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Thousand Words: Last Man StandingTHE DEEP SOUTH 27 August 2009 |
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Robert Ducote was sucking down ponies from a 24 pack and racing his souped-up Chevy 85 mph down Twin Bridges Road.
He lobbed an empty bottle over the top of his car and laughed as it shattered against the black and yellow sign.
Ducote had a smart mouth and we were always going back and forth, teenage boy BS, insults, threats and cockfight strut. In 8th grade we warred for class favorite. I heard I won by a landslide but Robert insisted he lost only by a few. “Nobody white voted for you,” he sneered.
Freshman year we battled for a spot on drumline. We both got in but I got big bass and he got the brass crash cymbals. “Marching band’s for queers,” he spit, then quit to play JV football. Then I quit too, to wrestle and play in a rock band.
Summer of sophomore year I dated his little sister Tiff. Her best friend Lisa was Robert’s girl.
Ducote struck first, his knuckles scraping my cheek. I tucked my chin and stole his legs out from under him, crashing us both to the ground.
“Stop it you two, stop!” Lisa cried, yanking at our shirts. The girls had fishtailed into a ditch and Robert and I had to push them out. We worked together until the car was free, then came to blows.
“Let ‘em go. I am so sick of this,” Tiff groused, arms folded and sucking on a Sonic Cherry Coke. I barred Ducote’s face to the side while he rabbit punched my kidneys.
“Tiii-if!” Lisa pleaded.
“Fine,” Tiffany huffed, pelting us with ice until we rolled on our backs and gasped for breath.
Six months later she dumped me.
Ducote was sitting on the hood of his car when I pulled up behind the girl’s gym that Friday morning. “Hey Blaine,” he called out. I walked over and we shook hands, the way enemies do in the South, glaring and trying to crush each other’s fingers.
“Goin’ to Savoy’s bonfire tonight?” he asked.
“Probably not.”
He nodded and eased his hand up the antenna. “Yeah, might be best. Tiff’ll be there with Greg.”
I gave it right back. “Yeah’n Lisa. No telling who she’ll be with…”
“Screw her,” he scoffed. “Got my eye on that freshman girl wears those big goofy-ass glasses.” He shot me a twisted smile. “Pretty hot.”
Becca Mooney. Bowl-cut blond and bookish she hadn’t made much of an impression until she’d flipped her booster skirt from end to end of the gym and shored up a spot on the cheerleader squad. I had a crush long before that though and had trimmed back my hair and cleaned up my act in hopes of winning her over.
“I hear her folks finally gonna let her date,” he said, sliding off the hood. “We been talking. On the phone. She’ll probably be there tonight.”
I narrowed my eyes into his and he stopped just short of laughing. “Whatever,” I said. “Give it your best shot.”
“Yeah I’ll give it a shot,” he cackled, biting his lip and pumping his hips between clenched fists.
I walked away, over to my buddy Todd. “Sonofabitch Ducote,” I seethed. “Needs to die. God should just kill people like that.”
Todd looked over to where Robert stood and nodded slowly.
I made a beeline for Becca in the hallway between classes and asked her out. “Think we could um – maybe meet somewhere tonight? I mean, pizza? – whatever you want…”
She pushed up her glasses and smiled shyly. “I’ll ask my mom. I think it’d be alright if you picked me up though.”
“That would be cool,” I gushed un-cooly.
She rested her hand against my arm and smiled again, this time not so coy. “My sister will have to go with us. That OK?”
Smitten, I sighed. “Completely.”
Mooney and me were in Showbiz Pizza, giggling with her sister and playing slaphands when Mindy Reese rushed our table. “Did you hear?” she gasped. “About Robert Ducote?”
Two days later I sat in the back at the funeral home thinking about the awful things I’d said. I didn’t have the guts to talk to his family. After the service Tiff caught me trying to slip out the door and pulled at the sleeve of my jacket.
“Can you be a pallbearer?” she asked. I guess she could tell I was shocked. “Please?”
“Your brother couldn’t stand me.”
She patted the back of my hand. “Nah. Not even that long ago he told me, ‘Stupid, you shoulda stuck with Blaine.’” I just shook my head.
“Remember that day ya’ll fought in the ditch?” Tiff asked.
“Yeah.”
“You know what he said? After you stormed off?”
