Slim Storms the Snakehole

By Valentin Isaac Abducens

They were on the back porch smoking cigarettes. The porch was covered with Astroturf and a grill stood on the southeast corner against the apartment building. The building was wooden and painted white. It was erected in the late 80s on a lot by the church they used as a baseball field until the construction company ruined their fun. Sam was flipping the burgers and bitching about his girlfriend when Slim McCaffrey came outside with his shirt off under the noonday sun and lay down in a lawn chair. He put his arms over his head. They were too offended to look at the sight. It was so goddamn hilarious. A 68 year old man. A complete jackass- out vainly sunbathing.

Patrick was in the act of drinking a beer when Slim came outside and it almost shot out his nose. He had to run inside and spit it out in the sink before he started guffawing and cucawing with his hand over his mouth. Sam and Jim were amused by Patrick’s amusement as much as they were about Slim and part of Patrick’s act was to show Sam and Jim that he too agreed it was hilarious.

-He’s going to say something to me. I know he is, said Sam. God, he’s such an asshole.

Just then Slim looked up at them as if to see them for the first time- his body tanned and wrinkled with liver spots sporadically placed. He was like some heap of leather tossed out to dry or a piece of fruit that had rotted. The nickname Slim happened in the late 50s when he returned to town and gained weight. He was fat, so people called him Slim. If you’re tall, they call your shorty; if you’re short, they call you stretch; if you’re thin, they call you fats. It’s the way the town was. Slim thought he looked pretty damn good lying outside. He was a star baseball player when he was younger. The rumor- almost certainly perpetuated by Slim - was that he batted .365 in the Pacific Coast League in 1958 on the same team as Willie McCovey and quit on principle the following year when they called up McCovey instead of him. McCovey was only batting .319. It’s true, except that Slim’s average was .325, which was still higher than McCovey. But McCovey was also batting .372 the following year when he was called up and Slim was only batting .265. Slim also hit a homerun off Bob Gibson in the minors. Or so the story goes.

            -How you jerks doing? You getting your hot dicks wet today?   Or are you homosexuals? He yelled it up from the yard in the apartment complex. Patrick forced a laugh. Jim took a drag off his cigarette.

-Where’s Lillian Quint? Shouldn’t you be having sex with her right now? Sam was the only one who could banter with Slim. When he first moved into the apartment complex after high school, he would put his head down and walk away from him but Slim would ride his ass until he responded. So now Sam just yelled back at him. He was one of the few people in the small town that would. Most of the other people were too old and tired to put up with him. He refereed basketball games in the high school and many of the kids saw him as an icon. The fact that he actually played minor league baseball and had a chance to make the majors amazed them in high school. But once a kid became a little older he began to realize that old Slim was just an asshole who had no friends left. And when he tried to befriend you like he did with Sam, there was no way out except to avoid him. You couldn’t necessarily tell him to leave you alone or that you didn’t like him or that he was a prick. He would kick your ass. The only guys who told him to go to hell were all buried up on cemetery hill now. They’d died from heart attacks or lung cancer while Slim persevered.

-No, not Lillian, but Stacy Laughlin was over here yesterday. She screamed and begged for it. He was yelling this throughout the courtyard and followed it with a painful cackle.

-You’re sick Slim, said Sam. Lillian Quint was a 90 year old lady that played the organ at church. Stacy Laughlin was Sam’s girlfriend. 20 years old. Hot.

-Well, you’re the fuck that imagined me giving old achy to Lillian Quint. That’s outright sick in my book.

-Goddamn, shut up!

-HAHAHAHAHAHA.

-Goddamnit, this was funny when I was 16, but now I just can’t stand him, muttered Sam under his breath. Patrick was still laughing. Jim was amused by how ridiculous the situation was. Just then a storm started to roll up quickly over the church to the west. They gathered our cigarettes and shirts off the porch and slipped through the sliding door.   The burgers were done anyway.

-Sam, there’s a roof over your porch, we could stay outside and watch the storm, said Jim.

-You think I want to keep talking to Slim? I don’t like talking to him when it’s sunny, you think I want to yell at him through the rain?

-He’ll probably go inside.

-He’s to dumb to go inside.

