Wade Elliott
Back in ‘17.
She clutched her elbows, feet dancing an anxious, solemn jig in at the end of her driveway. A hand wrapped around her mouth, biting into the skin of her index finger; an ineffectual attempt to fight back against a surging flood of tears.
Her chest lurched at the sound of tires against pavement, approaching her Tampa home.
A dark green Chevrolet pickup; a relic from the 70s. It came to a stop with squealing brakes, and as the motor cut she could see the pain in his eyes behind the steering wheel.
She ground her teeth as the driver’s side door opened, and his boot hit the asphalt.
Searching out to her from behind the door, his piercing, glistening blue eyes chased to find her hazels.
“W…Wade…” she stammered.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, closing the door. “Lindsay…don’t.”
He stepped forward through the oppressive, humid Florida air. Shoulders limp. Jaw slack behind a brown beard, betrayed by hints of gray.
“Please. Don’t tell me I’m too late.”
“I’m…I’m sorry,” she forced through the depths of her throat. “He couldn’t…he couldn’t hold on. I had…I had to…”
HIs soul wilted within his rugged frame, and he flinched at the rot within his heart.
Despite his urge to crumble to his knees, the Queen standing in front of him threatened to do the same, grasping for her shoulders.
He strode forward, and wrapped her up in strong arms.
His strong.
Useless.
Arms.
Y’know, kid, someone told me a while back that “lobsters only grow when they get too big fer their shell,” or somethin’ like that. Always liked the thought’ve it.
I think what it means, is that we can’t grow unless we get uncomfortable. At some stage we gotta git out’ve our happy place. “Break out’ve our shell,” so t’speak.
And this whole thing you’ve got goin’? Lookin’ fer pain to open up yer mind or whatever it is you’re talkin’ ‘bout? Well, that’s kinda the idea, ain’t it? And this might surprise ya, but I think I can get on board. At least a lil’ bit.
I learned a lot these last fifty years ‘bout myself by learnin’ the hard way.
‘Cause yer right. Gettin’ in a good scrap is a damn good way t’see what yer made of. Thing is, I think there’s more to learn by gettin’ yer ass handed to ya than the other way ‘round. I wonder if ya know the diff’rence.
Really know the diff’rence.
‘Cause I do.
But here’s the thing, son. You’ve got a lot’ve life left t’live, a whole lot left t’learn. And pain? Physical pain? The blood an’ scars an’ broken bones?
Well, that ain’t even half’ve it.
Back in July.
“Hey, remember when you kidnapped me and took me to Vegas when you wanted to kill your dad?”
A laughable phrase, but it pulled him from the depths of his morning Wordle session all the same.
“No, remind me,” he grumbled sarcastically behind a long sip of coffee, but there was nothing to try and remember. The “kidnapping” was a road trip the two had taken in the earlier days of PRIME, when the Queen had missed a flight, and hitched a ride with the new drifter in town named Wade. It was the beginning. The genesis of what would become a seventeen year friendship.
Long before the boldest of moves. Before the colossal kiss.
“What was the name of that bar he worked at?” she asked.
The Queen stood in the kitchen, barefoot in her Sunday best of a light hoodie and sweats, eyes darting across the screen of a laptop resting on the white granite island. Wade glanced at her behind his mug, taking a sip in an attempt to stall. The mere mention of his father made the hair on his arms bristle.
“Snake Eyes,” he said, giving up on his puzzle and setting the phone to the glass coffee table. “Snake Eyes Tavern. Pretty sure it closed a long while back.”
Lindsay nodded, but stayed on task, fingers dancing over the keyboard. Nevada’s morning light bathed her in a golden hue through the bay window of their home, backlighting her enough to almost create a silhouette, and highlight her figure.
A distracting image to most, but the Old Dog was wise to her ways. There was more behind the question.
“And is he still…here? After he…”
“After he blew his head off?”
She closed her eyes. Even she had a fumble once in a while.
“Yeah. That.”
“I think so,” said Wade, elbows on his knees, leaning forward at the edge of the leather sofa and unbothered by the question. “Some suit from the city called me back then ‘bout arrangements. Think I told him that ‘I could give a rat’s ass’ and ‘t‘figure it the fuck out.’”
“Sounds par for the course,” she smirked.
The ‘Bama Bruiser squinted with curious eyes. Cautiously, he reached for his phone to continue his morning routine.
