“What are you really
angry about?”
The phrase came
drifting into Tyler’s head from out of nowhere on a Sunday afternoon. He was kicking back having a couple of
brewskis and watching some syfy flick.
“What are you really
angry about?”
It was a handy
phrase to have.
Ever since he heard
it he used it to back himself out of crap that made him angry.
For instance there
were times when Tyler was confronted by angry bosses, bosses who seemed to be
way over-angry about the issue at hand.
At what Tyler thought was just the right time he would ask, “Boss, what
are you really angry about?”
Interestingly Tyler
never got an answer to his question, but the boss’ ranting always came to an
abrupt end.
“What are you really
angry about?”
Tyler didn’t keep
count of how many times he’d asked himself that question when something made
him really angry. The question gave him
pause, helped him dismantle his rage.
It was a long time
ago when he first heard the words.
Is 35 years a long
time?
Yes, 35 years is a
long time.
Tyler was freshly
divorced and freshly done with his job back in the hills and hollows of eastern
Kentucky coal country.
Tyler rolled into
the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia in his old Ford coupe towing a rental trailer
with all of his crap crammed inside. He
pulled up at a gas station under a tree, went and bought a copy of the local
paper, then kicked back in his car and looked over the classifieds for a place
to live…a room, share a house, even a house…something.
Tyler followed up on
one ad, dropping in on a house in town, home to a Quaker mom and her young
son. He knew she was Quaker because she
kept saying she was a Quaker…this seemed to be very important to her. The only thing that seemed different about
her home is that the dining room chairs hung on hooks on the dining room walls. He didn’t know if that was a Quaker thing or
just her thing. Tyler was a bit put off
by her because she seemed to be hungry for a man in her life. It wasn’t anything she said…okay, maybe it
was but he couldn’t remember…but moreover it was a vibe she gave off. Besides, Tyler had a girlfriend.
The other ad in the
paper that caught Tyler’s eye was for a small farmhouse about 20 miles out of
town.
“SMALL FARMHOUSE ADJACENT TO MAIN HOUSE.
2BR, 1BATH, KITCHEN.
PEACEFUL. IDEAL FOR TEACHER,
ARTIST, WRITER. $250/MONTH, $100
DEPOSIT.
Tyler pulled up to a
phone booth and soon he was talking to…
“Hello, this is
Hattie June Ames*.”
“Hello Ms. Ames, my
name is Tyler Bergeron. I’m calling
about your farmhouse for rent.”
“What do you do, Mr.
Bergeron?”
“I’m taking a new
job as a advertising salesman at a radio station in town.”
“What station?” she
asked.
Tyler told her.
“Oh, I don’t listen
to that,” said Ms. Ames, “I like the Christian station. I’m old, I’m a retired school teacher. That’s why I was looking for someone in the
arts to rent my little house.”
“Well Ms. Ames I am
an aspiring writer.”
“Aspiring?”
“Yes ma’am,” said
Tyler. “You know a lot of writers held
other jobs. Cervantes, the man who wrote
‘Don Quixote’ held many jobs, he was even a slave for a bit.”
“I KNOW about Miguel
de Cervantes, Mr. Bergeron, I WAS a schoolteacher.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Where are you
moving in from?”
“I’m fresh from the
coalfields of eastern Kentucky,” said Tyler.
There was a bit of
silence on the line.
“Well,” said Ms.
Ames, “Come on out…”
She gave Tyler
directions.
In short order Tyler
was winding down the road to the Ames house.
He had passed through the Shenandoah Valley many times, now he’d be
living in The Valley. The hills and
hollows of eastern Kentucky couldn’t hold a candle to the tall Blue Ridge
Mountains to the east and the Alleghenies to the west that bordered the vast
valley.
Tyler pulled up in
front of Ms. Ames house, a two-story old place…no doubt that was the rent-house
about 200 feet off to the west side of the place.
Ms. Ames sat on the
front porch of her home in a rocking chair rocking back and forth, a cane in
her lap.
