Mmm. Listen, Jack, I just put some coffee on. Would y a join me?”
I didn’t have anything to rush home to and Con was, after all, easy company. “Sure.”
While Con held the screen door open for me Winston scooted by him. “Hey, boy, come back here,” I said.
“No, no. Let him be,” Con said.
The interior of Con’s home was, to be charitable, ramshackle. It looked like he had gathered together every item he had ever owned and then went through the place blindfolded while deciding where to place it all. He pointed to a threadbare recliner that appeared to be his favorite spot and said, “Have a seat, Jack.”
I sat and looked around the room, trying not to cringe.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said. “I ain’t much at housework.”
I nodded in a way that strove to indicate I wasn’t terribly concerned about it.
“So, coffee or something stronger?”
I knew if I said I’d have whatever he was having I’d end up with another glass of that nitro combo he had brewed. “Coffee would be fine,” I said.
While he headed off to the kitchen I noticed an ashtray full of tiny butts on the end-table next to his chair that gave off the unmistakable odor of marijuana.
A minute or so later he was back with two extra large mugs of steaming java. He made another trip and returned with a chipped cup of sugar and a half pint container of half and half. He slathered cream and sugar into his mug and took a taste. Seemingly satisfied it passed his test for drinkability he sat back i n the rocking chair he had chosen to occupy and turned his gaze on me. “ I was just thinking,” he said.
I had finished adding cream and sugar to my own coffee and took a tentative sip; it tasted only a tad less toxic than his sour mash whiskey. I raised my eyebrows and mumbled, “Uh huh.”
“I got nothing special coming up. Why don’t I drive ya up to Lumberton in the pickup. It’d give me something to do and save you a car rental fee.”
I figured he wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t really want to do it. “If you’ll at least let me pay for your gas.”
“ Deal ,” he said.
1 5
Con’s pickup not surprisingly matched his home . Candy bar wrappers, empty pop cans, and enough sand and grit to fill a good sized pail littered the floor. But he always managed to surprise me with his thoughtfulness. When he picked me up for our trip I saw he had made up a comfortable bed for Winston in the truck bed and had a thermos of coffee for us.
We had settled into a comfortable friendship that seemed to require little from either of us. I liked that h e was content with long stretches of time without conversation and I appreciated his habit of giving forthright , hones t , and brief responses when called up on for an opinion.
We had been on the road for an hour when he casually asked, “Ya ready to talk about things yet?”
“Listen, Con, I appreciate that you want to help – I mean that – but the truth is I don’t know what I could possibly say that would change any thing .”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Con replied. “It’s not that talking about it will change what happened. But verbalizing has a way of allowing us to find a way of living with the truth of our circumstances, no matter how bad they
I didn’t have anything to rush home to and Con was, after all, easy company. “Sure.”
While Con held the screen door open for me Winston scooted by him. “Hey, boy, come back here,” I said.
“No, no. Let him be,” Con said.
The interior of Con’s home was, to be charitable, ramshackle. It looked like he had gathered together every item he had ever owned and then went through the place blindfolded while deciding where to place it all. He pointed to a threadbare recliner that appeared to be his favorite spot and said, “Have a seat, Jack.”
I sat and looked around the room, trying not to cringe.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said. “I ain’t much at housework.”
I nodded in a way that strove to indicate I wasn’t terribly concerned about it.
“So, coffee or something stronger?”
I knew if I said I’d have whatever he was having I’d end up with another glass of that nitro combo he had brewed. “Coffee would be fine,” I said.
While he headed off to the kitchen I noticed an ashtray full of tiny butts on the end-table next to his chair that gave off the unmistakable odor of marijuana.
A minute or so later he was back with two extra large mugs of steaming java. He made another trip and returned with a chipped cup of sugar and a half pint container of half and half. He slathered cream and sugar into his mug and took a taste. Seemingly satisfied it passed his test for drinkability he sat back i n the rocking chair he had chosen to occupy and turned his gaze on me. “ I was just thinking,” he said.
I had finished adding cream and sugar to my own coffee and took a tentative sip; it tasted only a tad less toxic than his sour mash whiskey. I raised my eyebrows and mumbled, “Uh huh.”
“I got nothing special coming up. Why don’t I drive ya up to Lumberton in the pickup. It’d give me something to do and save you a car rental fee.”
I figured he wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t really want to do it. “If you’ll at least let me pay for your gas.”
“ Deal ,” he said.
1 5
Con’s pickup not surprisingly matched his home . Candy bar wrappers, empty pop cans, and enough sand and grit to fill a good sized pail littered the floor. But he always managed to surprise me with his thoughtfulness. When he picked me up for our trip I saw he had made up a comfortable bed for Winston in the truck bed and had a thermos of coffee for us.
We had settled into a comfortable friendship that seemed to require little from either of us. I liked that h e was content with long stretches of time without conversation and I appreciated his habit of giving forthright , hones t , and brief responses when called up on for an opinion.
We had been on the road for an hour when he casually asked, “Ya ready to talk about things yet?”
“Listen, Con, I appreciate that you want to help – I mean that – but the truth is I don’t know what I could possibly say that would change any thing .”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Con replied. “It’s not that talking about it will change what happened. But verbalizing has a way of allowing us to find a way of living with the truth of our circumstances, no matter how bad they
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