that thing i do where I take stuff and make stuff but can't think of titles
The midday sun hangs over J.D. like a vulture, and no matter which way he turns, he can't seem to keep it out of his eyes. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and as he swipes at his damp neck, feels a bit of dead skin peel. Replacing the rag, he picks off the loose piece of skin. The new flesh beneath it is so simultaneously raw and cooked that the nerves don't even register the feeling as pain, just a dull throb that will eventually give way to migraine.
Something about hunting always soothes him when things get tense, but he's not sure which part, the ritual, the concentration, maybe the silence. Jed only hunts when he's nervous, and he only gets nervous about money. When Jed's hunting, he's hunting for food, and if Jed's hunting, he probably needs it. Today hasn't been too successful, though. That same overbearing sun that led to the dry crop this year started off a wave of death through the desperate, local wildlife and so far today he's seen more dead animals than live ones, none of them recent and none of them edible.
As Jed sets down for a sip of water from his horn and a gulp of bourbon from his flask, he sees a twitch in a nearby bush, followed by a stillness, a black rabbit or a squirrel. It saw him before he saw it, so he would have to plan his shot carefully. He made slits of his eyes and aimed for the weighty part of shadow between the branches, the part that wasn't moving as the wind swept through it. A loud crack tore through the afternoon as he fired into the brush, then the rustling and cracking of dry twigs and the soft th-thap of a rabbit hopping off through loose dirt, hopefully injured, hopefully injured at least, with a trail of blood leading to the spot where it finally gives up.
His mind starts to drift as he sets down again for another drink. A fantasy of tracking the rabbit. He shakes off the daydream as a confusing sound startles him, a low, muffled bass, like a bubble escaping a pool of water, like a stopped drain kicking in. A thick spurt of mud farts up out of the dirt, a steady flow becoming a small pond as it races at Jed's legs with a terrible smell.
Oil.
Oil! Probably not, but maybe. There's an old billboard near the north entrance to town. "Where natural petroleum made our dreams come true.!" This wasn't the first time someone found oil in Breckidge County. The first time was a fluke, just a small well that dried up in a year. The oil companies and the government spent another decade drilling holes all over town before giving up, but they never tried up in the hills where Jed's property stood. Maybe this was the answer to his prayers. Maybe this would get his nephew, who he'd raised like his own son, back from Iraq. Maybe this would usher in a new era of prosperity for the small town, or for his small family at least.
Maybe, but probably not. Maybe it was just a gas line or something. At this point it didn't matter if it was a dumb accident or a miracle. Either way it was unsafe, and he would have to get his family out of the house before he could do anything else. When he got to a safe enough distance where he could light up a cigarette, he could figure out a plan. Hi dug past the rag in his pocket for the emergency phone and dialed up the house.
"Ellie, I want you to gather up Duke and your grandmother, pack some bags for yourselves and go over to your Aunt Pearl's. I want you to stay there tonight. Hurry, drop what you're doing and I'll call you later to explain."
Still retreating slowly from the sludge, Jed choked up his grip on his rifle, turned around and headed for his truck. He called his daughter from a diner down the hill. Pearl didn't sound pleased to hear from him. Maybe she'd change her tune if she found out he was rich, and the both of them could see just how quickly she makes an aboutface. He wasn't listening to himself or his daughter talking, he was mostly thinking about that sweet moment where. Ellie says something about taking some money from his dresser, he saya good. He's trying to be vague, so she doesn't tip off her aunt before he gets a chance. The truckers and waitresses that occupy the counter at all hours eye him strangely, probably the dirty hunting clothes and rifle sitting next to him at his booth. He didn't think to change, not that he would've had time to.
After a few coffees, and some Drum he feels sharp. He calls the non-emergency line and the guy on the other end sounds as annoyed as he is excited. Back when oil was all the town could think of, the phonelines lit up with false alarms and each time everyone stopped what they were doing because they all thought they were going to be rich and every time they found out that it wasn't going to happen, the town got a little more unpleasant to live in for a few weeks after. He gave the man his cellular number and name told them he'd probably be staying at the Skyward.