“Have you gone to see him?” she interrupted.
He knew that was coming.
“Don’t think there’s much t’see,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes and giving up on his puzzle once more. “The sonnuva bitch is lucky if they buried ‘im out in the ditch fields.”
“And, per usual, you’re not catching on.”
She closed the laptop shut and shifted away from the kitchen island, her details coming into focus as she walked toward the couch with soft steps. No getting out of this one, Drifter.
“Listen,” she said, taking the seat next to him and throwing her long legs over his lap. “You’ve come a long way. We’ve come a long way. The difference here is I have board meetings and quarterly reports to deal with while you have time to kill. You’re flirting with ‘trophy wife’ territory.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, giving her calf a squeeze with a big paw. “I’m keepin’ plenty busy. ‘Sides, someone’s gotta be at the ready fer the next time that daughter’ve yers tries t’turn the backyard into a pettin’ zoo.”
“Even you had a soft spot for that pony,” she teased, flicking him in the ear. “But I’m serious.”
In one graceful motion, she turned her hips and straddled his lap, looking down on him with sharp intent. With no means of escape, he softened.
“You’ve come a long way,” she repeated, resting her hands over his broad shoulders. Her right slid off and traced down to his left pectoral, pressing against it lightly. “You’ve reckoned with a lot of dark shit.”
He covered her hand with his own, surrendering to the notion. He could almost feel the tattoo of Angus through his shirt, covering up the rebel flags that once flew underneath.
“It’s a lot of growth for an old man,” she taunted. “You should take the opportunity to keep the ball rolling. It’s done you good in the past.”
“The diff’rence is I hated that sonnuva bitch. Don’t believe he deserves the time’ve day.”
“He’s dead, Wade. You’d be doing this for you.”
Per usual, she was right.
So surrendered a nod, and she leaned in for a quick kiss.
“In fact,” she added, pulling away and springing to her feet. “I have an appointment I need to get dressed for, and you seem to have a wide open schedule!”
She traipsed away across the leaving room, b-lining for the stairway. Wade released an exasperated sigh, and stood to lumber after her.
“You want me t’do this shit today?” he called to her, reaching the foot of the stairs.
“Clock’s ticking,” she replied, pointing to an imaginary watch on her wrist.
“Don’t get comfy.”
“Are you okay?”
He’d barely heard the question. No shift from his tired body to acknowledge her. No flinch at her voice.
Instead, his blue eyes remained on the freshly dug earth in front of him.
A grassy patch above her home’s private beach was chosen for the final resting place. Close enough to overlook the Gulf’s shimmering water, and high enough to stay safe from the tide.
“I don’t know,” he replied quietly, sinking the shovel in his hands into the ground with a worn boot. “I just…wish I’d got here sooner.”
“It happened so fast, Wade,” she said, taking cautious steps forward in the grass. “One day we were running on the beach, the next he couldn’t climb on the couch by himself.”
She took another step, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Please don’t blame yourself for that.”
He curled his lips in, eyes lifting to the Tampa Bay sunset; the sun blazing a brilliant orange just above the horizon.
“He lived a great life here, you know.”
“Yeah, I know it,” he nodded to himself.
“Do you…want to talk to him?”
The very notion made his heart jump. A squeeze in the chest. There was no thunder in his gaze. Only mist.
“Maybe,” he said, low and gravelly.
“I can leave you alone if you…”
“No. Stay. Please.”
A heavy pause in the humid Florida air. Her curls fluttered in the breeze as she stared at his broad back, lifting her hand from his shoulder. He turned to her, as if to seek permission, and she provided it with the lift of her chin..
Crouching down, he ran his rough fingers lightly through the earth. Finding the words was hard enough for a man who spoke few. The search seemed endless, and so futile.
However, find them he did.
“I’m sorry, pup.”
The rasp in his voice hung in the air, contrasted by the waves lapping at the shore. He cleared his throat, and pinched back the tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep takin’ care’ve you back then. And fer bein’ a sonnuva bitch when y’needed me t’stand tall.”
Lindsay held the cuff of her sweatshirt to her mouth, and fought her hardest to give him the space.
“But I don’t blame ya fer leavin’ my side,” he continued, his voice breaking. “Not a damn bit.”
He drew a tear away with a knuckle, and took a sharp breath in through his nose.
