Remembering Bill, Part IV by Just_Me

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Once Mom and I stopped crying, Bill handed me his truck keys and said, "R. W., I’d really appreciate it if you and Lisa would take a drive for a while. There are things Jean and I need to discuss, and I think it would be easier on both of us if we didn’t have our children here."

Stubborn me showed upâ€"immediately. "I’m not going anyway."

Bill shook his head. "I knew you were going to say that. I promise you Jean will be safe. I won’t hurt her. We just need to figure out a way to make sure this doesn’t happen again."

I looked at Mom. She nodded. "He’s right on both accounts. We do need to figure this out, and it would be easier if you and Lisa weren’t here. Go get a Coke or some ice cream. Come back in thirty minutes. I’ll be OK. I trust Bill."

I went straight to Bill’s truck and got a cigar, and then sat on the steps.

"You’re a cigar smoker? I would’ve never guessed it. What’s Jean say about it?"

"She doesn’t knowâ€"yet."

"Are you going to tell her tonight?"

"I’m thinking about it. I don’t know, but my thinking is that I might as well get it all out in the open, and deal with it."

"I think that’s smart." She giggled. "You’d better do it while Dad still has the pistol in his hands. Jean is going to freak!" She paused. "I don’t know why Jean’s so upset about your haircut. I think you look kinda sexy."

I didn’t know what to say. I thought for a second, and just said, "Thanks. I appreciate it." We sat in silence for a minute. Then I said, "Thanks for defending me in there. It meant a lot to me." Some more silence followed. I tried to break it with, "I’d love to be a fly on the wall in there."

She nodded. I thought, "Way to help keep the conversation going, Lisa."

A minute passed, and then I heard Lisa sniffle. I looked at her, and tears were streaming down her face. She saw me look. "I’m ok, just a little delayed reaction. I’ve never been as scared as I was when I saw that skillet going toward your head." She giggled. "I didn’t know I could scream like that."

"Oh, it was you that screamed? I thought it was Mom."

I hugged her. "If it makes you feel any better, seeing that skillet coming at my head wasn’t the highlight of my life either." I grinned at her. "By the way, thanks for screaming. I’d probably be in the morgue right now if you hadn’t."

Lisa shuddered. "How’s your shoulder?"

"I’m trying not to think about it, but honestly, it hurts like hell."

"You need to put some ice on it."

"I’ll do that before I go to bed."

We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, not saying anything until a little while later, when Bill came outside. "I figured I’d find you here. Your mother is on the phone with a psychiatrist I know. She’s going to see the doctor tomorrow. Right now, it looks like Jean is going to be going to a clinic for a few weeks, where she can get intensive counseling. They might even put her on some medicines. Could you handle staying here with us for a few weeks, without her?"

I held my cigar up. "As long as you keep me supplied with these, I’ll stay here forever."

Bill laughed. "Duly noted."

We sat there for a long time. Bill took the cigar out of my hand when Mom finally came out and sat with us. It was quiet for a while, and then she whispered, "I’m so ashamed of myself. I owe you all an apology, especially you R. W." She paused, "I do love you."

"I know, Mom. I’ve always said that you just needed some help. Bill told me you were going to get it. I’m proud of you for that. Thank you." She hugged me again. When she drew away, she said, "Eww! You smell just like Bill."

I drew a deep breath. "Mom, there’s one more thing I need to get out in the open."

Bill shook his head, and mouthed, "Don’t. Not tonight."

I thought for a second, and charged on. Bill sighed, and shook his head.

"Before you try to blame Bill, I have to tell you this has been going on for more than four years. I bought my first cigar on my twelfth birthday, and I’ve been a regular smoker since then."

"That’s impossible. I would’ve known."

I shook my head. "You’re not the only one who’s good at hiding things. I’ve kept you in the dark."

She shook her head. "There’s no way you could’ve hid that from me."

"Mom, I guarantee if I walk into Hayden’s Grocery that Mr. Adams will automatically put a can of Copenhagen and two King Edward cigars on the counter. You can test it when we get home if you don’t believe me, or you can ask Coach. He talks to me every day while I smoke a cigar during lunch."

"Where have you been getting the money?"

"I buy cigars with my lunch money. That’s why I’m always so hungry when I get home. I haven’t had lunch at school in years."

"You will stop smoking immediately. It’s bad enough that you dip, but I will not allow you to smoke cigars. What will people think?"

"How are you going to stop me?"

She looked stunned. I looked at her, and my emotions welled up. I don’t know if it was fatigue or pain, but something made me forget all that I had learned from Bill on how to handle Mom. For the first time in my life, I was rude when I snarled, "What are you going to do? Try locking me in the house again?" I shook my head. "That’s not going to happen again. I’ll break out the windows if I have to, and as soon as I’m out, I’m lighting up a cigar, and I’ll smoke it while I’m walking to the barbershop to get another, shorter haircut." I continued in a more conversational tone. "As far as what people think, I like the way Rhett Butler put it. ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn’—but just for your information, I’ve not had anyone see me with a cigar and say anythingâ€"good or badâ€"about it."

"Don’t you know smoking will send you to hell?’

I was more than a little sarcastic when I replied, "Mom, I don’t remember the chapter and verse that says smoking cigars will send me to hell. Where is it? I can’t recall reading the word ‘cigar’ in the Bible."

Bill got a huge smile on his face, and mouthed, "Good one!"

"Mom, we’ve been through this before. What’s the age limit for having tobacco in Louisiana?"

She just stared at me. "Come on, Mom. We’re not going to work through this if you don’t answer me."

"OK, there’s no age limit in Louisiana. It’s not illegal, it’s just disgusting for a boy of your age to be smoking cigars. It’s so old-fashioned!"

