Lost Echoes (15 page)

“Stop it,” Tad said.

Harry opened his eyes. “What?”

“You’re not blending, Harry. First I thought you were, but you’re somewhere else. I can tell from the way your body is reacting. You were light starting out, arms even came down by your sides, you were so relaxed. Then they came up again, hands and fingers tense. You got to work with me here.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know. And it ain’t easy. It’ll take some time. This time we’re going to try again, and when I feel you’re relaxed, I’ll say step, and you just take a step forward. Not a conscious step that pulls you out of connection with things, but a step that is like a leaf blowing in the wind. Let the elements control you; it’s not about you controlling them.”

“If I lift my foot, aren’t I controlling that?”

“At first. You’ll be dealing with your conscious mind. But think about this: When you go somewhere, walking, it may well be your muscles doing it, but they’re responding in a way that is unconscious. Learn to drive a car, at first you think, Hands on the wheel, eyes forward, need to press the gas, and so on. But in time you get in the car and drive, and you’re not aware you’re doing it. That’s what we want here. We’re going to get past the conscious mind and into the subconscious. The one that is most tapped into the universal connection between man and nature.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. Once again, Harry. Relax. Close your eyes. Listen.”

26

Harry practiced with Tad in the yard for a week, when he wasn’t in school or at his job, which it turned out he had not lost. They wanted to fire him—he was sure of that—but workers were hard to come by, and for the most part he was pretty dependable.

He stayed with Tad at his place, so he wouldn’t be tempted in the middle of the night to take a stroll to the liquor store, and he could make sure Tad didn’t take a stroll or a ride to the store himself.

Harry discovered he wasn’t so fond of liquor that he thought about it all the time, but he did miss it some. Tad, on the other hand, paced at night and cussed and rubbed his mouth and went out into the yard and moved slowly across it, with loose steps, just doing his thing, working hard to reconnect to the universe. “It’s the way we all are right before we’re born, in the womb,” Tad told him. “Natural. Then we lose it.”

Harry would find himself watching Tad, decked out in an old T-shirt, sweatpants, and tennis shoes, admiring the simple, loose sort of steps he made across the yard and the way the moonlight painted him and the way the leaves turned and sailed about him. Sometimes they spun as if in a little tornado, Tad at their center, the calm, smooth eye of the storm, moving across the yard, his entourage of dry, crackling leaves in swirling pursuit, he and the earth, the moonlight, and the air, all the same.

And finally there were more than steps across the yard.

Tad would move in other ways. His arms would flash out, loose like a monkey moves, then the legs would move, never high and never in some kind of cocked kicking motion, just quick and easy, his hips moving with it, his body flowing across the ground, and even when Tad did this, these moves with arms, legs, and hips, he never seemed to disconnect from the fabric of the night, the fabric of time. He was all and the same, him and the big ol’ universe.

It was just too cool to see.

And there was another thing.

A very nice thing.

Harry slowly discovered, in that week, he wasn’t as afraid as before. He was still up there in the scared-as-shit department, but not quite into the scared-shitless range. This, though minor, was an improvement.

Oh, he wasn’t throwing away his well-worn paths. He stayed on those. But he wasn’t thinking about it all the time, the hidden sounds.

Even found he was moving better. Felt better as he walked to class or moved around the bookstore. Maybe, he thought, it was all in his head, but even if it was bullshit, it was better than the other thing.

The sounds, with their deep wells of memories.

27

“I didn’t mean to get your panties in a bunch,” Joey said.

“Sorry I got so mad,” Harry said. “Mostly.”

“Just didn’t want to see you hurt.”

“I’m not so sure, Joey.”

“Look. I brought a peace offering.”

Joey was standing on the little porch, lit up by the porch light. Bugs swarmed above him and around the light and made a little chitinous halo over his head. The peace offering was a sack squeezed around a bottle, the neck of which poked out of the top of the bag. Joey looked sweaty, even though the weather was cold. Harry knew he had walked a great distance—first from his place to the liquor store, then here. It’s the way he always got around—by foot. More so lately since his car had been squashed at the wrecking yard and made into a toolbox or some such thing.

