Factory Town Read online

  Factory Town

  Frederick Garber

  Published by Frederick Garber, 2014.

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  FACTORY TOWN

  First edition. June 18, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Frederick Garber.

  ISBN: 978-1498910613

  Written by Frederick Garber.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Factory Town

  A Little Surprise

  Waiting

  The Dancer

  Yellow Car

  Yellow Car and ME

  Relics

  Angel on the Radio

  Black Back Pack

  Flat Tire for the Yellow Car

  Hero

  The Short List of Sacred Spaces That You can Walk to from this Very Spot

  Foto of the Dead Dog(Close-up of A Tooth)

  If the Shoe Fits

  Northside Dogs

  Watching A Tall Skinny Guy Eat a Chicken Pot Pie

  Maybe You Should Not Eat There

  Howie

  The Interruption

  One Stop Gun Shop

  Going to Meet the Boss

  Skinny Guy in a Sharkskin Suit

  Where Can you Spend the Winter if it is 1941 and You are in Northern Minnesota?

  Slow Day Street Scene

  Two Blocks From Here

  Billy the Kid Reflecting on How Pat Garrett Can Not Be Trusted

  Dead Piñata

  Birria in Mexicali

  Always This Same Street

  Lost Rosary

  Rick and Erica get a Big Brass Bed

  Thirty Bucks A Month

  Iowa City Thanksgiving 1969 and the Zombie Menace

  Eddie T. and His Foot

  Someone Still Has To Do The Dishes

  The Old Wooden Heart

  Eight Bucks

  Three Days in the Brickyards

  Coyote in the Backyard

  Stealing Candy

  Radio Preachers

  How We Use to Watch TV

  Guess Who I Saw

  Long Bus

  Long gone Gardens

  Dark Road On A Dark Night

  Those People Are Dead Now

  Flash of Light

  Place of Sense

  Four Questions

  Checking Up On Me

  When Something Starts to Crack

  Not Much Farther

  I would like to thank my friends and family for reading and commenting on these writings. I would also like to dedicate this book to the trickster in all of its' manifestations...crow, spider, coyote, comedian, politician and plumber. Furthermore, how can I forget to thank the four directions. Then there is corn, bean, chilies, cocoa, coffee, tea, arroz y tacos pescado. If I have forgotten something or someone you can write me at [email protected] and tell me your story.

  Factory Town

  Factory Town is like a lot of other places. It has a day. It has a night. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes it shines. It gets hot. It gets cold. People move in. People move out. Business can boom. Business can die. You get hired. You get fired. People get born. People get dead. People remember. People forget. Souls are saved. Souls are lost. Factory Town does not go away when you sleep. Sure, you dream. Sometimes you dream of Factory Town. Sometimes you dream of that other place.

  A Little Surprise

  Can you ever really be surprised? I say yes and I say no. Take for example those times when someone kills you. You are in your apartment and feeling the need for human company. You want to see real people. People drinking. People dancing. People sweating and people stinking. That place you want to go to has some feel of danger to it. That is why you have to go there. You want to smell your own sweat. That kind of sweat that comes from dancing. That kind of sweat that comes from too many people in one place. That kind of sweat that comes from fear. But you know that he will be there too.

  That one who has been looking for you. He does not know who you are. But he can tell that you are you, because he knows that smell. To him, he will walk into a room of two hundred and fourty nine people and only one scent will exist for him. You will be like a magnet to him. You can feel him coming to you, too. You are of course surprised that you did not see him before. You knew it would end this way. You could have stayed in your apartment. I think the reason that you go to these places and do the things that you do is because you hope there will be some variety and some little surprise in it for you this time.

  Waiting

  I have been in here a long time. I am just waiting for the call. They bring new ones in all the time. The light is not too good in here. So I cannot really see much. I wonder if I would recognize anyone if the light was better. No one talks. Just a grunt or a belch now and then. And the continual sound of breathing. Once in a while someone farts. You can sense a common discomfort. Now and then someone gets up and leaves. Sometimes they step on those of us left behind. I never really feel any pain. It is not cold in here. It is not hot in here. I just want to leave. But if I think about leaving, maybe they will lengthen my stay. So I just wait. I am just waiting for the call. I have been in here a long time.

  Look, after a while you are someplace else. Everything is new again. Always new again. Always the same. You don't get to remember what happened in the other places and times. And like, who would give a shit? If you did know why would you care? So here you are starting over. You got your mother. You got your father. You got school . You got work. Sleep. Food. Sex. All of the same shit. Again. There is supposed to be this elephant guy they call Ganesha that writes it all down and keeps track of what happens. I never met him as far as I can recall. And so it continues on and on...

  The Dancer

  It did not start here. It will not end here. Sunday night. Six years ago. Nothing on TV. Bored. Looking for a little diversion. Get in my car. The Yellow Car. Big old 1984 Chevrolet Caprice Classic. 305 engine. Power windows. AC. Kumbia Kings on the stereo. You know. Selena's brother's band. Drive one mile. Dense fog by the river. Just over the tracks. Near the Cargill soybean processing plant. Sign says 666 days without a work loss accident. Park the car in the street outside the bar. Just a DJ tonight. No cover. The rent-a- cop nods to me.