"So, it’s old-fashioned. I don’t care. I like cigars, just like I like short hair. I guess I’m old-fashioned. I’m OK with that."

Mom shuddered.

"So, back to the point at hand. There’s nothing you can do legally to stop me. Sure, you can make my life a living hell, but that won’t stop me. I guess you have to make a decision now. It’s as simple as this. Will you accept me with a cigar and short back and sides, or will you drive me away?"

Mom leaned against the wall. "I just prayed the serenity prayer with Dr. Harris." She softly recited, "‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference." Then she sighed. "I never dreamed I would need it this quickly." She looked at me. "OK, R. W. You’re right. There’s nothing I can do to keep you from smoking or going to the barbershop. I guess I’ll have to accept it." She pointed her finger at me. "I’ll accept it, but that doesn’t mean I’ll like it. You will NOT smoke in the house or the car."

Bill and I looked at each other and grinned. Bill said, "Jean, you’re nothing if not predictable. Let me save you the trouble." He looked at me, and pointed his finger. "Thou shalt not let my friends know that thou art partaking in the devil’s weed. Thou shalt not come into my home reeking of smoke. Thou shalt shower, change thy clothes and brush thy teeth after every hideous cigar. Most importantly, thou shalt not ever let the minister see thee smoking."

Mom actually laughed. "You sounded just like me." She hugged me. "I only have the one ‘thou shalt not’. Thou shalt not smoke in my house or my car."

I hugged her again. "Fair enough, Mom. Fair enough. Thank you…and I really do love you."

I knocked on Bill’s bedroom door later that night. "Come in."

I walked in, and he greeted me with, "We’ve had a helluva night, haven’t we?"

"Yes, sir. One helluva bad night if you asked me. I wanted to thank you for what you did for me tonight. I really think you reached Mom, and for the first time I have hope she’ll get help."

He sighed. "I hope you’re right."

I continued. "I also want to thank you for one helluva a good day. It was one of the best days I’ve ever had."

He laughed. "You call working your ass off a good day?"

About that time there was another knock on the door. Pain shot through my shoulder when I turned to see who it was, and I yelped. Lisa was walking in.

Bill jumped up. "What the hell is wrong, R. W.?"

Lisa spoke up. "That’s what I was coming in here for. I’m not 100% sure, but I think Jean hit R. W. with the skillet before she broke the table."

Bill had a delayed reaction that made me laugh. "Oh, that’s what happened to the table." Then he roared, "SHE DID WHAT?!"

Lisa flinched. "Don’t kill the messenger. I was still in the hall when I heard something hit something. I walked in just in time to see Jean take aim at R. W.‘s head. That’s when I screamed. R. W. ducked, and she hit the table with the skillet."

Bill gave Lisa a look that I hope is never directed at me. "You should’ve told me immediately. He could be seriously hurt."

Bill pointed at me. "R. W., take your shirt off and let me see. Then he pointed at Lisa, "Go call Sheriff Tabor, and tell him to get his god-damned ass over here immediately, and to bring an ambulance with him. We’ve got to get R. W. to the hospital."

I shook my head. "Lisa, do not call the sheriff, and Bill, I’m not taking my shirt off."

"What?"

"I’m not taking my shirt off. I’m OK. Nothing’s broken. I can still move my arm."

"A bone could be cracked."

"They can’t do anything for a cracked bone at the hospital that we can’t do here."

"If Jean hit you with a skillet, the law needs to know about it."

"Think about it, Bill. Mom has agreed to get help. That’s the important thing. There’s no need to embarrass her."

"I still think there should be a police report."

"If you call the sheriff, I’ll tell him I fell and hit the skillet. He can’t prove otherwise, and Lisa just admitted she didn’t see Mom hit me. It would be my word against hers."

"R. W., think about what you’re doing."

"I have thought about it. I’m saving Mom, and maybe saving our relationship. That’s what I care about."

"I think you’re wrong."

"I’m OK with you thinking I’m wrong. My heart tells me I’m right, and I’m going to listen to my heart."

Bill shook his head. "Will you at least let me get you an ice pack and some aspirin?"

"I thought you’d never ask. I’d kill for some aspirin."

My alarm went off the next morning, and I wanted to throw it against the wall. I reached up to turn it off, and my shoulder screamed at me. I thought, "Well, I guess I won’t be throwing the alarm, or anything else, with that arm." I laid there, thinking, "I don’t wanna get up. I want to be lazy, but I guess I’d better get up if I’m going to be ready to go to work with Bill."

A lightbulb went off in my head. "I don’t have to wash and blowdry my hair. I can sleep another thirty minutes."

I managed to reset the alarm, and slept the thirty minutes I would’ve spent on my hair. When I walked into the bathroom, the first thing I saw was the can of hairspray. I said, "Bye-bye" when I dropped it in the trash can.

A little later someone knocked on the bathroom door. I opened the door and Bill was standing there with a bottle of Vitalis in his hand. He took one look at me (I hadn’t put my shirt on yet), and growled. "It’s a damned good thing I didn’t see that bruise last night. I probably would’ve hurt Jean if I had seen it."

"It’s a bruise, no big deal."

"It’s a huge frigging bruise, and it is a damned big deal. You should’ve let me take you to the hospital last night."

"Like I said, they couldn’t have done anything. Anyway, I’ve dealt with bruises before."

Seeing he wasn’t getting anywhere, he said, "Hurt much?"

"A bit. I’ll survive."

He laughed. "A bit? You’re the master of understatement, aren’t you? That thing must hurt like hell!"

I laughed. "You’re right, it hurts like hell, but it’ll get better."