She was much older
than Tyler imagined. She sat in an old
house dress that came down to her ankles.
“I was a school
teacher for a long time,” Ms. Ames just said out of the blue. “This is my momma and daddy’s house. I’ve lived here all my life.”
“No ma’am,” said
Tyler. “You ain’t gone on to Glory yet
so it ain’t all your life.”
There were some
moments of awkward silence.
“Oh,” said Ms. Ames,
sneering, “That’s supposed to be funny.
Ha ha.”
“Sorry ma’am,” said
Tyler, “Just my radio humor.”
“I retired 10 years
ago,” she went on. “I moved into the
little house over there when I came back from college to teach around here. It’s where I lived until momma and daddy
died. Come on, boy, let’s go over and have a look at
it.”
Tyler walked slow so
Ms. Ames could keep up, hobbling along with her cane.
“I always thought
this would be perfect for an artistic person,” said Ms. Ames.
“Where’s Mr. Ames?”
asked Tyler.
“Oh, I never
married, I have no children. I have a
lot of nephews and nieces. I had enough
children in my life being a teacher. Go
on in, the door isn’t locked.”
Tyler walked into
the little place. Wood floors, no
furniture, lots of windows with views across the overgrown fields to the
mountains…The Alleghenies to the west, The Blue Ridge to the east. He had visions of coming back to the place at
night and getting to work on his writing on his typewriter. What was he going to write? He had no idea, but he was sure it would come
to him. Yeah, this is where his great
novel would be born.
“So you are working
on a novel or something?”
“I’m going to
write,” said Tyler, “and this looks like just the kind of place that would give
me some inspiration.”
“You’re not
published?” asked Ms. Ames.
“No ma’am,” said
Tyler.
He turned and looked
at Ms. Ames. Her right eyeball wasn’t
quite set right in her head and some snaggily teeth hung over her lower lip.
Tyler pulled out his
wallet and presented Ms. Ames with $350.
“Rent and deposit
ma’am,” he said.
“Now not so fast,
boy,” said Ms. Ames. “I need some
references. Come on back to the house.”
Back at the house
Tyler wrote down some names and phone numbers of folks he knew back in eastern
Kentucky.
The next day Ms.
Ames called back and gave him the “green light” to move on in.
The new job started
Monday. It was Friday now. Tyler met with Ms. Ames late Friday morning
and was all moved in by suppertime, just in time for Darcy to roll in from
Pikeville.
Darcy flung open the
door of her car, she was all jeans, peasant blouse, big smile and blue eyes. Tyler
picked up Darcy and spun her round and round.
“Isn’t this a great
place?” he asked.
“Out in the middle
of nowhere,” said Darcy. “We can make
lots of noise out here.”
Darcy was Tyler’s
girlfriend. She went to the cosmetology
school in Pikeville. In a few months she
would graduate and be a hair stylist.
They stood in front
of the little farmhouse, held hands and watched the sunset.
There was a rustling
behind them. They both turned around.
It was Ms. Ames.
“WHO IS THIS?” she
said sharply.
“This is Darcy
Turnbaugh,” said Tyler. “My girlfriend.”
Darcy smiled and
held out her hand for Ms. Ames to shake.
Ms. Ames just stood,
squinted her eyes and stared them down.
She wouldn’t shake
Darcy’s hand.
“Do you think she is
living here?” said Ms. Ames, jabbing her cane in Darcy’s direction.
Tyler stood there in
silence for a few moments and assessed the situation.
“Miss Turnbaugh is
visiting me this weekend.”
“Aren’t you freshly
divorced?” said Ms. Ames, now jabbing her cane in Tyler’s direction. “Don’t you have children?”
Tyler stood there in
silence.
“Ma’am,” he said,
pausing to choose his words carefully, “I don’t see that my life in Pikeville
has any bearing on our renter and landlord agreement here in Virginia. How do you know about my children anyway?”