“Thank you, Angus.”
The tears rolled regardless, seeping into his mustache. He sniffed hard to steady himself, and to keep the words coming.
“Fer all those long drives. Fer keepin’ me warm when the nights got cold.”
Shaky fingers took a grip-full of the dirt, and the Drifter drew one more heavy breath.
“Thank you fer takin’ care’ve her an’ her family. And fer keepin’ her close.”
The Queen, eyes shimmering, found a way to smile gently.
“I love ya, old pup.”
“See you down the road.”
“I really didn’t plan on seein’ you again.”
After a few phone calls to the town office and a short drive southwest of the city, Wade had found himself in Goodsprings cemetery, just outside the town of the same name. He’d driven by it twice before even recognizing it to be a place of burial.
Without another soul around, he stood over a small, flat grave marker.
Earl Davis
1957 – 2008
That was it. Two words. Two dates.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The Nevada sun was punishing, like always, and the wind cut through that little slice of desert like a rusty pocket knife.
He shook his head, feeling ridiculous.
“I don’t know why th’hell I’m out here,” he grumbled. “You sure as shit don’t deserve th’visit. You can thank Lindsay fer makin’ me drive my ass out here.”
He clenched his teeth, and kicked at the dirt.
“You met her once, way back when. Came in all piss an’ vinegar an’ kept me from rippin’ yer throat out.”
He chuckled at the memory.
“Guess you can thank her fer that, too. Ain’t like it mattered, though. You took care’ve that yerself, didn’t ya.”
The flat stone offered no reply.
“It coulda been different, old man,” he said, turning his gaze away and into the desert, wandering over sagebrush and bare rock. “If you’d stuck around. Might’ve had a childhood or some shit. Maybe Ma wouldn’t’ve smoked her lungs black. Maybe them days would’ve been a lot less…”
His gaze returned to the dry dirt. To the simple letters and numbers engraved in stone.
“…painful.”
A long, pregnant pause. Memories of Pine Ridge, Alabama worming their way into his mind. About what was…
“Coulda been a real happy lil’ family.”
…and what could have been.
“But, I guess that’s why I’m here. I guess I wanna thank you after all.”
He felt the heat in his nostrils, on the verge of seething to a ghost in the ground.
“‘Cause if all that happened different? If you’d stuck by my mother’s side, tried to raise yer son, and all that happy horseshit? Then I don’t end up here.”
His glowering eyes lifted, and softened as they turned to the northeast, toward Las Vegas.
“Or with her.”
He addressed the stone one more time. To his father’s name and two moments in time. All the old bastard had left.
“So maybe I’m fuckin’ glad you ran off on us.”
He released the last flashes of empathy with a sigh through the nose.
“An’ maybe I have t’thank you fer that.”
With a deep breath, Wade turned away, and took heavy steps toward the black pickup waiting for him on the side of the road.
“See ya in hell, Earl.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? It’s almost dark, you could sleep in the guest room.”
The Queen walked with him back to his green Chevrolet, the pair taking measured, solemn steps along the pavement. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and nightful threatened.
“Naw, that’s alright,” he said, leaning against the hood of the pickup. “I think I’d rather just git goin’.”
She nodded, choosing not to press the issue. Instead, she shared a long silence, with only the waves breaking through.
He kept staring out to the beach, and that grassy patch..
“Did he go easy?” he mustered the courage to ask.
“Yes. Of course,” she replied quickly. “My veterinarian is a literal angel on earth. She made a house call for me. He was comfortable right until the end.”
Wade dropped his head, nodding toward the ground before crossing his arms across his chest.
“That’s good,” he said quietly.
“That dog loved you, Wade. I hope you know that.”
Another nod, but no words to accompany.
Instead, he lifted his eyes, and gestured to the home behind her.
“Rayne home?” he asked.
“Oh. No, he stepped out. He thought it’d be better to give us the space.”
“An’ the twins?”
“Out with friends. This was hard on them, too.”
A deep sigh through the nose. Lindsay kept her hazels trained on his blues; her legendary clever wit long left behind in this somber, pregnant moment in time.
“Y’all happy?”
The question caught her off-guard, but only a little. She pushed a hand through her curls, and looked over her shoulder toward her beautiful home.
“We are,” she confirmed with a weak grin. “We really are.”
