#01 – Alabama

Short story based on a news story from Huntsville, Alabama.

J.T. woke up Saturday morning to Daisy, his golden retriever, licking beer off his beard. Whenever J.T. opens a beer, he pours a little in Daisy’s water dish, so whether he spills some on the floor or down his shirt, the dog laps it up. Moving away from the insistent tongue, his head dealt dull throbs to his temples.  Both ends of J.T. needed something; his bladder was full of piss and his mouth sticky dry.

Leaning against the wall while he let his bladder release, he jumped and pissed on the floor when startled by, “Do ya have to piss so fuckin’ loud? Jesus Christ!”

He didn’t know someone was in his trailer. “What the fu…?” J.T. corrected his aim and finished.

In the living room, Pam, from the bar the night before, was on his couch, lighting a cigarette, “Fuck. First it’s that effin’ dog licking my arms all mornin’, then you…got any beer, man? My head is splittin’ in two!”

Right off the living room, the kitchen seemed a safe distance for him to keep from Pam. He winced as the refrigerator door loudly squeaked open, expecting Pam to bitch about it, but she just coughed. “There’s no beer,” J.T. said. He swirled a few cans left on the counter, hoping for a leftover sip. Nothing.

“None? What about booze? Any Jack?” Pam said loudly, as if J.T. were still in the bathroom.

Knowing the place was dry, he shook his head, “Nope…nothing.” The motion’s nausea pooled saliva in his mouth that he then spit in the sink on top of an empty mac and cheese foil tray. The noise, slightly suggestive of a can being opened, brought Daisy hopefully peeking around the corner.

“Not yet,” he waved Daisy out of the kitchen.

“Well, you know what they say, J.T. The hair o’ the dog. What are we gonna do?”

“I got a twenty,” he smoothed the balled up bill next to his keys on the counter.

“You can get a case at Five Points and some cigs,” Pam scrunched her soft pack and felt only a few left.

In his bedroom pulling on jeans, J.T. scrunched up his face at the idea of buying her cigarettes. Pam yelled out to him, “You can take my car.”

“Can’t. DUI,” he said as he took off out the front door. He didn’t want to wait for her to get it together to drive him and didn’t want anyone to see them together, especially his girlfriend, Gina.

At Five Points, J.T. picked up a case of beer with conveniently designed to be carried like a suitcase. Something about carrying these always made him think about what it must be like to carry a briefcase.  Successfully balancing two cans of dog food in his other hand made him feel a little less hung over.

“That’ll be eighteen sixty-five,” the woman behind the counter said as she opened a plastic bag for the cans. He thought, “No cigarettes.”

“No bag. I’ll just…,” J.T. grabbed the cans and stuffed them in his sweatshirt pockets.

Walking back, he passed his girlfriend’s sister’s house. Her husband waved while going into their house. J.T. was relieved he didn’t go to the store with Pam, but wondered if Pam would answer his phone if Gina called. His mind wandered to what he was going to do about Gina’s birthday. She hinted at the mall a week before, she wanted a certain pair of earrings. The sign said they let customers pay on installment plans. Those never worked out for him. He mulled over all the times he missed payments and could hear his mother say, “It’s always something with you, J.T.”

He was calculating how much he could get if he hocked one of his old shotguns when his head was slammed from the side. He stumbled into some bushes. As he wondered if a car had hit him, he looked at his boots to steady his legs.  Then another blow struck the back of his head. Shaking his head, he focused on not falling into the road. Feeling the case of beer tugging his arm, he thought, “How did the beer case get caught in the bush?”  He heard someone else’s breath and other feet shuffling.

“Fuck!” he shouted as he caught a glimpse of the younger, skinnier guy with dark circles under his eyes. Now face to face, they pulled the case between them. When J.T. yanked the case as hard as he could, the cardboard tore, spilling the cans onto the sidewalk and into the street. As the beer robber ran away, J.T. took a can of dog food out of his pocket He was poised to throw the can at his attacker’s head, but something stopped him. His head still spinning from being slammed, he thought vaguely how desperate someone would have to be to try to jump someone for beer. He watched the attacker disappear around the bend in the road.

J.T. opened and closed his jaw widely a few times. His face was sore, but nothing felt broken. A little dizzy, he stumbled bending over to pick up the cans. With no bag, he made a basket out of the bottom of his sweatshirt. He heard a car approach slowly and didn’t look up.

“J.T.? What’s going on here?” it was Officer Larson, one of the two cops who booked J.T. for his last DUI.  He shouted through the open passenger window.

“Nothing sir, just trying to get home,” J.T. kept his eyes on the ground.

Officer Larson pulled his squad car past him, keeping the lights off. He walked up to him, helping pick up the cans, “What happened? You fall?”

Holding back tears, J.T. pushed out the words one by one, “Some kid jumped me. Wanted the beer.”

Officer Larson let himself be Billy Larson and went to his car trunk and emptied out first aid equipment from a canvas bag. He held it under the fabric cradle of beers, “Go ahead and dump them in here.”

“Thanks,” J.T. said, shaking his head.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Billy offered.

“Sure. Thanks,” he half smiled and adjusted his stretched out sweatshirt.

J.T. tried to open the door to the back seat, but it was locked. “Get up in the front,” Billy waved forward.

The men didn’t speak until they pulled in front of the trailer, “I’ll dump these inside and bring back your bag,” J.T said.

“You can keep it. We’ve got a million of those at the station,” Billy put his hand on his soldier and shook it a little.

“Thanks. I got good and whacked and then …,” J.T. trailed off as Billy nodded his head in understanding. “Well, just thanks,” J.T. said as he opened the door and got out quickly.

J.T. was relieved to find Pam had left, leaving only her empty pack of cigarettes. Daisy danced around him as her food was opened and put down on a paper plate that she then pushed all over the living room and into a corner, where she ate through the middle of the plate.

Lying on the couch, J.T. put his forearm over his eyes. Daisy made desert of the tears falling down into his ears.

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REAL NEWS STORY used as inspiration for the story above

Man buys case of beer, holds off robber

By Mike Marshall

December 19, 2009, 9:40PM

A Huntsville man walking home with a case of beer was the victim of an attempted robbery Saturday afternoon, Huntsville police said.

About 1:55 p.m., the man bought a case of beer at a convenience store and was walking in the 3000 block of Hood Road.

Someone wanting the beer walked up behind the man and started punching him in the head, West precinct officials said.

The robber fled when he was unable to get the beer. Police said the suspect is unknown.

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