 

The sky was a dark green and pink in balls of clouds moving fast. Sam turned on the weather channel. It was an isolated thunderstorm and no tornados had touched down. It lowered briefly then impregnated the town with its puissance as quickly as an 18 year old boy ravishing his new girlfriend. It was the kind which blow up upon you within seconds and has kids getting wet before they can run inside the house.   Old ladies on main street folding up lawn chairs as quick as they can and getting pelted by the first few thick drops before fully entering the house and watching it from their 1970s lime green, flowered sofa. Slim hadn’t moved. The wind rushed upon him and the rain began to speckle Slim as thunder went from a murmur to a growl.   Then with a large crack and a flash the lightning had arrived and the sky opened up as the rain poured down in streams. Within 3 seconds Slim was soaked. But he still hadn’t moved except for the wind blowing him nearly off his chair. He couldn’t move because he was pissed off. He was frozen with anger. He had overheard Sam’s comment. What was that punk’s problem, he thought. Can’t stand me? It’s not my fault if there’s a little truth in my jokes and he can’t handle it. He’s just a dumbfuck like the rest of them. Laugh at yourself for god’s sake. Taking things too goddamn seriously. Lightning drilled the tree 100 feet from him as he had this thought. Jesus fucking Christ, he thought, what the fuck am I doing out here, I gotta get my goddamn ass in the house.

            Within 15 minutes the storm had passed and the sun came back out. I think it’s time to go down to Old Snakehole’s and see what those jackasses down there know, thought Slim. It hadn’t crossed his mind that he hadn’t been to the local bar in about 10 years. He had some fond memories of the bar. Back in the day when someone in town had just purchased a camcorder, they had it at the bar and filmed people as they walked down the street- making comments throughout the day. If an old woman came down sidewalk, Slim would focus on her ass and say, ‘looks like someone has their Depends on. She already has enough junk in her trunk.’ It was a good time. Then people had heard what he was saying about them and they got angry at him. Too serious, he thought. He didn’t go back to the bar for a while because he was protesting the idiocy of the people. Well, it’s about time to go back and see how the boys are doing.  

Slim put on a shirt and walked down the two blocks along main street to the bar. The people driving through town for groceries, to go to the drug store or to visit their cousins slowed as they passed the sight of Slim’s solitary two block walk. People didn’t walk a lot in the town- especially Slim; he wasn’t the kind of person to expose himself outside. He knew what they were thinking when they passed. It’s too bad they don’t have better things to think about, thought Slim. Yeah, I was a baseball star. So what? Yeah, my wife and I didn’t get along. Who cares? Sure my daughter married a famous football player in New York. What’s the big deal? Live your goddamn life.

He shoved the door of the bar open and walked inside. The bar was covered in wood paneling and old trinkets and figurines. Hawkeye pennants adorned the walls in various places, as well as Cubs, Cardinals, Twins, Brewers, NASCAR paraphernalia, neon Budweiser and Miller signs, a man made out of Pabst cans and a pool table. The mirrors and wood gave the appearance of a parlor in the 1920s. It was the middle of the day and a stream of post rain sunlight with sparkling dust suspended in the air glinted through the window. Only three guys were inside- all semi-retired and playing poker for fun on a table in the back. They were talking about the new priest in town but the conversation ceased as soon as they saw Slim.

-You don’t have to shut your mouths on account of me fellas. John, I’ll take a Budweiser on draft.

-Sure thing Slim. The bartender shot a befuddled glance to the guys at the table while Slim looked out the window with his bottom lip stuck out in pride while showing his disinterest. His mind raced as to the impression he was making and what the jerks in the back were thinking. He stood stoic and tried to show it didn’t bother him.

-How you been John?

-All right.

-Making any money here at the bar?

-I do all right.

-Well, it’s a business I guess, but you’re not really doing business.

-Not all of us can be so lucky Slim.

-Nothing that ever happened to me was luck.

What a jackass, thought Slim. He’ll never amount to anything if he still thinks that I was just a lucky bastard. I made all my money in construction through hard work. And eliminating the competition. Shit, I’d still be living in that huge house if I couldn’t stand the place because it reminded me of that goddamn wife.

-Sure Slim.

Slim held the beer with his mitt of a hand and swigged it down his gullet as his purple folded throat lifted up and down.

-Pour another one John.

-Coming up.

He walked over to the table with the other guys and pulled up a chair at some distance.

-How you fellas doing?

-Fine Slim. What made you decide to grace us with your presence?

-Can’t a man come down and have a beer with old friends. It’s not a crime in the state of Iowa.

None of the men considered Slim their friend.

-How’s your wife Jack?