“One of your
references liked to talk a lot,” said Ms. Ames.
“Ma’am, with all due
respect, my personal life is none of your business.”
Ms. Ames turned her
head and spit on the ground. With that
she turned and ambled away.
They watched her
walk back to the farmhouse.
And so Tyler and
Darcy spent the weekend driving around the new territory during the day and at
night doing those things that a boyfriend and girlfriend do when love is new
and those frisky feelings run high.
Sunday came. The two lay in bed until late in the morning.
“Well,” said Darcy,
“How about I fix some brunch?”
“A most excellent
idea Miss Turnbaugh,” said Tyler.
BAM! BAM!
BAM!
There was a loud
knocking at the door.
Tyler and Darcy
looked at each other. Tyler shrugged his
shoulders. He put on some clothes and
went to the door.
He opened it and
there was Ms. Ames.
She was dressed in
something that looked like what a woman of the 1940’s might wear to church
topped off with one of those little hats that needs a hat pin to hold it in
place.
“Mr. Bergeron I want
to talk to you NOW,” said Ms. Ames. She
spun around and hobbled up to the big house.
She turned around again, “and ALONE.”
Tyler turned around
and looked at Darcy. She shrugged her
shoulders and motioned for him to go. He
put on shoes and headed up to the house.
He got to the front
screen door…
“Come on in, boy,”
Ms. Ames barked from inside.
Tyler walked in to
find Ms. Ames sitting at her dining room table.
“Sit down,” she
said, tapping the chair across from her with her cane.
Tyler sat.
“I want you OUT of
my rental,” said Ms. Ames. “This was a
mistake.”
Tyler sat in stunned
silence.
“Well, ma’am, you
sure get right to the point.”
“The point is, boy,
people are talking.”
“What?” Tyler said
with his face scrunched up. “What are
they talking about?”
“People in my
church, they want to know why I’m allowing such goings on.”
“Who knows what?”
said Tyler, his blood starting to rise.
“How?”
“The Gundersons live
over there,” she said jabbing her cane to the west, then jabbing her cane to
the east, “And the Tildens over there.
They can see, THEY CAN HEAR.”
“Hear what?”
“You know damn well
what, boy. That’s a loud little
girlfriend you have in the night.”
Tyler felt himself
blush.
“You two were all
the talk in church this morning. I was
mortified.”
“That’s mighty
CHRISTIAN of those folks now isn’t it,” said Tyler bitterly.
“Now you just…”
Tyler held up his
hand, a sign for Ms. Ames to stop talking.
“Ma’am, it’s best I
excuse myself for about an hour and I come back and we finish this talk,” said
Tyler. “I can’t think straight right
now. This is quite a surprise. I know this much, if having visitors is a
problem you should’ve said something when I handed over my money.”
Ms. Ames stared at
Tyler.
“Very well,” she
said.
Tyler stood up and
walked out the door to the rent house.
There was Darcy
fixing bacon and eggs.
“C’mon babe,” said
Tyler. “Turn off the stove. Sorry it’ll mess up breakfast. Something’s come up. I need to take a drive and I need you to come
with me.”
Tyler grabbed her by
the hand and lead her out the door to his old Ford. He fired it up and tore out for the highway.
“GOD DAMMIT,” he
yelled, slamming his fist on to the dashboard.
Darcy jumped and
leaned back into the passenger door, eyes wide.
“Umm,” she said
slowly as the car rocketed down the two-lane, “you haven’t told me what’s going
on.”
55…65…75 miles per
hour on the speedometer.
“THE OLD BITCH WANTS
ME OUT OF THE PLACE,” Tyler yelled, slamming his fist onto the dash again, a
chunk of black plastic went flying.
80…85…
“Tyler,” said Darcy
in a soft tone, “slow down. At the least
you might get a ticket, at most you’re gonna wrap us around a tree.”
Tyler slammed his
fist on the dash again. Another chunk of
plastic went flying.
And now there was a
gash on his hand.