"You’re going to look like you’re wearing a green, blue and yellow tie-dyed shirt in a few days. Make sure you take some more aspirin before we leave."

"Don’t worry. I will."

Bill looked at the Vitalis in his hand. "You might need this."

"Is this what you used before you got your flat?"

He shook his head. "No. I have coarse hair, and I use Vaseline. It helps keep your hair in place better than this, plus you can’t beat it for shine. I have some in that cabinet if you want to try it."

"Thanks. I think I will."

He opened the medicine cabinet and handed me the container. I rubbed a little in my hands. Bill spoke up, "You’re going to need more than that. Let me show you."

He grabbed a bunch and put it in my hand. "That should do you. Now rub it in, all over. You want to make sure you get some on every hair, even the short ones. They’ll stick straight out if you don’t."

I tried to rub it in, but my shoulder wasn’t having it. I couldn’t get my hand anywhere near my head.

Bill winced in sympathy. "Let me help you out."

He reached toward my head. "When did you get so damned tall? I can’t reach your head."

Ever the smartass, I said, "I grew overnight, to thwart your plans to treat me like a child."

He smirked. "Sit your ass down, and shut up for a change."

I sat on the toilet, and he rubbed the Vaseline in, and then combed my hair…or should I say what little hair I had left?

Once he was done, he said, "Check that out, and let me know what you think."

I stepped toward the mirror, and a huge smile spread over my face. He had combed my hair into a small quiff, and it looked amazing. I loved the way my dark hair shone, and how I could see where the comb had been. I grinned. "Hot damn! I f-ing love it. Can we stop and buy me some Vaseline today?"

He nodded. "Sure. I need to buy some damned butch wax, since it looks like I’m going to have a flat for a while."

I gave him my best smile. "You can always buy a hat instead, if you’re ashamed of how you look."

He growled, "Smartass! I’m leaving in five minutes. See if you can tear yourself away from the damned mirror in that time." Then he did one of his sudden switches of attitude: he got serious. "Would you like to stay home today? No one on the planet would blame you if you did."

I shook my head. "If it’s all the same with you, I’d rather go to work. I’d drive myself crazy with worry if I stayed here. I need to be busy."

"I can understand that. I’d be the same way if I were in your shoes. Ok. If you want to be busy, get your ass in the truck. I’ll keep you busy."

"Hey, Bill. Can you help me with one more thing?"

"Sure. What’s up?"

"I don’t think I can put my shirt on by myself."

He picked up the shirt, and held it while I put my arms in the sleevesâ€" cussing Mom the whole time.

As he was walking out, I said, "Oh, Bill, one more thing."

I rubbed the stubble on my face. "I know you want me to be clean-shaven, but you might have to call an ambulance if I get near my throat with a razor in my left hand. Can I have a pass today?"

I wasn’t expecting his reaction. Tears formed in his eyes. "You poor thing. You really have been through hell, haven’t you?" He got gruff. "Alright, soldier, but just this once." Then his eyes twinkled. "Soldier, if you’re not downstairs and ready to bivouac in five minutes, I’m going to make you drop and give me twenty…shoulder or no."

"Sir, yes sir! Two minutes, max."

He grinned.

I got downstairs just in time to see Bill take Mom’s hand and hear him say, "Jean, you will always be my first love, and a big part of me still loves you. Things just came between us, and we would’ve never made it as a couple, but know this. I want you to get well. I want to see the beautiful, charming young lady that I knew again. Please, listen to the doctors, and try to get well."

I saw a tear in the corner of Mom’s eye. "If by ‘things’ you mean my temper, you’re right."

I heard laughter in Bill’s voice when he replied, "I will neither confirm nor deny the validity of your assertion."

Mom laughed, and hugged Bill. I heard her whisper, "I’ll always love you too, Bill." She sat for a minute, and then said, "You were right last night, Bill. I have beat on Ed more than once. I think I always resented the fact that he wasn’t you."

Bill seemed to struggle to find something to say. Finally, I heard, "Ed is twice the man I am, and he loves you. Treat him well, Jean. He deserves to be treated well, and you deserve to be loved like only he can love you."

Bill looked at the broken table, and gave a low whistle. "Holy hell! I knew the table had been smashed, but I didn’t realize how bad it was."

Mom ducked her head. "I’m sorry, Bill. Of course I’ll pay for it."

Bill laughed. "You’ll do no such thing. I’ve always hated that table. You did me a favor by making me get a new one."

He scowled. "Jean, were you trying to hit R. W. in the head?"

Mom’s already bowed head sank lower, and it looked like she was trying to shrink away. She whispered, "Yes."

Bill surprised me when he stayed calm, and shocked me when he laughed. "You never could throw or aim. I’m glad you didn’t get better with age." He paused. "I’m curious, what was going through your head at the moment?"

"I’m ashamed to say I wanted to knock his haircut off his body. I saw him, and let my anger get the best of me. I didn’t even think that it would kill him. I just thought I’d get rid of the haircut."

"You know if it hadn’t been for some fast reflexes on R. W.’s part, you’d have succeeded. Any blow that shattered a solid walnut table would’ve killed him. I’d be planning on escorting his body home right now, instead of talking to you. You’d be in jail."

"I should be in jail for what I did. Going after anyone with a cast-iron skillet is reprehensible. Going after my own son defies description. I’ve thought all night about turning myself in."

I cleared my throat, and they both jumped. Bill said, "Spend a few minutes with your mom before we leave. I need to clean out the truck anyway."

A little while later Bill came in. "Ready?"

"Yes, sir. Let’s go." I hugged her. "Mom, I’ll be OK. Don’t worry about me. Just get well, and call me when you can. I love you."

