Me and Ariel, How We Met. How We Parted.

Guinotte Wise

Long beards, can’t abide ’em. Like at the Walmart. Out comes this character with the beard that put me over the edge, him and his lumberjack shirt and new workboots. I start laughing which is a cackle at my age and he shoots me a glare, so I salute him and say, “Pappy Yoakum, right?” and he gets a question look on his face, and I say, “or Ned the Woodcutter! That’s it!”

His lady friend stalks over to me with a cart full of bottles and clinks to a stop. I think, oh this skanky blonde going to excoriate the old guy for making fun of her boyfriend. But she says, “Give it to him, pops. I been tryin’ a get him to cut that nest off for weeks.”

Ned the Woodcutter makes a noise like squeezing a pig, marches over to a big Ram dually, climbs in but slips once with his unworked boots, recovers, says, “I wish you two all the happiness you deserve.” Starts it, and peels rubber with those dual rear wheels almost hitting a car trying to park. They honk at each other for a long time, then he drives off.

The lady, she’s half my age and I’m a rough-looking eighty, having had some long name diseases get the better of me. She looks me up and down and I'm getting a good look at her now and she is not bad. Bottle blonde, built good, skinny jeans holding her parts pretty tight.

“Well, you gimme a ride home and I’ll split some a this with you.” She nods at the cart. Gallon of vodka in there. A twelve-pack. Plastic bags full of food, whatever. I point her to my car, an old rusted Lincoln. She rattles along behind me with the cart. I pop the trunk and start loading her groceries.

I open the door for her and she raises her eyebrows like what is this, a gentleman? I get behind the wheel and say, “Where to?”

She says “I’m in no hurry, that stuff’ll keep,” and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. “Smoke in here?”

“Like a coal plant. Can’t you smell it?” She lights up, runs her window down, says she wouldn’t mind a cold one if I had the time.

I say, “If you got the money, honey.” She laughs, calls me a spry ol’ sumbitch, and I drive to a joint I know, bikes parked all over in front of it. I give her my arm in the parking lot and we sashay on in.

“Ho, Hiram brought his granddaughter,” says biker Steve who I know. “Great granddaughter,” says biker Dave who’s chalking his cue stick.

“Wrong,” I say. This here’s...” I pause. “Ariel,” she whispers. “Ariel,” I say, “Like the car antenna. She’s a lady friend. Be courteous.”

They drink her in, top to bottom, think their thoughts, go back to their time-wasting.

We slide into a booth and she snuggles, squeezes my thigh. “Lady friend, huh. Okay by me, Hiram. What’s your last name?”

“Acton. I put the ‘i’ in action. Get it?”

“You talk big for an old fart, but there’s smoke there’s fire, right?”

“Lemme ask you something, Ariel. You and Ned, was you close?”

“Coulda been if he’d shave. He was gonna take me to Stewart Beach in Galveston, but I said no deal without he shave. We never got it on if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s what I mean. Where’d you meet such a yokel?”

“Where I work. O’Bannon’s Gentleman’s Club. He come in there about a year ago, no beard, looked okay. End of story.”

“Stripper?”

“Yeah. But wanting to move on, you know?”

“Been there. Moving on, not stripping.”

We had beers by then, she drank from the bottle, gave it an oral deal that got some looks from the biker crowd. One of them twerked by the juke box which was playing Hank Snow’s “Movin’ On,” which I had just selected from the booth unit.

Ariel laughed and said, “Ain’t you the sly one.” I had to get up and do my old fool hillbilly dance, arms out front of me, sort of limp. That song just gets me to moving. Ariel danced facing me, giving the bikers an eyeful.

We danced another song, slow, then after a couple more beers got to talking serious like bar people do, sun pouring in through the dusty windows, pool balls clicking, couple bikers joined us other side of the booth table wanting to talk to me about an old Indian I had out in the barn. I wasn’t riding anymore but kind of didn’t want to sell it yet. I told the one he had first rights on it if I did. They left.

I’d outlived two wives. I guess we talked about that, and the satellite dish company I had just sold to the bigger boys. The cows. I wasn’t hurting any. She went home with me. We moved a few things into my farmhouse from her place. I bought her a trampoline, she said it would help her stay fit, and damned if we didn’t have sex on it half in the air and twisting around in the moonlight.

One morning I hear the old Indian start up in the barn, idling pooketa pooketa, that good old sound, then out it comes with one a them bikers on it. I head to the door, and here Ariel comes up to the porch with two more bikers and Ned the Woodcutter. They all have aluminum bats. But I have a .38.

“No fool like a old fool, Ned. But ask yourself this; how do they get old?” I say to the beard. Pull that pistol and a hole blossoms in his forehead. I don’t fire again as I don’t hold with shooting people in the back. I drag ol’ Ned inside the screen door and call the sheriff.