Maybe that’s why he wants to be friends again, Harry thought. So he can get a ride. Be just like the cocksucker.

Joey moved toward the doorway, but there was no passage. Harry was filling it, and for just that reason, so Joey couldn’t slide by. Joey had a way of doing that. It was like when you trapped a rat against a refrigerator, only to discover it could go thin on you, slide through the grille work down there, disappear into it and come out the back way. That’s the way Joey was. He was like a rat that could go thin on you. Didn’t watch yourself, he’d be around you and inside before you knew it.

Harry figured if he had known Joey was out there, he wouldn’t have answered. Should have peeked through the window. Checked it out before opening the door.

Course, if he had, Joey would have seen him. Like a rat, he was observant. Ever ready to take advantage or scuttle for safety.

Son of a bitch surprised him, just knocked, was standing there with his sack and his lopsided grin, and now Harry didn’t know what to do. He had been caught at home. The rat was already starting to go thin on him; he could sense it.

“Look,” Joey said. “I’m an asshole. I’ve always been an asshole. But I’m your friend.”

“That’s the unfortunate part.”

“Come on.”

Shit. I’m being outratted, Harry told himself. I know it. He knows it. But I’m a creature of habit. A fucking lab rat myself. A response machine. I always forgive him. I always let him by.

Harry stepped aside.

“All right, asshole,” Harry said. “Come in.”

“That’s more like it,” Joey said.

Joey scooted in, removed the bottle, dropped the sack on the floor, clanked the bottle onto the bookshelf. He took off his coat and tossed it on a chair.

“I’ll get some glasses,” Joey said.

“Just get one. I’m not drinking.”

Joey paused, looked at Harry. “What kind of celebration is that?”

“It’s not a celebration. Shit, Joey. What are we celebrating?”

“Us still being friends.”

“I don’t know that’s such a cause for celebration.” Harry sat on the couch and studied Joey. “I’ve known you, what? How many years?”

“I don’t know. Since we were kids.”

“And what I got to ask myself is, with friends like you, why would I need enemies?”

“That’s cold. Clichéd, but cold. Anyone else from your life still with you, my man? Is it like I’m on the bottom of a long fucking list of good, caring friends?”

“You aren’t on any kind of list. Not made by me.”

Harry watched as Joey got a jelly jar and opened the wine and slowly poured some in the jar. No. Not some. A lot. He poured the jar nearly full. That took half the wine bottle.

Harry could smell the wine from where he sat. He wasn’t really a wine guy. He liked beer, whiskey, some gin. But the wine smelled like flowers and honey and clean women when they took their pants off. The alcohol made his nose hairs twitch. It was very red wine, dark as the strawberry jelly that had originally been in the jar. Harry licked his lips.

“Sure you don’t want some?” Joey asked. “You look like a man would love a drink.”

Harry shook his head.

“Just a sip, Harry?”

Harry considered. That wouldn’t be so bad. Just a sip.

No. One sip. One glass. One bottle. One case. It was all the same. He shook his head again.

Joey found a chair, sat there with his jelly jar of wine, and sipped. “Ah. That’s good. Cheap. But good. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Yeah, I do. Sickness in about three hours. A bathroom that smells like vomit. If I make it that far.”

“Oh, come on. It isn’t that bad, is it? It’s not like it’s a crock of wine. It’s one bottle.”

Harry watched as Joey took another long sip, wondered if when Joey finished that glass, he would pour another. If he did, there wouldn’t be any left.

Joey watched Harry watch him sip from the jelly jar, said, “Oh, for Pete’s sake. You talk like you’re an alcoholic.”

“I may be.”

“Don’t be silly. You can lay it down anytime.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“What could one drink hurt? It’s a toast to our friendship.”

“Which isn’t going that well.”

“Sure it is. You always forgive me, don’t you?”

There was a knock on the door.

When Harry answered, Tad was standing there. He wasn’t dressed up, but he had on a sports coat and his hair was combed and his bald spot was shiny under the porch light. Coat he wore was one of those writer-style jackets—blue corduroy with black leather elbow patches.

“Tad?”

“Yep. Thought I’d take you to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Sometimes called supper.”

