Hits

The scalpel blade glided effortlessly, like a hot knife through butter, across the corpse’s neck. The thin flesh fell apart to reveal the jugular vein and carotid artery. Inserting a long steel rod, called a trocar, I began the embalming process in earnest. Ernest Salazar, that is, eighty-two years young.

Soon he would turn a very rosy pink and look better than he had in years, before cancer ravaged his burly frame. For at least forty-eight hours Earnest would be a star! Every friend, family member, and acquaintance who cared enough would come just to see him one last time. He’d be cried over, discussed, and pawed at. And finally, he’d be deposited in a big hole. It seems so pointless to me personally, but I guess for most people, it’s necessary to grieve.

“Warren, are you listening to me?” my father demanded.

“I didn’t hear you . . . what’d you say, Dad?”

“I said, can you hand me my cold drink?”

‘Okay, just hold your horses, please,’ I answered.

I reached over Earnest, retrieved a half-full can of bargain cola and held it over my left shoulder. Dad took the can and goosed me in the side.

“Hey, I’m doing delicate work here! Are you trying to kill poor Earnest again?” I joked.

Dad let out a loud guffaw and took a swig of his hot soda. “That tastes like cow piss!” he said, spitting into the trash can.

“What does cow piss taste like, Dad?” I teased.

’Now son, don’t you give me grief,” Dad admonished.

“You know, Dad, this old embalming room could really use some straightening up. towels on the floor, finger prints all over the instrument cabinets’ front doors. I can’t even see what’s in there anymore! There’s Windex under the sink, paper towels, same place,” I rambled, reaching behind to turn off the formaldehyde pump.

“Whoa, calm down . . . what’s your problem tonight?” Dad interrupted.

“C’mon, Dad . . . a body a month? How are we getting by?” I inquired, cutting to the chase.

“Warren, first of all, we’re not having just ‘a body a month’. Last month we did 3 funerals. And I scrimp and save. I ain’t stupid, son!” Dad ranted, defending his wounded pride. I suddenly felt stupid myself, for making my father feel less than what he was; a decent, hard-working man.

“Look, I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to embarrass you or hurt your feelings. I just get a little depressed being around here sometimes. If I didn’t write my country songs, I guess I’d already be crazy,” I offered.

“Oh yeah, your country songs. . . well, son, I don’t see nothin’ wrong with you writin’ songs. But right now, I need you here with me, to run this business,” Dad responded, looking at me hard over his glasses. “I can’t handle this by myself right now, my arthritis and all,” he added, wringing his hands.

“Dad, I ain’t going nowhere. You know you and Mama are my life!” I hugged him tightly, and at the same time, had a sinking feeling. It seemed I really wasn’t going anywhere, and it ate at me like nobody’s business. But family came first, and I couldn’t let my dad down.

“So, Dad, is old Earnest here the plain, or supreme?” I asked, breaking the father-son moment.

“Oh, he falls somewhere in between,” he replied, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his apron.

“We need some high-dollar funerals, to get us back on better financial ground . . . get us caught up,” I added.

“Well, if people don’t start checking out, we’re gonna be closing up,” Dad joked.

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor, Dad,” I said.

“If that goes, I’m really in deep doo-doo,” he replied.

“Turn that hose on for me, Dad,” I instructed. I squirted some soap onto Earnest’s chest and lathered up his arms and neck. The cold water from the hose rinsed him sparkling clean. After toweling him down, I pulled a sheet over his torso and turned off the hose.

“Have you heard Nic Nicnair’s new single, Dad?”

“’I’m like a puppet on a string . . . for you I’d do anything,’” Dad sang out in his deep baritone.

“I can’t believe it, you’re a Nic fan!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, I love good country music. And Nic . . . well, he’s the king,” Dad declared.

“I hope to have Nic record one of my songs someday,” I said, awaiting his response anxiously.

“Son, I wouldn’t pin any great hopes on that; you’re gonna set yourself up for a big heartbreak,” Dad answered.

“Well, I can dream. What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“I’m not saying it could never happen. I’m just saying don’t get yourself caught up in a lot of false hope,” Dad explained. “You know, this business has been in our family for three generations. That means a lot. It’s security, Warren! It may be slow, but I can assure you, people ain’t gonna completely stop dying!” he stated.

That sales pitch! How many times in my young life had I already heard it? I could quote it from memory.