“What?”
“He laughed and said ‘Damn Blaine. One day I’m gonna beat his ass at something.’”
She pinned a flower to my chest and we rode together to the cemetery.
We set his casket on the rails and a machine lowered it into the ground. Each of us threw in a shovel of dirt. Before I walked away his mother kissed my cheek.
That night I climbed into Todd’s Mustang and we headed north to Twin Bridges Road, a pint of Jim Beam Black in the console between us.
“You ready?” he asked. I sat there a long time saying nothing, looking down the road, into the dark line of pines that surrounded the field.
“Last man standing,” he said, taking a hard hit and passing the flask to me. I ran my fingers over the glass, the taste of whiskey in the back of my throat. He eased the gas pedal down to the floor and all the car’s horses roared to life.
“Go,” I said.
Todd’s tires gripped the road as he pegged his needles into the red. The wind whipped through the car and we shouted, pounding the roof with our fists as we shot through the fatal curve.
He pulled into the gravel just past the bend and shut the motor down.
I took a short pull of bourbon, dragged the back of my hand across my mouth and said to the night: I won. But the words carried no weight.
We got out and walked round to the roadside. There was a hard chill in the air and the moon was bone-white and high. Skid marks scarred the grass across the way and Todd pointed to a charred patch in the field. “There,” he said. “Right there.”
“To Robert,” I raised the bottle to the sky. “Rest easy man.” My voice cracked and Todd glanced over from the side.
“You two hated each other,” he said.
All the eternal ghosts of youth and the endless night waited for words that were true, for words that would return with weight.
“Nah,” I said. Then drained the last of Kentucky’s best and threw the bottle towards the black grass.
We stood there in the dark with the terrible weight. Then finally, slowly, we drove away.
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Original comment thread below
72 Comments »
Comment by Lenore Zion
2009-08-26 20:13:55
this broke my heart.
i’m afraid i’ll ruin it with a comment.
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-27 13:38:05
I had two pictures of Robert and me
but in the other one we weren’t laughing.
He’s on the left.
If you click on the blue dot above it theres a bigger version.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Megan DiLullo
2009-08-26 20:21:12
Beautiful, intense and all heart. You captured it perfectly, JMB.
Thank you.
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-26 20:29:54
Thanks Megan
sometimes when you write
something
you feel those feelings
again
and you wished you didn’t
write
and you wished you didn’t
feel
so much
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-26 20:23:40
lenore,
it was real hard
to write
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-26 20:24:20
have you ever
needed an enemy
worse than a friend?
Reply to this comment
Comment by Ducky
2009-10-13 07:21:10
Yes.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Sherri
2009-08-26 20:33:44
Email me…..I have a question. Going to read this piece now!
Reply to this comment
Comment by Zara Potts
2009-08-26 21:06:30
Oh boy.
You had me hooked on every word, and then you sucker punched me right in the middle.
I don’t have the words to express how I feel about this, you have used them all up in your heartbreaking way.
Rest easy, Robert Ducote.
And rest easy JMB because you just paid a beautiful tribute.
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-26 21:12:56
Thank you Zara
for your kind words
Rest easy,
I’ll try.
Reply to this comment
Comment by David S. Wills
2009-08-26 21:53:50
Damn, man, that has me all teary eyed… I’m thinking about all the people I now need to call and make peace with.
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-26 22:35:49
Call ‘em while you can brother
always make peace
while you can
blessed are the peacemakers
for theirs is
the
Kingdom
Reply to this comment
Comment by David S. Wills
2009-08-27 03:59:07
I will… This is one of the best things I’ve read on the TNB. Thanks for writing so well.
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 08:37:34
thank you for saying those kind words.
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Comment by Marni Grossman
2009-08-26 23:01:11
I just want to ad my voice to the chorus: broke my fucking heart.
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Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 08:41:30
at the time you just cant process why you feel so awful.
Then later you figure out that life is just bizarre and sad and strange that way.
Endings make us take account.
I guess that’s why we tell stories.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Dawn Corrigan
2009-08-27 02:13:56
‘It is never a mistake to say goodbye.’ – Vonnegut
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 08:43:54
Better to say it awkwardly
than to leave it unsaid.
Hey, on that -
thanks so much to you and Pony and Josie
for editing help and guidance.
