The Closer the Dawn

Mary lost her mind at the Grand Mall in Far Rockaway and Jimmy spent the rest of his life looking for it. 

What I’m about to relay to you, the reader, are the facts as they happened. 

And if by chance, you find some interest in this story, my advice is the same for this or any other story of true love.  Do not be swayed by facts.

It was early on a particular Thursday morning in Far Rockaway that things went awry, and he was angry. About what? Take your pick: Old Age, no children to care about him, the love of his life lost, pick one and you’ll probably be right. When you’re eighty-eight and pissed off, it doesn’t matter much. 

According to his watch, it was 5:48 AM. Two long shadows slid along the moonlit sand at the end of Beach 27th Street. They were a certain kind of shadow. They took their orders directly from the moon and grew longer and longer the closer the dawn. January mornings can freeze your soul, not that Jimmy’s needed any help.

Far Rockaway was still sleeping. Any more, counting things was all he enjoyed.  The shadows suddenly disappeared.

"Can you see the old son-of-a-bitch yet?" Asked the red-haired lanky one.

"Not yet, but we better do this before the sun comes up," whispered his partner. 

The two thirteen-year-olds crouched behind a boulder. They each held hand-sized rocks ready to launch at the old man sitting on his porch.

"You go first," said Stuey Feldman, "then I'll go." His red hair was standing straight up.

Alex Kyler, one of the neighbor kids, stood up slowly and yelled loud enough to be heard by the old man. "Hey Jimmy, seen anything good this morning?"

He threw the rock and it shattered the living room window behind the old man. Jimmy was covered in glass. The second one missed everything. Their scattering footsteps reminded him of something.

"That you Alex?” Jimmy knew all the kids in the neighborhood. His voice was weak.  “No matter. Eighteen..." he thought, but he might be off, so he started counting again. He was counting waves through his binoculars and the dawn was coming. The gritty sand on the beach looked brown and the waves made small bubbles as they came and went, and he could smell the ocean in them. He lip-synced their ups and downs. 

His Mary was dying. He knew it now, but not before, when she always smiled and put up with his ‘ways’. He thought about the kids who threw the rocks. He’d done the same thing many times himself and never thought twice about it.   

If you know how many, you get to know about things. It’s how you get to the heart of them. For instance, two kids and a hundred waves. Two and One Hundred. Two and One Hundred. Two and… What about heartbeats? They said he was a ‘Peeping Tom’, because he was always looking through his binoculars. 

As he counted more waves, he moved the binoculars down to the street in front of his house. 

"Again, you son-of-a-bitch?" yelled the old man at the top of his lungs. His voice was strong now. 

 And there he was, Patrick 'Paddy' MacDonald, his father, carrying that old brown suitcase, the one with the rope tied around it to keep it together. He was leaving all over again. And there was Ginny Sloan, smoking that same damn cigarette and smiling that big wide smile. It was a big hole in her face with a dark red outline and was supposed to make her look pretty.

Paddy threw his suitcase in the back of the Dodge and started the engine. It wouldn’t start. 

He tried again and nothing.  Paddy looked around the neighborhood and turned the key. The groaning ignition meant nothing. On the fourth try, the engine finally turned over. Ginny kept smiling through that hole in her face. She threw her arms around Paddy, pressing everything she had on him in case he thought about changing his mind.  To make it official, they signed their exit in a swirl of blue green exhaust and a loud backfire.

The kids at school drew a big red heart on the schoolyard cement. 'Paddy and Ginny Forever'.

Danny Sloan didn't go to school that day. But he waited for Jimmy after school the next day. He blamed Jimmie and his father for losing his mother. Jimmy liked to fight. He didn't have it in him that day. Nothing to fight for. You gotta have something to fight for. It was the least he could do for Danny, to let him win. He swore he'd never do that again, even though he did.

His dear mother, Bertie, lost her will to live. She was never the same after Paddy left, God rest her soul.

 Jimmy left school and took odd jobs to put food on the table. Bertie's loneliness and pain never stopped, no matter what he did. 

When she died, Jimmy buried her. No one came to the funeral. 

There were other funerals that day. He could see them everywhere in long black coats. 

When the Portareekin gravediggers put Bertie deep in the ground, one of them, the older heavier one, the one with the gray mustache, whispered something loud enough to his partner so Jimmy could hear it, and they both laughed.