“You know when I’m gone, this place is yours,” Dad added.

“Oh, I know, and I’m thankful . . . I’m thankful!” I replied.

“Just handed to you,” he added, making big sweeping gestures with his arms.

“I get the picture. I’m sure Earnest gets it, too, after all that,” I replied, trying to change the mood.

I pulled the sheet down over Earnest’s face and took a quick peek. “He looks good, huh?” I asked.

“Like a new man. See, you’re good at this!” Dad answered, patting me on the back. “Let’s get some supper at Lane’s Diner,” he suggested, slipping on his suit coat.

“Yeah, I am a little hungry.” Removing my apron, I tossed it on the floor.

“Hey, I saw that! And you were giving me grief about being messy!” Dad joked.

“I’ll do a good cleaning later, I promise,” I said.

“Get that light, will you, son?” Dad asked, stepping out into the fresh air ahead of me. I flipped off the lights and joined him in the rear parking lot.

“Ah, smell that fresh air,” Dad remarked, sucking deep breaths into his pickled lungs. “I always feel reborn when I exit the embalming room. The formaldehyde fumes really get to me,” Dad declared. “They probably won’t need to embalm me. I’m pickled already!” he joked, as we headed to my Chevelle.

“You drive, son. I’m kinda tired today,” Dad said, rubbing his lower back for dramatic flair.

We hopped in my car and lit out across town toward Lane’s. Soon I was spinning out gravel as we flew into the unpaved lot in front of the diner. It wasn’t very busy, maybe four other people besides ourselves. We slid into a booth and plopped down on the hard naugahyde seats. A classic Pearly Dalton song was playing on the jukebox. With a voice like hers, it was no wonder to me that she was the Queen of Country Music.

Dad handed me a menu.

“I don’t know why I need a menu, it ain’t like I’ve never eaten here before,” I said sarcastically. “But thanks anyway; hell, there may be something new on here.” I surveyed the contents, hoping to find one of those little slips of paper they put inside when they add something. Dad could tell that I’d had a rough day, as I caught him glancing at me and then turning away several times.

“Warren, I’ve got something to discuss with you later, and I promise you, it ain’t to be taken lightly!” Dad said, half under his breath.

“Well, it must be something serious, from the look on your face. Why can’t we discuss it now, over supper?” I asked.

“Would you quit pressing . . . it’s a family secret, Warren,” Dad replied. “We have to discuss it in private, believe me. Only a handful of people know the secret, and once I’ve passed it on to you, you can never reveal it to anyone except your son,” Dad continued. He had finally gotten my full attention.

“Do ya’ll need more time, or are you ready to order?”

“Why, Miss Lily, you look pretty as a petunia,” Dad answered.

“Hi, Miss Lily, how’s everything with you?” I nodded.

“Oh, I’m doin’ fine Warren, and you?” Miss Lily beamed.

“Oh, I’m good. Can’t complain, wouldn’t do any good anyway, right?” I answered clumsily.

“No, I guess not. You don’t strike me as a complainer anyway, Warren,” Lily replied.

Miss Lily, I believe I’ll have the pot roast and some of your sweet tea to wash it down with,” Dad interjected. He caught me eyeballing Miss Lily like a goofy kid. “Boy, do you know what you want . . . to eat?” Dad teased.

“Oh, I’ll have the same thing as you, only milk to drink. Strong bones and all,” I replied nervously. Miss Lily had some strange effect on me. Seems like I just came to pieces whenever she came around. She was so pretty; green eyes, auburn hair and a smile that could light up any room, even this old greasy spoon.

“Comin’ right up, fellas,” Lilly said as she set down two glasses of water and scooted away.

My father was staring out the window, a million miles away. Sometimes he would just go into these little trances of his, and I’d often wonder what he was thinking. It wasn’t just any look he’d get, it was as if he were completely in another time and place. Most of the time I’d just remain quiet until he came back to the present.

I loved my father but knew that one day, I’d have lots of hits on the radio, and that the lavish lifestyle of a big time songwriter would take up all my time! But I was doggedly committed to helping my father and the business until that day came. I couldn’t bear to leave him right now, not in his time of need.

The dream of having hits with people like Nic Nicnair and Dale Diddely drew me like a magnet. It compelled me and was too strong to resist, no matter what the odds of making it into the limelight were.

Soon our food arrived, and I was starved!