70…65…60 miles per
hour.
“Now,” said Darcy,
putting her hand on his arm, “I’m going to say something to you and I want you
to think about it.”
Tyler stared
straight ahead.
Darcy could see the
muscles in his face tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing over and over
again.
Blood oozed down the
right side of the steering wheel.
“Tyler, what are you
REALLY angry about?”
60…55…50 miles per
hour.
Tyler slowed down
even more and eased the Ford to the side of the road, a little pull-off under a
big old oak tree.
He turned the car
off.
Tyler hung his
head. Then he looked at his hand.
“We have any paper
towels? It looks worse than it is.”
Darcy opened the
glove box and pulled out some napkins they saved from some fast food joint.
“What am I REALLY
angry about….damn good question,” said Tyler as he wiped the blood from his
hand, then the steering wheel.
“I learned it in
family therapy,” said Darcy.
Tyler turned to
Darcy and smiled.
“I didn’t know you’d
been in therapy,” he said.
“I don’t talk about
it much,” said Darcy. “It was about me
and my mom. At least she wanted to
better herself. At least she realized
she had a problem.”
Tyler turned and
looked out the side window at the Blue Ridge Mountains off in the distance.
“I’m pissed because
I have to load up all my shit again, find a place to live again.”
He turned and looked
Darcy in the eyes.
“I’m tired, I’m
battle weary, I lost my ass in that divorce,” he said.
“Ummmm, HELL-O…I
KNOW,” said Darcy.
“Yeah,” said Tyler,
smiling.
“And I don’t have to
leave this evening,” said Darcy. “I’ll
help you pack your shit up again, load it again…good thing you didn’t take that
trailer back yet…and I’m betting by noon tomorrow we’ll have you in another
place.”
Tyler leaned back in
the seat, looked up and let out a big sigh.
His hand had stopped
bleeding.
Tyler fired up the
Ford, whipped around and headed back to the Ames place.
In a few minutes
they were pulling up in front of the rent house.
Tyler turned off the
car.
“I’m going to go
talk to her,” said Tyler.
“I’ll start
packing,” said Darcy. “And I’ll have
something for you to eat when you get back.”
In moments Tyler was
at the front door knocking politely.
Ms. Ames came to the
door and opened it.
“Come in, Mr.
Bergeron,” she said.
Tyler walked through
the house and stood by the ancient wooden dining room table. Ms. Ames was making her way across the room.
“I want all of my
money back,” said Tyler. “Like I said,
if you had brought up the subject of visitors on Friday I would’ve found
someplace else.”
“It’s not about
visitors per se,” said Ms. Ames as she sat, “You two are not married.”
“Just give me my
money, 350 dollars,” said Tyler holding out his hand.
“And the children,
you should think of the children.”
“Ms. Ames, my
personal life is none of your business, seriously, it isn’t. Most of all you don’t know my story, don’t
assume that you do because you don’t.”
“I’m just telling
you what I’ve seen in life, children of broken homes.”
“My money please,”
said Tyler, still holding out his hand.
Ms. Ames pulled her
purse to her from across the table, opened it and pulled out a wad of
bills. She passed the dollars to Tyler.
“It’s all there,”
she said.
Tyler took her at
her word.
“And the rental
agreement,” said Tyler. “That needs to
be torn up too.”
“Yes sir,” said Ms.
Ames, reaching for some typewritten pages laying on the table. She got them and tore them up.
“We’ll be off your
property by sunset, if not sooner,” said Tyler, walking to the door, not
looking at the old woman. “Good fortune
to you in the rest of your life’s journey, Ms. Ames.”
“You as well, Mr.
Bergeron,” said Ms. Ames.
Tyler was out the
door.
It slammed behind
him.
Walking back to the
rent house Tyler smiled.
He felt better.
Everything was going
to be okay.
“What are you REALLY
angry about?”
Great words.
But best of all…
…he wasn’t angry
now.
-30-
*All people’s names
in this story are fictitious.
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