Copper Mining the Past
Scott Roberts
The door opened to a creaking beneath his feet. He looked down, felt the whole room move as he moved, clinking of china and silverware. His headlight shone down on the creaking, springy floor, dull green carpet, worn through and thin. He knelt down and moved his hand across it as if it was something extraordinary.
It was normal for him, sometimes at night, the only light and sound would come from him, his steps, his bones and joints, now older, sometimes creaking like the floor, the light from his head lamp shining a bluish tint on the dark tan paneling. Almost all of these houses were built in the late 40’s and 50’s after the War. Most were gone or would soon be. He pulled his tool bag into the doorway. It was the fifth house that week and he felt tired. January breath fogged in front of his face, filtered through the blue light of his headlight, striking a sudden flash across the gray metal oven embedded in the wall. There was a snack bar, glasses still in the cabinets. For some reason he kept moving his light over the metal oven, watching it shine back at him when it hit just the right angle, but he did it also because there was this thought he always had. This flickering movement of light was some sort of life. All of these places were the same to him, yet collectively special. Each possessed the gentle flood of memory, the individual spark of life, a Big Bang life giver. He tested his reciprocating saw, watched the blade chew back and forth a few times before taking his hand off the trigger. He had to go back out to check the box, the meter, the breaker box, before disconnecting it all and mining the copper wiring. He followed the light before him like a dog, down some steps into a den and then out to a small covered carport. There was the meter, empty and covered with spider webs. He pushed aside old trash cans and a lawnmower so he could get to it. He tore out the spider webs and looked. He nodded and walked back inside. It was after nine o’clock already. He was supposed to get all the wire out by the morning. The house would be torn down the next day. He couldn't take any of it then.
In his hurry, he had not seen the rusted butter knives jammed in where the glass meter head should have been.
He walked into the house through the den. Pictures were all over the walls, two recliners sat facing where a television would have been. The houses were set in rows, most of them just alike, when the paper mill was still operating and pensions existed. He never knew a pension was, never figured he would see retirement either, just noticed the time and how it was passing and how his joints ached. He began where he was, looking for the breaker box. They could be hidden behind pictures and clocks. He took down several things, but lastly, he laughed for having missed it, there was a frame around nothing. He opened it up to reveal the box. He removed the facing and threw it on a floral fainting couch. It bounced off and hit the floor. The exposed wiring, a usual mismatch of colors, steps away from catching fire. He looked to the top, to the larger wires and reached into his bag for the volt meter, another precaution, before realizing he had left it in his truck down the street. It was getting late and he was tired and he had his dummy tester in the front pocket of the bag. He took it out and pushed the butt end. It came on and beeped and glowed green. Nothing. He touched it to the other wire. Nothing. He put it back in his pocket, completely unaware that it had malfunctioned.
Maybe one more walk through. He thought to himself.
He returned to the kitchen, and the gray, metal-faced oven. It was rare to find one of these. He could take it for scrap, or maybe put it in his camp house. It was already late. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He had been working hard. His sleep had been erratic. Sometimes carbon monoxide could build up over time, gas leaks, etc. Regardless, he felt like he needed it. No one would miss it if he did, and no one would miss the wiring if he didn’t get it all out by morning. The guys in the bulldozers got paid by the house, not by their attention to detail. His lamp flashed across the face of the oven once more as he positioned himself to pull at the face. When he grabbed it his head flew back. He had always wondered what it was like to be electrocuted, the feeling of gentle, painful vibration, unable to let go. He seized until his legs went loose and he fell into the thing.
***
When he woke, he was sitting on the hearth of the fireplace, face in his hands. He shook his head and looked down for the headlamp, realized he didn’t need it, as sun pouring in. He looked around, expecting to hear bulldozers. Nothing. His phone was dead. He sensed a warm feeling behind him. Startled, he could smell the wood smoke.
Then he heard them talking.
He turned to see an old man seated in a recliner, his thin body resting on the edge of the seat. Near the door was a Christmas tree, half taken down, and a little girl of ten, steadily working to remove the tinsel and ornaments. He sat and watched them from the hearth, watching them, observed the whole room, transformed. When the little girl got a handful, the old man would get up and take the ornaments to a large table covered over with a cream colored, crocheted cloth.
“Don't get in a rush now.”
“I won't.” She said brightly.
“Don't take too many at one time now.”
“It's kinda hard to break these, most of em aren't glass.”
“Just the same, be careful. Your grandma spent a long time on em.”
“How does she get them to stay stiff?”
“Starch I think.”
“How does she get them to be in a ball shape?”
“Balloons I reckon. Hurry and get through with this. I got places to be.”
“Where?”
“Don't worry about it.”
“Going to drink beer?
“I might have one or two. If that's alright witchyou.”
“Fine.”
“I'm goin to get a birthday gift for your grandmother.“
“What are you going to get her?” She asked, balancing herself with an outstretched leg to get an ornament. The old man jumped and rushed over to get her, set her gracefully on the carpeted floor, then a brilliant green with a diamond looking pattern.
The Miner could smell the pine tree and the newness of the carpet too.
“You wanna go with me? When we get this tree done?”
“How long will we be gone?”
“If you're gonna ask that you might as well not even go. As long as it takes.”
“You know what you're gonna get her?”
“I do.” He said with resolve.
He helped her with the last ornaments and tinsel.
“There's a friend of mine at the mill. He's always drawing stuff. I asked him to draw something from a picture and brought him this."
He walked over to the china cabinet and opened a sliding glass door and took a photograph from inside a stainless steel cake server.
“What is that?”
“Orphanage.”
“Why?”
“Your grandmother grew up there. I had this friend draw it, only it's prettier and bigger now and there's another guy put it in a frame so we can hang it up.”