“Miss Lily, I could eat a horse!” I declared as I took a big whiff of the plate of food in front of me.

“That’s what I like . . . hungry men,” Miss Lily giggled. “Do ya’ll need anything else right now?”

“I think we’re all set for now,” Dad answered.

“Okay, let me know if I can get you anything else.” And with that, Miss Lily scurried away toward the grill.

“I saw how you were looking at her,” Dad teased.

“So, what’s not to like? She’s hot!” I answered.

“She’s also almost old enough to be your mother,” Dad said.

“She’s not that old! And besides, I like older women,” I said defensively. “They’re not so . . . silly and immature.”

“Oh, I ain’t knockin’ it. Why, if I was younger, I’d be on her like a duck on a June bug,” Dad confided.

“Dad! If Mom ever heard you say that, you’d get an ear full” I replied, surprised by his bold comment.

“Oh, hush up and eat!” Dad retorted, as we both laughed and dug into our suppers.

“I can’t wait to hear about this family secret of ours,” I commented between bites of food.

“Well, we’re gonna take a little ride out in the country when we leave here. There’s a lot I need to explain to you, and I don’t want any distractions,” Dad replied.

I lit a cigarette and blew smoke rings above my head.

“Those things are gonna kill you, Warren,” Dad complained. “I don’t know why you picked up such a habit,” he added for impact. “By the way, what are you always scribbling on those little napkins? More songs?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes, if you must know. Song ideas I get, just out of the blue, I write ’em down. And then later, when I’m alone at the funeral home, I work ’em up until they’re hits,” I stated as a matter of fact.

“Well, son, I hope you can make it one day in the music business, but I worry you’ll get hurt,” Dad replied. “I don’t want you to be disappointed Warren.”

“Oh, I know the odds. But I’m the exception,” I said. “I’ll be on the Grand Old Opry one day!”

“And I’ll be first in line for tickets,” Dad teased.

“You never quit, do you?” I retorted.

“No, I don’t, as a matter of fact,” Dad replied.

“Well, now you see why I’ll make it. I get my determination from you!” I said, beating him with my wit. He looked at me and grinned.

“Well, we better get our check. Uh, Miss Lily, can we get our check please?” he summoned.

“Here you are, Mr. Harris. Now you and Warren come back real soon, and have a nice night,” Lily said, taking our empty plates away. “Sure ya’ll don’t want some cherry pie?” she added lastly.

“None for me; I’d bust a gut, Miss Lily . . . unless Warren wants some?” Dad replied, looking my way.

“I’m as full as I can be,” I answered, rubbing my stomach.

We stood and headed out the double doors. It had begun to rain, so we covered our heads with our suit coats and dashed to my car.

“Let’s ride out Highway 12 a ways. I know a place where we can talk in complete privacy,” Dad instructed.

We must’ve driven fifteen miles or so, when my father instructed me to slow down up ahead. “Turn off onto Hope rode and head down to that creek where we fish.”

The moon had peeked back out from behind the clouds, and was three-quarters full and very bright. The air was misty and cool. I pulled my Chevelle across a small bridge and killed the engine. There was hardly any sound, just us and the crickets. It was peaceful. We sat for a moment or two in silence as I anxiously awaited this secret to be revealed. Finally, he spoke.

“I’m about to tell you about what we in the business call ‘the funeral lottery’.” I waited patiently for more. “I’m not talking about a cash lottery, though there is money to be made. A service is provided. A need is met, and it all works out for the best,” he continued.

“Get to the point, Dad! You’re making me crazy!” I begged.

“Calm down before you wake up the fish,” he retorted.

“Well, any day now!” I blurted, arms folded.

“Son, we in the business have a secret system of making sure that, if enough people don’t die according to nature’s plan, we can tweak the system, sort of give her a jump start,” he said. I couldn’t be sure if I’d heard him right.

“Are we talking about murder here? If that’s what we’re talking about, I’m out!” I exclaimed.

By now this bad B-movie scene had begun to freak me out more than a little. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! My dad sat quietly, letting it all sink into my now-addled brain. When he felt he could continue, he did so. “I guess now would be a good time for questions and answers, so fire away,” Dad said. I didn’t know where to start.

“Are you saying you - someone - kills people if there’s a shortage of business” I asked nervously, afraid I was right.

“Well, son, it’s a rotating system, so that no one individual is burdened with such an unpleasant task. I’ve never had to be involved but once myself, and that was when you were twelve years old,” he explained calmly. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but I knew he was telling me the truth.