Bill and I got to the front door, and I almost ran into him when he stopped suddenly. He turned around. In a very bad fake British accent he said, "By Jove, I’ve had a fiendishly clever idea." He looked at me. "Want to have some fun?"

"What’s up?"

He grinned. "Follow me, and follow my lead."

I trailed him into the kitchen. Mom was still sitting there with her coffee. "Let’s go, Jean."

She looked surprised. "Where are we going?"

"We’re going to the barbershop this morning, and you’re going to get a haircut just like his."

She stood up immediately, with tears streaming down her face. "How did you know I was sitting here thinking about doing that. I deserve it for what I put him through."

I stepped in. "Mom, Bill was trying to play a joke on you, and I think it backfired on him."

Bill said, "Damned straight. I never dreamed you’d agree."

Mom sobbed. "I deserve it. I really want to do it. I need to do penance for what I’ve done."

I held her. "I don’t want you to get your beautiful hair cut. I wouldn’t be much of a person if I let you do something that made you miserable."

"You deserve to see me shamed and humiliated."

I shook my head. "I don’t want you shamed and humiliated. I want you to be happy and healthy."

Bill spoke up. "Sit back down, Jean, and let me talk to you for a minute."

Mom sat, and listened while Bill talked. "First, let me say my joke was wrong. It was one of those instances where something sounded funny in my head, and sounded awful when I said it. I’m really sorry it was so bad. I thought I’d get a laugh out of you, and I figured you needed a laugh this morning."

Mom laughed at that. "Bill, your jokes almost always go awry. It’s OK."

He grinned. "I could’ve gone all day without hearing that, but you’re right, Jean."

Then he got serious. "One part of me agrees that you deserve to go through the same hell R. W. went through, but R. W. is right. We need you to focus on getting well. I’ll make a deal with you. Right now, forget about going to the barbershop and penance. Go see the doctor, and see what she says. If after a few weeks, you still feel the need, we’ll go to the barbershop. How’s that?"

Mom nodded.

He got steel in his voice again. "Jean, I know you know this, but this is serious. You could’ve easily killed R. W. last night. I wanted to call the sheriff. If I’d had my way, you’d be in jail facing attempted murder charges right now, but R. W. stood up for you. Don’t make him regret his decision." He paused. "If I ever see signs of one slap or one insult, if I hear any innuendo about haircuts, I will hogtie you, and you’ll be in a barber’s chair before you know what happened. Do you understand me?"

She cried some more. "I mean it, I want to get better."

"I hope so, Jean. I hope so." He looked at me. "Ready to go to work?"

I grinned. "Head up, and move ‘em out. Let’s go."

We were almost out the door when Mom said, "Bill?"

He turned around. Her voice was soft when she said, "Thank you."

"No problem."

On the way to work, Bill said, "I guess I’ll call Ed when we get to work. I’ve been dreading it, but I might as well get it over with."

I almost yelled, "You will NOT call Dad!"

He glanced at me. "Why not?"

I forgot everything I had learned the night before about being calm during a confrontation. "That’s a stupid-assed thing to say, and you’re not stupid." I shook my head. "I can’t believe you would want to worry Dad like that. What can he do? All he could do is worry, and there’s no need for that. He can find out what’s happened once we know what’s going to happen."

Bill stumped me for a minute when he asked, "If you were alone in Louisiana, wouldn’t you want to know what’s going on?"

I thought for a second. "Yes, sir, I would…and I’d probably be pissed to find out you hadn’t told me. However, it would be in my best interest to not know. If I knew, I’d head out here, and sit around worried sick. As long as I didn’t know, I could stay home and be productive."

He grimaced. "You have an answer for everything, don’t you?"

I looked at him. "Bill, please don’t call Dad. He doesn’t need to know right now."

He exhaled some cigar smoke. "I strongly disagree with you. I think Ed needs to know, but at least for today, I’ll go along with you."

"Do me a favor, please."

"What’s that?"

"If you change your mind, let me know. I would want to be the one who called Dad."

I couldn’t decipher what his look meant. "You would be willing to do that?"

"Yes, sir. I don’t want to. I think it’s wrong, but if Dad’s going to find out, he needs to hear it from me."

Bill shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me."

I kept talking. "Last night you said I was a man now. Did you mean it?"

"You know I did."

"Well, a man protects his family. Let me be a man and protect my family, Damn it!"

"I’m probably going to regret this, but OK." He shook his head. "Ed is going to kill me."

"No, sir. If he kills anyone, it’ll be me. I’ll let him know this was my decision."

"You’d do that, wouldn’t you?"

"Absolutely. I will never let someone else take the blame for what I’ve done like I did that night I told you about."

I thought of something else, and thought, "Maybe this will get Bill on my side." I said, "Don’t you think I have enough to worry about with Mom? I don’t need to add worrying about how Dad is handling things to it. "

"Worrying about your parents isn’t your job. It’s their job to worry about you."

"I disagree, Bill. We’re supposed to take care of one another now."

He shook his head. "I’m not going to say anything to Ed, but know this, young man, you’re going to be the cause of my conscience eating on me, day and night until he finds out."

I grinned. "I can live with that."

We both stuck our cigars in our mouths, and were quiet until we got to work.

When we got to the office, Bill said, "Look at me. You are not allowed to lift anything but a pen, a piece of paper or a coffee cup today. Do you understand me?"

I held up my cigar. "What about this?"

He laughed. "Ok, I’ll add a cigar to the list."

I got serious. "Bill, I’m ok, and I have a perfectly good left hand. I’ll be careful, but let me earn my keep."