“Why would you want a framed picture of an orphanage?”
“Why do you think?”
“Doesn't make much sense to me, but I can go if you won't stay too long.”
“Don't start that.”
The man walked over and tilted the tree over. A few leftovers of tinsel fell on the carpet, a slosh of water from the tree stand. Then he dragged it out the front door, leaving a trail of pine needles behind him.
The little girl followed outside, still questioning.
The Miner sat on the hearth, the morning light pouring into the room still, casting shadows of tree leaves and the wooden shutter blinds from a window. A door opened, from the small carport. He heard the creak, two feminine voices as he looked to his left and saw into the kitchen, a snack bar, a stove top, an empty space where his oven had been the night before.
One woman was in her sixties and talkative, the other, much younger, more quiet. The older one walked to the opening, holding her hands out, imagining the framing.
“I'll be damned if he's gone get it!” The older one said in a playful frustration.
“Have to do it yourself.” The younger one said in quiet agreement.
“That's what I'm lookin at. I ain't been lookin at much else since we started living here. Stares at me as much as I stare at it and every damn day he says I'll get to it I'll get to it. I'm tired of get to it. I need got it. That's why they’re comin' over.”
“I know how you feel. Mine still hadn't painted where he installed that door, got a big blank spot. I put a plant in front but don't do no good.”
“Wish I could put a potted plant in front of this whole damn house! But it's paid for. Nobody'd know what to do if we lived somewhere else, most of all me. So when I get a chance like this, I won't wait, I won't ask, I won't apologize.”
“When's he going to be here?”
“Soon.”
She walked over to a cabinet by the fridge and scooped some coffee from a tin. Enough scoops that it caught her guest’s attention.”
“I'll call you tomorrow morning about three an you'll be up for sure!”
“You know I drink it all day long! I'm worse off than I wino without when I don't get it too. But this is special. And chicory is for special occasions.” She sprinkled some chopped green flakes over the grounds. After a few moments it began to sputter and spit out coffee into the carafe. The phone rang.
“Be here all afternoon!” She joyfully slammed it down. “They'll be here in about a half an hour, before Harold gets back. I wanna cook that roast for dinner.”
“You brown it in cast iron?”
“I always do! or did, when I had an oven that is, fore that old one broke, but I swear it was broke when we moved in, never heated right. And that's my Aunt Reatha's skillet. You gonna stay and eat with us?”
“I guess.”
“You wanna have a beer while we wait?”
“Not now.”
The two women sat at the snack bar and waited for the men to come and put in the oven. The older one sipped her coffee, her lipstick smearing on the cup.
The Miner wondered if anything would change if he were to get up and walk out of the house. They certainly didn't notice him as he sat on the hearth. He watched them, especially the older one, not sure who the little girl belonged to. Were any of them connected to another in his dream, if that's what it was, what he thought it could be? So what if he left? He thought about it for a long time, finding himself somehow unable to move, listening to the conversations, rapt in them even as they were dull and everyday things that people talked about to pass the time, who was sick and who was well, who had cheated on who, the mill dividend and how much it would be, and it seemed that this was the theme of most discussions. The mill, like their conversations, were ribbons tethered to a Maypole, everything originated there at the crown where the pulp was pressed into paper.
He wanted to get up and leave and end it, but something kept him there, tethered by curiosity.
It had been almost an hour since they had gotten home when the gravel outside began to crumble and the sound of a diesel truck rattled inside the house. The screen door flew open and a boy pulling a dolly burst through. It snapped closed against the wall filled with numerous pans and grilling accessories.
“Goddamnit son! You just about knocked a hole in Ms. Penny's wall!” A smaller man bolted in behind, already in conversation. “When I saw the address…”
“How long til you can get it in Spunk?” Penny asked.
“About thirty minutes don't seem too long does it? And don’t call me that in front of the boy!”
“I got a roast I want to throw in and that'll take at least a few hours. It's been browned in your Grandma's skillet too!” She slapped him on the shoulder. “How long you been workin with Sears?”
“About five years now. They tried to draft me but I was too old for em, anyways it's over now, whatever you wanna call it, police action bullshit. Pulled boys away from good mill jobs so they could go over there and fight those people, and for what?”
“I don't know. Communists scare me.” The guest said.
“You see some of em now, you'd think they were dead behind the eyes. Some didn't come back at all. Breaks my heart to think about it.” Spunk said.
"Yeah, I know it. You want some coffee?"
Spunk waved his hand no. The two then began pulling out the oven, that beautiful metallic facing looking back at the Miner. He stood up to see it as they slid it into place.
“Just let me clip that third wire, don't nobody need that anyways”
Stupid son of a bitch. The miner thought, thought about yelling it out, then stopped and wondered whether he was thankful for it all.
“It's gettin hot already!” Penny said.
She took the foil covered skillet and placed it in the oven. Within a few minutes the Miner could smell it, unmistakable. He had to get out of the way for a second so Spunk could throw two logs on the fire. Penny had already asked them both to stay for coffee.
“You know Larue wanted a picnic table? I had to sneak in here with the carpenter one day, took off work and everything to get this snack bar built before he got home.”
“I like this set up better for sure.” Spunk agreed but was interrupted by voices on the front porch.
“Best thing I ever did, it was! I couldn't do it no more. Don't see how Daddy's done it for so long. Course he's about to retire from that mill!” Her voice boomed in conversation toward a neighbor in the adjacent house. “I just take these off at the end of the day and let it go. (tugging at her white nurses uniform) Work don't follow me home! It's damn funny, it is, how that mill, as big is all get out, could fit in my livin' room every night, plop down and block the view from my TV!”
