Tattoos

Something I did for the exercise in "On Writing" by Stephen King

So much for a relaxing weekend,  I thought partially blinded by the swirling red, white and blue lights of two ambulances and half a dozen cop cars. The staties, county sheriff, and townies filled the parking lot of the marina along with the DNR, and even the DOT. There were so many bright lights, I had to check my watch to verify it was still the dead of night.  I sat in the floor at the back of an ambulance with the doors swung open. My legs dangled out like I was riding on the tailgate of a pickup back home.

                I knew Shirley, the medic shining a pen light in my eye beckoning me to follow her finger. “Do you see any haze or blurriness?”

I had to think about my response. “Honestly, it’s hard to tell with all these lights flashing”. I didn’t tell her that it was also hard to tell because I had had two  whiskey glasses of Maker’s Mark and a bump on the head.  My face still burned and was tender to the touch. I took that as a good sign. Full thickness burns kill nerve endings and people who go through that don’t feel anything. Not at first, any way. I know that because, I myself am an EMT.  I caught my reflection in the window of one of the open doors. The left side of my face was quite red and it hurt to blink. But, I thought it would be okay in a few days.

I was jarred from my reverie by the calling of “Daddy, Daddy”.

I looked around to see my seven-year-old Munchkin-butt Chrissy running towards me, her Nana and Pap, my parents, trying hard to catch up. I jumped off my perch on the ambulance ran to pick her up into my arms. She started crying, “Daddy, what happened to your face?”

“It’s alright,” I said. “I just got a little burn. I’ll be good as new in no time”. I looked towards my parents, seeing the concern displayed plainly on my mom’s face. My dad, always the stoic was stone faced. But, I knew enough to know he cared, even if he could hold a still veneer over his face.

Shirley, the paramedic came up to me. She spoke quietly so as not to disturb Chrissy who was holding tight to my neck with her face buried on my shoulder. “If I were you, I really would get that eye checked out to make sure she didn’t burn anything there”.

I nodded acknowledgment but said, “I ain’t a-goin’ to no ‘mergency room and sittin’ fer twelve airs to wait for uh eye doctor. I’ll make an appointment in the mornin’” Most of the time, I keep my redneck side under wraps. But, between the aggravation, the terror and the booze, there was no restraining it tonight.

I told my mom and dad to take Chrissy back home. I hadn’t talked to any cops yet, and I had a feeling it was going to be a long night yet. A tall fellow in a Sheriff’s Department uniform came over towards me. He was lanky, about mid-fifties with thinning hair. He smiled politely and extended his hand. “Mr. Duty, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

I read his name plate. “G.H. Monroe”; the sheriff himself. He led me away so, we could talk privately and asked, “do you mind taking a ride to the station with me?”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, I just need to take a statement”. I was a little leery. I knew how things looked. But, I thought if I cooperated fully, this would go smoother. He opened the driver’s side back door of the cruiser and I stepped in, under my own power and wearing no cuffs. “Watch your head,” he said.

 

II

The county sheriff’s office was five minutes away. He parked and opened the cruiser door. I stepped out with a groan. “You okay?” he asked.

“Just old,” I said. He chuckled.

We walked up the steps to the sheriff’s office. I was a little amused when he unlocked the door. I thought there must be nobody here at night. But, the door opened into a small office with one deputy sitting with his feet propped up on a desk. He was watching videos on Youtube, that although they were not technically pornographic, didn’t miss it by much.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” the Sheriff asked me.

“Please,” I said. He gestured to a coffee pot and stack of Styrofoam cups sitting on a table next to a small, brown dorm fridge.

“Creamer’s in the fridge”.

“Thanks”. I opened the fridge, and in the door sat a small carton of Land O Lakes half & half. Well there is one pleasant thing to come out of this night. I got a Styrofoam cup. I do this thing where I pour a little creamer into the bottom of the cup first. Then, I add a packet of sugar. Then, finally I add the coffee. I pour pulling the cup from the pot a little at time like a bartender pouring a beer for that perfect head. The sheriff said, “I ain’t never seen nobody pour coffee that way”.

“It’s my ritual,” I said. He just smiled. He opened a door leading into a hallway and gestured for me to go through. “First room on the right,” he said.

I stepped into a police interrogation room like those on TV; complete with a two-way mirror and a camcorder on a tripod. He motioned for me to sit.

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“Do you want one?”

“That depends. Are you charging me with a crime?”

“No. Not yet”.

“Not yet?”

