by John Power
The train rumbled across the bridge over the Harlem River entering Manhattan from the Bronx. Cody sat inside, drumming his fingers against the scratched-up plastic windows. He’d been reading earlier on the trip, but the lack of nicotine had finally gotten to him and he couldn’t focus on the pages any longer. He put it down maybe a half-hour ago, and set all of his attention on waiting until he could smoke.
The train slowed and then halted at 125th Street, and the doors slid open. Cody grabbed his backpack from the seat next to him, reached up and pulled down his duffel bag from the overhead rack, and made his way out to the platform high above the city street below.
He’d been warm in the train. Outside it was cold and bitter like it gets in New York in early January when you know the weather wants to snow but it’s too cold to do so. There’s a dampness in the air that chills deep and immediately and doesn’t let up. As Cody’s train pulled away any protective barrier left with it, and the wind whipped across his face.
Cody moved to the middle of the platform, dropped his bags, and buttoned up his worn, corduroy jacket. He wished he had a hat. He didn’t need one 60 days ago. He felt his lips chapping and his face begin to redden, but he had dealt with the weather as best he could so now set about getting his nicotine.
He reached inside the jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his shirt’s breast pocket. He put a cigarette in his chapped lips and returned the pack. In one fluid motion he cupped his hands to block the wind, ignited the lighter, and lit his cigarette. Cody stood in the cold after returning the lighter to his pocket, smoking his cigarette, and when it was done he pulled out another and lit it off of the first.
It was already dark out. Looking down towards the City Cody saw tall buildings with white, office lights. To the west he could see the red sign of the Apollo Theater. On the street beneath him head and taillights of cars and trucks and taxis were moving under orange street-lamps. Storefronts had neon signs humming, and white light streamed out shop windows onto the sidewalk, illuminating the odd faces below.
He finished his cigarette and was about to pull out a third when another train rolled up, and the doors opened. Cody tossed his spent cigarette to the ground, picked his bags up from the platform, and stepped into the train. The conductor never even asked for Cody’s ticket. The worst he could have done was throw him off at the next stop, which was Grand Central anyway.
Ten minutes later Cody was the first onto the platform when the doors opened, but a throng of others shoving towards the Main Concourse quickly joined him. Rush hour traffic was pushing in the opposite direction, and Grand Central was teaming with commuters in suits and ties running to catch trains home to loving families. Others had missed trains, and were killing time by talking on cell phones or buying snacks or magazines. Conductors in blue or red uniforms slowly walked to their next train, and the police made sure to put up a strong showing.
Dozens of people were standing around the clock above the information kiosk in the middle of the floor, waiting for whomever they told “meet me at the clock.” Cody looked up at the constellations on the ceiling as he passed under them. They were much brighter, and had been for a while, than when he was a kid. A few times he and Liz and their mother came into the City to meet their father after work. Cody couldn’t really remember what for—maybe a play or show or something like that. The LIRR put them in at Penn Station, but they’d walk over to Grand Central to meet him at the clock, and Cody would stare up at the constellations until he arrived. One time his father didn’t show, and Cody just sat down on the floor for the hour or two that they waited before returning home, no matter how many times his mother said the floor was dirty and told him to get up off it. When his father got home a few hours after them he said he was sorry, that it had simply slipped his mind, and that he was very sorry. Cody couldn’t remember the end of that story, whether his father really was telling the truth about simply forgetting, but he wasn’t inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Cody pushed through the crowd, up the hall, down the escalator, swiped his Metrocard, and pushed through the crowed again down to wait for a downtown 5 Train, where he could hear a jazz guitarist playing from somewhere—maybe across the tracks on the uptown platform. When the train showed he pushed on with his bags and all the other people and stood in the cramped car. After a few stops Cody got off at Bowling Green, and lit a cigarette as he walked to the Staten Island ferry. He waited for the next ferry, and despite the cold Cody stood outside on the deck to keep smoking as he made his way from one island to another.
It was about seven thirty when the cab pulled up outside the house. He gave the Pakistani driver a few bucks and a small tip. He hadn’t seen his sister in months, he told himself. Then he laughed at the vagueness of “months” because he knew exactly how many months it had been. Liz had dropped him off upstate. She had to take a day off from work to do it, too. She didn’t even like Cody. He reminded her of their father.
