COMMITMENT By William Blick

TKnC welcomes back William with his...

Commitment

Jimmy Jensen was looking forward to meeting Cathy Calloway’s family like he was looking forward to a bad case of the gout. The two had been dating for a year and Jimmy knew this would eventually happen when they got “serious.”

            Cathy was seven years his junior and Jensen was 35. He was looking to settle down, raise a family. He had enough of his late night partying and usual games of phone tag with women he encountered throughout the evenings. Oh, what a wretched existence singleness is.

            Cathy was a relatively emotionally stable girl from an upstanding family as far he knew. He hadn’t met the family yet and then Sunday came around. Time for meatballs and Sunday gravy and football. And talks with Big Daddy Calloway and Cathy’s two brothers and selected spouses.

            When Jensen entered the house he smelt the aroma of tomato sauce. The men were on the couch cheering their team. The women were hovered around the sauce pot talking.

            “Oh, here they are,” said Mrs. Calloway, a robust and full-bodied woman. She embraced Jensen. Mr. Calloway got up from the couch and reached over to shake Jensen’s hand.

            “Jimmy,” said Jensen, “it’s nice to meet you Mr. Calloway.”

            “Likewise. Cathy has told us so much about you.”

            “Thanks,” said Jensen.

            Methodically and systematically Jensen made his way down the line. He noticed something collectively about all the people he had met. They were so nice and ordinary.

Not like the demonized ogres he fantasized about them being. A brother who is a mammoth baboon and worked in a chop shop. A father overbearing and judgmental. A neurotic mother. These people were way too nice and well adjusted to be those characters he conjured up.

            They had spaghetti and meatballs. Garlic bread. Red Wine. Caesar salad with dressing made from scratch. The conversation was light and fluffy. They talked of sports. Of Jimmy’s teaching the 9^th grade at St. Thomas’s. They talked of Cathy being transferred to the eighth grade and how she much preferred the younger grades.

            They talked about how Cathy had a crush on Jimmy when he first started at the school. They talked movies. Black Swan. The King’s Speech. They talked of Oscar winners.  Jimmy noticed something when the peach melba was served for the dessert. He noticed how welcoming and wholesome Cathy’s family were. How much they made him feel at home.

            Needless to say, Jimmy’s mind was at ease.

            “Hal,” said Mrs. Calloway to her husband, “I think it is time.”

            “Time. Already?” said Mr. Calloway.

            “Oh, Dad can’t we forget that silly tradition just once?” said Cathy.

            Mr. Calloway said, “Now Cathy, you know we can’t do that.” Cathy’s mom left and came back from the kitchen. Jensen saw a glint of metal from the corner of his eye. To his horror and confirming his split-second suspicions, Cathy’s mom placed a small butcher’s meat-clever and a small cutting board in front of Mr. Calloway.

            “Time to gather round,” said Cathy’s dad. The brothers and sister-in-laws excitedly stood around Jensen. Jensen’s heart beat fast.

            “The first one doesn’t even hurt,” said Ellen, the youngest son, Joey’s wife.

            “Just wrap a towel round it and go sit somewhere until the pain leaves,” said Marion the first son, Tommy’s wife.

            “It’s the only way to be sure,” said Mr. Calloway, “a blood oath and offering to this family.”

            Jensen sat with his mouth agape and his expression aghast. His heart beat a mile a minute. He thought of blood, the pain, the agony. Then he thought of the commitment, the love he had for Cathy. His eyes scanned the crowded, smiling faces of the Calloways. They stood there nodding in slow motion.

            “Now c’mon, Jimmy,” said Mr. Calloway, “Don’t let us down,” as he pushed the cutting block toward him.

            In an instant, it was over. The hot blood and bone hacked off and a bit of minor spurting. He grabbed the towel and retched in pain. He clenched his eyes shut in agony.

He nearly passed out.

            When the pain subsided a bit and the clapping and comments came to a halt, Jimmy took a moment to survey his surroundings. His blurred vision returned.

            Ellen held her hand up, “Welcome to the Calloways, Jimmy. We are looking to more future commitments as you and Cathy have children and buy a house.  Ellen and Marion had two fingers left on their right hand.

            Mrs. Calloway put the jar on the table. Like little Gherkin pickles, the fingers floated around in the liquid.

MY GREATEST HITS - by William Blick

TKnC welcomes Bill...

