Burn Scars by Eddie Generous (best novels for beginners TXT) 📕

The place was nice enough inside that the pleasant setting outside didn’t feel soured at all. It even fit the location. Decorated by a country person, old barn boards and baby pictures, and autumn centerpieces made of inedible corncobs and wheat strands.

“Wife’s off shopping,” the man said. All his vowels elongated, not just his As.

The basement was clean and bright. The stairs were sturdy and much wider than most sets in old farmhouses. Cary made small talk as they lugged the old washer out. The customer was more than willing to do his part for the conversation. Rusty took the old Maytag the rest of the way once they’d cleared any stairs, and left it next to the truck.

Inside the truck, he hooked onto the big Amana box. He grunted as he kicked out the cart and tilted the fantastically heavy frontload washer toward the ramp. Cary was there how he always was just when he was needed and they wheeled the washer out to unpack it on the lawn. The dogs watched, panting. The customer was out there, too, and talked on and on. He was American. He’d spent years up in Canada; coming up in order to dodge the draft in 1974. He married his wife in 1979 and had three kids in five years.

“What a mess that war was,” Cary said, agreeing with the man’s tone more than anything he came out and said about ‘Nam and avoiding the bush, as the customer had called it.

“And now the Twin Towers…they’ll be sending more and more boys to die and it won’t bring any of those poor souls back.” He put his hand to his chest and gazed vacantly at the painted blue sky above. “I pledge allegiance to the beautiful red maple leaf at the center of the peace-loving flag of my country, Canada.”

Cary laughed as he took hold of the cart and Rusty grabbed the front of the machine to help it over stairs. Once they got it in place, Cary remained in the basement, hooking it up, while Rusty returned to the mess he’d left and began collecting the trash from the new washer. For a second, he imagined running away to America, how Americans had to run to Canada or Mexico sometimes. The thought was stupid.

“Could move one town over and be just fine…if you quit school again, and who’s gonna hire your dumb ass,” he mumbled.

All that was left as far as the day’s load went was sorting the garbage that they’d tossed in the truck willy-nilly—packaging and useless appliances just past their primes—and a couple specialty order microwaves. Rusty picked up a big chunk of packing Styrofoam and slammed it into an empty box, just as from behind another box, leapt one of the dogs, sending Rusty flailing. One step, two steps, three steps and he was tumbling. He did a wild backward roll, screaming a little on the way out the back gate and down onto the hard gravel laneway.

Cary was coming around the side and did not see the fall, but heard it, and then saw the big dog trot out of the truck. He bent over to howl in laughter.

“Did he spook ya?” the customer said from the porch.

Rusty rolled to his knees a little bit sore and a little bit more embarrassed. The dog leaned over him and swiped a long pink tongue along his face. Rusty tried to swat it away, but the other dog appeared and both began slobbering a great helping of goobers and saliva onto his face, neck, and arms. He couldn’t help but laugh then—only time all day he’d felt all right.

“Shoo. Shoo. Git,” Cary said and bent to help Rusty. “Hopefully you’re just getting the bad luck out of your system.”

They did two more deliveries—those fancy microwaves—then dropped off their heavy trash, and set the other stuff out for the cardboard crew who’d have a busy Monday. As Rusty was clocking out, Dwayne came up from behind and said, “Need you for two hours tomorrow. Say, one to three.”

Rusty turned, frowning, annoyed on principal. He wasn’t scheduled, none of the delivery crew worked Sundays. “Okay, I guess.” It’s not as if he had plans anyway and he’d make like thirteen bucks, which never hurt.

“Good, don’t be late.” Dwayne spun, surprisingly agile for a man that carried a gut like stacked beach balls made of jam, and hurried back to whatever he had going on.

Christine had stuck around after her shift ended and caught Rusty by the time sheets. “Hey, holy, what happened to your face?” Her eyes were hard on Dwayne, and Rusty could almost see her thoughts. She was looking at him like she was thinking about how a bunch of employees were going to rip him off and that his wife was having a little extramarital attention paid to her.

“Be cool, huh?” he whispered and she blushed.

“What?” she said, though obviously she was caught.

“Wasps got me.”

“What?” she said again.

“My face.”

“I wasn’t…you want to go bowling tonight?”

“Who all’s going?”

She glanced sideways at Linda who had her nose buried in paperwork. “What?” she said.

“Hope you haven’t been like that since I told you.” He put his ear right close to her face for this. She smelled good, even if she was being bad.

“I’m not meaning…what was the question?”

“Bowling. Who’s going bowling?”

“Oh, Lana and Dylan and Lana’s cousin who’s in town for the weekend. She’s some kind of hippie, all into new age stuff and healing. Guess she loves to talk about feelings or something, but it’ll be okay.”

“Ooh, feelings, my favorite topic,” Rusty said and hooked the time sheet clipboard on a nail before letting it bounce off the wall where it hung.

“Don’t I know it.”

“Want to meet me later or