2021
NORTH CAROLINA L I T E R A R Y RE V I E W
a little bit, so we could smoke one more joint and I could say my goodbyes. She was in the car listening to the radio when I got in. “Are you sure he’s going to be alright?” Mom asked. That night was just another night I thought she worried for nothing, and I blew her off. “What do you mean? Andy’s cool.” I said this, although I had been thinking the same thing. He was unknown, a new friend. It was not like we grew up together. “Well, he seems pretty drunk to be playing with a gun.” “No, Mom. Just mind your own business. He’s cool.” I had been talking to her like that since Dad died, kind of snotty, but she pissed me off. She was always on me about something. We rode home with just the radio on. I was happy to see Mom out. She spent too much time at home in the little cabin lately. Just work and home. We had been through a whole two winters since Dad died and it was about time she got out. Before, Mom was busy, always volunteering in our little town, talking to everyone and worrying about the old folks. Everyone she served breakfast to on her shift at the Hot Pot thought she was their best friend. Mom knew everyone’s children and where they lived and how many grandchildren they had. My Mom remembered that, along with exactly which jelly they wanted with their toast. That’s why she was such a good waitress. Dad had worked for the road maintenance crew. Back then I was just a happy little kid. I remember the day they came to the door and told us. Mom fell on her knees, just crumpled up. The road crew driver came up to the door with the highway patrol officer. The officer said all the stuff, what happened. Dad had been working late to get overtime, and it was dark. A car blasted through the slow zone and either swerved or Dad stepped out. “He died on impact,” the officer had said. The lawyer said maybe one day I would get some money to go to college, but the courts were slow and the insurance companies slower. The road crew helped us out for a while, but we got by, Mom and me. The morning after the firepit night, when Mom dropped me off at the marina, the store door was still locked. “Hey man, seen Andy? He has the store keys, and I can’t bust the boats out because the keys are in there.” George came up to me hollering. He liked his routine, old George; he was about a hundred
and had been at the marina through four bosses. The boss was never around but I knew he was up at the Hot Pot having breakfast. I called Mom on my cell phone and told her we needed the keys. Boss blasted up about five minutes later in his shiny new Jeep. “What the hell? Can’t you guys figure this out? That’s why I pay Andy to sleep on the property. You go get the keys,” he hollered. George shrugged like it wasn’t up to him. “Boss, he’s asleep and he was up late, and you know he can be – ” I tried to explain but I could see the tourists beginning to pull into the parking lot and unload their fishing tackle from their SUVs. I gave up and walked toward the back of the marina. “Go over there and wake his ass up!” Boss roared after me and turned to smile and greet the fishermen. The trailer was a little twenty-some-odd-footer stuck behind the garage where George fixed the motors and patched the boats. The grass was high around it except at the entrance. Beside the stairs, there was a lawn chair with a silver ashtray stand, a dirty cooler, and a pile of whiskey bottles. All the faded orange curtains were closed tight. I climbed the stairs and pounded on the door. COURTESY OF THE ARTIST
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Reeling (mixed media on panel, 40x40) by Robert Boyd