“Son, you’re expected to accept this secret, and to abide by its rules. Just like my father, and his father had to do,” he continued as I sat in stony silence.

“Warren, I know you don’t understand right now the full details about the ledger and all, but the first chance you get, you open this ledger and you’ll begin to understand better about why things are the way they are,” he explained, handing me an 11”x14” ledger. I accepted it cautiously and placed it on my back seat.

“Do not misplace that ledger, Warren! It comes back to me once you understand the reasons why,” he instructed.

Just then my father’s pager went off, scaring the piss out of us both.

“Let’s head back to town, Warren. I think we have a death call. You go home, though, get some rest.” Dad sighed. “I’m not a monster, son. I’m not . . . just read the ledger before you condemn me to hell.”

“Oh, I’ll read it. I’ll definitely check it out,” I spouted nervously. And that was all we said until I dropped him off at his car back at the funeral home.

“Don’t be too late, son; go home and get some sleep,” Dad said as he closed the car door and hulked away.

I felt tired as I drove off into the night. My mind was spinning and I couldn’t concentrate. I decided not to crack the ledger until I was thinking clearer, although my curiosity still gnawed at me.

I sifted through my cassette box for my Dale Diddely tape and inserted it into my player, and his biggest hit began to saturate my senses: “Every now and then I get lonesome/Longing for the sight of your pretty eyes/ Birds fly ’round your head ’cause you’re an angel/I’m longing for your sweet love tonight”.

“Sing it, Dale!” I yelled out the window into empty space. Just then I saw blue lights in my rear-view mirror. I pulled off to the side of the highway and came to a stop. Damn! I thought. Just what I need after all of today’s craziness . . . a ticket!

“Was I speeding, officer?” I inquired. He was now bent over looking at me, inches away. I suddenly felt paranoid, although I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight, son?” the officer inquired.

“Oh, no sir. I don’t even drink at parties,” I answered nervously.

“Let’s have a look at that driver’s license, son.”

“Yes, sir, right away.” I fumbled for my wallet and finally produced my license. He scrutinized it carefully, looking at the picture, then at me, then back at the picture again. It was very annoying.

“I noticed you swerving about a mile back and you say you ain’t been drinking. Are you tired, son?” the officer asked. “Your eyes are red. You ain’t been smokin’ no wacky tobaccy, have you?”

“No, sir. I never touch any drugs, sir,” I said distinctly. “I am a little tired, though.”

“Well . . . say, is that the new Dale Diddely tape?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir, and I think it’s his best record yet. He’s got a duet on here with Pearly Dalton that’s real pretty, too!”

There was a short moment of silence. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he was singing along with my tape. I wasn’t about to interrupt him in mid-chorus!

“Son, I’m gonna make you a deal. I’m gonna let this go, but I want you to pull over to that Quickie Mart and get you some coffee.”

“Yes, sir. I could really use some coffee.”

He tapped the roof of my car and walked back to his cruiser. I made my way across the street and proceeded into the store. The little bell rang as I made my way to the coffee machine. As I stirred the creamer into my cup, I had the feeling of being in the Twilight Zone. I took my cup and turned straight into Miss Lily from the diner.

“Miss Lily, did I get any on your dress?” I asked, as she swiped at her dress with a napkin.

“No, I’ll live. It’s just a little spot, a little Clorox’ll get it right out,” she purred.

“You on your way home, Miss Lily?” I inquired innocently.

“First off, you can just call me Lily. And secondly, yeah, I’m headed home,” she continued.

“Yeah, me too. I’ve had a rough day,” I replied. I stared into her sensuous eyes, all crystal green and sparkly. Those eyes made me weak.

“Well, thanks for the nice tip you left earlier. That was real sweet of you,” she said, standing in front of the register.

“For service that good, I should have bought your dinner,” I said, anxious to impress. “In fact, I’d like to buy you a nice supper somewhere around town some time. That is, if you’re interested?” I waited for her reply on pins and needles.

“I’d love to go out with you some time, Warren. You just let me know when. You know where I’ll be.”

I watched as she headed out the door.

“Will there be anything else for you, sir?” the clerk spouted impatiently.

“I’m sorry, that’s all . . . just the coffee,” I replied, handing him a twenty.