MY GREATEST HITS

Green grass and high tides forever. The lines of the highway drift in and out of my view as the rain is driving down. What’s that racket in the back? I wish she’d shut up and quit making all that racket. I’m listening to The Outlaws, who featured not one, not two, but THREE guitarists. And I’m going good. Almost to the state line. Texas. Nothing for miles out on this highway. Not a smokey in sight. And I’m mesmerized.

Things would have worked out differently if she would’ve just listened to what I said. If she did what she was told, we wouldn’t be in what I would like to call a “situation”. There’s an occasional rest stop and a diner and a motel. I’ve gotta keep moving. If I show you a place where stories all come true, would you let me in to see what’s really you. Goddamn genius! There she goes again.

I didn’t kill her. I found her that way, I swear. In fact, she’s not even dead. She’s just a little “impaired. Alright, I didn’t find her that way. I bashed her in the head with the ashtray made of marble stone. It had to hurt. She started to bleed profusely. I didn’t want to hurt her. Now I don’t know what to do. Finish the job? I have to get rid of her? Somewhere? Where? It will come to me.

Then there was her boss. The guy she was a little too friendly with and I knew their relationship was more than just professional. Did I catch them? No. I just know things. Like second sight. Like Telekinesis. I know when someone is trying to put one over on me. I know when they want to make me look like jerk. And if it’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s looking like a jerk. No one’s gonna make me look like a jerk. So I got rid of him. He was easy. But I won’t tell you about that.

And now it’s Midnight Rambler. Oh don’t do that. Oh don’t do that. You heard about the ? honey it’s not one of those. The music loud. I like it loud. Suddenly, lights flickering from behind me in the distance.

“Is there a problem officer?” I ask.

“License and registration,” the young officer says authoritatively.

But it’s too late because she starts banging in the trunk. I put two between the copper’s eyes. There we are the two of us...I'm sorry three of us… out on the that Texas highway. Oops. Now what do I do?

I open the trunk, but you see I’m prepared. She screams, but they are muffled by the gag. I throw the copper in on top of her. She’s squirming. Oh shit. What do I do? How do I take care this? I don’t want to finish the job. I mean it was true love with me and her. Right from the beginning. And love transcends all.

Tuesday’s gone, now. I continue my trek through the night. The abandoned roads of Texas. Then my stomach starts to the growl. I’m leaving my woman left alone. The guitar solo. Wah, wah! Train roll on. Damn who ever made this tape was a genius. It’s one of those “mixed tapes”. It basically contains all of my greatest hits. I sure love music. Music loves you when no one else does. Music never let’s you down when women do. Music would never cheat on you.

I stop at Kenny’s Burger Stop. She’s not banging so much now. I guess that dead weight on top of her. Slowed her down. The rains are coming down now. I bite into the burger. There is just me and an old drunk at the end and Marge, the waitress, who’s popping her gum and listening to Perry Como. How does she listen to that shit? And in the back’s Ed who’s flipping the burger. I light up a smoke. I stare out the window to the road. Into the blackness of night. I know I’m gonna pay for my sins. I may even fry. We all get what’s coming to us.

Back on the road again. The tape is playing still. One Way Out. Allman Brothers. She hasn’t banged around in while. Maybe she finished the job and keeled over. I see a hippy hitchhiker in the distance. What’s he doing out in this rain? Can’t let a man suffer. If he acts up, I will carve him up with this here blade in between my legs. It’s as simple as that. I need some company to keep me awake.

I pull over. Roll down the window.

“Hop in,” I says.

“Thanks.”

One way out babe. Lord I just can’t go out that door.

“Alright,” the young man says as I light a smoke.

“You dig the Allmans?” I say.

“I used to be a roadie,” he says.

God saw fit to put this man in my path. Goddamn. A roadie. Carrying Duane’s guitars. Travelling all over the states. Every back alley. Roadside. Diner. Bar. Gin joint. Juke Joint. Dance Hall. Pool Hall. Then she starts again in the back. I try to turn up the radio. But the kid notices.

“There’s a noise in your trunk,” says the kid.

“Really I don’t hear it,” I say.

He turns down the radio and you can hear an audible scream. Goddamn it! She must’ve gotten the muzzle off. So I pull to the side of the road. I stare at the kid. He’s looking at me all bug-eyed. She’s screaming in the back. “Help me!” He tries to open the door. I lock the door. Child locks. I just smile at him. I’ve got to finish the job. Roadie or no Roadie. Then silence from the trunk.