The Skyward didn't actually have phones in their rooms, though, as the Skyward was the worst motel in town. The rooms were all filthy and there were only two shower stalls for the whole place, which were usually occupied by truckers who took whores there. Jed's room had two twin bedframes pushed together to make a queen but they weren't the same height. The room had no television and when Jed opened the door, a palmetto roach the size of a dinner plate flew out, but it was two dollars a night.
By midnight, Jed still couldn't sleep. He would keep thinking about the oil and wondering what the odds were that this might be real and then his mind would travel off on tangents. Jed was staring at the ceiling, thinking about one of his old neighbors, a girl he watched grow up into one of those trucker whores that frequented the place. Maybe if he saw her, they could get breakfast or coffee together. That would be nice.
As he starts to drift towards sleep again, a warped and computery version of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" starts playing in his pocket. It takes a second for his weary brain to acknowledge that his phone is ringing.
He was greeted robotically by an official sounding man who talked with a strange lack of any kind of accent whatsoever. Jed kind of meanders around an explanation of how exactly to get from his house to the spot where he had shot at the rabbit, and the man tells him that an inspector should check the place out by morning and to expect a call around midday.
Jed drifted off to sleep, smiling and thinking about money. The differentness of the bed brought weird dreams, that started out as a review of the important events of his life. It was like what people say about near death experiences where everything just flashes before your eyes. There were all the baseball games he'd played in school, and his time in the service. The dance where he met his wife, her death, and that of his parents. The day his Dad's old bloodhound Saint gave birth and he named one of the puppies Duke. There were all the football games and wrestling matches his big nephew Jethro had competed in, and the birth of his daughter. Then he started to see images of the events of his life that hadn't happened yet. He signs a bunch of papers at a bank, holding his daughter's hand. He smiles for cameras as the house he grew up in is torn down for oil rigs and sees his picture in the paper. He calls Pearl a bitch under his breath as he waves goodbye for the last time. He loads his dog and his family into the truck with a couple of scrapbooks and heirlooms and drives straight to California. On either side of him on the road, he sees that the other cars aren't cars at all but giant car-sized roaches with people in business suits riding on top. More banks, where they get their asses kissed as they are condescended to, like contemptible Gods. His nephew dicking around with a teller, asking that ten thousand dollars be broken down from hundreds to fifties, fifties to tens, tens to fives, and then fives to ones.
I'm sorry, Sir, but we just can't give you ten thousand one dollar bills.
Then give it to me in hundreds again! and as they replace the large pile, which spills out over the desk, with one small enough to fit in a briefcase.
I figured it out, Uncle Jed. The more money you have, the smaller the pile!
He buys tailored suits for himself and has his beard trimmed. He goes on dates where he talks gibberish to faceless women. He sees Jethro and Ellie May drunk, on television, and people are laughing. The house fills with unreputable people. Jethro gets shot and robbed, married and divorced. His smile fades into something bitter. Ellie May is crying and her makeup is smeared, her nose is bleeding and she looks older than she should. She keeps getting arrested, but never goes to jail. She's killing herself with sex and drugs and he sees himself well-dressed and powerful-looking but also looking powerless to try and help her. There are people outside of the house, looking in. They speak gibberish in phony voices that have no real accent, like they've all filed them away, and just like the people on the television and all the people his nephew and daughter have brought into the house, they are laughing.
Jed wakes up hot and damp. The sun isn't up yet but he's had enough. He takes the unoccupied shower, a stain box with no ceiling, trying to ignore the pounds and clangs and screams of what is hopefully violent sex and not just plain violence in the adjacent stall.
With the two dollars he gave to the kid at the desk, he had just enough left for coffee, so he goes back to the diner, where suddenly his money is useless. Word has gotten around about the oil and the inspector and everyone is his best friend.