She slapped her thigh. The screen door slapped the metal.
He had to pivot to see her, she walked in so fast. She was very attractive, with short hair, her breasts taking up all the space of her uniform, the buttons pushed out, the hems waning. Her hair was pulled back with bobby pins but she was pulling at it, pins falling to the floor.
“Got any coffee made?” She asked.
“Yeah, its made but an hour old I think.” Penny said. “You see Spunk here?”
“I do!” She said, going for the pot and giving it a sniff. “This is thirty-weight motor oil!” She walked to the sink and poured it out.
“I'll make some more, put Spunk back in a coma. Member that? She pointed toward Penny. We would make him lay out like he was dead and throw camellia flowers all around him. He'd stay that way for a long time til we tickled his nose with one of them flowers. He'd get so mad at me! He was just hopin' one of us would kiss him.”
Spunk defended himself. “You were the only girls my age, damn it.”
The boy laughed.
“What are you grinnin' at? I'll knock your damn teeth in.”
“Just picturing you with flowers all over you.” The boy responded.
“Pink flowers!” She said.
“That’s even better!” the boy said.
“I’ll take you home. You won't get no roast!”
“You oughtta know when you come to your kinfolks, they're gonna bring up the dirt on you!”
The Miner noticed Spunk and the boy, checking her out when she walked back to the coffee pot. The smell of coffee and chicory filled the room again.
“Mama, when’s Polly and Daddy gonna be back?”
“I told you when you called from work they'd be here a little after five. I hope he's not getting me anything.”
“Why?”
Penny pointed at the new oven.
“I just figured that was his doin.”
“You know he doesn't care about that. He could eat bologna every meal and be good. That cook top is the only thing that's saved me from killin' him. That's why when I got that offer in the mail, I sent it off and took care of the thing myself. Turned out the mill had some special deal with them.”
“Yeah?” Spunk asked.
“Yep!” She sipped some of the new coffee. “Damn Opal, this is black out strong!”
If only they would offer some.. The Miner thought.
“You know what I paid for that oven?”
“I'm afraid to ask.” Spunk said.
“Fifty dollars. An all I had to do was give them Larue's employee I.D.”
The lady guest, the boy, Spunk, and Opal, all looked at one another.
She took a large sip from the coffee then went to the cabinet above the new oven, and standing on her tip toes, she took out a bottle of Old Taylor whiskey.
They all took another look. “Put some of this in there while we wait on that roast!”
“Work smells that on me…I might be back at the mill!” Spunk said.
“I ain't never goin back!” Opal yelled.
“Here's to never goin back!” Penny laughed, sloshing her coffee, chicory, and bourbon mix. “My Daddy would drink it like this, first thing in the morning. Then he'd go to work or wherever. Only man I ever knew that went to work on a Monday and came back three weeks later, sometimes! But I see why now. I didn't see then, but I see it now, just couldn't stay there and work himself to death. He had the wanderlust. I see it now, see it in myself. She took another sip. Her nose was turning red. People like that are too good for the mill.”
“Daddy ain't too good.” Opal said.
“No, no I guess he isn't, and it got me a new oven all the same didn't it? Wish he hadn't drug your brother to that place too. Least he isn't overseas.”
“Ain't much else, Mama.”
“Is for someone who's lookin'.” Penny said.
The Miner wondered what else there could be, even back then, and he guessed that it must have been better. He was the true fortune teller. He knew what was coming. Sears was a church. The row houses were vacant, the skeleton of what had been the mill, piles of metal, insulation, concrete spread vast over the landscape, on the hill where it sat. But he could hear them talking, could smell the coffee and chicory and bourbon, the sounds of knocking at the door. And he wondered aloud, as no one could hear him, which was more real, this or that, the people or the concrete, the life or the copper he could mine from the house.
At the door was the neighbor. He could see her through the facing and got up to get a better look. She was the same age as Penny and spoke softly to her.
“Got this from a messenger. Never had a messenger. I knew for sure what it was and I wanted to come over here but I already saw you all had a house full and it bein' Penny's birthday and all. Just went ahead and opened it. I was so gracious. I was so gracious! I was, I am, so grateful for it!” Opal took the paper and grabbed her.
“Ms. Katie!”
She hugged her again, and by this time, everyone in the kitchen had taken a break from watching the roast to see what was going on.
“What in the world?” Penny asked.
“Upton's coming home in the next two weeks. He got some kinda flu that knocked him out of action for nearly a month. Fever was so bad it took the sight from his right eye. You only need one right? He's gonna call when he gets to New Orleans and we go to pick him up. I don't usually drink, but I knew you'd have some bourbon.”
“Now I see why you come over here!” Penny laughed and brought the slightly shorter woman to her with a sharp and heavy, one armed hug. “Opal, get more glasses, hell, let's use these!” She tore open the china cabinet and got some glasses hastily, dropping one to the ground.
“Sacrifice!” Penny screamed. "You wanna stay for some roast, Honey?"
“I’m for anything. You got cream of wheat, I'm here!” Katie responded.
The Miner stood up and stretched his legs and smelled the roast. He thought about that smell, from a million different places, and for generations: dusted, browned, scalded, gravied. Penny and Opal slipped down to the den. He followed.
“Upton comin' home, new oven is in, roast, you always like that.” Penny retrieved some more dishes from a tucked away pantry. “Don't spoil this cause you got somethin' against her.”
“Got nothin against her. You know what it is.”
“I can't keep up with every Days of Our Lives you're in.”
“We don't need this many dishes.” Opal said “Mama!”
“What? I can't talk about it just right now, people’s up there. We'll talk about it later after Little Girl goes to sleep. Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad, just disappointed.”
