Happy Birthday Hank

Three Short Pieces withPretentious,One-Word Titles by Audree Flynn

For Hank,who's always been better than me.

liniment

Ro?Yes dear.Do we have any liniment?Fred and Rosemary Hyde had been married for thirty years; friendly, quiet.They kept to themselves, mostly.Fred did all the cooking, he was something of a gourmand. Rosemary madefigurines, and statuettes. Decorative little pieces. Cast in epoxy resin.Ro? Did you hear me?Yes dear I’m getting it. Shoulder acting up again?Darn thing never did set right…I gave that guy what for though, didn’t IRo.Yes you did dear, she said and kissed his cheek. She opened the tube andcrinkled her nose a little.Oh my…I hate that smell.I know, Ro, but it works. Show on yet?Diagnosis: Murder. They watched it every week.That Dick Van Dyke was so versatile.They sat through the opening montage and an Anacin commercial. Thedoorbell rang. Fred and Rosemary looked at one another.Fred had barely opened the door when a man burst into the room.Where is it, where do ya keep it?His hand was in his pocket; it appeared he had a gun.Where is what, who the heck are you?Never mind who I am—the safe, where is it?Rosemary and Fred exchanged looks.We don’t have a safe. I don’t know what the heck we have that we’d need asafe.The man blinked.

Now look...I have a gun. And there’s a safe around here somewhere. I knowthere is.Honestly there isn’t, said Rosemary. These houses all look so much alike, areyou sure you have the right house?1313 Crestmoor Drive, I know what I’m doing, lady. And you got fiveseconds to show me where that safe is.Fred smiled.Sorry, Chief. This is Crestview Drive. Happens a lot, remember a fewmonths ago Ro, that Amway guy?Oh my, yes. He was quite a talker.Fred chuckled.Wasn’t he though. I thought he’d never—Shut up! Just shut up and let me think…Rosemary took a small, quiet step forward.You don’t look at all well.She caught Fred’s eye and nodded toward the kitchen.She’s right, son, you don’t. You don’t look well, when was the last time youhad a home-cooked meal?…you understand this is a gun, right?Of course it is.And that I’m prepared to use it.Of course you are.That’s just your finger.Isn’t it son.The man swallowed hard and looked at his shoes.I have kids, ya know? I was laid off…been seven months now…my wife’ssick and...listen, you seem like nice people…Fred and Rosemary looked at one another.The man was close to tears.They’re gone now but you remind me of my folks.

Rosemary spoke softly.Well you came to the right place after all. Fred, isn’t there still some of thatpot roast? You go with Fred into the kitchen and let him make yousomething. He’s the cook in this house, I can barely boil water.She gave a little laugh.Then we’ll get all this silliness sorted out.The man wiped his eyes. He and Fred started toward the kitchen.Rosemary took a praying hands statue from the mantle. It was cast in epoxyresin. She brought it down hard.Fred looked at his wife of thirty years and said, Atta girl, Ro.Thanks. With your shoulder like it is, I just figured.Normally, I would’ve given him what for, like I did that Amway guy.Remember Ro?Yes I do dear. What should we do with this one?Fred thought for a moment.Vinegar. It tenderizes.Rosemary crinkled her nose.Oh my. I hate that smell.Fred kissed her cheek.I know, Ro. But it works.

Anthony

“Hey. You ever wonder what dog tastes like?\"“...Anthony...\"“I mean is it like pork, or…”“I dunno. I never thought about it.”“No. Me either.”And that was Anthony. That’s just how he was. A tuna melt was Anthony'sfavorite sandwich. But if you didn't like tuna melts, he'd say he didn't likethem either. Anthony would eat a tuna melt for breakfast.“Can I have some?He pointed at my juice carton.\"Help yourself.\"Anthony took the carton of juice and finished it.\"Hey. You ever wonder if your dad’s really your dad?”He gave me back the empty carton.\"No. I have my dad’s eyes.\"\"Yeah, me either. That looks good.\"Anthony watched me eat a peanut butter cookie.\"Yeah my mom made 'em.\"\"Yeah they look really good.\"\"Yeah they are really good, you want one?\"“Nope\", he said, and that was Anthony.That's just how he was. He wanted whatever you had. Until you gave himsome and then he didn’t want it anymore.“What’d you get, Anthony?\"He opened a sack with his name on it.\"Deviled ham. And pickle spears. I got one left, you want it?”“No thanks. Deviled ham's good. I like the chicken stuff better.”