“Look, Mr. Du---Do you mind if I call you ‘Mike’?”

“Not at all”.

“Look, Mike, your ex-wife shows up strangled on your boat; and you say it was self defense. But, I gotta make sure”.

I leaned back in my chair trying to look relaxed. I spread my hands in a gesture of understanding.

“Did you also know, I had a restraining order against my ex-wife and she just escaped from a nut house this morning?”

“Yep. And I also know she once accused you of molesting your own daughter and that you made threats against the D.A. and some police officers”

I almost came out of my chair. “Now wait a damned minute. You know as well as I do, when it comes to crimes like that, it’s like the Salem Witch Trials around here. It doesn’t matter if the jury finds you not guilty. People already got you convicted and are ready to hang you whether you did it or not”. I was talking so fast, I was rambling. But, I didn’t care. “I wasn’t afraid of a jury conviction or going to prison. ‘cuz I knew there was no evidence cuz I knew I didn’t do nothin’. What I was afraid of is once my name was put in the papers in connection with something like that, I’d lose my job, my reputation, my home and everything, without a fair shake. Hell, I’d a-been better off going to the can fer somethin’ I didn’t do than to be found not guilty and released. So, yeah, I threatened ‘em. I told ‘em that if they got somethin’ put in the paper that was libelous, I told ‘em I’d own this goddamned county. I told ‘em I’d sue them fer so much it’d make the goddamned national deficit look like a goddamned three dollar parking ticket”. Winded, I slinked back into my chair. The sheriff gave me a sympathetic look and offered the same hand-spread gesture I had given him a few minutes ago.

“So, why don’t you tell me what happened,” he said. He sipped his coffee and I noticed the Marine Corps tattoo peeking out from the end of his shirt sleeve. I looked at my half-burnt face in the mirror and I couldn’t help but bust out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I just noticed your tattoo. A young man I work with came to work sporting a new tattoo the other day and I told him that tattoos were like wives. Once you get one, you’re stuck with it for life. And even if you don’t want it anymore, it’s painful and expensive to get rid of, and it’s gonna leave a mark”.

The sheriff snorted then broke into a good chuckle and a broad grin. I told him my story.

III

“When Kimmie and I first married, it was everything a man could want. The sex was great. She was my best friend, and I was on top of the world. She always wore this perfume”.   I chuckled. “It always made me hungry when she wore it because I thought she smelled like cookies baking. It was called Warm Vanilla Sugar. 

After Chrissy was born, things changed. At first, I thought it was post-partum depression. But, it lasted a long time. She started accusing me of cheating. She even started to lash out at me physically. She slapped me a couple times, and I let it go, until one night she just lit into me and would not let up. So, I grabbed her and held onto her until she quit flailing. She begged my forgiveness. But, I made her promise to go see a shrink.

She went to therapy a couple times, then quit. Said she didn’t like the shrink. So, I told her to get another one. She said she didn’t need therapy. Things seemed to be getting back on an even keel. I came home from work one evening and she was supposed to be giving Chrissy a bath. She was holding Chrissy’s head under water and Chrissy was flailing trying to get air. Thank God, I got home when I did. I pulled Kim away and yanked Chrissy out of the bathtub. I didn’t want to file criminal charges. But, I needed to get my daughter away from her. When I filed for divorce and told the judge what she did, Kim accused me of molesting Chrissy”.

“So, what about today?” the sheriff asked me.

“Since the divorce and Kim’s ‘going away’, things have been hard on us. My folks have been offering to come up and take care of the baby”.  (She’s seven. But, we still refer to her as my baby). “Mom suggested they would come up and give me some time to myself. I always wanted a houseboat and thought I would have to wait until I retired. But, I saw this 2000 model Gibson houseboat advertised in the Trader’s Guide.  I couldn’t believe how little the guy was asking for it. But, he inherited it from his dad who had just passed away and they were so in debt, he just wanted money quick. It needed a little work. So, I fixed her up and I found a girl who could paint  some fancy calligraphy on the bow and I had her write ‘Miss Cora’"after my mamaw on the bow.

So, anyway, my folks were planning on coming up this weekend. I work over at Worthington, and you know we have that odd work schedule. Four on four off, twelve hour shifts. Friday was a training day. You know we have our own on-site fire brigade and rescue teams”.

I waited for the sheriff to nod.