"Do you never listen? Do you remember what I said yesterday? Do NOT argue with the boss. I mean it. I don’t want to see anything but pen, paper, coffee and cigars in your hand today." Then he grinned. "Good thing I was planning on us working in the office today."

Bill went and picked up burgers and fries for lunch and brought them to the office. We sat down to eat, and I rubbed my neck, savoring the feel, while I watched him as he took his first few bites of food.

With his mouth full, he said, "What’s the matter, don’t like burgers?"

Very seriously, I said, "I have a cantankerous old boss, and he’s forbidden me to pick up anything, so I guess I’ll just sit here and watch you eat, since I can’t pick up anything."

He roared with laughter, and then shot me the finger. "Eat your damned burger, asshole! I’m sure the curmudgeon that you work for doesn’t want you to pass out from hunger. He’ll allow it."

He took another bite. "Did you just make that up, or have you been planning it all morning?"

I grinned. "I’ve been planning it all morning."

He stuffed some fries in his mouth. "You’re a damned fool, but I like you, R. W. You’re all right in my book, even if you are a damned hippy."

Later that afternoon, Bill said, "Come on. Let’s go."

I looked up, "But it’s not closing time."

"You should learn the operating hours of where you work. It’s Saturday, and I close early. Let’s go."

"Where are we going?"

"We’re going to get you some uniforms. If you’re going to be hanging around here all day, you’re gonna have to look the part. Plus, I’m sick of you looking like you’re about to head to the damned disco."

I started to say something, and he cut me off. "Before you say you can’t afford it, let me tell you that I supply the uniforms for all my employees. Now, can we go?"

Not knowing how to out-argue him, I got up and followed him out.

A salesman came out, and the first thing I noticed was his haircut. It was a nice haircut, but longer than mineâ€"maybe about the length of Bill’s before he got his flattop. The man greeted us with, "Hi, gentlemen. My name is Mark, and I’ll be helping you this afternoon. May I start by saying, nice haircuts, gentlemen. Let me guess, Walt?"

I replied, "I was about to say something about your hair. It looks great."

Bill grinned. "Yes, Walt has cut my hair for years, but this young whippersnapper met Walt for the first time yesterday."

Mark said, "You gentlemen realize that this may be the only place in America where you can find three men with short hair in one place."

We all laughed. I said, "Mark, don’t be offended if Bill here starts calling you a hippy. He just got his first flattop, and it’s gone to his head."

Mark grinned. "I can take it, but I have to ask you a question. I really like your haircut. What did you tell Walt you wanted? I might try it."

Bill groaned. "Don’t tell him that. It’ll go to his head."

I ignored Bill. "Thanks, I’m flattered. Just tell him you want a three-finger cut."

"What in the world is that?"

I explained, and he smiled. "I like that. It makes perfect sense." He smiled again. "I’m assuming you gentlemen didn’t come in to talk about haircuts. What can I help you with?"

Bill said, "This young man has gone to work for me, and we need some uniforms for him."

"Dickey’s?"

Bill nodded. "None other."

"Follow me," Mark said. As we were walking, he kept talking. "We stock the Dickey’s in khaki, green, blue and brown. Did you have a preference?"

Bill replied, "As you can see, I always wear blue, because it goes with the color of my eyes." He laughed, "But he can choose whatever color he wants."

Mark looked at me. "Since the whole idea of a uniform is for everyone to look alike, I guess it’s blue for me too."

Mark pulled some samples. "Go try these on. I think these will fit you well, but I want to be sure."

Getting the shirt on was painful, but I somehow managed. I walked out to show him.

Bill was alone when I walked out. He walked in a circle around me. "Not bad, not bad…but something’s missing. I wonder what it is?"

I saw the gleam of mischief in his eyes, and thought, "Oh, crap. He’s about to pull something."

About that time Mark came over, nodding to Bill. Bill said, "Mark, the uniform doesn’t look bad, but something’s missing, and I can’t figure it out. Do you have any ideas?"

Mark pondered for a moment, and then said, "I think I have just the thing to complete the outfit over here. I’ll be right back."

He came back with a baseball cap that said "Bill’s Oilfield Repairs". He put it on my head, and carefully adjusted it.

He stepped back to view his handiwork. "That’s definitely better, don’t you think, Bill?"

Bill nodded. "Yes, it’s much better, but something is still missing." Then as if talking to himself, he said, "Think Bill. What would complete the picture?"

He made a great show of musing, and then theatrically said, "Ah, I’ve got it." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a couple of cigars, and put them in the pocket of my shirt.

He smiled. "Yep! That was it. You are now officially equipped to represent Bill’s Oilfield Repairs, and you don’t look bad, if you don’t mind me saying so."

He turned to Mark. "We’ll take five sets, and a coat."

"That’s too many, Bill. I’ll only be here a few weeks."

"I normally buy new employees ten sets."

"I don’t care. It’s too many."

I turned to Mark, "We’ll take two shirts and two pairs of pants. That’s all."

"You’ll need more than that to get through a week."

"I know how to use a washing machine and dryer, and I know you have one of each. Two sets. That’s it. If you insist on more, I’ll insist on wearing Mom’s disco clothes to work."

"Oh, hell no. You ain’t wearing that crap in my shop."

"Pick your poison. Two sets or disco clothes."

"Man, you drive a hard bargain. Two sets and a coat."

"I can wear my coat."

"I’m sure you can, but as you said, the point of a uniform is to make everyone look alike. In addition, it’s my company, and I say you wear a company coat when you’re in uniform."

I grinned. "Ensnared by my own words. Now who’s driving a hard bargain?"