“Yeah.\" Anthony looked at the pickle spear. \"You ever wonder, like, whathappens when somebody dies?\"Yes.I have.Why Anthony.“I saw my grandma die. We brought flowers to her room. They said she wasgonna be okay.”The bell meant lunch was over.Five minutes to get to class.Anthony wrapped the pickle spear in a white napkin.“You ever wonder what happens, if like, somebody farts in the middle of afuneral?\"And that was Anthony.That’s just how he was.\"No Anthony. I guess I never did.\"“No”, he said. “Me either.”

literally

The assignment was a research paper, on any county in Tennessee. Anycounty besides Shelby. We lived in Shelby County then, in Memphis. I choseHickman County.A research paper was serious business in my family, even for an eighth-grader. My dad worked for the newspaper, my mom taught college English.Intellectuals, literary types. We were literally on our way to HickmanCounty before you could say, “footnote.”Specifically, to Centerville, the center of Hickman County. At the time, thepopulation of Centerville was approximately 3,000, and going by themultitude of road signs we would pass, the lives of those 3,000 citizenswere centered on an establishment called Pete’s.Pete’s Restaurant, “Serving Centerville since 1947”, “Best Throwed Biscuitsin the State”.Fine Eatin'. Eat at Pete’s.Yes, “throwed” biscuits, it’s a thing, in certain kinds of places in the South.You hold out a basket and they throw hot biscuits at you from the kitchen.No I’m not making that up. They throw biscuits at you. Literally. Hot ones.So there we were, driving along, and about 75 miles outside of Centervillewe saw the first \"Pete's\" sign. “Pete’s Restaurant, Fine Eatin’, TruckersWelcome.” Five more miles, “Eat at Pete’s, Breakfast Served Anytime.” Thenevery three miles. Every two miles. “Friendly Service”. “Golden FriedChicken”.Clean restrooms. Kids under eight eat free.The closer we came to Centerville the more signs we saw about the wondersof you-know-where, and all that money spent on advertising worked. Wegot to Centerville, checked in to a motel, and headed straight to Pete’s.Note to self: ask Pete why “eight”.Maybe you’ve never dined in a David Lynch film, but I have. Ok, notliterally, I came close that day at Pete’s. For starters, you had to be buzzed in.No I’m not making that up. A sign at the door said “Welcome to Pete’s PressBuzzer”. Seriously.

We pressed the buzzer and instead of Allen Funt, a waitress opened thedoor. Rhonda said, “Jus’ set any ol’ where.”We sat in a booth and looked at laminated menus. Old album covers on thewalls. Floyd Cramer. Ferlin Husky. There were some old-timers, guys wholooked like they ate tobacco for breakfast, lunch and dinner. A man, sittingby himself, reading The Wall Street Journal.And bird cages. With stuffed birds inside. Why dead, stuffed birds needcages is unclear.Rhonda came back to the table and said, “Whut sumpin’ kin I git yew.”Want me to translate? Anywhere else in the world that would be, “May Itake your order?” Anywhere. Literally.I remembered the “Breakfast Served Anytime” sign and said, “I want theNumber Two Breakfast, bacon, with biscuits and grits”. Just as I was aboutto ask for a biscuit-catcher, Rhonda said, “Biscuit guy’s off t’day. Rolls. Cornmuffins.”Biscuit guy?My mom shot me a look that said, Don’t.Fine. Whatever. Bring me some of each. Rhonda took my mom’s order, thenmy dad’s. She was gathering up the menus when I remembered I had aquestion.With all the bright-eyed exuberance of youth, I asked: “Where’s Pete?”Crickets. Literally. A hush fell over the room. Rhonda looked at me like I’dsprouted a Hitler mustache.“Pete’s dead, hon”, she said.The Wall Street Journal guy shuffled his paper, loudly.The stuffed, caged birds were silent.A tobacco-eater coughed.The bacon was burnt, the grits were cold, there was a hair in one of thecorn muffins. We shook our heads when Rhonda asked, “Sumpin’ else yewneed?”We waited for our change as the glass-eyed birds looked on. The distance tothe door was like a perp walk.

It rained on the way back, halfway home the sun came out. The sky turned anervous shade of blue. I watched the road go by, thoughts leaping like wetfrogs.It was a day I would remember when I saw “Eraserhead.”I got an A on the paper, but now descriptive powers fail me; capturing thememory of \"Pete’s\" takes more skill than I possess.You stab it and it bleeds. Then bounces like it’s rubber.There are no words for any of it.Literally.

Happy Birthday Hank lovelovelove, Audree