There was a rumor 20 years ago that Slim was having an affair with Jack’s wife. It wasn’t true. But Jack didn’t know that. His wife had been trying to convince him for 20 years it wasn’t true. He still didn’t fully believe her. They were one of the happiest couples in town. She was a free spirit and so was he and they thoroughly loved each other. Until Slim started the rumor. Jack just looked down at his cards.

-HAHAHAHAHA, said Slim.

-Goddamnit Slim, I’m too old to put up with your shit. Why don’t you go back to your apartment?

-Jesus, Hanrahan, tell me what you really think. I’m just poking a little fun at Jack here. He knows I never slept with Judy. Or did I? Shit, maybe I’m getting Alzheimer’s. Or maybe she wasn’t good enough to remember. HAHAHAHAHAHA.

-You fucking prick.

-Problem with you guys is that you can’t take the truth. It bothers you.

-The truth doesn’t bother me. You bother me.

Slim ignored him.

-Hey John, get these guys all a drink on me. What you guys playing here?

-Just some 7 card stud.

-Well Flip, you’ve been so quiet, I didn’t even notice you here.

-How’s it going Slim?

Flip made an attempt to be civil to Slim. It was his theory that Slim was acting like a jerk as a defense mechanism. People had not liked him for so long that he was just trying to beat them to the punch, thought Flip.

-Not so bad, not so bad. Did you guys see the storm that rolled through about an hour ago? Was outside sunning myself and got caught in the middle of it.

-Oh yeah, pretty violent storm, said Jack. Wind tore up a few trees.

Hanrahan refused to talk to Slim. He just looked down and played his cards and hoped he would leave soon.

-How are things down at the paper Hanrahan? Any interesting stories in the paper?

Hanrahan didn’t say a word.

-Well, thought someone who spread the news and gossiped about everyone in town would have more to say on a fine day like this. Hell, you have a story for the next paper. Slim McCaffrey walks to bar for first time in a coon’s age.

It was Hanrahan’s deal and he tried to make it look like he couldn’t talk because he had to deal. It was the principle of the matter now. He was giving him the silent treatment.

-Well, now that we’re talking about the arts, how’s your painting going Flip?

-Not too bad. Sold a couple down at Joe’s Bar and Grill. He’s going to use them to decorate the bar.

-He really bought some?

-Yep.

-Christ, I figured your painting wasn’t worth a crap, thought you were just trying to relive old dreams in your retirement. Didn’t know you’d actually sell a couple.

-Yep, Joe wanted to spruce up the place.

-Personally I think you should give it up before this whole town is filled with your eyesore paintings. Saw one at the county fair last year. Oh boy, I sure hope you’ve improved.

He’s just joking with me, thought Flip.

-It’s all right. A nice way to spend retirement.

-Seems like a waste of time if you ask me. But what the hell do I know?

Slim’s comments brought back memories Flip had when he was younger and painting. His father and uncle told him that it was a waste of time. He stopped painting. Every time he had the urge to sit down and do it, he figured they were right, so he never did. After 40 years when he sat down again, it poured out of him. After he started, everything in his life seemed easier to comprehend and he wanted to bleed out more and more to understand more. If he hadn’t listened to his father and uncle, he figured he would have had more peace in his life from painting. It was a good thing he was too old to listen to Slim now. So he just smiled. Slim wouldn’t understand anyway if I tried to explain it to him, he thought.

-Gotta do something with your time.

-HAHAHAHAHA. That’s right, Flip. Except most people don’t spend their time trying to force people to look at crappy pictures.

Hanrahan threw the table over and pointed a finger in Slim’s face.

-I don’t ever want to see your fucking face again. Flip hasn’t done nothing to you. You act like you’re joking but you’re saying some goddamn hurtful shit.

-Hanny, take it easy, it doesn’t bother me. He’s just saying that stuff because he’s got nothing better to say. He’s afraid someone is going to say something bad about him first.

Hanrahan threw his cards down and stepped over the table.

-I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.

-Yeah, I’m outta of here too, said Jack. They paid John and walked out. Slim smirked as he watched them leave and Flip picked up the table.

-John, can I get another one, said Flip. I need to get some more liquor in me before I paint.

He looked at Slim instinctively because he thought a remark was coming. Slim eyed Flip briefly before he gulped down the rest of his beer and stood up.

-Well, I guess my work here is done; I better get going. He slapped the bar on the way out. Flip ain’t so bad, he thought, but that Hanrahan has no sense of humor.