“So,  the other day---s**t”. I looked at the clock. It was only a couple minutes past two. “What day is it?” I asked. When the sheriff looked at the clock he said, “right now, it is officially Saturday morning”. Things had been so crazy I had lost track of the fact that all this had happened in the course of a single day--actually, less than a 24 hour period

“So, earlier today,” I continued, “I had Confined Space Rescue training. We have to do a lot of rope work. Figure eights, clove hitches, butterfly knots, bowline-on-a-bight. That sort of thing. So the instructor hands out these bights of rope for everybody to work with on their knots. He let us keep the ropes, so I dropped it in my duffle bag with some cigars my buddy Bobby James gave me.  I keep a change of clothes for work and some books and stuff in this duffle bag I always carry to work”.

“Who was the instructor?”

“David Gage. He’s the assistant fire chief over in Buckley”.

The sheriff nodded.

“So, anyway, I have to go in to work for half a day, and I’m planning a weekend. My folks are gonna keep the baby. I’ve got my fishing rods and a cooler in my truck and my cigars and this bight of rope in my duffle bag.  Right after work, I head out, buy some steaks, some whiskey, some bait, and some other groceries and I go to my boat.

I load everything into my fridge and I come back out and check the motors. I’ve got twin Evinrude outboards. I’m used to smelling gas and oil. But, I notice something smells a little different.

You know, sometimes some of the girls I work with will wear a perfume or maybe use a soap or a deodorant that just smells like cookies are baking. I didn’t think much of it, but I smelled something like that mixed in with the oil and gas smell of my Evinrudes.

So, I pull up anchor and take my line off the pier and shove off for the middle of the lake. I’m having a quiet night, minding my own business and I drop anchor over on the north side of the dam and I set up two poles for cat fishing”.

“I gotta be honest with you,” I told the sheriff.

“What’s that?”

“I actually hate fishing”.

He laughed.

“I mean it’s okay, of course if you’re reeling ‘em in. But, I get bored, sitting there waiting to get a bite. So, I set up two poles, and I sit there with this bight of rope working figure eights in between sips of bourbon while I’m watching the tips of my poles”

I brought some cheesecake with me. And some instant coffee. Since I live pretty much alone, there’s rarely any reason for me to make a full pot of coffee. So, on my boat, I have this little tea kettle. I boil hot water, and pour it in some instant coffee.

 I walked into my galley"that’s what we call the kitchen on a boat. But, I guess you knew that considering you were a Marine.  I laid my bight of rope on the dining table. My water’s a-boilin’ and I smell that smell again. Then I hear footsteps. I turn around, and there she is. Hands on hips.

She starts cussing me and accusing me. She lunges toward me, and I knock her back. She grabs a knife from the knife block on the counter. Luckily, I grab her arm and we’re struggling.

The tea kettle whistles. She turns and breaks free of me. She slings the kettle at me, and that’s how I got this".  I traced the burn outline on my face. "We wrestle for a good while. One of us knocked over the table. Somehow, I fall and she’s on top of me, coming at me with a knife again. The only thing I got is that little bight of rope. So, yeah, I put it up and pressed it against her throat as I was holding her back. She’s pushing hard trying to get to me, and I’m pushing hard trying to hold her back. So, yeah I twisted the rope and choked her. I just wanted to make her pass out. I swear to God. But, she clawed at it with one hand, and kept trying to stab me with the other. She collapsed. I tossed the knife out of the kitchen and out toward the stern, just in case she woke up decided to kill me while I was trying to save her life.

I honestly tried to resuscitate her, but I think I damaged her windpipe. I couldn’t get any air to go in. Look, if I had honestly intended to kill my ex, at that point I could have dumped her body in the lake, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. I called 911 on my cell and took the boat back to the dock. That’s what happened”.

“Okay, I believe you,” the sheriff said. I have to file a report with the District Attorney. But, I don’t anticipate he will want to file charges. Just don’t leave town until further notice. I’ll have the deputy take you back to your truck. You’re free to go”.

I thanked the sheriff and I looked at the clock. It was a quarter past three. There was going to be no fishing, no rest, and no quiet this weekend. Then, I looked at my face in the mirror. I was right. She was going to leave a scar. I think I'll take Shirley's advice and go have that eye looked at in the morning.

 

 

Reviews

[Creepy Swine Guy]

Nice! ... But not realistic. If that sheriff was who you say he was, he'd have taken you out for a steak and a beer [He has a history too you know]. Saw a few tiny things I'd tweak, but this is all about the story, and the story was excellent. I don't remember if I did that exercise when I first listened to "On Writing" or not. You did a great job with it.