“Sure…Why?”

“I’m bored.”

“Come in.”

When Tad came in he sniffed slightly, eyeballed the wine. He looked at Harry, then at Joey.

“I’m not drinking,” Harry said.

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Hey,” Joey said. “You’re the drunk.”

“What?”

“The other night at the bar.”

“Oh, you must be Joey.”

“That’s right. I helped haul your ass out to Harry’s car.”

“Thanks. Lucky you didn’t help haul me up these stairs. You might have gotten a hernia. Harry managed that by himself.”

“You did some funny stuff that night. Drunk luck?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “Not that I really remember.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tad.”

“How about a drink, Tad?”

Tad paused, took a deep breath. “No thanks. Smells cheap.”

“It is, but it still does the deed.”

“So does hair tonic.”

Joey raised his glass to Tad. “You sound like a man of experience.”

Harry cut in quick. “I don’t know about dinner, Tad. I mean, I got Joey over.”

Tad studied Joey. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Aren’t we ex-drunks together, you and I?”

“Ah, so this is the guy’s got you on the wagon,” Joey said.

“I got myself on the wagon,” Harry said.

“We’re both on it,” Tad said. “I’m just the guy drives the wagon a little.”

“That’s thoughtful of you, Tad. That’s good of you,” Joey said.

“Kind of guy I am.”

Joey grinned and licked some wine off his lips, said, “You and me, ’cause Harry’s your friend, we’re friends?”

“Friendly enough. Sure, I’ll enjoy your company.”

“Damn nice of you, Tad. Damn nice.”

“Very well then,” Harry said, pulling his coat off the back of the couch. “I could eat something. Where to?”

“Steak place. New. I don’t know the name of it. Something like Attila’s.”

“Khan’s,” Harry said. “I drove by it.”

“I love a good steak,” Joey said. “But alas, I seem to be temporarily short on funds.”

“Come to think of it,” Harry said, “how ritzy is this place?”

“It’s on me,” Tad said. “The both of you.”

“Can’t beat that,” Joey said. “Let me get myself a little refresher, and I’ll be ready.”

“Going with me, leave the wine,” Tad said.

Joey paused. “Leave it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want it in my car. We go in my car, no wine.”

“We can meet you there in Harry’s car,” Joey said.

“Not if I’m buying.”

“Leave it, Joey,” Harry said.

Joey sloshed the wine in the jar, then turned it up and chugged it down. He walked over to the bottle, poured the jar full, tipped it to his mouth, gulped. Some of the wine came out alongside his mouth and ran down his chin. He chugged it all. He picked up the empty wine bottle and dropped it in the trash can, wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

“Ready,” Joey said.

Harry felt nervous. Here he was with his oldest friend, a big old asshole, and his newest friend, who was kind of an asshole. He wondered what this said for him, riding around with two assholes.

Thing was, he was scared. It was a new route, and that meant new sounds. He tried to concentrate on the things Tad had taught him. Tried to draw his focus in, let everything that was unimportant remain outside. Way outside.

So far, in the car, it was working swell.

28

For a little town the steak place was pretty swank. They had a valet that took the car, guy that walked you to the door, and a gal he handed you off to inside. She walked you to your table, menus under her arm, left those with you, told you your waitress would come soon.

Actually, it wasn’t a table. It was a booth, and it was one of the few spots in the place that wasn’t so well lit you felt like you ought to do a dance number. Fact was, it was a little shadowy over in that corner because there was a kind of canopy over a series of booths there.

Rest of the place was bright and loud, with music playing, some guy at a piano in a suit, and Harry thought it was all kind of silly in a town like this, people dressed up like they were going to church.

“They didn’t ask for reservations,” Harry said.

“Already had one,” Tad said.

“They didn’t know how many,” Joey said.

“I made a reservation for a booth.”

“You some kind of big shot?” Joey asked.

“No. I just have money.”

The waitress came. She was cute and so happy and sweet, and her name was Sandy, and there wasn’t anything she wanted to do more than serve them, and she told them so, and gave them smiles. Harry had the taste of saccharin on the back of his tongue when she left.