I’m not sure what about.”
The older woman brushed by him. The air was stale in that place, the coolness of the concrete lifted itself toward him while the hanging incandescent light bulb blew hot air on his neck.
He stepped closer to Opal. She sighed. He felt the brush of her white uniform and smelled her, a perfume and scent he could not fully recognize but it was familiar. There was a bucket by the back that led out into an alley way behind the row houses. The miner stepped outside and saw an old man, wrinkled and darkly tanned sitting on a porch that overlooked the alley. He was watching a small television that the old man kept bumping with the underside of his wrist to fix the static. He reached over and twisted the knobs a few times. The static got worse and then better, then it stopped. He looked over toward the row house where the Miner was as if he could see something.
Inside, the ruckus continued, coffee, bourbon, drunk on roast, drunk on everything, the same place his light had hit the night before, what was dead was alive.
Then Polly and Larue walked through the door. Polly still wore her pink jacket and ran toward the Miner. He reached out his hands to catch her when Opal intercepted, catching the child at her waist but chiding her about nearly breaking all of the plates.
“Larue. See it?” Penny asked.
“That is somethin'.” Larue said, placing his packages on the hearth. The Miner stood next to the fridge, and with the line of sight being what it was, Larue seemed to be looking straight at him. “What is that?”
“Roast, Honey, just like I used to make.”
“Thought you didn't need one.”
“Baby, everybody needs one! It’s ready over there on the cooktop, gravy near black like you like.”
“Me and Little Girl were out getting you something too. Hand it to her.” The child ran over and grabbed a brown paper bag.
“What’s this? An oven and a happy too?”
“Didn't know about the oven. I'd of got you one.”
“Everyone needs one.” She shot back at him smiling. She pulled the string to unleash it all. There was chatter all around the room, some paying attention to her, others not, but buzzing noise, lots of buzzing. The Miner watched Larue's eyes as she pulled the frame from the packaging and looked at the drawing behind glass. Penny began to tear up, and then everyone in the room was paying attention, smiling, buzzing about what it was.
“What is it, Mama?” Opal asked.
“It's an orphanage.” Polly said. “That's where she grew up.”
“Mama, that's the place?”
“How did you get this?” Penny asked.
“Man drew it from a picture an another framed it.”
“That is somethin'.” Spunk said.
The laughter and conversation continued as usual in a rough, congealed sound. Larue walked past the oven and touched it, remarking that it was still warm. Penny followed him and in a full voice.
“You always remindin' me of where I was. I wanna see where I am, where I'm goin. Life goes on. Life moves. I wanna move, keep movin'. Might as well put a picture of a casket on the wall. Is that how you see me, a dead person?”
“What? Just thought it might be something you’d wanna put up.”
“Why the hell would I wanna do that?”
“Look where you are now.” Larue said, steadily, slowly fixing his plate.
“Well, I guess that at least here the rats ain’t bad. And you pawin' at me in the middle of the night ain't near as bad as that old girl from Denham Springs. I'd tuck the sheets in so tight my legs would fall asleep. She'd have to work to get to me. By then I was awake and let her have it.”
Larue looked at her. “I'd like to think we did better. Look at that oven.”
“Yeah, we got that I guess.” She laughed and smiled and began to cry. All of the noise had stopped and everyone was looking at them in silence.
“Don't worry, I talked him down alright.” She laughed nervously. “For Goddamn sakes eat! Let's eat til it's all gone, drink til it's all gone. Nothin but death waitin' tomorrow. I want more bourbon, more chicory coffee.” She sniffled. “Where's Little Girl?”
“You gone stay here tonight?”
“Guess so.” Polly said.
“Where’s your mama?”
“She might not be back til the weekend.”
“That’s about right. She's probably gonna meet some people. You know what that means.”
“I think I do.” Polly said. “At least we got everybody else.”
The coffee pot sputtered. Spunk scooped the last of the drippings from the cast iron skillet and poured it over a piece of bread and what little remnants were left.
“I can't believe I left some needles over there on the floor.” Larue got up and began to pick up the green and brown pins. The Miner had moved over to the hearth and picked up his feet as Larue worked his way around. The Miner looked down at them and contemplated, amongst the dead brown and light green, that everything was temporary.
***
“An you wanted to go ahead and smash it up, even with him in here? Good thing I was here.”
“How long’s he been in here?”
“Not long.”
“Thought he was supposed to take out the wire. What's he doin in here, clippin' that stuff from behind it?”
“Half these guys are on on dope anyway.” The only way to keep em from stealin' is ta hire em.”
“He's still got his headlight on.”
“You go and call the ambulance.”
“But he's already dead.”
“No shit? Just call 911.” While the other was on the phone, he stepped around the miner, laid out on the floor, eyes open. He touched the oven for a second, the buzzing stung his hand. He reached over and picked up a bar stool and pushed the oven back into the hole where it had come from. It slammed into the groove. He heard a crash and went to see what it was. He saw a broken frame, and inside it, a drawing peered back at him. He knocked off the excess glass and looked at it and then put it back down on a chair.
He could hear the sirens coming up the street so he walked back into the kitchen. There was no water, no water tower, no pipes, nothing. He turned from the sink and leaned against it. He had seen a thousand other places just like it, the same counter, same pantry doors, fridge, oven, and then the cooktop.
On the cooktop, Penny's cast iron skillet sat. He walked over to it and ran his finger across the rust.
The Miner was taken away and the two men bulldozed the lot until there was little, if anything left of the row houses pointing toward the mill.
***
Larue, outstretching his arm, offered the Miner a plate.
“There was a little left. Penny makes the best roast, but it all just goes so quick.”
The miner took the plate and began to eat. The outsides were always the best.