Cody took out another cigarette, his first since the ferry, and flicked it into the street when all the tobacco was gone. As he stepped up to the door and prepared to ring the bell he took a deep breath, and in the cold his exhale turned to fog and floated away like the cigarette smoke. Liz opened the door and let him in.
“You’re late.”
“I’m sorry. The trip took a little longer than I thought it would.”
“The kids got hungry so we all ate, but I could reheat some chicken for you.”
“That would be great,” Cody replied as he dropped his bags to the floor and looked around the house. “Did you paint in here? It looks different.”
“James did that,” Liz said as she walked towards the kitchen.
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks, Cody,” James said coming in from the living room to greet him in the hallway.
“Jim, good to see you. How’s school going?”
“It’s going, it’s going.”
Cody had liked James a few years ago. James was smart and funny and always had a good story to tell about his students. But their relationship had changed. They were pals before, and now they were brothers-in-law. Even during the first few years after the wedding they still weren’t brothers-in-law. Perhaps it was Liz. Perhaps the kids. Maybe the fact that James began to hate his job. It might have been Cody’s fault. Causes, though, were never Cody’s forte. Effects he understood and could deal with, but causes always seemed to elude him.
“Kids, look, Uncle Cody’s here!” James called, and the four nieces and nephews came in to shake hands or get a kiss on the cheek before returning to the television.
“Where should I put my bags?”
“You’ll be sleeping in the living room. Sorry, small house,” James said with a laugh to cover the embarrassment.
“That’s fine. I guess I can leave them here, then.”
“Liz already got you some blankets and a pillow and a towel. They’re on the chair in the corner,” he said motioning in the general direction. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, thanks, Jim, this is all more than enough. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
Three quick beeps sounded in the kitchen, and James and Cody both knew that the microwave had warmed the chicken, and that Liz would be waiting for them. They walked down the short hall. The food was all set out for Cody, and Liz was sitting at the opposite end of the table. Cody sat down and began to eat. James stepped over to the refrigerator, and pulled out a beer for himself before sitting down between Liz and Cody.
Jim didn’t offer Cody a beer. Not even out of habit. Cody looked up for his own glass of water, and noticed he didn’t have one. Silverware, napkin, salt and pepper, and salad dressing, were all out on the table. Christ, Cody didn’t even have a salad in front of him. But they didn’t give him a drink. Was this all a fucking game with them? Some big test? Did they plan this all out beforehand and think about how cute it would be if Jim got himself a beer while I was eating? He wouldn’t let them get to him. He had been in this house before, and knew where the glasses were. He got out of his chair, walked to the cabinet, and took down a glass for himself. He added ice from the freezer, and filled it at the tap. He sat back down, thinking they were being real cute.
“How long will you be staying with us?”
“I’m not sure, Liz.”
“Do you have any plans?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Do you plan on getting a job?”
“Eventually.”
“You’re content to live off your sister’s hospitality until then?” Liz asked, speaking of herself in the third person.
“Liz, please,” James said quietly.
“Am I wrong here?”
“No, you’re not wrong. You’re just . . . you’re right. I just need some time, Liz. I’ll try to hurry. I can’t guarantee you anything, but I’ll try to hurry.”
“I smell you’re smoking again. I don’t want you smoking in the house. I don’t want you smoking within sight of the house. I want you to be awake when the kids leave for school. You can go back to bed when they leave, but you will be up when they’re up. I don’t want you coming in late and waking the whole house up. If I even suspect you of anything, I will not hesitate in kicking you out of my house. I will not see you set a bad example for my children.”
Cody’s initial reaction was anger. He was her brother, for Christ’s sake. He felt he was entitled to a little hospitality. As he tried to control the anger he began to see that she was right. He saw that none of her fears were unfounded, that none of the claims she was making were out of line, and that he had crossed all those lines before. He was disgusted with himself. He wanted to get up from the table and run out the door. He wanted to smoke cigarette after cigarette until he felt that calming buzz. He wanted a drink, and for the first time that day he knew he wasn’t cured, and that he couldn’t be.
Cody ate his chicken while Liz went on with her list of what he could and could not do. Occasionally he’d look up at James’ face and see that James was really on his side, and that Liz was out of line. Other times he’d look up and see that James agreed entirely with what Liz was saying. He never needed to look at Liz—he could tell by her voice. He knew she meant exactly what she said, and in the harshest possible connotation it could be taken. He also knew that no matter how much James agreed or disagreed with her, she was right about everything.