Mark said, "We have your logo patches in the back. I’ll have them sewn on, and ready for you to pick up on Monday morning."

I laughed. "That answers my question. I was wondering how you got a cap with Bill’s logo on it so fast."

As we were leaving the clothes shop, Bill said, "Do you mind if we make one more stop?"

I grinned. "I’m always up for an adventure. Let’s go."

We pulled up in front of a tobacconist. Bill grinned, "I’m going to run out of cigars soon, because a certain unwashed heathen is smoking all of mine."

I was immediately contrite. "I’m sorry."

He grinned. "Boy, don’t you know a joke when you hear one?"

I grinned back. "Oops! Sorry."

When we got in the shop, he said, "Since you’re so damned worried about bumming cigars off me, I’m just going to buy two extra boxes. You can keep one at home, and one at the shop."

"You don’t have to do that."

"The hell I don’t. It’ll be easier for me to buy the damned cigars, than to try to keep up with how many you’re smoking." He shook his head. "I’ve never met anyone so damned afraid of taking something from someone. You know I’d be happy to just give you a few cigars."

"I know, but I have this damned conscience I have to keep appeased."

He just shook his head.

We got home, and I was so worried about Mom that I couldn’t be still. I said, "I’m tired of my head looking like a fish’s belly. The sun is shining outside. I think I’ll go out there, to see if I can start getting a little color on my head."

Bill laughed. "If it was me, I’d just borrow some makeup from Lisa. It’s cold outside!"

I thought about flipping him the middle finger, but decided to be nice. Instead, I said, "There ain’t no way in hell I’m putting makeup on!"

I wasn’t outside long before the cold drove me back inside. I tried doing homework, and couldn’t focus. I turned the TV on, and instantly turned it off. I raided the fridge.

Bill finally sighed. "I can’t rest with you roaming about like a caged animal. Come up to the attic with me. Since you have so much energy, let’s drag the Christmas decorations down. You can decorate the tree."

I jumped at the chance to do something productive. "That sounds like fun."

Bill got somber looking. "R. W., I don’t want you being disappointed on Christmas morning. I’m not much of a shopper, so there won’t be any presents. I kinda figured we’d hold off having Christmas dinner until Jean comes back." He laughed. "You don’t want me or Lisa to try to cook a fancy meal. It wouldn’t be edible."

"Bill, I can cook a nice dinner. I'm a pretty good cook. I could make a couple of pies and cakes, and turkey and dressing. If you’ll let me borrow the truck, I’ll go buy what I need."

He shook his head. "No, there’s no need for all of that. Anyway, I know how Jean loves to cook. Let’s just wait until she’s here. I imagine she’ll need something to make her feel useful.""

"You’re right about that. She does love to cook, and it would probably be good for her."

He looked at me. "Then you’re OK with pizza for Christmas dinner?"

"Sounds good to me!"

The ringing of the phone made me jump. Lisa yelled from upstairs, "R. W., it’s Jean!"

I talked for a few minutes, and found out what was going on. I started crying when she hung up. Once I got myself together, Bill said, "Well…"

"Mom’s OK. She said the clinic is nice. Right now, she’s undergoing therapy a couple of times a day. The doctors want her to stay as long as she can, so it looks like you’re stuck with me until New Years."

Monday morning, I woke up with an idea in my head. Instantly, the angel on my shoulder shook her head and said, "That’s a really bad idea, R. W. A very, very bad idea!"

My inner demon spoke. "Bad idea my ass. It’s a great idea. Do it, damn it!."

I thought for a minute. "I’m going to do it." I looked over my shoulder, and said to the air, "Fly away, little angel. Mr. Demon and I have lots of planning to do."

My mind was only half on my work that morning. I was busy editing my plan, and coming up with new additions to it. I tried to let Bill see that gears were turning.

Finally, it was lunch time. I was quiet as we ate. After eating, I cleared my throat.

Bill glanced at me. "Spit it out. It’s obvious that you’ve got something on your mind."

I looked down, suddenly shy. "I really don’t know how to ask this."

He grimaced. "Goddamn it, after all of our talks, and you’re still afraid to say something to me. Just say it, damn it!"

I cleared my throat again. "Well, this is kinda hard, but here goes." I thought, "Don’t overplay it, R. W. He’ll get suspicious." I started talking. "Well, I’ve been thinking all morning."

His voice was dripping with sarcasm when he said, "Gee. Really? I couldn’t tell."

I ignored him. "I’ve been thinking about what kindred spirits we are. It’s funny how much alike we are. We like the same things." Then I laughed. "Well, at least we like some of the same things, like short haircuts and cigars. I don’t know how you can say you like Brussell sprouts."

He laughed. "Get to the point, damn it!"

I grinned, and then got serious. I delivered the punchline with the perfect amount of emotion. "I know from what you said that night that you and Mom were once more than friends. Is there any chance you’re my father?"

For the first time in my life I saw Bill flustered. He stuttered something that I couldn’t understand.

I kept a serious face. "I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you."

He coughed. "It’s none of your damned business, but no, you cannot be my son. If you’d been born a year earlier, I would’ve wondered." He looked down. "I was married for twenty years, and was faithful, except for one time…"

I stopped him. "Whoa, Bill. I was just making a joke. All I have to do to know who my father is is to look in a mirror. I look just like Dad."

Bill laughed. "I thought you were serious at first, and you’re right. You look just like Ed, but more importantly, you have the same spirit as him. You’re exactly the type of man he is."

A tear formed in my eyes. "Thank you. No one has ever paid me a higher compliment."

I blurted out, "Damn it!"

He looked worried. "What’s wrong?"

"I’ve been around you too long. You’re rubbing off on me. I thought that joke was going to be perfect, and it flopped like most of yours do."

