Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

Mother. They didn’t throw the book at him. Admittedly, they probably should have! They should really have thrown away the key! But, what’d he get? A few months . . . in the slammer? And that was it? Four months? Five months?”

“Something like eight or ten,” she groused. “Less than a year, it was! A helluva lot less… than a goddam year! Not even close… to a goddam year!”

“Yeah, I remember. They let him out! Eons early! Because of ‘good behavior’! I could gag!”

“Well, in any case, they found . . . Social Security found, as they damn well should have… they found that the injuries . . . my injuries… that they were all . . . what they call, totally debilitating! Totally, fucking, debilitating! And that is why! Why they found . . . for me! Ruled in my favor. And that’s why… thank God… I still continue, to get their monthly check! As piss-poor… as it is!”

“Mother?” His voice, by then, had lost a goodly amount of fervor! Was his new attitude to be that short-lived? “Look,” he continued. “I’ve never pursued anything… anything . . . along these lines before. This thing… about your accident. Never brought up anything . . . nothing . . . along these lines before. But… believe me… it’s not something, that I haven’t thought about! Thought about… a lot! There are things… that have really bothered me! A lot of them! Stuff that has bothered me! And for a lot of years! This is not something, that I can just go ahead… and put it out, of my alleged mind. Not at this point!”

“Bothered you? Why the hell would… ? What’re you talking about?”

“Tell me, Mother. Tell me… were you sleeping with Doctor Keltner? As everybody seems to think? Were you going to bed with him? Is that why he gave you such an… such an… an unclean ‘bill of health’? Such a dismal prognosis . . . about the leg? Is that why he… ah… diagnosed your injury? Ruled it… to be so God-awful? Such an overwhelmingly horrible report… that diagnosis? Could that be why he’d submitted… all that really critical paperwork, to… ?”

“Why, you little schmuck! You piece-of-shit, little, puissant . . . of a schmuck! Why, I oughta . . . ! Where did you ever hear anything… anything, like that?”

“Well, for openers from Uncle Stanley… your own brother! Even Grandma Piepczyk . . . your own mother! They all were raising an eyebrow or two, y’know! Over the so-called diagnosis! Then, there was Mrs. Waslewski, y’know.”

“Mrs. Waslewski? Why, she’s been moved… and gone! Gone outta here… for years! Maybe outta the whole damn planet! And good damn riddance!”

“Yeah. And, well, it’s wound up, that no one… no one, in the world . . . has said anything about it! Not lately, anyway! Not for years! And I probably shouldn’t have brought it up, now! But, I can’t tell you… can’t let you think . . . that it’s not been… not been eating at me! A lot of it! Eating at me, for… ! I… I just shouldn’t have brought it up! I mean…”

“You’re damn right, you shouldn’t have brought it up! Not now . . . or… or any other goddam time!”

“Well, I sometimes wonder. Used to be that there’d even been a few times… more than a few times… when, y’know, even ‘Aunt Debbie’ has said that…”

“I don’t even talk to ‘Aunt Debbie’! Not anymore! Not at all! You know, damn well, that we haven’t…”

Jason’s “Aunt Debbie” was not really an aunt—but, until late in 1999, she’d been his mother’s closest friend. And Jason had always had a monumental crush on her. Ever since he’d been four or five.

There had been a few (well, several) “unfortunate” remarks—rather snide exchanges—that had been batted back and forth, over the years, between his mother, and his “Aunt Debbie”.

These had progressed—to the point where, eventually, they’d become terribly-caustic, top-of-their-lungs, “exchanges”! Arguments that had—once the young man had begun to mull them over—had caused him to wonder anew, about Sheila Rutkowski’s “epic”, “earth-shaking”, “terrible” accident. Her constantly-complained-about, many-and-varied, “highly-debilitating”, injuries!

“Well, I miss her, y’know,” muttered her son. The crush, apparently, had never really died. Well, the crush—actually—had never really died. “I just… just really… really… y’know… I do miss her,” he muttered, sadly. “Really miss her.”

THAT was the precise moment—when the SECOND of the deadly, ill-fated, lethally-fuel-laden, 747s hit the other tower!

“Holy God!” Jason was half-shouting! “Dear Lord! Look at that! They… they got the other one! They hit the other one! The other damn one! They’ve taken out… the other tower! My God! There’s something awfully wrong! Something horribly wrong! This is… ! Someone’s… they’re trying to kill us! Kill us all! Take over the whole government! Conquer . . . conquer the whole damn country! The whole damn world, probably! There’s some kind of a whole…”

“Jason! Do you hear what the hell you’re saying? It’s stupid! It’s goddam stupid! It’s stupid… as hell! You sound like some kind of raving-assed maniac! Like some kind of a goddam nut! So? So… two planes flew into two goddam towers! So fucking what? It’s not like it happened here, for God’s sakes! Not like they flew into the goddam Penobscot Building . . . or the freaking Renaissance Center . . . or anything like that!”

Sheila hurried to the venerable television—exhibiting no noticeable “crip” problem! A slight—almost imperceptible—limp, was the only evidence of her “critical”, her “brutal”, “still-remaining”, injuries! Barely noticeable! Once she’d gotten to the old set, she reached down—and snapped the thing off!

“Mother! This is… turn it back on! You can’t be…”

“What I can be… and this is, exactly, what I am . . . is that I’m head of this goddam house! That’s precisely what I am! And I’m tellin’ you, dammit! I’m tellin’ you that this goddam television is off! Officially off! And it ain’t comin’ back on! Not anytime soon! And I’m also telling you… that you’d better drag your lazy ass, on out to, fucking, work! Drag your lazy ass out to, fucking, work . . . and, fucking, now! NOW!”

“Mother, you’re…”

“I’ve, fucking, had it with you! With you… just sitting there! Just, fucking, vegetating! Now, get your sorry ass… get it on, out of here! Get yourself out… to work! Get yourself out to, fucking, work! Fucking now!