When she was done she asked Cody if he understood. All he could do was nod his head as he felt his Adam’s apple tighten, because he knew that if he opened his mouth she’d know he was a phony. He didn’t make eye contact with her. He stared at his chicken or glanced up at James, but never did he look at a single other thing in that room too small to be both a kitchen and a dining room. After Cody nodded, Liz went into the living room to watch TV with the kids.
“Cody, I don’t know if I agree with everything she said, but that’s how it’s got to be,” explained James. Cody nodded again. “It’s good to see you back, though. Good luck.”
James went to the television while Cody stayed where he was to finish his reheated chicken, and his water. When he was done he went outside, down the block, turned the corner, smoked another cigarette, and then returned to watch TV with the family. At eight-thirty the kids began to go to bed, one every half-hour, and they were all asleep by ten. James and Liz went upstairs at eleven. Cody watched TV until one, and then fell asleep on the couch without ever getting his blankets or pillow off the chair in the corner.
Liz woke him at seven the next morning, and after the kids were fed and taken to school, he went back to sleep.
When Cody woke again it was about noon, and the house was empty. He took a shower and dressed, and went into the kitchen to do something about lunch. He opened the refrigerator, and immediately heard the clanking of glass on glass as beer bottles rattled in the door-shelves. He looked at them for a few seconds before closing the door, finding the key Liz had left for him, grabbing his jacket, and heading out. He walked a few blocks to a main road, went into a grocery store for a newspaper and a carton of cigarettes, and then down the block to a pizza parlor. He walked around for a while after lunch before returning to the house. When he got inside he finished reading the paper, and then turned on the television for a few hours until the family showed up. Dinner was on the table a short time later.
“What did you do today, Cody?” asked Liz.
“I read the paper.”
“Did you look at the want ads?”
“A little.”
“What else did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s what I want to do,” said one of the kids, and Cody felt himself being a bad example already, and he wondered just how short his leash really was. He tried to think of a way to prove he’d done something productive.
“I saw a help wanted sign over at the supermarket,” Cody said.
“That’s what you want to do? You want to be stock boy?”
“I don’t want to, but I could. There are jobs out there. That’s all I’m saying.” “Of course there are jobs out there. But you need to apply for them. Besides, you’re better than a stock boy.”
Cody thought he found a compliment from his sister, but then decided it was unintentional, and based only on the fact that he’d gone to college while she hadn’t. There was an edge to it.
“Do you have any prospects other than the grocery store?”
“No. But I think maybe I’ll give Steve Turner a call tomorrow.”
“You think Steve wants you back?”
Of course not. Cody remembered. He’d hoped Liz wouldn’t, but in truth that was a stupid expectation. He’d been making good money with Steve—more than Liz and James would ever see. “Stupid” was the only word he could think of to describe what he’d done to Steve, but he knew that didn’t really cover it.
He laughed to himself that he had even suggested taking a job at a grocery store. That’s what he did during summers as a teenager—not as an adult with responsibilities. Regardless of how he handled those responsibilities, he’d had them, and until the end he had the paycheck to support them.
“I’m thinking of going into the City tonight,” Cody said to avoid answering the question about Steve.
“For what?” Liz demanded.
“I thought I’d see Kate.”
Even the kids, the oldest at least, seemed to know there was something wrong with that picture.
“You think she wants to see you?” James blurted.
“I don’t know. Probably not. Maybe not. But I’d like to see.”
“What time will you get back?”
“I don’t know, exactly. I’ll be quiet when I come in.”
The tone of submission in his voice seemed to be enough to satisfy Liz. After dinner Cody called a taxi to take him to the ferry. The cold front still hadn’t broken, and as much as Cody wanted to get out of the bitter night air blowing off the choppy water, he again stood on the deck to smoke. When the ferry pulled into Manhattan he walked to the subway, and transferred as necessary to get to the West Village.
He quickly walked to FH’s Grill, and as Cody stepped up to the bar all the smells and sounds came back to him, and he became very nervous. Frank, the owner and bartender, came over to him. He wasn’t very happy to see Cody. He’d only gotten Kate’s side of the story, and Cody’s side wasn’t much better.
“You can’t smoke that in here,” Frank said.
Cody nodded his head and put away the lighter, but left the cigarettes on the bar. “Is Kate around?”
“She’s on her break. She’s in the back.”
“Could you get her?”
“Wait here.”
