The tie slipped through the collar like a flame through an oxygen hose. The noise, synthetic material rubbing cotton at 90 miles an hour was loud, almost angry.
Ivy turned, put her back against the inside of the car door.
“You hate ties, huh? Thanks for wearing it.”
Gordon put the car in gear and pulled out of the funeral home lot.
“I do. You’re welcome. Judging by your uncle’s friends he wasn’t much of a tie guy either.”
“Oh hell no. But he’s dead, it wasn’t for him, it was for my mom. Sorry the first time you met her was her brother’s visitation.”
“Sorry your favorite uncle died.”
“I’ve got a lot of good memories. Hiking, Ramones concert. Buncha stuff. “
Gordon got in the left turn lane at Central to hit the freeway.
“Can we not get on the freeway just yet? I’d like to drive through the old neighborhood. Revisit some memories.”
The turn signal clicked off and Gordon looked in the rearview, letting a few cars pass before getting into the traffic flow.
Ivy wasn’t certain, but he seemed annoyed. It was the honeymoon period. They hadn’t gotten to annoyed yet. She wondered.
After a few blocks, Ivy pointed south.
“Remember Superfun? Donnie used to take me skating there. They still had disco night. I didn’t even know what disco was.”
Gordon smiled.
“I wasn’t much of a rollerskater but I went to a birthday party there once.”
He slowed the car.
“Is that what you wanted to see?’
“Couple more things, actually,” Ivy said.
“The twisty slide at Bonaventure Park…”
Gordon smiled again, but it was tight. A marionette’s smile.
“You okay?” Ivy asked.
He nodded, not the most reassuring of nods.
“I just wanna make one stop in Donnie’s honor, then we can go home, okay? Samson’s Burgers. One burger and a chocolate shake for Uncle Donnie.”
Ivy looked forward, her eyes searching for the first glimpse of the muscleman on the sign, just like she used to in Donnie’s old custom van.
She completely missed the short hairs on the back of Gordon’s neck standing up, the white and pink knuckles gripping the steering wheel.
The Samson’s sign came into view, the man with the handlebar mustache and the bulging bicep clutching a huge burger, nothing like the greasy little sliders the place was famous for.
“There’s Miguel.”
Ivy turned to Gordon, a smile like a busty girl on a 70’s Gottlieb pinball machine.
“You know Miguel!” She slid over and kissed Gordon on the cheek. “You are something special, I knew it!”
Ivy jumped out of the car in the parking lot of Samson’s before Gordon had the car in park, and almost skipped into the shiny white building, ringed with little tendrils of car exhaust at the base.
Miguel sat against the wall of the brick building next door. It had been an insurance office once, vacant for years. He had two shopping carts now. There had only been one last time Gordon saw him.
He had his Thermos between his legs, always a Thermos. Without Miguel telling him, Gordon knew it was a matter of pride. Miguel used to feed the drunks, lecture them kindly, sometimes drop them at the Alcoholicos Anonimos building on Livernois. Serenidad. Companerismo.
Ivy opened the door to Samson’s.
“Burger and shake first, then we can…”
Gordon was walking toward Miguel.
She saw how Gordon was walking. It was not his rhythmic step. It was deliberate. In his dress shirt, she wouldn’t even have known it was him if she hadn’t just gotten out of his car.
“Gord, do you…”
She watched him kneel down near Miguel, but not too close. Almost too far.
Ivy held the door open for another Samson’s customer then walked across the parking lot toward the two men.
Gordon was on one knee on the pavement. He pulled a few bills out of his pocket and extended them toward Miguel.
Miguel shook his head, no, emphatically, no, then paused, staring at Gordon.
Ivy quickened her pace. There was a history here. She had given Miguel money before. Lots of people did. Sometimes you got a gracias. Sometimes. She got a Feliz Navidad once and when she told Debby and Maggie they didn’t believe her. You always got an empty stare.
Miguel was conversing with Gordon.
Gordon crawled...crawled... closer to Miguel.
Miguel put his hand gently on the back of Gordon’s neck and spoke more words. Ivy stopped walking and stared.
Gordon placed the bills in Miguel’s hands and closed the man’s fingers around them.
They exchanged more brief words, then Gordon stood, turned, and walked back toward Samson’s.
Ivy smiled a hopeful smile at her new boyfriend, the one who hated ties but obviously had deep affection for an old, broken man on the street.
When Gordon got closer she saw that his eyes were pale pink, like flaking nail polish on a child’s hands.
“Grab a burger with me?” Ivy said, not having any clue what else to say.
Gordon shook his head. “You can. I’ll be in the car.”
“No, we can--”
“Please, get a burger and a shake in honor of your uncle. I would if I was you.”
Ivy shook her head, “No, it’s okay I don’t have--”
“Please, get a burger, okay? That’s why we came. I’ll be in the car. It’s cool.”
He smiled at Ivy. it wasn’t effortless, but it was real.
***
They pulled out of Samson’s lot.
“I got you a few burgers,” Ivy said. I figured you’d be hungry later if you’re not now.”
She sipped her shake.
“I guess you must have known Miguel from his taco truck, huh?”
Gordon nodded, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Best tacos in town by light years.”
“You guys seem like you’re close.”
Gordon looked at Ivy.
“I wouldn’t say that. I mean...”
“It seemed to really bother you that he’s on the street like he is.”
“I offered to get him a hotel room. I always do. He never says yes. Just wants to stare across the street where his Aguila truck used to be. Where..”
“Miguel never talks to anyone, not that I’ve seen. He sure did talk to you.”
“Yeah, we talk.”
Ivy took a bite of burger, swallowed, dabbed a ketchup/mustard swirl off the corner of her mouth.
“I’d like to kill the crackhead who shot his wife.”
Gordon yanked the car to the side of the road and slammed it in park.
Ivy let out a little gasp as Gordon gently grasped her hand, squeezing her fingers closed like he had Miguel’s, his head bowed like he was taking the eucharist in his palms.
His large, calloused hands trembled like the screen of a speaker when the music was turned all the way up.
“I would too,” Gordon said. “And I tell him that every time I take our mom to prison to visit him.”
***
Photo by TJ Dragotta on Unsplash
This is such a powerful story, Jimmy. A real gut punch at the end!
Really powerful. That ending ...!!