He gave me a lazy wave. It was so lazy that only his middle finger stood up.

Bill suddenly looked nervous. I was about to say something when he said, "I want to explain something to you."

"What’s that, Bill?"

"My conscience is bugging me about the role I had in all of this."

I started to interrupt. "No, let me say this."

"I’m sure a lot of folks would think I’m wrong for helping you out with Jean. They’d say I should’ve upheld her authority. They’d say I want to groom you to be like me."

I stopped him. "From my perspective, there are much worse people I could be groomed to act like, but I’ve never felt like you wanted me to be you. It feels like you want me to be me, whoever the hell ‘me’ is."

"That’s exactly what I want, R. W. I didn’t help you get free of Jean’s clutches because I wanted you to be a short-haired cigar smoker like me."

"I’ll admit I think you look at least 1,000% better than you did when you got here, but me finding out you liked short hair was an accident. I’ll also admit I enjoyed teasing you about taking you to the barbershop. Your reaction was fun, but I honestly never dreamed you’d take me up on it. I don’t think I’m responsible for your haircut, am I?"

"No sir. Like I’ve told you before, I have wanted to cut it for years. Your example might’ve helped me cut it sooner than I would’ve on my own, but I would’ve eventually got there without your inspiration."

"I didn’t offer you a cigar either, until you showed up with one of your own, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I’ve never forced you to smoke one either, have I?"

"No, sir. I’ve done that of my own free will."

I laughed.

He glared at me. "What the hell are you laughing about? I’m being serious here."

"I know how Mom felt that night, when you asked her a bunch of questions to get her in the habit of answering you. I called it your lawyer mode. You just went into your lawyer mode."

He grinned. "I guess I did. I learned to do that with my ex. It helped keep the hysteria down."

He gave me another smile. "I’ll try to make my point without going into lawyer mode again." He seemed to think for a minute. "Where the hell was I before I was interrupted by a heckler from the peanut gallery?"

"You had just asked if you had ever forced me to smoke a cigar."

"Oh yeah. I guess I just wanted to make sure I’m not leading you astray."

I laughed again. "No, sir. I was astray a long time before we came to see you. Your conscience is clear."

"Good!"

I got deadly serious. "Bill, I don’t know whether to be offended that you think I’m so weak that you could lead me around like a lamb to a slaughter, or amazed that you think so highly of your persuasive skills."

"Ouch. I deserve that, and you’re right. I was underestimating your strength of will."

"I told you. I don’t do things I don’t want to, and no one can make me. I’m stubborn, in case you haven’t noticed."

I looked him in the eyes. "Bill, listen to me. I don’t always do what’s right, but when I do something wrong it’s because I’m led astray by my own lust, to put it in biblical terms. I do it because I want to. Others don’t persuade me. If I go to hell, it’ll be because I want to, not because someone made me."

"You sound like a Pentecostal preacher. Are you sure that’s not your calling?"

I laughed. "Oh, hell no."

"Bill, you’ve been a great role model since I’ve been here, but us liking the same things is just a fortuitous happenstance that helped me reach my inner self faster."

Bill started laughing. "I wonder if there’s another almost seventeen-year-old male alive on the planet who could form a sentence using the phrase ‘for…’ for-chew…’ ‘for-two-shus…’." He stopped. "Whatever the hell you just said."

I laughed. "I believe the words you’re looking for are fortuitous happenstance." I got serious. "Bill, I’ve learned a lot from you, but you’re just a piece of the goddamned puzzle. I’m not trying to be like you. I’m trying to be me, and it just so happens that the real me and you have a helluva lot of similaritiesâ€"that was the whole point of my joke about you being my father."

I glared at him. "Damn it, you can’t take the credit, or the blame, for my hair style or my choice of nicotine."

I laughed. "I will admit I’ve picked up some of your language. I’ve cussed more in the last few days than I have in the last year. Having said that, I think the cuss words have always been in me, I was just never allowed to let them out."

He laughed. "Cussing is funny. It’s just words and syllables like any other words, but saying, ‘God-damn it, that hurts’ is much more satisfying than saying, ‘That was exceedingly and excruciatingly agonizing’."

I grinned. "You’re god-damned right it is!"

Bill kept talking. "I’m serious, I don’t care if you grow your hair to your ass, if that’s what you want to do. If you told me you never wanted to smoke another cigar, I’d say, ‘Good for you’. I just want you to have the freedom to be who you want to be. If you want to be a Pentecostal preacher, I’ll come sit in the pew and say, ‘Amen’."

I laughed. "There’s zero chance of me wanting to do that!"

He stopped. "I’m doing a piss-poor job of explaining what I mean. Let me start over again."

"I know what it’s like to live with someone like Jean. My mother was almost as mean as Jean is, and then I married Christina. It’s like she’s Jean’s twin sister."

Trying to lighten his somber mood, I said, "Your mother wanted you to have long hair?"

He laughed. "No, dumbass. She was convinced I was called by God to become a Pentecostal preacher." He had a sour look on his face. "Can you imagine me as a damned preacher?"

I shook my head. "It boggles the imagination."

"It does, doesn’t it?" He took a deep breath. "She beat me if I didn’t memorize five scriptures a day."

A light came on in my mind. "That’s how you know so much about the Bible. I wondered about that when you were talking to Mom."

He laughed. "You can never unlearn some things." He paused. "Anyway, my mother made me practice preaching in front of the mirror every day, and if I didn’t sound convincing, she would beat me."

He looked embarrassed. "I have a confession to make. I saw the list you made the night you were trying to decide whether to get your hair cut or not. I sat in the dining room and cried, because I could relate to your anguish so much."