A dour waitress with deep laugh lines that bely and define a face that looks like it has never once cracked a smile, forces one as she calls him, sweetly, "Sugar", which she pronounces more like Shuggah. He drinks his coffee slowly, and helps himself to a stack of pancakes and some ham on the bone.
It's about eight when his phone rings.
"Is this Jedediah Clampett? Exciting news, Sir. Is there a place where we can meet? I'll be bringing by papers to sign. If you have an attorney, you might want him present."
The phone call to Pearl was disappointing. She greeted him warmly and called him Darling. She was fine with the meeting taking place at her house. Just happy to help.
The family was mismatched when the man arrived. Jed had groomed himself but he Ellie never thought to bring a change of clothes for him so he was still dressed in his hunting gear. Ellie wore tight clothes that showed off her figure a bit too much, but they were the style. Granny wore a gown that hung off her like a tent, and Pearl came out studded in her Sunday best. Everyone had a million dollar shit-eater plasterd across their face. It was really happening.
The man looked like Jed thought he would. A white teeth and a perfect haircut, perfumed in a black suit and shined shoes. Another man, similarly dressed, accompanied him.
"You have oil on your property. You and your neighbors, actually. With a deposit this large it covers a fairly large portion of the hills. Unfortunately the hills are terrible terrain for drilling, which is why we never did it before. We're actually going to have to terraform the area, meaning chopping off as much of the hill as we can and then using the soil to fill in the gaps between it."
Everyone nodded excitedly, pretending to be interested. They were just about ready to burst waiting for the part about the money.
"Now before you get ready to go to Hollywood, I'm gonna have to let you down, no one is getting rich off of this."
It was as if someone had stuck a knife in their pancreas. It was as if they'd been spat on. It was as if the man had exhumed Rose Ellen, beloved wife and sister and mother and daughter-in-law and called her a cunt. It was God stomping on their dreams. For Jed, it was particularly bad, because there was shame in it. His poverty, that was no different than it had been the day before, was now warped into something worse. It was more of a mixed bag for Pearl, who knew that she would have had a piece of that money if it had come to Jed, there was still vindication in her brother-in-law's continued failure.
"I'm sorry now, that's not entirely true. The town will become a great deal wealthier, as will the nation, but there's good news for you as well. You see, as we change the landscape to aid us in continued drilling and pumping, everyone is going to have to move. Now here you have two options, one is that you accept a cash payment of the approximate value of your property, although I will admit that it's pretty low. The other is the one I would recommend to you though, the city has offered to raze the old property on the old Ridgeway businessdistrict, which I've been told is all vacant and dehabilitated at this point in time."
"Yeah, since the last time they found oil."
"Yes, I've been informed of that situation. Rather unfortunate for everyone involved, but hopefully this will make it up to everyone. You see, we're offering to build new houses for you and all of the other hill residents. Now these will be single family homes with all the modern amenities. Now no offense but these homes will be a lot prettier and a lot nicer then your current residences, but I also have to tell you that the lots are smaller. Now I understand that the majority of the hill residents are subsistence farmers, and while there is no suitable land available to offer, we can offer you a yearly stipend for as long as you live at the new residence. These stipends are available only to those 18-and-over who are currently living in the hills, but they are non-transferrable and they will apply for any future children born to any hill residents once their houses have been demolished. What do you think."
Jed answered the question with a smile. His mind had drifted off once again. One day he's shooting at rabbits and squirrels to feed his daughter and the next, well, he wasn't rich and he wasn't going to be everyone's best friend, but he was retired. He wouldn't have to deal with all the pitfalls of wealth, all that sin and temptation, and neither would his children. The town would be better off, and maybe the nation wouldn't need his nephew out in Iraq, getting shot at by towelheads in an oil war. The displeasure showed on Pearl's face. She probably wasn't looking at the big picture like Jed was. She probably hadn't made the connection any of this had to her getting her son back, but her mind didn't work like Jed's, and that's one of the things she didn't like about him. Now, he'd be living at least as well as her, and a lot closer, but at least neither one of them would have to deal with each other outside of family stuff. Jed's smile widened, as he thought of how Pearl treating him kindly was scarier than anything in his dream the night before. This was probably the best disappointment he would ever have.
