Touching Scars(6)

Now here I was over a month later, and I’d moved my way up from being the Worm, which was the lowest man on the field, to the Motorman. I dealt with all the mechanical and maintenance problems. They knew I was good with my hands when one day, an awful grinding sound was coming from one of the rigs. A few gaskets blew, and I raced in and repaired it all before we’d lost a monumental amount of black gold and money. We were all standing there, covered in the thick greasy sludge, and Slim looked at me and said, “Looks like you’re our new Motorman.” I’d learned that Slim and most of the other guys out there were men of very few words. I could appreciate that since I really didn’t want to talk much anyway. I just wanted to go to work, clock in then clock out, and hit the bottle hard enough to pass out.

On this particular day, just before I headed out to my very small six hundred square foot, one bedroom apartment, Slim and Roger approached me.

“Hey, Nelson!” Slim yelled from the work trailer. “Have you been to The Hole? It’s a bar in town.”

I hadn’t been anywhere in town since moving there. I went to the field, the grocery store, City Hall to pay my bills, and my apartment. “No,” I answered simply.

“Well, you’re going tonight. Roger wants to stop in and say hi to his niece. It’s her birthday, and she works there. Be ready in thirty minutes. We’ll pick you up.”

I nodded. Great. The last thing I wanted to do was spend my evening with some little girl that was probably a prissy brat, but you don’t say no to the bosses. I made my way home and walked in the front door. I still had boxes scattered around. I didn’t think this would be a permanent place so I hadn’t bothered unpacking. I just dug around for whatever when the need arose. There was a pizza box on the counter from last night, and a bottle of Crown that was about three-quarters empty. I walked over to it and took a swig. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I made my way into the bathroom for a quick shower. I could at least make myself look presentable for the birthday girl.

Not even thirty minutes had passed when Roger came knocking on my door. When I opened it, he poked his head in and said, “Jesus Christ, this place smells like gym socks.”

I shrugged and said sarcastically, “So buy me some goddamn Glade plug-ins.”

He chuckled and slapped me on the back. I walked out of the apartment and locked up. When I got in the backseat of the truck, Slim took off down the road. Turned out The Hole was only two blocks away from where I lived. This could prove to be beneficial since I could come hang out at the bar, get hammered, and walk home. When we pulled up, Slim parked in a handicapped slot, clearly not giving a shit that he didn’t have the appropriate stickers on his truck.

The three of us piled out. I stepped up on the sidewalk and looked down both ends of the street. Port O’Connor consisted of a grocery store, post office, police station, and this one road that looked like it came from a 1950s movie. Anytime now someone named Wally would come running up to me saying the words ‘gee golly’ or ‘shucks’. I hadn’t been in this particular part of town. I snickered to myself. I wasn’t missing much.

Turning around, I met the guys at the entrance to The Hole. It was really bright outside and the heat was sweltering. When we stepped in through the double doors, the stale air hit my nostrils. It was cooler inside but not cold from an air conditioner. It was a swamp cooler, and the place wasn’t properly ventilated. Cigarette smoke assaulted my senses. My eyes traveled the length of the four walls. Off to the right were two pool tables. One of them was currently being used by a guy and two girls. One of the girls was hanging off the guy, whispering something in his ear while he bent over the table and took his shot. I’ve always loved the sound of pool balls hitting each other. I was good at pool, or at least I used to be. Next to the tables was a dance floor, and a small DJ booth in the corner. Nobody was manning the equipment, but an old George Strait song was playing over the speakers, reminding us that all his exes live in Texas. Typical. Off to the left was the bar. It was U-shaped and bar stools lined the length of it. A cooler that held assorted beers and wine coolers was against the wall behind the counter. My brain was taking a mental inventory of the layout, how to get out if I needed to, and the people inside. That would be the residual effects of the Army and my training. I noticed a very large man sitting on a stool next to the door. Slim and Roger were talking to him, so I stepped up to join them.

Slim chuckled. “So where is the birthday girl?”

The gargantuan man that seemed taller than me, even while sitting on the stool, said, “She’s in the back unloading a shipment. I’ll have Melanie go back and get her.” He paused and looked around. “Hey, sweetcheeks!” he hollered when he spotted who he was looking for.