“Don’t beg me for your life. I’m going to kill you. It’s as simple as that. I know you were a roadie for one of the greatest rock bands alive, but I’m going to kill you anyhow,” I explain. Always good to explain to them.

Up ahead in the distance. I see a shimmering light. I can’t take any chances. I’m not going to kill you here. The kid’s scared. I can tell. If it’s one thing I can tell it’s fear. I smell fear. So I drive down the highway a ways. Then there’s those flickering lights. I hope they don’t recognize me from that copper back in Texarkana. That was a ways back.

“Kid, you say one word and I kill you, the cop, that bitch in the trunk. I ain’t afraid to die. Are you?” I explain further and then, “Is there a problem officer,” I say as I roll down the window.

“How you folks doin tonight? License and registration,” he says in his cop speak.

“Just fine. What can I help you with?” I say all calm and cool.

“You got a tail light out,” he says.

“Oh, yeah. Been meaning to get that fixed.” I swear if that bitch starts up I’m gonna get nasty.

“Where you boys headed?”

“California.”

“That’s a ways.”

“Is that all, officer?”

Then he lets me have it and says, “You wouldn’t have been in Texarakana early last night?”

“No sir,” I say.

"No sir,” the kid says.

“I tell you what. Why don’t you step out of the car?”

I open the door. Then she starts screaming. The officer freezes. He withdraws his gun and shouts, “Put your hands in the air!”

I do it.

“Now don’t get excited,” I say. He has the gun on me then he goes over to the trunk. “ Open it!” says the guy, really pissed now. He takes the keys and goes over to the trunk and open it. There is a ripe smell emanating from it.

“Geezus! Get down on the ground! Now motherfucker!” shouts the cop.

I do what I’m told…..All the while Duane Allman’s guitar is blasting away.

“Bury your fucking head in the ground I said, boy!”

So I done it. Jeesus. He puts his knee in my back and cuffs me with cold steel. “You too, boy!” He says to the hippy and slaps some cuffs on him.

“I just was hitching. I didn’t know nothing. He was gonna kill me. I swear,” offers the Kid.

“Shut the fuck up! I got my eye on you, boy.” He’s going to radio for backup.

“Yeah, I got two perps, two bodies in the trunk. One still alive. She’s been in there for while. Yeah. The other. A dead cop. Texarkana badge. Yup, ” says the officer.

“Just relax ma’m. I’ll cut you loose. Take a breath, you're safe. This scum can’t hurt you any more.”

You see I never wanted to hurt her. Women can hurt you without hurting you. You know what I mean? No one is making a jerk out of me! I couldn’t let her make a jerk out of me. You see you’ve got to look to the music. The classics. Blues. Rock and Roll. Guitar and Riffs. Heartbreak and emotion. That tape was one of the greatest tapes I’ve ever heard and that was one of the best road trips I’ve ever taken. Now they’re gonna haul my ass in. I’m gonna fry. Never!

So I take a chunk out of his ankle. He hits me with the pistol. But the pistol falls out of his hand. I scramble for it. Soon there are a whole mess of cops and they’re on me. They beat me with clubs, guns, fists, boots. Just when they think they got me, I get hold of one of their pistols.

You see music is life-saving. Redemptive. It may be the only real thing we can call our own. That is our individual emotions around music. When the music is over, life becomes stagnant and rotten like that cop that was in my trunk. Who wants to live like that. Not me. I try to fire the pistol. But it’s awkward cause I got it behind my back on account of the cuffs.

It’s too late. It’s too late and I know it. They’ve had enough. I see the one boy in blue out the corner of my eye. The music is over. The tape is over. No more blues, sweat, heartbreak, disillusionment, fear, inferiority, insecurity. No more of anything ever.

The bullet enters my temple. Just before the blackness, I hear Freddy Mercury screaming, “I Want it All!” I want it all, but I’ll settle for nothing. Then blackness.


BIO:
William 'Bill' Blick holds a master’s degree in English Literature and is pursuing a degree in Library Science from Queens College. He currently teaches research writing online. His work can be seen in The Pulp Pusher, Underground Voices, Alien Skin,, Bewildering Stories, Scribal Tales, Inscribed, Revisions, Seven Seas, Straitjackets Magazine. His film criticism can be seen at SensesofCinema.com.