Something about hunting always soothes him when things get tense, but he's not sure which part, the ritual, the concentration, maybe the silence. Jed only hunts when he's nervous, and he only gets nervous about money. When Jed's hunting, he's hunting for food, and if Jed's hunting, he probably needs it. Today hasn't been too successful, though. That same overbearing sun that led to the dry crop this year started off a wave of death through the desperate, local wildlife and so far today he's seen more dead animals than live ones, none of them recent and none of them edible.
As Jed sets down for a sip of water from his horn and a gulp of bourbon from his flask, he sees a twitch in a nearby bush, followed by a stillness, a black rabbit or a squirrel. It saw him before he saw it, so he would have to plan his shot carefully. He made slits of his eyes and aimed for the weighty part of shadow between the branches, the part that wasn't moving as the wind swept through it. A loud crack tore through the afternoon as he fired into the brush, then the rustling and cracking of dry twigs and the soft th-thap of a rabbit hopping off through loose dirt, hopefully injured, hopefully injured at least, with a trail of blood leading to the spot where it finally gives up.
His mind starts to drift as he sets down again for another drink. A fantasy of tracking the rabbit. He shakes off the daydream as a confusing sound startles him, a low, muffled bass, like a bubble escaping a pool of water, like a stopped drain kicking in. A thick spurt of mud farts up out of the dirt, a steady flow becoming a small pond as it races at Jed's legs with a terrible smell.
Oil.
Oil! Probably not, but maybe. There's an old billboard near the north entrance to town. "Where natural petroleum made our dreams come true.!" This wasn't the first time someone found oil in Breckidge County. The first time was a fluke, just a small well that dried up in a year. The oil companies and the government spent another decade drilling holes all over town before giving up, but they never tried up in the hills where Jed's property stood. Maybe this was the answer to his prayers. Maybe this would get his nephew, who he'd raised like his own son, back from Iraq. Maybe this would usher in a new era of prosperity for the small town, or for his small family at least.
Maybe, but probably not. Maybe it was just a gas line or something. At this point it didn't matter if it was a dumb accident or a miracle. Either way it was unsafe, and he would have to get his family out of the house before he could do anything else. When he got to a safe enough distance where he could light up a cigarette, he could figure out a plan. Hi dug past the rag in his pocket for the emergency phone and dialed up the house.
"Ellie, I want you to gather up Duke and your grandmother, pack some bags for yourselves and go over to your Aunt Pearl's. I want you to stay there tonight. Hurry, drop what you're doing and I'll call you later to explain."
Still retreating slowly from the sludge, Jed choked up his grip on his rifle, turned around and headed for his truck. He called his daughter from a diner down the hill. Pearl didn't sound pleased to hear from him. Maybe she'd change her tune if she found out he was rich, and the both of them could see just how quickly she makes an aboutface. He wasn't listening to himself or his daughter talking, he was mostly thinking about that sweet moment where. Ellie says something about taking some money from his dresser, he saya good. He's trying to be vague, so she doesn't tip off her aunt before he gets a chance. The truckers and waitresses that occupy the counter at all hours eye him strangely, probably the dirty hunting clothes and rifle sitting next to him at his booth. He didn't think to change, not that he would've had time to.
After a few coffees, and some Drum he feels sharp. He calls the non-emergency line and the guy on the other end sounds as annoyed as he is excited. Back when oil was all the town could think of, the phonelines lit up with false alarms and each time everyone stopped what they were doing because they all thought they were going to be rich and every time they found out that it wasn't going to happen, the town got a little more unpleasant to live in for a few weeks after. He gave the man his cellular number and name told them he'd probably be staying at the Skyward.