THE END
It was normal for him, sometimes at night, the only light and sound would come from him, his steps, his bones and joints, now older, sometimes creaking like the floor, the light from his head lamp shining a bluish tint on the dark tan paneling. Almost all of these houses were built in the late 40’s and 50’s after the War. Most were gone or would soon be. He pulled his tool bag into the doorway. It was the fifth house that week and he felt tired. January breath fogged in front of his face, filtered through the blue light of his headlight, striking a sudden flash across the gray metal oven embedded in the wall. There was a snack bar, glasses still in the cabinets. For some reason he kept moving his light over the metal oven, watching it shine back at him when it hit just the right angle, but he did it also because there was this thought he always had. This flickering movement of light was some sort of life. All of these places were the same to him, yet collectively special. Each possessed the gentle flood of memory, the individual spark of life, a Big Bang life giver. He tested his reciprocating saw, watched the blade chew back and forth a few times before taking his hand off the trigger. He had to go back out to check the box, the meter, the breaker box, before disconnecting it all and mining the copper wiring. He followed the light before him like a dog, down some steps into a den and then out to a small covered carport. There was the meter, empty and covered with spider webs. He pushed aside old trash cans and a lawnmower so he could get to it. He tore out the spider webs and looked. He nodded and walked back inside. It was after nine o’clock already. He was supposed to get all the wire out by the morning. The house would be torn down the next day. He couldn't take any of it then.
In his hurry, he had not seen the rusted butter knives jammed in where the glass meter head should have been.
He walked into the house through the den. Pictures were all over the walls, two recliners sat facing where a television would have been. The houses were set in rows, most of them just alike, when the paper mill was still operating and pensions existed. He never knew a pension was, never figured he would see retirement either, just noticed the time and how it was passing and how his joints ached. He began where he was, looking for the breaker box. They could be hidden behind pictures and clocks. He took down several things, but lastly, he laughed for having missed it, there was a frame around nothing. He opened it up to reveal the box. He removed the facing and threw it on a floral fainting couch. It bounced off and hit the floor. The exposed wiring, a usual mismatch of colors, steps away from catching fire. He looked to the top, to the larger wires and reached into his bag for the volt meter, another precaution, before realizing he had left it in his truck down the street. It was getting late and he was tired and he had his dummy tester in the front pocket of the bag. He took it out and pushed the butt end. It came on and beeped and glowed green. Nothing. He touched it to the other wire. Nothing. He put it back in his pocket, completely unaware that it had malfunctioned.
Maybe one more walk through. He thought to himself.
He returned to the kitchen, and the gray, metal-faced oven. It was rare to find one of these. He could take it for scrap, or maybe put it in his camp house. It was already late. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He had been working hard. His sleep had been erratic. Sometimes carbon monoxide could build up over time, gas leaks, etc. Regardless, he felt like he needed it. No one would miss it if he did, and no one would miss the wiring if he didn’t get it all out by morning. The guys in the bulldozers got paid by the house, not by their attention to detail. His lamp flashed across the face of the oven once more as he positioned himself to pull at the face. When he grabbed it his head flew back. He had always wondered what it was like to be electrocuted, the feeling of gentle, painful vibration, unable to let go. He seized until his legs went loose and he fell into the thing.
***
When he woke, he was sitting on the hearth of the fireplace, face in his hands. He shook his head and looked down for the headlamp, realized he didn’t need it, as sun pouring in. He looked around, expecting to hear bulldozers. Nothing. His phone was dead. He sensed a warm feeling behind him. Startled, he could smell the wood smoke.
Then he heard them talking.
He turned to see an old man seated in a recliner, his thin body resting on the edge of the seat. Near the door was a Christmas tree, half taken down, and a little girl of ten, steadily working to remove the tinsel and ornaments. He sat and watched them from the hearth, watching them, observed the whole room, transformed. When the little girl got a handful, the old man would get up and take the ornaments to a large table covered over with a cream colored, crocheted cloth.
“Don't get in a rush now.”
“I won't.” She said brightly.
“Don't take too many at one time now.”
“It's kinda hard to break these, most of em aren't glass.”
“Just the same, be careful. Your grandma spent a long time on em.”
“How does she get them to stay stiff?”
“Starch I think.”
“How does she get them to be in a ball shape?”
“Balloons I reckon. Hurry and get through with this. I got places to be.”
“Where?”
“Don't worry about it.”
“Going to drink beer?
“I might have one or two. If that's alright witchyou.”
“Fine.”
“I'm goin to get a birthday gift for your grandmother.“
“What are you going to get her?” She asked, balancing herself with an outstretched leg to get an ornament. The old man jumped and rushed over to get her, set her gracefully on the carpeted floor, then a brilliant green with a diamond looking pattern.
The Miner could smell the pine tree and the newness of the carpet too.
“You wanna go with me? When we get this tree done?”
“How long will we be gone?”
“If you're gonna ask that you might as well not even go. As long as it takes.”
“You know what you're gonna get her?”
“I do.” He said with resolve.
He helped her with the last ornaments and tinsel.
“There's a friend of mine at the mill. He's always drawing stuff. I asked him to draw something from a picture and brought him this."
He walked over to the china cabinet and opened a sliding glass door and took a photograph from inside a stainless steel cake server.
“What is that?”
“Orphanage.”
“Why?”
“Your grandmother grew up there. I had this friend draw it, only it's prettier and bigger now and there's another guy put it in a frame so we can hang it up.”
“Why would you want a framed picture of an orphanage?”
“Why do you think?”
“Doesn't make much sense to me, but I can go if you won't stay too long.”
“Don't start that.”