You have all brought much good to my life.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Dawn Corrigan
2009-09-06 16:32:30
Amen, Brother. (And sorry for the delay getting back to you.)
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Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-08-27 02:40:40
Damn.
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 08:47:57
I think I finally said that after we drove away, just as the lights of town came into view and you figure that the world just keeps turning.
Damn.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Irene Zion
2009-08-27 03:23:14
Beautifully written
horrible story
but so human
real
the pain in your chest
is for you to
remember
him
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 08:59:25
so strange to miss that little
pink-eyed alligator bastard.
If I could see him again
I’d give him one free shot
right on the chin.
Just one.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Megan
2009-08-27 05:38:56
Straight up gorgeous.
This is more powerful than merely than saying or feeling sorry.
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Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 09:05:25
Hey thanks for your help friend.
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Comment by Brin Friesen
2009-08-27 05:50:31
Beautiful piece, man.
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 09:08:25
Ah you grow up and things
get too passive-aggressive.
I miss knowing where I stood with people.
Thanks Brin.
Pity the modern man who is neither enemy nor friend
Push me, either through enmity or camaraderie
But do not placate me.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Kimberly M. Wetherell
2009-08-27 06:11:36
Crushingly beautiful.
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 09:12:09
thank you Kimberly.
I hope I got the tone even half right.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Zsofia McMullin
2009-08-27 06:17:38
Lovely, heartbreaking piece. Thanks for writing it!
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 09:13:44
It was tough,
ready to write
foolishness
Reply to this comment
Comment by josie
2009-08-27 06:47:43
I can only echo everything that everyone else said. This story is heart wrenchingly beautiful and painful… the sucker punch in the middle… the lesson that we need to make peace with people now… the wonderful tribute to Robert Ducote… all written exceptionally well… .
Incredible story, JMB.
Haunting.
Beautiful.
Human.
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 09:25:05
This incident sort of warped me
for the remainder.
Now I always think I need a nemesis.
Thank you for your patient and invaluable input
as always.
Reply to this comment
Comment by josie
2009-08-27 11:31:36
… this explains the FaceBako tag team wrestling mania.
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Comment by Rich Ferguson
2009-08-27 07:41:47
This is true you, brother. So much heart, so much soul. So much depth. So much of that hypnotic Southern soul in your voice that makes me yearn for more. Bravo.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Paul Clayton
2009-08-27 09:32:31
Nice premium piece. I can smell the burning rubber and oil, see the gas at $039 a gallon, the girls so… Best to you!
Reply to this comment
Comment by Paul Clayton
2009-08-27 09:33:07
Nice premium piece. I can smell the burning rubber and oil, see the gas at $0.39 a gallon, the girls so… Best to you!
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 09:41:30
Oh man – that would be like – my dad’s story maybe.
I think gas was over a dollar when this occurred.
Thanks for the cool comment though!
Reply to this comment
Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-27 09:37:37
Rich,
I am buoyed by your kindness
and your words are always heartfelt.
Reply to this comment
Comment by sheree
2009-08-27 10:52:51
Ya bled the pen on this post.
And as for this question you posed in your comments:
“have you ever
needed an enemy
worse than a friend?”
My answer would have to be yes.
Cheers to the living and God have mercy on the dead.
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-27 13:42:45
Oh
I love your comment.
God have mercy on us
all
Reply to this comment
Comment by James D. Irwin
2009-08-28 01:48:09
Beautiful man.
One of the best pieces I’ve read on TNB.
Screw that, one of the best things I’ve ever read.
I can smell whiskey and night air.
Jesus.
Reply to this comment
Comment by josie
2009-08-28 06:39:33
What does Jesus smell like, JimmyD?
Reply to this comment
Comment by sheree
2009-08-28 09:41:43
Yeah Jimmy James, what does Jesus smell like? Pretty ladies want to know… heheh!
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-28 10:25:00
Thank you James, kind words indeed that cause me to blush a bit.
I hesitated to even post this story because it seemed
so hard to tell.
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Comment by James D. Irwin
2009-08-28 12:19:05
The hardest ones are usually the best. You just can’t fake powerful emotion.