The Skyward didn't actually have phones in their rooms, though, as the Skyward was the worst motel in town. The rooms were all filthy and there were only two shower stalls for the whole place, which were usually occupied by truckers who took whores there. Jed's room had two twin bedframes pushed together to make a queen but they weren't the same height. The room had no television and when Jed opened the door, a palmetto roach the size of a dinner plate flew out, but it was two dollars a night.
By midnight, Jed still couldn't sleep. He would keep thinking about the oil and wondering what the odds were that this might be real and then his mind would travel off on tangents. Jed was staring at the ceiling, thinking about one of his old neighbors, a girl he watched grow up into one of those trucker whores that frequented the place. Maybe if he saw her, they could get breakfast or coffee together. That would be nice.
As he starts to drift towards sleep again, a warped and computery version of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" starts playing in his pocket. It takes a second for his weary brain to acknowledge that his phone is ringing.
He was greeted robotically by an official sounding man who talked with a strange lack of any kind of accent whatsoever. Jed kind of meanders around an explanation of how exactly to get from his house to the spot where he had shot at the rabbit, and the man tells him that an inspector should check the place out by morning and to expect a call around midday.
Jed drifted off to sleep, smiling and thinking about money. The differentness of the bed brought weird dreams, that started out as a review of the important events of his life. It was like what people say about near death experiences where everything just flashes before your eyes. There were all the baseball games he'd played in school, and his time in the service. The dance where he met his wife, her death, and that of his parents. The day his Dad's old bloodhound Saint gave birth and he named one of the puppies Duke. There were all the football games and wrestling matches his big nephew Jethro had competed in, and the birth of his daughter. Then he started to see images of the events of his life that hadn't happened yet. He signs a bunch of papers at a bank, holding his daughter's hand. He smiles for cameras as the house he grew up in is torn down for oil rigs and sees his picture in the paper. He calls Pearl a bitch under his breath as he waves goodbye for the last time. He loads his dog and his family into the truck with a couple of scrapbooks and heirlooms and drives straight to California. On either side of him on the road, he sees that the other cars aren't cars at all but giant car-sized roaches with people in business suits riding on top. More banks, where they get their asses kissed as they are condescended to, like contemptible Gods. His nephew dicking around with a teller, asking that ten thousand dollars be broken down from hundreds to fifties, fifties to tens, tens to fives, and then fives to ones.
I'm sorry, Sir, but we just can't give you ten thousand one dollar bills.
Then give it to me in hundreds again! and as they replace the large pile, which spills out over the desk, with one small enough to fit in a briefcase.
I figured it out, Uncle Jed. The more money you have, the smaller the pile!
He buys tailored suits for himself and has his beard trimmed. He goes on dates where he talks gibberish to faceless women. He sees Jethro and Ellie May drunk, on television, and people are laughing. The house fills with unreputable people. Jethro gets shot and robbed, married and divorced. His smile fades into something bitter. Ellie May is crying and her makeup is smeared, her nose is bleeding and she looks older than she should. She keeps getting arrested, but never goes to jail. She's killing herself with sex and drugs and he sees himself well-dressed and powerful-looking but also looking powerless to try and help her. There are people outside of the house, looking in. They speak gibberish in phony voices that have no real accent, like they've all filed them away, and just like the people on the television and all the people his nephew and daughter have brought into the house, they are laughing.
Jed wakes up hot and damp. The sun isn't up yet but he's had enough. He takes the unoccupied shower, a stain box with no ceiling, trying to ignore the pounds and clangs and screams of what is hopefully violent sex and not just plain violence in the adjacent stall.
With the two dollars he gave to the kid at the desk, he had just enough left for coffee, so he goes back to the diner, where suddenly his money is useless. Word has gotten around about the oil and the inspector and everyone is his best friend.
A dour waitress with deep laugh lines that bely and define a face that looks like it has never once cracked a smile, forces one as she calls him, sweetly, "Sugar", which she pronounces more like Shuggah. He drinks his coffee slowly, and helps himself to a stack of pancakes and some ham on the bone.