  Walk over to the bar. Order a Bohemia. Lime wedge and a packet of salt. Maybe 20 people in the place. Holds 249. Slow night. Sundays are like that. People come and go. Order another Bohemia. Old man walks in. Well dressed. Tall. Long gray hair. He orders a tequila. Walks over to a table where there are four young women. Holds out his hand to the blond. She gets up. They walk to the dance floor. The song is La Puerta Negra. Los Tigres del Norte. The guy is a good dancer. Dances a few more rancheras with her. Then dances with the other women at the table. Some cumbias and a few merengues. Then he orders another shot of tequila. Dances with all the women in the place in between shots. I am watching this guy. This guy can dance. Smooth. An old face. Hawk nose. Dark eyes. Seen a lot. Lived a lot. He walks out. Saw him two other times at that place.

  Later I tell S. about the old dancer. She says she thinks it is her father. She never met him. He has been dead for twenty years. Parents split up before she was born. Mother moved north from Jalisco. Says her father had a reputation as a ladies man. As a hard drinker. As a great dancer. He was tall. I don't know what to say. Could have been him. Probably was. But there was a dense fog that night.

  Yellow Car

  The yellow car was not a taxi. It was only a yellow car. Maybe it use to be a taxi. Maybe it will be a taxi. It is a big car. It is a 1984 Chevrolet Cap
rice Classic. It has four doors and a white plastic rosary hanging from the rearview mirror. It is not afraid of sport utility vehicles. It is not afraid of pickup trucks. It likes to sing loudly to other cars and trucks. It is a happy car. It likes to go slow when luxury cars are behind it. It likes to eat a lot of gasoline. It likes to fart and belch in the morning. The car is not really yellow, but it is thinking it would like to be. It has the color of champagne. It is happy with this color. It is only thinking of this change in color. You get a certain age, and maybe you want to change a little bit. This can hurt no one. Inside, it is the same. Very deep inside, it is the same. This change on the outside can hurt no one. But the yellow must be taxicab yellow. You want to know why? This yellow is very strong. It can take a lot of punishment. And in the right light, it is invisible to police cars. The rosary is not all white. It is red and white. These are strong colors, too.

  Yellow Car and ME

  Ron took this foto of Yellow Car and me. I was standing on the hood acting kind of crazy. Mike was sitting down at one of the outside tables in front of Ron's coffee shop. Mike died a few years ago. I miss him. The Yellow Car thru a rod and I sold it to a guy for fifty bucks who put a big old Buick engine in it. He raced it at the stock car races north of town.

  Relics

  Mickey and I walk into the Coffee Works. It is a bright fall day outside. Just two friends having a conversation. I am sucking down my espresso and he is having a cappuccino. Gail, that tall, short haired lady who works there, comes over to our table and says that she found something interesting. It was on the dumpster when she took out the trash. Gail hands me a small clear envelope. She says that it was taped to the side of the dumpster. I open the envelope and it is full of old religious medals and prayer cards. The sort of relics that you might collect during a lifetime of being a devout Catholic. But saved in an envelope and taped to the side of a dumpster. And found by Gail and delivered into my hands. My hands. I am a Catholic and I go to mass. And I eat the consecrated host. And I drink the holy wine turned into blood. And I sin. And I repent. And I say the prayers. And I doubt sometimes. And I believe sometimes. And this little envelope comes into my hands. The oldest looking medal in the envelope is a small grey Saint Anthony medal. It has a small red glass bead on the back that is holding a tiny little piece of cloth. And it says Saint Anthony relic on the medal. When you lose something you are supposed to pray to Saint Anthony and the thing will be found. Mickey tells me you ask Saint Anthony for help in finding a mate. At least they do in Mexico. On a bright fall day Saint Anthony finds me. He finds me. Me in my envelope with all of my relics. Who asked him to do this?

  Angel on the Radio

  You never know who you are talking to or who is asking you for a favor. That is why you err on the side of charity and human kindness. Jesus or Buddha would not be wearing name tags if you met them on the street corner and they asked you for a dollar. The corner I am talking about is 4th and Court streets. The last few winos in town go there to collect a few bucks from the folks who come to this little historic district. Henry always asks and I almost always give. Sometimes he just asks for a ride to the drive up liquor store and then to his crib in the ruins of an old slaughter house. One night he told me about Jackson. Henry said he was lying down to get some sleep and turned on his portable radio. One of the little black and grey ones. No music. No static. Just a voice identifying himself as Jackson, Henry's guardian angel. Jackson told Henry he did not like the way Henry was using up his life but that he would be there for him. He would protect him. Since Henry told me this he has sobered up and then he went back to drinking and looks like he is in worse shape than before. But he now has a short little white guy as his companion. Henry is a tall thin Lakota Marine Corps veteran. I keep meaning to ask the little guy's name. I think I am afraid that he is Jackson. The angel from the radio. The little black and grey radio.