Frank left the bar unmanned and went into the kitchen while Cody fiddled with the pack of cigarettes. He remembered when Frank would shake his hand and let Cody walk right into the kitchen, and when he didn’t even get too angry about Cody disappearing with Kate in the locked back room for fifteen minutes during the middle of her shift, let alone pouring himself a Guinness right out of the tap.
Frank pushed back through the swinging door, and Kate walked out behind him, her red hair pulled back and put up in a kind of bun-like thing. It wasn’t the way Cody liked it, and before she had always made sure to keep it down and long for him. She took a seat on the stool next to Cody.
“How are you?”
“I’m OK, Kate. Would you mind coming outside for a minute?” Cody motioned to the cigarettes as an excuse, but he really just wanted to get out of a place where so much alcohol was within arm’s reach. It was loud, too, and he felt Frank’s eyes on him.
“My coat’s in the back.”
“Have mine. It won’t be too long.”
Kate put on Cody’s jacket, and after nodding to Frank to let him know where she’d be, they went outside. Cody lit his cigarette before the door was even shut behind them.
“I heard you got some help,” Kate said out on the sidewalk.
“Yep.”
“Are you better now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think you can get better. Maybe just less bad.”
She started to ask her next question but stopped, and Cody knew what she wanted to ask. Kate knew that he knew, but neither said a word. Kate reached out and took the cigarette out of Cody’s hand, and took a long drag before handing it back.
“I thought you quit,” Cody muttered.
“You should know about quitting.” Kate was sorry she said it as soon as that came out of her mouth. She had gotten into the custom of cutting him down towards the end and this was probably a force of habit, but she regretted it.
“Why are you here?” she quickly added.
“I wanted to see you.”
She knew he’d say that, but still didn’t know how to respond or what question to ask next. She took another smoke from his cigarette.
“Want one of your own?”
“No. I am working on quitting.”
Cody remembered all the times he’d told her that. He noticed his cigarette was down to the filter, so pulled out his pack and lit another off the first before tossing it away.
“When did you start smoking again?” Kate said, suddenly realizing it was years since she’d seen him with a cigarette.
“You always need at least one bad habit,” Cody smiled, and then wished he hadn’t said it because Kate wouldn’t see the humor. “I wanted to see you, Kate. I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to say. I just—maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
“Where are you living now?”
“With Liz, just for now, until I’m back on my feet.”
“Are you working?”
“Not yet. I just got back yesterday.”
“Do you know what you’ll do?”
“No.” Cody wouldn’t dream of mentioning Steve to Kate. Besides, he knew he wouldn’t work for Steve ever again. The awkward silence stretched on longer this time.
“I need to get back to work.”
“Sure. What time do you get off?”
“Two. But, Cody, I don’t think we should talk right now.”
That took Cody by surprise. He wasn’t expecting her to put the ring back on, but he hoped at least for a chance to see her.
“Kate.”
“I’m sorry, Cody. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. Let me call you.”
Kate gave Cody his jacket back, and for a moment she paused again as she considered the right way to say goodbye. She nodded, and then hurried inside out of the cold.
Cody wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He wasn’t expecting to be done in the City so soon. He’d look like a failure if he went back to Liz’s. He was in Manhattan, in the Village, and it was still early. There were probably a dozen bars and restaurants within a one-block walk, and another half-dozen bodegas and liquor stores. In the past he’d be set. He couldn’t do that anymore, though. He wanted to, and he knew he had to go somewhere, but didn’t know where. He walked to the subway and got on an uptown train.
Cody got off at West 79th Street, and walked a few blocks to a building where the doorman knew him. The doorman smiled politely and said “hello” as he opened the door, but Cody knew he looked down on him. Cody took the elevator up to Steve’s floor, and got out and walked to the door and rang the bell. Martha opened the door and stared at Cody.
“Hi.”
Cody waited for her response but Martha looked back over her shoulder, and Cody heard footsteps on the wood floor. Martha stepped back from the door.
“Steve.”
“What do you want?”
“I’d like to talk with you. I just got back yesterday, and I want to talk to you.”
After it happened, Cody had hoped Steve would punch him. In high school Steve would always punch his enemies, and then they’d quickly become friends. Steve hadn’t done that this time. The two of them stood there, with Martha a few steps behind. Steve turned to look at her before closing the door, leaving Cody alone in the hallway.