 They looked at Jimmy as if Bertie didn't deserve her grave. On any other day, he would have beaten the living shit out of both of ‘em, especially when they stuck their hands out for a tip. But that day belonged to Bertie, so he took a deep breath and said goodbye. When he left, they knocked over her headstone.

His watch read 7:25. He shook it and put it to his ear. Time to check on Mary. As he stood up, he dropped his binoculars and shed broken window pieces in a soft shower of crystal rain. 

The lenses of his binoculars shattered.

Mornings always belonged to Mary. Jimmy struggled to clean her up and fix her bed. She was cold. He apologized to her and put two blankets on her as he kissed her cheek. 

The sadness came over him. 

When Bertie passed away, in that same room, he never forgave himself. He'd been working that day and, as usual, was too busy stirring up shit. Isn't that what union thugs are supposed to do? Damn right it is!

That kind of work came natural to Jimmy. He came to it with all the tools, like using his fists, pistol whipping, pissing people off, and drinking too much. He told Bertie a million times that Paddy left because of him, not her.

He had nothing to say when he came home from work and found her dead. Her mouth was wide open, like she was about to say something before she passed. She probably decided to die instead, because according to her, words were bullshit. And, of course, she was right. She was always right.

He touched Mary's arm, in case she needed to know he was there. He thought he caught a smile on her face. Like always, he left her love notes with his eyes.

Jimmy was about to leave when he noticed the calendar on the wall. A faded circle around January 27 reminded him that their anniversary was coming up. The calendar was from 1976. He'd left it there because it was Mary's last good year.

Most thought Jimmy MacDonald was an asshole, and maybe he was, but she loved him anyway because she knew he wasn't. And that was good enough for the both of them.

For a minute, he couldn't remember where he was. He stood in the hallway scratching his head. Then he remembered he had to find his good suit. He found it in the hanging vinyl storage bag with the zipper all around and the mothballs inside. 

The smell of camphor, the rustling of Mary's special dress, the long blue and white one she kept for special occasions, all there and arranged by Mary. The dress still had a faded white rose pinned to it. And there were his dark brown suit and his black patent leather shoes. 

He closed his eyes. A deep breath gave his memory a chance to catch up. His Marine uniform was there, with the shoes, his Commendation for Bravery under Fire, his old gun and the bright red tie he bought for their wedding.

Jimmy began the cleanup, starting with the front yard and the porch. He found a note attached to his front door. It was a posted by the Beach 27th St. Neighborhood Association and it pissed him off plenty. 

It read: “The current conditions of your residence represent a hazard to the public. You have ten days to repair/correct these conditions or legal action will be taken.” 

He folded the note very slowly and put it deep into his pants pocket as far down as it would go. He looked around the neighborhood with a big grin on his face. 

There wasn't much time left for him to get everything arranged. Mary always liked things just so. He had the front window replaced. Everything had to be done right, so he spent the next two days shopping for food, getting artificial roses and cleaning up the house.

The 'new' Jimmy wore new clothes, shaved, got a haircut and, most importantly, smiled. He could hear Mary now, telling him that she knew he could do it, especially when he would ‘talk nice’ to people.

The big question in the neighborhood was ‘Who was this guy’? No one could figure it out. Some said he found God and was getting ready to meet his maker, a few shrugged it off and ignored the old bastard altogether.

He couldn't recall if the fence in front had been white, but he painted it white anyway. Mary liked white. When he saw Elaine Kline picking up trash in her front yard, he waved at her.

"I want you and Izzy to come to our sixtieth wedding anniversary on Tuesday. Mary and I would both love to have you come over. I've put an invitation in your mailbox and the Bernstein's box. It's for Mary mostly. She's not been feeling well lately, you know, and she asked me to invite you."

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. That old man never once talked to her in all the years they lived there, and as for Mary, no one could remember when they’d seen her last. What was he up to? 

The old man even removed his cap while he spoke, to soften his words.  “Oh, and she has very special gifts for all of you. It’s something you’ll treasure for the rest of your life.” 

"Don't know if we can make it, but we’ll check it out and let you know." Elaine Kline hurried back inside her house, glancing back over her shoulder at the reinvented troublemaker.

The big day had arrived and he decided to take a break. The porch chair creaked as he sat down. He couldn’t find his hands, his big hammer hands. They’d been numbed by the freezing air. 