  Black Back Pack

  Henry walked into the office today. He's on disability. He is always walking by here. Sometimes he stops by and talks. Talks for a few minutes and leaves. Sometimes asks for money. A buck or sometimes just a quarter. He walks everywhere. Use to have a car. An 83 maroon Bonneville. Somebody gave it to him. But he had to sell it. Said he got $100 for it. I don't think so. Anyway he walks in here and asks me if I ever buy artwork. I said sometimes. Almost never. I am broke. He said have you ever heard of a heechee. I said no. He unzipped his black backpack. Took a red nylon jacket out and laid it on a chair. Then he pulled the heechee out. There was some braided leather, beads, feathers and an eagle claw. The leather braids were in a kind of double loop that intertwined. He said that during some kind of ceremony that he goes to across the river on the Rez the loops become separated without anyone doing anything. Kind of a spiritual thing he said. He said it was a good thing. But it could be used in a bad way. But if you did it you would pay in the end. If you know what I mean. I said you can't sell that. It must mean something to you. He said it was only a material thing. I said yes that is right. Only a thing. He said he had to have $40 for the heechee. I said I was broke. He said well can you give me 50 cents. I gave it to him. He put the heechee and the red nylon jacket back in the black backpack. He said he had to go. He did not want to be late for the lunch at the mission. He said if he was late the other guys would eat all of the apple pie.

  Flat Tire for the Yellow Car

  Back when I owned the Yellow Car, the Yellow Car that was not yellow, I came out of my apartment.

  I needed to start my car. It was a cold morning. I was running late. I found a note on the windshield. It was under the wiper blade. The note said " I seen somebody cut your tire last night. They live in that big white house with the sofa on the porch." The note was not signed. An anonymous tip from the neighborhood snitch. I walked around my 1984 Chevrolet Caprice. The right front tire was flat. Damn, I am going to be late to work, I thought. I went back into my apartment. I called Virgil's gas station. They sent somebody right over. They are only 3 blocks away. They took my tire and rim with them. I rode with them. They dropped me at the Pierce Street Coffee Works. I drank my morning espresso while Virgil put a new tire on my rim. Well it was not a new tire. They are really expensive. He sold me a used one for ten dollars. So, I got a ride back to my car and they put the tire back on. It was then that I noticed that every car on the block had flat tires. They got to Jack's car. Retired gas company worker.

  They got to Larry's car. Retired astrologer. They got to Emma's car. Waitress at the casino. They got to that big Buick that has not moved for three months. They got to all the cars. I went to work. Only ten minutes late. I told them what happened. Not a problem. I called the cops. I did not tell them about the note. They said that they would check it out when they had time. They said that at most the tire slasher would be fined fifty bucks. After work I went to that big white house with the sofa on the porch. Some kid answered the door. Maybe twelve years old. He was the cousin of Scooby, one of the guys that lives there. I asked for Scooby. He came to the door. He was wearing his cholo clothes. Real tough guy. I told him about the tires. I told him that somebody had seen him do it. He said somebody cut his tires last month. I asked him if he thought that I did it. Or if Jack did it. Or if Larry did it. Or if Emma did it.

  I told him we all live in this part of town because we have no money. I told him if he wants to cut tires he should go a mile north where the rich people live. I told him that he has been shitting in his own nest. And that he has to stop. He has to stop disrespecting the people. I said that the cops won't come for him. But that the people in the neighborhood would. Scooby was looking a little uncomfortable.

  Hey, Scooby moved. There has been no more tire slashing around here. I have moved. Jack moved to another place down the street. Larry is in a nursing home. I don't know where Emma is. The big Buick got towed away.

  Hero

  This guy wakes up again. Crazy dreams. Troubled sleep. LIAR CHEAT THIEF ADULTERER

  Almost clean clothes. Orange juice an
d a multivitamin. SLUT ADDICT ABUSER HYPOCRITE

  Kisses the foto of his true love. Sign of the cross before the crucifix. WHORE RAPIST KILLER KIDNAPPER The old car starts. Thank you God. Music. Loud. PERVERT OBESE DIRTY DEPRAVED This guy waits for the call. He knows its coming. UGLY DECADENT DISEASED ARROGANT It has before. It always comes. He ignores it. He runs. FILTHY COWARD BRAGGART DRUNK He hides. He knows about these calls. BANKRUPT STUPID LAZY PARALIZED You take it and they kill you, even if you do it right this time. BONEY POXED INCONTINENT SMELLY You don't take the call and you die a little on the inside. MALCONTENT WEAK INCONSISTENT EMBEZZLER Good parking spot. SCORNED REVILED DYING HERO This guy buys a double espresso. Hero

  The Short List of Sacred Spaces That You can Walk to from this Very Spot

  We have talked about this before. We will talk about it again. You are always asking me. And I am always trying to answer you. The question you always ask is will you show me the Sacred Places. I always tell you the same thing. I am not going to show you. You have to find them yourself. But I will give you a short list of them. These are all within a mile of here. So, you can walk to them from this very spot. If you are ready, I will tell you now.

  The first one is where the dead dog lies. This place changes a lot. You need to find it quickly. Soon after it is created. There is a moment when the teeth are shining. It is not to be missed. It can be bright beyond belief. If you are late it will just be a dead dog.