He forced a small smile of his own. His sharp blues fought to take in the features of her face, to commit them to memory, but the light had faded beneath the horizon, and the darkness had all but taken over.
“I’d better git goin’,” he said, opening the truck’s front door. “Thank ya again. Fer everything.”
“Call me when you get wherever you’re going,” she demanded, stepping forward and offering a gentle hug. He closed his eyes, returning the embrace.
“‘Course I will.”
“Hey, I’m headin’ home. Thinkin’ ‘bout pickin’ up a lil’ sushi.”
“Yes. A thousand times ‘yes.’”
He grinned behind his grayed beard as her voice came through the truck’s speakers via bluetooth. He turned the black GMC Sierra onto the freeway, the tires turning north for Vegas.
“Aaaand? How’d it go? Did you find the cemetery?”
“Yeah, I found it. If I blinked I coulda missed it, but found it all th’same.”
“Have a nice conversation?”
“Hell if I know. It was sort’ve one-sided.”
“Very clever, old man.”
Another grin as he steered into the left lane, pressing his boot to the gas and bringing the engine to life with a throaty bellow.
“So, I was thinkin’,” he said, setting the cruise control. “‘Bout what you said about all this free time I’ve got, an’ ‘bout not gettin’ comfy.”
“Hoyt be praised. Okay, go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Whatta ya think ‘bout gettin’ me booked? Don’t want anyone thinkin’ I’m gettin’ soft.”
“I dunno. Craig isn’t here to round out the AARP division. Think you can keep up with these kids?”
“Hell, could I ever?”
“Fair point. Okay, I think I might have someone in mind. You might think about getting in the gym, though.”
“Now yer pushin’ it.”
“Mama needs those biceps poppin.’”
A chuckle as he steered back to the right lane, the Nevada sun glinting through the windshield as it waned in the late afternoon.
“Thank you for doing that today. I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks fer suggestin’ it,” he smiled, the crows feet bending next to his eyes.
And he kept them focused on the road ahead.
This life has a lot’ve ways to beat the fuckin’ piss out’ve ya.
An’ son, you’ve got plenty’ve time to see just how true that is.
Sage, I’ve been beat up, cut up, an’ scarred up more times than I can count. Had my head beat in, damn near had my arm tore off, an’ I’ve got a click in my jaw thanks to a real big sumbitch who felt th’need to break it.
But ya know what I ain’t found? After all them fists? After all them boots? After all that blood?
Enlightenment.
Pretty damn certain I don’t even believe in that kinda thing.
Listen. Yer a young buck, and I know yer on the search t’find some sort’ve meaning in this existence. But I can tell ya with a straight face that it’s a lot more simple than tryin’ t’git yer rocks off with blood an’ guts.
So here it is:
Fuck up.
Learn somethin’.
Do it better th’next time.
That’s it. That’s how we grow. That’s how we stay uncomfortable. Like that lobster I was talkin’ ’bout.
Now, that bein’ said…
…we all gotta make a livin’.
And if you wanna learn somethin’ ‘bout yerself the hard way? You need a little blood t’open up that third eye of yers?
Well.
There ain’t no better place than a PRIME ring, standin’ ‘cross from Yours Truly.
But I’ll be honest with ya, kid. When it comes to pain?
I don’t think you know a god-damn thing about it.
He’d made it all but a mile down the road before he had to pull over. He kept the engine running, but cut the lights.
Rough fingers pressed into the corners of his eyes, teeth grit as he did his damndest to hold it together, choking back sobs fighting to burst through his throat.
A few sharp breaths through the nose as he looked to the Tampa sky through a dirty windshield, the first stars peeking through against the black.
He sighed deeply once he regained his composure.
And then, he reached for his wallet.
He sunk into the cloth driver’s seat, unfolding the brown leather. He worked a finger inside one of the inner pockets, and carefully pulled out the treasure within.
A photograph.
Backstage. At a ReVolution from so many years ago. Worn and creased, but with a picture all too clear.
Lindsay, eyes pinched shut and mouth agape with laughter. Arm in arm with Wade in his drifter’s hat, surrendering a small smile. A cherished moment, frozen in time.
He placed the photo to his forehead, grit his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut.
With a sharp breath he reopened them, then shook his head, releasing a growl to fend off every emotion swelling in his heart.
He tucked the photo away, turned the headlights back on, and pressed his boot to the pedal.