Bad Jobs and Poor Decisions by J. R. Helton

Author:J. R. Helton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liveright
Published: 2018-01-10T05:00:00+00:00

I was lying on my bed, staring at a water stain on the ceiling, when my mother-in-law called and invited me to join her and her new friend, Karen, at the annual Fourth of July rodeo in Cypress. She asked if I’d had dinner, and I said yes. She said so had they and, if I’d like, I should drive out right then as the rodeo was starting in two hours. I heard laughter in the background and asked what they were doing. My mother-in-law mentioned once again how it was imperative that I leave now, that they had a box, that BH and Denny Hit were coming, that Denny Hit was a former bull-riding champion from Victoria, and that she was wearing the gray boots rather than the brown. I promised to be there and hung up.

I went into the bathroom and, using pliers, turned on the cold water. I shaved and then stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes and practiced smiles and greetings.

“Hi,” I said, smiling broadly.

“Hi, how’s it going?”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

I quickly left the bathroom and changed into a pair of jeans, boots, and a freshly starched purple shirt. I went to the kitchen and filled a blue bowl on the floor with dry cat food. I watched our cat, Jack, attack the mound of food.

“What do you think of this shirt, Jack?”

The cat opened his mouth wide and shook his head with each bite, flinging little brown squares onto the linoleum.

“I think it’s too purple.”

I went out onto the front porch. The sun was setting in front of our little house in Travis Heights. A man across the street was fertilizing his lawn. A boy and girl in bathing suits ran shrieking from a sprinkler’s arc. In the evening light the shirt appeared more blue than purple, and I decided to go with it. I let the cat out, locked the house, and left for Cypress.

* * *

I noticed a few more antique shops on the town square. A new, larger Baptist church. The VFW Hall had expanded its facilities with a high pole barn and concrete pavilion for dances. There was a new white limestone high school, two new limestone strip centers, a new limestone Dairy Queen, and a new limestone bowling alley just across the road from my mother-in-law’s house.

I turned into the deeply rutted caliche drive, past the faded No Trespassing signs, and parked in the driveway under the balcony. I walked up the steep limestone steps to the front door. At the top I checked my reflection in the dining-room windows. Passing muster, I used the knocker. There was no answer, and I let myself in the house.

I called out “Betty Sue!” twice and heard nothing. I walked past a painting of blue-and-red apples and into the den. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, uneven green hills could be seen stretching out to the horizon. Between the hills and the balcony deck there was an orange Sunshine Dry Cleaners sign and a gigantic red-and-white neon bowling pin.

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