FICTION - GOING HOME

Bottle of tequila in one hand, loaded .45 in the other. A winning combination. I watch as Malcolm trips around the bar, dancing to some music in his head that doesn't match the Merle Haggard tune playing on the jukebox. Eyes back in his head, whiskered jowls thumping along to the off-key ditty he keeps humming through missing teeth.

"Suppose we should call the Sheriff?" Zeke's seen this performance before, minus the gun, of course. His hand's on the twelve gauge he keeps loaded underneath the shelf of Jim Beam bottles. He doesn't want to shoot Malcolm. Hell, nobody in this shitkicker bar wants to, and god knows they're all packing.

I shake my head, pull a couple hundreds out of my wallet, slip them quietly across to Zeke. "Anything should happen, this should cover it."

Just to prove me wrong Malcolm fires a shot into the jukebox. Glass shatters, Merle's voice listing to port. Everyone gets a little jumpy then, hands going to shoulder holsters and belly bands. I slip Zeke another couple bills.

"I want Ring of Fire, goddammit." Ah, thought that sounded familiar. Not surprised I didn't recognize it. I know fuck all about Johnny Cash.

"You ain't gettin' shit, Mal, you keep that crap up."

He doesn't see me. Barely hears me. Old fart thinks it's still Vietnam and he's drinking it up in a bar in Saigon.

Zeke's had enough. He pulls out the shotgun like it's the Second Coming and everybody clears out for the Apocalypse. "Jerry," he says, "you don't stop this, I will."

I wave him down, slide out to the dance floor. Malcolm's started in on a soft shoe, dancing in the rain in Dallas, back on a stage in New York. All those experiences, all that life. Just a shell now, whose only memories are faded ghosts.

I take his hand, gently dance with him to some forgotten tune substantial as smoke. Sometimes he leads, sometimes I lead. He pulls me close and it isn't until I've got the gun safely from him that I realize we're both crying.

"Jerry?" he says. "What's going on?"

"We're going home, grandpa. We're going home."