The man walked over and tilted the tree over. A few leftovers of tinsel fell on the carpet, a slosh of water from the tree stand. Then he dragged it out the front door, leaving a trail of pine needles behind him.
The little girl followed outside, still questioning.
The Miner sat on the hearth, the morning light pouring into the room still, casting shadows of tree leaves and the wooden shutter blinds from a window. A door opened, from the small carport. He heard the creak, two feminine voices as he looked to his left and saw into the kitchen, a snack bar, a stove top, an empty space where his oven had been the night before.
One woman was in her sixties and talkative, the other, much younger, more quiet. The older one walked to the opening, holding her hands out, imagining the framing.
“I'll be damned if he's gone get it!” The older one said in a playful frustration.
“Have to do it yourself.” The younger one said in quiet agreement.
“That's what I'm lookin at. I ain't been lookin at much else since we started living here. Stares at me as much as I stare at it and every damn day he says I'll get to it I'll get to it. I'm tired of get to it. I need got it. That's why they’re comin' over.”
“I know how you feel. Mine still hadn't painted where he installed that door, got a big blank spot. I put a plant in front but don't do no good.”
“Wish I could put a potted plant in front of this whole damn house! But it's paid for. Nobody'd know what to do if we lived somewhere else, most of all me. So when I get a chance like this, I won't wait, I won't ask, I won't apologize.”
“When's he going to be here?”
“Soon.”
She walked over to a cabinet by the fridge and scooped some coffee from a tin. Enough scoops that it caught her guest’s attention.”
“I'll call you tomorrow morning about three an you'll be up for sure!”
“You know I drink it all day long! I'm worse off than I wino without when I don't get it too. But this is special. And chicory is for special occasions.” She sprinkled some chopped green flakes over the grounds. After a few moments it began to sputter and spit out coffee into the carafe. The phone rang.
“Be here all afternoon!” She joyfully slammed it down. “They'll be here in about a half an hour, before Harold gets back. I wanna cook that roast for dinner.”
“You brown it in cast iron?”
“I always do! or did, when I had an oven that is, fore that old one broke, but I swear it was broke when we moved in, never heated right. And that's my Aunt Reatha's skillet. You gonna stay and eat with us?”
“I guess.”
“You wanna have a beer while we wait?”
“Not now.”
The two women sat at the snack bar and waited for the men to come and put in the oven. The older one sipped her coffee, her lipstick smearing on the cup.
The Miner wondered if anything would change if he were to get up and walk out of the house. They certainly didn't notice him as he sat on the hearth. He watched them, especially the older one, not sure who the little girl belonged to. Were any of them connected to another in his dream, if that's what it was, what he thought it could be? So what if he left? He thought about it for a long time, finding himself somehow unable to move, listening to the conversations, rapt in them even as they were dull and everyday things that people talked about to pass the time, who was sick and who was well, who had cheated on who, the mill dividend and how much it would be, and it seemed that this was the theme of most discussions. The mill, like their conversations, were ribbons tethered to a Maypole, everything originated there at the crown where the pulp was pressed into paper.
He wanted to get up and leave and end it, but something kept him there, tethered by curiosity.
It had been almost an hour since they had gotten home when the gravel outside began to crumble and the sound of a diesel truck rattled inside the house. The screen door flew open and a boy pulling a dolly burst through. It snapped closed against the wall filled with numerous pans and grilling accessories.
“Goddamnit son! You just about knocked a hole in Ms. Penny's wall!” A smaller man bolted in behind, already in conversation. “When I saw the address…”
“How long til you can get it in Spunk?” Penny asked.
“About thirty minutes don't seem too long does it? And don’t call me that in front of the boy!”
“I got a roast I want to throw in and that'll take at least a few hours. It's been browned in your Grandma's skillet too!” She slapped him on the shoulder. “How long you been workin with Sears?”
“About five years now. They tried to draft me but I was too old for em, anyways it's over now, whatever you wanna call it, police action bullshit. Pulled boys away from good mill jobs so they could go over there and fight those people, and for what?”
“I don't know. Communists scare me.” The guest said.
“You see some of em now, you'd think they were dead behind the eyes. Some didn't come back at all. Breaks my heart to think about it.” Spunk said.
"Yeah, I know it. You want some coffee?"
Spunk waved his hand no. The two then began pulling out the oven, that beautiful metallic facing looking back at the Miner. He stood up to see it as they slid it into place.
“Just let me clip that third wire, don't nobody need that anyways”
Stupid son of a bitch. The miner thought, thought about yelling it out, then stopped and wondered whether he was thankful for it all.
“It's gettin hot already!” Penny said.
She took the foil covered skillet and placed it in the oven. Within a few minutes the Miner could smell it, unmistakable. He had to get out of the way for a second so Spunk could throw two logs on the fire. Penny had already asked them both to stay for coffee.
“You know Larue wanted a picnic table? I had to sneak in here with the carpenter one day, took off work and everything to get this snack bar built before he got home.”
“I like this set up better for sure.” Spunk agreed but was interrupted by voices on the front porch.
“Best thing I ever did, it was! I couldn't do it no more. Don't see how Daddy's done it for so long. Course he's about to retire from that mill!” Her voice boomed in conversation toward a neighbor in the adjacent house. “I just take these off at the end of the day and let it go. (tugging at her white nurses uniform) Work don't follow me home! It's damn funny, it is, how that mill, as big is all get out, could fit in my livin' room every night, plop down and block the view from my TV!”
She slapped her thigh. The screen door slapped the metal.
He had to pivot to see her, she walked in so fast. She was very attractive, with short hair, her breasts taking up all the space of her uniform, the buttons pushed out, the hems waning. Her hair was pulled back with bobby pins but she was pulling at it, pins falling to the floor.