“Don’t be embarrassed. Miss Lily has that effect on everybody. When she’s around you just lose all track of time.” The clerk handed me my change and grinned.

I headed out the door with my coffee and drove home. I turned my key gently in the front door. It was quiet as a church mouse as I headed straight for my room upstairs and fell across my bed in a heap.

That night I dreamed of a wild, crazy world where hopes are realized, dreams come true, and songs become hits. In my dreams I felt at home, appreciated . . . acknowledged.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner for the Song of the Year in the country category goes to . . . Warren Harris for his outstanding song ‘Blue As I Wanna Be’, recorded by Dale Diddely!” It seemed real to me!

“Good evening friends, peers, colleagues. I wanna thank all the many people who helped make this dream come true . . .”

Just then I awoke to the sound of my mother’s voice downstairs. “Warren, rise and shine! Come on, get up!”

“I’ll be right down, just give me five minutes!” I yelled back. Suddenly it hit me . . . the ledger, that fucking ledger! I was having a major reality check.

“Okay, I can deal with this,” I said to myself unconvincingly.

“Warren, your breakfast is getting cold!” Mom yelled. “You have a busy day today at the funeral home, so c’mon, let’s get cracking!” came another yell.

“I’ll be right down!” I answered. I pulled myself together and headed downstairs for breakfast. I dreaded facing my dad.

“Morning everybody,” I managed, taking a seat at the table across from my dad. He had the morning paper covering his whole body.

“Very many obituaries today, Dad?” I managed.

“Not but a few today. Not many,” he replied. He folded his paper and got up to leave. “Well, I’ve gotta run. Carl’s there by himself this morning, he may need my help with something. Try to be there by ten, Warren,” Dad added as he turned and left the kitchen.

I sat toying with my scrambled eggs, wondering if my mother knew about our dark family secret, or if sons and father were the only ones who were privy.

“Son, have you been seeing that girl from the diner? You know, the one where you and your father eat lunch just about every day?” Mom’s question caught me off guard.

“No, Mom, I’m not, as you put it, ‘seeing her’,” I answered. Had my dad mentioned something? “She is pretty, though, and she does like my country songs that I scribble on those cocktail napkins,” I kidded Mom, and could see I was getting her goat.

“Son, I know you’re a grown man now, with certain . . . needs, shall I say, but can’t you find someone closer to your own age? That girl must be thirty years old if she’s a day!”

“Mom, I like women a little older than me,” I answered.

“Warren, she’s been around, if you catch my drift,” she countered.

“I can’t believe you’d say that! How do you know so much about her anyway?”

Mom thought for a minute. “Warren, she’s been working at that diner for years. And you know what they say about diner girls?” she questioned.

“What’s that, Mom?” I humored her to move on.

She came up behind me and leaned down to my ear. “They are loose! And loose is half of Lucifer, and that’s evil!”

I jumped in my seat. Mom was in one of her moods where she gets a little psychotic.

She walked around to the opposite end of the table and was now glaring at me, collecting her paranoid thoughts. “I want you to find a sweet, young church girl. And smart; she’s got to be smart as a whip. And neat.”

I waited patiently for her to finish her speech, and soon an opening appeared. “Mom, Miss Lily is a fine, respectable person. She works hard and supports herself. She’s a nice girl. I’m not sure if she goes to church, though,” I interjected, trying to think quickly. “Not every girl is going to be a church girl, Mom,” I continued. “But it don’t mean they’re not respectable.”

Mom had turned, facing the sink, and was now doing dishes, ignoring me completely.

“I do think I’m attracted to Miss Lily, and it would be nice to know that, if I ever brought her home to meet you, she’d be welcomed.” I stood up and mosied over behind my mother. I put my arms around her waist and began to sing a new song I had just written a few days earlier. “You hung the moon and stars/With a wave of your arms/How did I ever get this far/Without your charms”.

She turned and placed her wet hands on my cheeks. “Warren, I can’t tell you who to fall in love with. But don’t confuse love with lust, that’s all,” she pleaded.

“Oh, and I don’t know the difference?” I asked sarcastically. “Give me a little credit, Mom!”

“You’re young!” she snapped, spinning back around to the sink and her dishes.

“Well, I have to go. Dad’ll be wondering about me if I don’t hurry on,” I said, turning to leave.

“Don’t take me wrong, Warren. I just want you to be happy. That’s all me and your daddy want.”

I closed the door behind me and felt instant relief.