 Maybe they weren't his hands after all. How could they be? How many times had he used them on the streets and the docks? If they hit you, you stayed hit. When he was young, he never wore gloves in cold weather like all the other pussies who talked big but couldn't handle shit.

Even the sun froze behind the clouds, too cold he guessed. Then he remembered that he hadn't counted his waves yet, so he groped around for his binoculars and found them just where he'd dropped them earlier, shattered lenses and all. Funny he didn't remember.

He’d never seen these waves before. Waves in pieces, waves fractured, waves more beautiful than before. 

It made him remember his sixth birthday. Bertie gave little Jimmy a kaleidoscope and when he looked into it and turned it, he couldn’t get enough.  He liked what he saw so much that he wished it was real. He wished hard, to himself. When you’re a kid, you can wish like that. When you’re old, it’s a waste of time, unless… Well, suppose you knew…

He knew they’d come to the party. 

Jimmy, the ‘new’ Jimmy, was wearing his good suit. Mary was in her special dress. The clock on the wall said 5:55 PM when he wheeled Mary to her place. She would be to his right at the Dining Room table. As he lit the two candles, the doorbell rang. He graciously greeted the Kline’s and the Bernstein’s and escorted them into his house.

Welcome, welcome, welcome, be seated." He seemed a little rushed but they were glad to get it over with. 

"Your names are on cards. Mary likes everything to be formal like this so if you don't mind." MacDonald opened his palm and pointed at the table. "I know how busy you are, and Mary is very weak, so please sit and we can start."

The Kline’s and the Bernstein’s looked at each other and sat slowly in their places. No one said a word. 

He asked if they were comfortable, but no one responded as he attempted to push in the chairs for the ladies, but they did it themselves.

And, finally, he sat down at the head of the table with Mary on his right and Elaine Kline on his left. Before the meal started, he raised his glass of wine and proposed a toast.

"Please, everyone. I want to make a toast to the most wonderful woman I've ever known. She's been with me all these years, through thick and thin, always there for me, always doing her best even when I made her life miserable. But, somehow, mostly thanks to her, we made it through all of that. So, here's to you Mary."

They all lifted their glasses and drank their wine. 

"Thank you." Said MacDonald.

MacDonald pulled out a pistol and shot Mary in her head. He did it at such close range that the powder burns could be seen. He immediately pointed the gun at Elaine Kline’s head. The trigger was cocked.

"No one move or she's next."

Fear and Jimmy's shaking hand brought everyone to attention. He continued his speech. 

"I hope you will enjoy this very special meal. I've worked on it all day to make sure it would be perfect for you. See, I know I haven't been a very good neighbor all these years, but it doesn't mean I don't appreciate you. After all, you can't help being who you were or are, can you? For instance, you, Rose, you couldn't help being who you were when you brought your lover into your house when your husband went on his business trip back in '78. Or you, Izzie, you couldn't help it when your wife went to visit her sick and dying mother back in '67 and you and your friends brought in those hookers for that night of fun?"

The guests had nothing to say as MacDonald recounted what he'd witnessed over the years. He rattled off a few more incidents and said, "Well, that's enough. It's time to open your gifts. Please." They opened their gifts finding guns inside each box. "Now, please remove the gun and point it directly at me, if you don't mind." They hesitated enough to slightly irritate the host. "No please pick them up, now." MacDonald waved his own gun closer to Elaine's head and insisted. They complied.

"OK, now please point your weapons at me and when I count down to the number one, I want you to shoot. Don't try anything stupid or I'll shoot Elaine. Oh, and by the way, if you like, you can shoot at any time between now and one."

Maury tried to intervene. "Look MacDonald, don't do this."

"Ten, nine, eight, seven..." said MacDonald. No one moved a muscle. "Six, five, four, three..."

Maury and Izzy shot and killed Jimmy to save Elaine. 

They became known as 'The Firing Squad' after the Medical Examiner had determined that Mary MacDonald had been dead for approximately twenty-four hours before Jimmy shot her. Their Appeal went nowhere and their Murder 1 guilty verdict stood.

A letter arrived at both homes of the 'Firing Squad'. It was neatly typed by Jimmy. I won't print it here. It thanked both families for helping him through his difficult situation and wished them well in their future life endeavors. Life Without the Possibility of Parole.

                                                        [END]

By Bennie Rosa

From: United States