Reply here
Comment by jmb
2009-08-28 10:30:13
Jesus smells like kerosene
& dirt
the rich loamy earth
where things grow
in the cool and dark
Genesis
of the sweet breath of God
like sweat
from the working
of words & hearts
& choice & chance
like the baking of bread
beauty & chaos
& tears of joy
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Comment by sheree
2009-08-28 12:53:37
I always figured he smelt like frankincense and Myrrh with a hint of sawdust and wine. Heh.
Comment by josie
2009-08-28 14:54:17
Mmm,sounds like he smells hot, musky, and like home with good incense.
Reply here
Comment by New Orleans Lady
2009-08-28 06:25:40
This was beautiful and heartbraking all at once. My chest feels heavy. I’m sorry for your loss. I lost a very close friend in my Freshman year of high school. She was killed by a drunk driver. I was supposed to be with her that night….
I couldn’t imagine being angry with her at the time.
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-28 10:39:01
Lady,
I’m a bit amazed & humbled by the reaction.
Its hard to recall that chaos of emotions when you lost someone
in your teens.
Then again its hard to ever shake it.
Reply to this comment
Comment by New Orleans Lady
2009-08-28 13:10:40
That’s it EXACTLY.
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Comment by Joi Brozek
2009-08-28 09:32:04
Thank you for writing this. Nothing has moved me this much in a long time.
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-28 10:50:31
Joi -
Once again humbled and amazed.
thank you.
Reply to this comment
Comment by karyn
2009-08-28 09:49:07
Damn it. You always make me cry. Do you have stock in Kleenex or something?
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-28 10:52:38
Karyn,
I could never have imagined that something I wrote
would make someone cry.
You cant know how much that means.
Reply to this comment
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-08-28 13:16:54
Weighing in late (I’m way overextended) to say how much I, too, loved this piece.
A song by No Age, “Keechie,” was playing in the background as I read much of it, like a soundtrack. I recommend that you read your own piece while playing that song and see if you’re in any way transported, even if the words are are your own. And the experiences, too, of course.
RIP, Robert Ducote.
Reply to this comment
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-08-28 13:26:54
Oops. Doubled the “are.” Still another mistake due to HTML code, or, rather, my lame attempts at using it.
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-28 16:54:47
I’ll go check it out – I wrote this to Bad Company, Skynyrd and Bocephus.
That wasnt really the music of our generation
but it’s what all southern boys
raise hell to.
Still.
Reply to this comment
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-08-28 17:49:18
No Age is very different — nothing Southern about it. But it was interesting to read your piece with that particular song playing in the background.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Erika Rae
2009-08-30 15:36:46
…and breathe.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Erika Rae
2009-08-30 15:38:09
…and breathe.
Is it possible to light a candle and wave it in the air in a comment?
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-30 19:15:50
Light one for me friend.
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Comment by Autumn
2009-08-31 10:27:51
Crying at work is not becoming, but this one left me speechless. I had to walk away from my desk to compose myself. Beautiful, sad words. Thank you, JMB, for sharing this.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Jim Simpson
2009-08-31 19:08:42
Vivid. Aces, man, you’re aces.
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-08-31 20:01:54
Man I never expected these responses.
I am truly humbled and a little disturbed but truly touched.
Thank you kindly.
Reply to this comment
Comment by Jim Simpson
2009-08-31 20:17:27
I can imagine you reading this at the Clermont and everyone toasting at the end.
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Comment by James Michael Blaine
2009-08-31 20:56:17
I think at the Clermont I’d have to pull an Iggy Pop.
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Comment by Zara Potts
2009-08-31 21:54:10
I know I have already commented but I just had to come back and read this again.
I just adore this.
It has been running round my head for days.
Really, it’s just perfect.
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-09-01 16:29:22
Nice to see you
again
Reply to this comment
Comment by Ducky
2009-10-13 07:38:18
This one scared me. What if words really have power?
Regardless, your words take me.
Reply to this comment
Comment by jmb
2009-10-14 19:18:46
Oh Ducky
Words do have power
so much more than we know
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Director’s Commentary: Man this was a hard story to write. I felt it was a little too close for comfort and very hard to get the right tone but I gave it a shot. I ended up cutting as many words as I wrote. There’s another fight that Coach Carr broke up and the time we took up the offering at church and were perfect gentlemen and – well. I changed the original picture because I wouldnt want to upset his family if it ever did get printed. It was the only shot I had of us both smiling and looking like pals.