It's about eight when his phone rings.
"Is this Jedediah Clampett? Exciting news, Sir. Is there a place where we can meet? I'll be bringing by papers to sign. If you have an attorney, you might want him present."
The phone call to Pearl was disappointing. She greeted him warmly and called him Darling. She was fine with the meeting taking place at her house. Just happy to help.
The family was mismatched when the man arrived. Jed had groomed himself but he Ellie never thought to bring a change of clothes for him so he was still dressed in his hunting gear. Ellie wore tight clothes that showed off her figure a bit too much, but they were the style. Granny wore a gown that hung off her like a tent, and Pearl came out studded in her Sunday best. Everyone had a million dollar shit-eater plasterd across their face. It was really happening.
The man looked like Jed thought he would. A white teeth and a perfect haircut, perfumed in a black suit and shined shoes. Another man, similarly dressed, accompanied him.
"You have oil on your property. You and your neighbors, actually. With a deposit this large it covers a fairly large portion of the hills. Unfortunately the hills are terrible terrain for drilling, which is why we never did it before. We're actually going to have to terraform the area, meaning chopping off as much of the hill as we can and then using the soil to fill in the gaps between it."
Everyone nodded excitedly, pretending to be interested. They were just about ready to burst waiting for the part about the money.
"Now before you get ready to go to Hollywood, I'm gonna have to let you down, no one is getting rich off of this."
It was as if someone had stuck a knife in their pancreas. It was as if they'd been spat on. It was as if the man had exhumed Rose Ellen, beloved wife and sister and mother and daughter-in-law and called her a cunt. It was God stomping on their dreams. For Jed, it was particularly bad, because there was shame in it. His poverty, that was no different than it had been the day before, was now warped into something worse. It was more of a mixed bag for Pearl, who knew that she would have had a piece of that money if it had come to Jed, there was still vindication in her brother-in-law's continued failure.
"I'm sorry now, that's not entirely true. The town will become a great deal wealthier, as will the nation, but there's good news for you as well. You see, as we change the landscape to aid us in continued drilling and pumping, everyone is going to have to move. Now here you have two options, one is that you accept a cash payment of the approximate value of your property, although I will admit that it's pretty low. The other is the one I would recommend to you though, the city has offered to raze the old property on the old Ridgeway businessdistrict, which I've been told is all vacant and dehabilitated at this point in time."
"Yeah, since the last time they found oil."
"Yes, I've been informed of that situation. Rather unfortunate for everyone involved, but hopefully this will make it up to everyone. You see, we're offering to build new houses for you and all of the other hill residents. Now these will be single family homes with all the modern amenities. Now no offense but these homes will be a lot prettier and a lot nicer then your current residences, but I also have to tell you that the lots are smaller. Now I understand that the majority of the hill residents are subsistence farmers, and while there is no suitable land available to offer, we can offer you a yearly stipend for as long as you live at the new residence. These stipends are available only to those 18-and-over who are currently living in the hills, but they are non-transferrable and they will apply for any future children born to any hill residents once their houses have been demolished. What do you think."
Jed answered the question with a smile. His mind had drifted off once again. One day he's shooting at rabbits and squirrels to feed his daughter and the next, well, he wasn't rich and he wasn't going to be everyone's best friend, but he was retired. He wouldn't have to deal with all the pitfalls of wealth, all that sin and temptation, and neither would his children. The town would be better off, and maybe the nation wouldn't need his nephew out in Iraq, getting shot at by towelheads in an oil war. The displeasure showed on Pearl's face. She probably wasn't looking at the big picture like Jed was. She probably hadn't made the connection any of this had to her getting her son back, but her mind didn't work like Jed's, and that's one of the things she didn't like about him. Now, he'd be living at least as well as her, and a lot closer, but at least neither one of them would have to deal with each other outside of family stuff. Jed's smile widened, as he thought of how Pearl treating him kindly was scarier than anything in his dream the night before. This was probably the best disappointment he would ever have.
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