Cody walked to the elevator, pressed the down button, and as he waited he heard Steve’s door open again. Cody turned to see who had come out for him, and it was Steve. He held a bottle of Jack Daniels at his side. He raised it high so Cody could see the black and white label, and then set it down in the hall and went back into his apartment, shutting the door. Cody stared at the bottle until he heard the bell announcing the arrival of the elevator, and then entered and pressed the button for the lobby. He had left the bottle where it sat in the hall, and on his way out the doorman smirked and wished him “goodnight.”
When Cody returned to Liz’s everyone was watching television in the living room. As he walked by them towards the kitchen he knew they were all staring at him, and that she was happy. He poured himself a glass of water and set it down on the table. He went back to the living room and took a Fitzgerald book out of his duffel bag, and returned to the kitchen to continue the reading he’d started on the train. When the family went to bed Cody moved to the living room, watched some television, but was tired and fell asleep before midnight.
Liz woke him again at seven, but he actually showered and got dressed this time. He took a ride with James to the ferry and caught the subway to Penn Station, and then took a train out to Long Island. When he arrived in his hometown he took a taxi to his mother’s house, and after paying the cabby he walked down the driveway to the garage, where his car rested exactly as he’d left it. This was the only place he knew with extra parking. He walked back around to the front of the house and rang the bell. His mother opened the door, and looked at him dumfounded.
“I didn’t know you were back.”
“I forgot to call.”
“Come in. Come in.”
“I can’t stay long, ma.”
“Why not?”
“I just came to pick up my car.”
“Oh. Can I get you anything to eat? Are you hungry?”
“No. I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Come in, come in.” His mother ushered Cody into the living room, and he sat down with her on the couch. “You’re better?”
“I guess.”
“Well didn’t they say you were better?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Cody stared up at the family picture hanging on the wall. He was around sixteen or seventeen when it was taken. He thought it disgusting the way the four of them lied in that picture, and in every picture. His mother noticed him looking at it, and she looked up at it too.
“That must have been taken fifteen years ago. We all really should have another one with James and all the grandkids. Don’t you think we should all take another?”
“No. I never liked that one,” Cody said, staring at his father in the picture.
“You know, he’d be very proud of you.”
That was too much, and Cody stood up.
“I really have to get going, ma.”
“He would have liked to do what you did. He’d be proud. He wanted to do that too.”
“Ma, I’ve got to go.”
“Where are you going? Are you working?”
“I’ll find something.”
“Do you need any money?”
“I haven’t taken any money from you since I was eighteen, ma. Even for college. I don’t need any now.”
“Just let me give you something.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Where are you staying?”
“With Liz, for now. I think I’m leaving today.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I’ll look at a map.”
He went up to his old room and grabbed the few duffel bags that contained most of his worldly possessions, and carried them downstairs to the front door and set them down.
“Are you going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I need to go, ma.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and Cody closed his eyes and pretended he was younger. But the kiss was short and he opened his eyes when it was over, and he carried his things out to the car.
When he got back to Staten Island he bought lunch at a deli even though it was long past lunchtime, and returned to the house to eat it. When he was finished with the sandwich he got his things together, and packed and loaded the car. He went back inside and began writing a note when Liz and the children came in the front door.
“You were out to see mom?”
“I went to pick up my car.”
“Did you see mom?”
“Some. I didn’t stay long.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing much. She asked how I was doing.”
“What did you get the car for?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Where are you going?” she asked in voice that told Cody the real question was “who would want to see you?”
“I don’t know yet. I do still have some money saved up. Not a lot, but enough to last me for a little while. We’ll see how far I get.”
“You’ll see how far you get,” Liz replied with emphasis on the changed words.
“Tell James I’m sorry I missed him.”
“He’ll be home soon. If you want you could stay for dinner, and then leave in the morning.”
“No. I want to get going. If I stay I’ll never leave. Thanks.”
Cody looked around the living room to make sure he had all of his stuff, and picked up the nearly forgotten hairbrush from under the corner chair. He kissed Liz and the children, then buttoned up his corduroy jacket and stepped out into the cold towards his weighted-down car. Obeying Liz’s order, he waited until the car was out of sight before lighting up a cigarette.
###
About the Author
John Power was born and raised in and around New York City, graduated from Washington and Lee University in Lexington, Virginia, lived for a year in Warsaw, Poland, and currently resides in Chicago. His stories have appeared in The New Chicagoan, The William & Mary Review, Barzakh Magazine, West Trade Review, and The Great Lakes Review, among others. His novel “Participation” is available on Amazon.com.