Sunday, August 12, 2012

Exit 178



Everybody has always known our family in Union. My brother and I grew up in the same house here that my mom grew up in. She was born in the same room her parents conceived her in. She fucked the man that we never met when they were sixteen in the same room. In my mind, I still see him as a sixteen year old boy.

Mom would never tell us who he was. When I was about ten I started paying attention to people in town that I thought he might have been based on how  mom would talk to them or how they would treat my brother and I. Personally, I stopped giving a shit when I started getting pussy when I was sixteen.

Like father like son.

Our Grandpa Jack left her the house when he died. Sitting at the dinner table reading the paper and chain smoking while complaining about the government are the only memories I have of him. His hair was white and no one care about his wrinkled face and outdated opinions anymore except mom. He was pretty forgettable. I guess most of us probably are.

It seemed like she loved him, but it makes you wonder if she just kept buying him those cartons of Pall Malls just to speed up the process. It took. He died when I was twelve.

My brother got married right out of highschool. He knocked his girlfriend up senior year. They live the next town over. He got set up with the police department when he got back from Iraq. His days are spent passing out speeding tickets out on U.S. 42 and his nights consist of making sure no one’s beating on their wife when they get home from the bar.

Most nights I typically go out and get drunk and he’s usually waiting on me in the driveway to keep me from beating on my wife when I get home from the bar. You can only fall down the stairs so many times before people start getting suspicious.

She knows I love her though, ever since high school. But that’s what you do in Union. You fall in love in high school and get married. I’ve realized as I get older that it’s not the best decision, but it’s Kentucky. When you’re a kid you don’t listen for shit and there’s nothing better to do except maybe drink more. Seems like the best option.

We’ve never really had much money. Jack didn’t leave us anything when he died, just the house to mom and she barely has a pot to piss in. I work construction in these new developments up by the river when there’s money to be made. There’s not much lately. My wife works at a beauty parlor. She makes more money than me. People always need their hair cut.

I clean my guns every sunday morning. Haven’t really shot them in the last couple of years, but it gives me something to do. A routine. My brother doesn’t like hunting anymore. Says he doesn’t feel like killing something if he doesn’t have to.

I’ve got this Smith & Wesson that I was cleaning a few weeks back. Started day dreaming while I was field stripping it. Thought about all the different things I could do with it, but it just sits in a cabinet locked away. There’s a lot of different options when you start exploring them. Funny where the mind will take you sometimes.