“Got any coffee made?” She asked.
“Yeah, its made but an hour old I think.” Penny said. “You see Spunk here?”
“I do!” She said, going for the pot and giving it a sniff. “This is thirty-weight motor oil!” She walked to the sink and poured it out.
“I'll make some more, put Spunk back in a coma. Member that? She pointed toward Penny. We would make him lay out like he was dead and throw camellia flowers all around him. He'd stay that way for a long time til we tickled his nose with one of them flowers. He'd get so mad at me! He was just hopin' one of us would kiss him.”
Spunk defended himself. “You were the only girls my age, damn it.”
The boy laughed.
“What are you grinnin' at? I'll knock your damn teeth in.”
“Just picturing you with flowers all over you.” The boy responded.
“Pink flowers!” She said.
“That’s even better!” the boy said.
“I’ll take you home. You won't get no roast!”
“You oughtta know when you come to your kinfolks, they're gonna bring up the dirt on you!”
The Miner noticed Spunk and the boy, checking her out when she walked back to the coffee pot. The smell of coffee and chicory filled the room again.
“Mama, when’s Polly and Daddy gonna be back?”
“I told you when you called from work they'd be here a little after five. I hope he's not getting me anything.”
“Why?”
Penny pointed at the new oven.
“I just figured that was his doin.”
“You know he doesn't care about that. He could eat bologna every meal and be good. That cook top is the only thing that's saved me from killin' him. That's why when I got that offer in the mail, I sent it off and took care of the thing myself. Turned out the mill had some special deal with them.”
“Yeah?” Spunk asked.
“Yep!” She sipped some of the new coffee. “Damn Opal, this is black out strong!”
If only they would offer some.. The Miner thought.
“You know what I paid for that oven?”
“I'm afraid to ask.” Spunk said.
“Fifty dollars. An all I had to do was give them Larue's employee I.D.”
The lady guest, the boy, Spunk, and Opal, all looked at one another.
She took a large sip from the coffee then went to the cabinet above the new oven, and standing on her tip toes, she took out a bottle of Old Taylor whiskey.
They all took another look. “Put some of this in there while we wait on that roast!”
“Work smells that on me…I might be back at the mill!” Spunk said.
“I ain't never goin back!” Opal yelled.
“Here's to never goin back!” Penny laughed, sloshing her coffee, chicory, and bourbon mix. “My Daddy would drink it like this, first thing in the morning. Then he'd go to work or wherever. Only man I ever knew that went to work on a Monday and came back three weeks later, sometimes! But I see why now. I didn't see then, but I see it now, just couldn't stay there and work himself to death. He had the wanderlust. I see it now, see it in myself. She took another sip. Her nose was turning red. People like that are too good for the mill.”
“Daddy ain't too good.” Opal said.
“No, no I guess he isn't, and it got me a new oven all the same didn't it? Wish he hadn't drug your brother to that place too. Least he isn't overseas.”
“Ain't much else, Mama.”
“Is for someone who's lookin'.” Penny said.
The Miner wondered what else there could be, even back then, and he guessed that it must have been better. He was the true fortune teller. He knew what was coming. Sears was a church. The row houses were vacant, the skeleton of what had been the mill, piles of metal, insulation, concrete spread vast over the landscape, on the hill where it sat. But he could hear them talking, could smell the coffee and chicory and bourbon, the sounds of knocking at the door. And he wondered aloud, as no one could hear him, which was more real, this or that, the people or the concrete, the life or the copper he could mine from the house.
At the door was the neighbor. He could see her through the facing and got up to get a better look. She was the same age as Penny and spoke softly to her.
“Got this from a messenger. Never had a messenger. I knew for sure what it was and I wanted to come over here but I already saw you all had a house full and it bein' Penny's birthday and all. Just went ahead and opened it. I was so gracious. I was so gracious! I was, I am, so grateful for it!” Opal took the paper and grabbed her.
“Ms. Katie!”
She hugged her again, and by this time, everyone in the kitchen had taken a break from watching the roast to see what was going on.
“What in the world?” Penny asked.
“Upton's coming home in the next two weeks. He got some kinda flu that knocked him out of action for nearly a month. Fever was so bad it took the sight from his right eye. You only need one right? He's gonna call when he gets to New Orleans and we go to pick him up. I don't usually drink, but I knew you'd have some bourbon.”
“Now I see why you come over here!” Penny laughed and brought the slightly shorter woman to her with a sharp and heavy, one armed hug. “Opal, get more glasses, hell, let's use these!” She tore open the china cabinet and got some glasses hastily, dropping one to the ground.
“Sacrifice!” Penny screamed. "You wanna stay for some roast, Honey?"
“I’m for anything. You got cream of wheat, I'm here!” Katie responded.
The Miner stood up and stretched his legs and smelled the roast. He thought about that smell, from a million different places, and for generations: dusted, browned, scalded, gravied. Penny and Opal slipped down to the den. He followed.
“Upton comin' home, new oven is in, roast, you always like that.” Penny retrieved some more dishes from a tucked away pantry. “Don't spoil this cause you got somethin' against her.”
“Got nothin against her. You know what it is.”
“I can't keep up with every Days of Our Lives you're in.”
“We don't need this many dishes.” Opal said “Mama!”
“What? I can't talk about it just right now, people’s up there. We'll talk about it later after Little Girl goes to sleep. Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad, just disappointed.”
I’m not sure what about.”
The older woman brushed by him. The air was stale in that place, the coolness of the concrete lifted itself toward him while the hanging incandescent light bulb blew hot air on his neck.
