“Nothin’ you could do about it? You say your family life was screwed up. You were estranged from them. You started a new life here in Portland, and in all of that time, you never learned a trade or tried to figure out who you really were, being out from your father’s thumb. You blame other people for crap that you personally could change or control. I understand.” Axel threw up his hands. “A child is not a man. Everything in your childhood was what it was, but when you became a man, you still behaved as a child, Tommy. That was on you. You were beaten by your father. That wasn’t your fault. You tried to beat me down with your words when I was a youngin. That IS your fault. I’m trying to understand. No more disguises. Costumes. Excuses. We’re done.”
“…Are you wearin’ a disguise, boy?” Daddy flicked his ashes into a chipped, wooden bowl. “Everyone lies. It’s survival. Not everyone needs to know the truth, no matter how much they beg and plead. The truth don’t set everybody free. I learned early on that lies slowed down the beatings. Lies make women love ya, and want you to stay. Lies garner trust, and can give you talent and admiration, even for just one damn day. That’s better than nothin’ at all. You’ve killed two men.”
“And? You know the circumstances around that.”
“What kind of man can walk around feeling okay with blood on his hands? Even if it was self-defense? You know I had to kill someone when you were a boy. A so-called friend of mine. I’ve never forgotten it. It changed me.”
“That was the second time you killed someone… We can leave it at that.”
Daddy looked at him and swallowed. Averting his gaze, he brought his cigarette to his mouth.
“Axel, you’re strong.” He puffed deeper, exhaling slowly. “You’ve always been strong. Born just seeming to know who you were in life. Smart. Capable. You’re good with your hands. I ain’t beat you down with words, as you say, ’cause I hated you, was ashamed of you, or didn’t want you. I did it because I loved you.”
He reached for his beer, and took a big gulp. “I talked to you somethin’ awful when you was a kid. I know it. I did it, Axel, ’cause I didn’t want you to end up like me…” Dad’s eyes washed over with a fine sheen. “I’d say I succeeded. You ain’t nothin’ like me!” His voice shook then. “That makes you special. I wasn’t special. I’m never going to be special, either. I wasn’t nobody back then, and I’m nobody today. Just a dirt-poor country boy whose daddy wished he was dead, and whose mama wished he’d disappear. I gave both of them their wish. I guess I’m good at something after all…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You know, a coochie board,” Melanie repeated. “That’s what I need.”
“Mel, I have no idea what a coochie board is. I think you’re making this up.” English walked away and sat down in her friend’s apartment, shaking her head. The couch was ivory and plush. Melanie had invited her over on her day off, wanting to catch up, but English found her surroundings suspicious. The expensive ‘fast fashion’ furniture and decorative accents weren’t something one could afford on a bartender’s salary. All of this was brand new gear. What has Mel been betting on?
“What are you watching?” she asked, pointing to the television.
“One of them court tv shows. I DVR’ed it. I forgot what this judge’s name is, but she’s pretty cool. English, come on, help me remember the name of it. I need to order one for my birthday party. I could just order it online, but I want it pre-loaded.”
“Preloaded? With what? Yeast infection cream?”
“Stop playin’ with me. I’m probably saying it wrong, but close enough. You know those boards!” Melanie started clapping her hands and growing annoyed, as if English were to blame. “I know you know what I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t, and I’m tired of talking about this, because it’s just silly at this point.” Melanie was looking pitiful now, putting up bowls in the kitchen cabinets. “What does it look like, Mel?”
“They have olives, and some come with grapes or little tomatoes. They’re supposed to have cheese, pepperoni slices, and crackers. Things like that. You know, coochie boards!”
English sighed long and hard, then burst out laughing. “You have got to be kidding me. How have you survived this long in the world?!”
“Bitch, just tell me what it’s called!” Melanie cackled.
“Call the grocery store and order a coochie board, Melanie. Wait and see what happens. Ask for a dick tray while you’re at it. You’re a crazy nut! That’s a charcuterie board! Not coochie! Lord have mercy.”
“Sounds the same to me. That’s a stupid name. How am I supposed to pronounce that?”