of lust and intimacy.

Shawn and Marie slept in each other's arms while their mingled sweat
and bodied cooled and calmed. The storm was passing.

The Morning After:

Dead sure she'll be there&;#8230;
Shawn woke up and as always the face he saw was that of Maire. The
face of the girl he fell in love with. The childish things they shared.
He felt next to him and as always no one was there. This didn't
immediately catch his attention. He was a creature of habit after all.
Then it came to him with blaring lights and screeching sirens. She was
here.

Shawn sat bolt upright in the relatively cheap motel room bed looking
for his lost love. He saw nothing of hers left in the room. Shawn was
getting angry. He got up and out of bed naked, went to the window and
scanned the parking lot.
"Fuck." He said through his teeth. Shawn grabbed the sitting chair by
the window and with a primal strength threw it across the room. It
struck the wall a n broke in shards.
I always hated your temper
He looked at himself in the mirror. The tendons of his neck standing
out in cords, hands clenched and white. His face red and white
blotches. With a force of will, Shawn Jackson opened his hands. He
dressed and left the motel with the accustom cloudy grayness that
follows his blowups.

When Shawn got home his mind started to clear a bit and he didn't want
it to. Thoughts accusations flew through his mind on wings of razor
blades.
One night stand!
Used!
Betrayed! Love!
HATE!
Then the four most deadly words in the English language came from
Shawn's mouth, "I need a drink."

Sitting on his couch the sun tucked behind the horizon and the bottle
of Vodka in his hand, Shawn watched the nine o'clock news, still
thinking of her. Did she set me up? Was she lying? Should I be looking
for her? Man I need another drink. So he drank.

Halfway through the news Shawn laid down and started to drift away
when a photo on the news caught his eye.
A gruesome murder to report this evening.
"Holy shit." Shawn sat up, bewildered and drunk.

There they were David and Marie sitting in a tree, KISSING, damnit
dumb drunk. They're dead. Murdered. Just like she said. Oh God, he
couldn't believe it. He was awe struck. Why didn't he do anything, go
to the police, something. She dug her own grave man. No. It wasn't her
fault. Shawn Jackson stood on wobbly legs now hard and straight through
channeled aggression and threw the Vodka at the TV, breaking the table
in a lout pop.

The gray sank in again. Shawn grabbed things and threw them just to
hear them hit. He took things and broke them just to hear them snap. He
went on until his combination high blood pressure and alcohol levels
made him pass out in a jumbled mess of aggression. His last conscious
thought was not of Marie, but of David. Smiling in that winning ear to
ear grin of his.

The Next Three Years:

Sick and tired of being alone&;#8230;
If you were to drag the waters of a man's heart, what you might find
would horrify and bewilder you. Shawn with his hot temper but good
nature. Shawn with his logical mind and romantic heart. His fantasies
of becoming a famous artist and his fears of rejection. Him picturing
Marie dead and crying, and laughing.

This man, Shawn, had a rough three or so years after the murder of his
high school sweetheart. The police called the day after he found out
and he went in, told them what had happened the night before at the
motel and went back home. Shawn lost his job the next week for being
drunk. He slashed all his paintings with a box cutter in a drunken
stupor soon after. Then his bank accounts dried up but he didn't. Shawn
Jackson, twenty four years old, now a raging alcoholic, sold all his
worldly possessions, except his car and hit the read. Living from town
to town, from day to day. His Fuck Score went up considerably, from two
to twelve the first year then doubling the next two. Shawn was a drunk,
vagrant who fucked anything that walked and drank anything served after
five.

He rarely thought of Marie, only when he fucked a girl did he. It was
their eyes he thought. In Marie's he has seen something, when they were
first together it was young ignorant love, later it was lust and
longing. These women he did not were total zeros. Picture of a slot
machine hitting all blanks. And well, for him, that was just
fine.

One night, almost exactly three years from the day he slept with
Marie, he had an old feeling arise. Shawn wanted to go to a dinner, sit
and have a smoke and some coffee. He hadn't done this since, that night
and was a little reluctant to do so but hey what the hell. So he went
in his only pair of faded jeans and his blue T-shirt. Sitting in the
back corner, smoking Camel's and drinking coffee. Thinking how it has
all gone wrong.

A lady, not a waitress, stood up from a booth, eyeing Shawn and walked
over. She was short with long dark hair and Spanish eyes.
"Do you mind?" She asked and motioned to sit with him.
"No, not at all." He didn't, she was a knock-out.
"You looked as lonley as I feel." She said.
"What's your name?" Shawn asked.
"Renee, yours?"
"Shawn."
"What do you do for a living Shawn?"
"I live." He said.
"I like that, me too." She said. He looked , no wedding band. Renee
was single.
"OK, I am gonna' be up front with you lady&;#8230;"
"Renee."
"..Renee, I am a drunk loser with no business even talking to a girl
like you. I don't know what your jive is man, but I am telling you, I
aint it." He said. He felt weird saying this. He usually played the
lonely wandering rebel but this time he couldn't lie, couldn't cheat
this fine looking, fine dressed woman into bed.

"I don't care what you were." She said.
"Renee, I am.."
"Only because you want to be, I would guess, why don't you grow some
fucking balls and get over whatever it is that is eating you so badly."
She didn't raise her voice.
"Who are you to play psychologist with me, lady?" he said but it was
just a reaction. He amazingly, wasn't mad. Not a bit. He actually liked
this strait forward kind of talk. He always had he guessed.

"You know what?" Renee said.
"What?"
"You and me, we got a lot to talk about." She said. And as she said it
he got another good look into those dark eyes of hers. He saw something
in them. A thing which he had yet to see in his whole life.
Hope.