He stepped closer to Opal. She sighed. He felt the brush of her white uniform and smelled her, a perfume and scent he could not fully recognize but it was familiar. There was a bucket by the back that led out into an alley way behind the row houses. The miner stepped outside and saw an old man, wrinkled and darkly tanned sitting on a porch that overlooked the alley. He was watching a small television that the old man kept bumping with the underside of his wrist to fix the static. He reached over and twisted the knobs a few times. The static got worse and then better, then it stopped. He looked over toward the row house where the Miner was as if he could see something.
Inside, the ruckus continued, coffee, bourbon, drunk on roast, drunk on everything, the same place his light had hit the night before, what was dead was alive.
Then Polly and Larue walked through the door. Polly still wore her pink jacket and ran toward the Miner. He reached out his hands to catch her when Opal intercepted, catching the child at her waist but chiding her about nearly breaking all of the plates.
“Larue. See it?” Penny asked.
“That is somethin'.” Larue said, placing his packages on the hearth. The Miner stood next to the fridge, and with the line of sight being what it was, Larue seemed to be looking straight at him. “What is that?”
“Roast, Honey, just like I used to make.”
“Thought you didn't need one.”
“Baby, everybody needs one! It’s ready over there on the cooktop, gravy near black like you like.”
“Me and Little Girl were out getting you something too. Hand it to her.” The child ran over and grabbed a brown paper bag.
“What’s this? An oven and a happy too?”
“Didn't know about the oven. I'd of got you one.”
“Everyone needs one.” She shot back at him smiling. She pulled the string to unleash it all. There was chatter all around the room, some paying attention to her, others not, but buzzing noise, lots of buzzing. The Miner watched Larue's eyes as she pulled the frame from the packaging and looked at the drawing behind glass. Penny began to tear up, and then everyone in the room was paying attention, smiling, buzzing about what it was.
“What is it, Mama?” Opal asked.
“It's an orphanage.” Polly said. “That's where she grew up.”
“Mama, that's the place?”
“How did you get this?” Penny asked.
“Man drew it from a picture an another framed it.”
“That is somethin'.” Spunk said.
The laughter and conversation continued as usual in a rough, congealed sound. Larue walked past the oven and touched it, remarking that it was still warm. Penny followed him and in a full voice.
“You always remindin' me of where I was. I wanna see where I am, where I'm goin. Life goes on. Life moves. I wanna move, keep movin'. Might as well put a picture of a casket on the wall. Is that how you see me, a dead person?”
“What? Just thought it might be something you’d wanna put up.”
“Why the hell would I wanna do that?”
“Look where you are now.” Larue said, steadily, slowly fixing his plate.
“Well, I guess that at least here the rats ain’t bad. And you pawin' at me in the middle of the night ain't near as bad as that old girl from Denham Springs. I'd tuck the sheets in so tight my legs would fall asleep. She'd have to work to get to me. By then I was awake and let her have it.”
Larue looked at her. “I'd like to think we did better. Look at that oven.”
“Yeah, we got that I guess.” She laughed and smiled and began to cry. All of the noise had stopped and everyone was looking at them in silence.
“Don't worry, I talked him down alright.” She laughed nervously. “For Goddamn sakes eat! Let's eat til it's all gone, drink til it's all gone. Nothin but death waitin' tomorrow. I want more bourbon, more chicory coffee.” She sniffled. “Where's Little Girl?”
“You gone stay here tonight?”
“Guess so.” Polly said.
“Where’s your mama?”
“She might not be back til the weekend.”
“That’s about right. She's probably gonna meet some people. You know what that means.”
“I think I do.” Polly said. “At least we got everybody else.”
The coffee pot sputtered. Spunk scooped the last of the drippings from the cast iron skillet and poured it over a piece of bread and what little remnants were left.
“I can't believe I left some needles over there on the floor.” Larue got up and began to pick up the green and brown pins. The Miner had moved over to the hearth and picked up his feet as Larue worked his way around. The Miner looked down at them and contemplated, amongst the dead brown and light green, that everything was temporary.
***
“An you wanted to go ahead and smash it up, even with him in here? Good thing I was here.”
“How long’s he been in here?”
“Not long.”
“Thought he was supposed to take out the wire. What's he doin in here, clippin' that stuff from behind it?”
“Half these guys are on on dope anyway.” The only way to keep em from stealin' is ta hire em.”
“He's still got his headlight on.”
“You go and call the ambulance.”
“But he's already dead.”
“No shit? Just call 911.” While the other was on the phone, he stepped around the miner, laid out on the floor, eyes open. He touched the oven for a second, the buzzing stung his hand. He reached over and picked up a bar stool and pushed the oven back into the hole where it had come from. It slammed into the groove. He heard a crash and went to see what it was. He saw a broken frame, and inside it, a drawing peered back at him. He knocked off the excess glass and looked at it and then put it back down on a chair.
He could hear the sirens coming up the street so he walked back into the kitchen. There was no water, no water tower, no pipes, nothing. He turned from the sink and leaned against it. He had seen a thousand other places just like it, the same counter, same pantry doors, fridge, oven, and then the cooktop.
On the cooktop, Penny's cast iron skillet sat. He walked over to it and ran his finger across the rust.
The Miner was taken away and the two men bulldozed the lot until there was little, if anything left of the row houses pointing toward the mill.
***
Larue, outstretching his arm, offered the Miner a plate.
“There was a little left. Penny makes the best roast, but it all just goes so quick.”
The miner took the plate and began to eat. The outsides were always the best.
THE END
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Scott Roberts is a writer, masters student, and recovering science teacher in Hattiesburg, MS. He is the author of the novel Well#9 and has been published in The Pine Belt News and Signature Magazine, most recently in 34th Parallel and Inverted Syntax.
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