Trying to Figure It All Out

Abstract

FICTION Trying to Figure It All Out Glade Brosi "QUITTING TIME, CURLEY." The words hit me like a blast of cool air in July. I unhooked my tool belt and started to roll up the tangle of extension cords and air hoses. I hurried so I could get my check and go home. When everything was picked up, I climbed down from the second story deck. Having spent the day standing on shaky 2x4s handing sheets of plywood up to the roof, I was tired and glad to be done. This was a big house, at least six thousand square feet, and it seemed to be built straight out of the mountain. I hated this house because it was so tall. Owners and architects don't think about working sixty feet up on walk-boards and ladders. I trudged through the thick rhododendron back to my truck. The other guys were leaning on their cars and trucks like they did every day; I guess they were getting up the energy to go home. Donnie and Sam were having their usual conversation. "Thirty thousand an acre, and you've got to buy at least five. That's a hundred and fifty grand just for the damn lot, and then there's this damn ugly house. I just can't figure out how someone has that much money." Sam took off his shirt, shook it out and put it on again, pondering the question that Donnie asked him every day. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it, making a face to let everyone know that he was thinking. "I won ten thousand over there in Cherokee once, and it was gone in a week. I don't know how these people get their money, but I'm glad I don't live here in all these damn brambles. One of these trees is bound to fall and knock down that house." I put my tool belt in the back of my truck and opened the door. "Hey, Curley," Donnie called, "you going to the bank?" I smiled, "It's Friday." Driving out, I looked around at the subdivision. Rock walls lined the roadside, and wood ducks and a few Canada geese swam in two tree-lined ponds. A beautiful stream ran alongside the road spilling over rocks into deep pools. The road was long and wide, and you couldn't see houses—just fancy brass signs that said the family names. The heavy ornate exit gate opened automatically. I feltbetter being out 33 with the rest of the world. That gate made me nervous. I grew up around farm gates, but they don't bother me. When I got to the bank, it was filled with people cashing their paychecks. The line was long, and I was relieved when Donnie came inbehind me. It was gonna be a long wait, and I like talking to Donnie. He is a fat guy with a constant five-o'clock-shadow and big hands. Both of us were foreigners in North Carolina, having moved down from Kentucky, and we were becoming friends. "Hey, Kentucky, damn glad it's Friday, aren't you?" "Yeah," I had only been in Sylva for a few weeks, and I was still feeling shy. We talked about basketball until it was our turn. When my check was cashed, I left the bank and lingered outside, waiting to say goodbye . His eyes shining with kindness, Donnie asked, "Why don't you come and eat dinner with my boy and my woman?" Looking down at my patched jeans and dirty boots, I said that I didn't know, but he reassured me that he really wanted my company. I got in his truck, leaving mine at the bank. Before I could get in, Donnie had to scoot and rearrange a considerable number of wrappers and chip bags so I could sit down. I sank comfortably into the seat. When I was in college I rode in many of my friends' fancy cars, even a Jaguar once, but I never felt really comfortable in anything but dirty "beater" trucks like mine. Donnie turned the key, but it wouldn't crank. "Care to...