"Damn it! I should’ve hid that."

He shook his head. "I’m glad you didn’t. I’m glad I saw it, so I could help you."

He looked at me. "When you said you didn’t recognize the man in the mirror, something in my gut wrenched. I knew what you were talking about. I never recognized the preacher in the mirror. It just wasn’t me. I already knew I wanted to be a hell-raising, cigar smoking renegade. I felt like a fraud every time I stepped into the pulpit, and they had me preaching regularly by the time I was twelve."

"The second I read what you wrote about not recognizing yourself I decided that I was going to do everything I could to help you become yourself."

"Thank you, Bill. I would’ve never got through that night without your help."

We sat in silence for a moment.

"Do you mind me asking how it went with your mother?"

He grimaced. "I had a night very similar to the one we just went through, with two exceptions: I was young and dumb, and didn’t remain calm and rational. I yelled, screamed and cussed."

He stopped talking, and looked like he was far away. I waited a minute, finally saying, "And?"

His voice was flat when he said, "Momma never saw my point. She kicked me out that night, and never spoke to me again."

"I’m sorry, Bill. It really pisses me off that she did that."

"Sometimes I wish I could’ve become that Pentecostal preacher, and saved my relationship with Momma. But, on the whole, I’m pretty damned happy with how my life has turned out. I’m the king of my castle, and it’s good to be the king."

He sat in silence for a little while, then he asked, "Have you ever heard the old saying ‘you marry your mother’?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, in my case, it’s true. I married a woman who’s just like my mother. I finally got rid of her, but I guess I’m a dumb ass, and never learned my lesson. It seems like every woman I date is a version of Momma." He shook his head.

"On a slightly different topic , If my experience is any indicator, your mom was dead wrong when she said girls don’t like guys with short hair. I’m no Hugh Hefner, but I have no problem finding dates." Then, rather ruefully, he said, "I just have a problem finding the right woman, but that doesn’t keep me from trying." He grinned. "In the meantime, I’m like a busy bee, going from flower, to flower, to flower."

We sat in silence for a moment. He finally spoke again. "Enough about that. Get your ass in the office. We have work to do."

I got up. "Before we get back to work, thanks for telling me your story. I’m honored, and secondly, your mother was a dumb bitch to let someone as wonderful as you go out of her life."

That week was one of the best weeks I’ve ever had. Bill and I went to the shop every morning, and completed whatever work that needed to be done. Then we’d sit around the shop drinking coffee. I learned a lot about life from him.

One day we were bored, and Bill said, "Oh, to hell with it. It’s slow. Let’s get the hell out of here!"

He taped a piece of paper on the door that he had scrawled "Gone Fishing" on, and we headed out.

We went to the lake, but didn’t go fishing. We just walked around talking. Suddenly, I stopped. "Hey, Bill. Check this out! It’s so cool!"

"What?"

I smiled. "The wind is blowing, and my hair is not moving! Isn’t that awesome?"

He smiled back. "You sir, are a complete and utter fool." He pointed at his head. "No movement here either. Feels good, huh?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "You’re damned right that it feels good."

During one of our conversations, Bill said, "R. W., I can’t get what you told me about the night Jean beat you so badly out of my head, particularly when you said you wanted to die. Have you ever planned on killing yourself."

I looked at him, trying to figure out his motivation, and how to answer him. "Frankly, I don’t think that’s any of your damned business, but I’ll answer you. No. I’ve never actually planned on killing myself. However, I’ve tried to figure out a way I could die." I paused. "It’s like this. I didn’t want anyone to know I had committed suicide. I know there’s a stigma to suicide that haunts families forever, and I don’t want my family going through that. At one point, I convinced myself that Mom, Dad and Gracie could get over my death if I could arrange an accident that killed me. I never could figure out how to set it up, and eventually gave up on the idea. I figured I’d just live until I can move out." I gave an evil laugh. "Hell, putting up with me might be harder on Mom than my death would be."

During another conversation about "that" night, I said, "Bill, I have to tell you, I really admire how you handled Mom, especially how you convinced her that I honored her so much."

"I have to tell you, my conscience has bothered me a little about that part. I was really deceptive, and I took a serious gamble that night." He frowned. "it could’ve easily bit me in the ass. I figured Jean didn’t know the Bible very well. There are scriptures that she could’ve used that would’ve proved her point. That’s why I asked her where it said children should obey."

I laughed. "I guess it’s a good thing you won that one." I paused. "Honestly, I’ve never seen Mom read the Bible. The only verse she knows are the ones the preacher quotes all the time. I guess our preacher hasn’t ever thought he needed to talk about kids being obedient."

He laughed. "I would’ve dumped a load in my pants if she had quoted Deuteronomy 21." He looked like he could see the pages when he quoted it. "If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother, and, though they discipline him, will not listen to them, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city at the gate of the place where he lives, and they shall say to the elders of his city, ‘This our son is stubborn and rebellious; he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton and a drunkard.’ Then all the men of the city shall stone him to death with stones. So you shall purge the evil from your midst, and all Israel shall hear, and fear."

He shivered. "The Old Testament people were a bloodthirsty bunch. I can’t imagine telling someone to kill one of my kids!"

I laughed. "If Mom had known about that scripture, she would’ve had my ass before the elders in a heartbeat that night."

Week 2

Wednesday night we were watching TV, and Bill spoke up. "Tomorrow is my normal day to visit the barbershop. Are you coming with me?"

I grinned. "You bet your sweet ass." I ran my hand up my neck. "I miss the bristly feel my hair had when it was freshly cut."

"Then be ready to leave by 7:30."

"You got it."

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