Dolores Claiborne(75)

I drew a glass of water n found I couldn't abide the smell of it - it smelled like pennies that've been carried around all day in some kid's sweaty fist. It made me remember that night in the blackberry tangles - how that same smell came to me on a little puff of breeze - n that made me think of the girl in the pink lipstick n the striped dress. I thought of how it'd crossed my mind that the woman she'd grown into was in trouble. I wondered how she was n where she was, but I never once wondered if she was, if you see what I mean; I knew she was. Is. I have never doubted it.

But that don't matter; my mind's wanderin again n my mouth's followin right along behind, like Mary's little lamb. All I started to say was that the water from my kitchen sink didn't use me any better than Mr Budweiser's finest had - even a couple of ice-cubes wouldn't take away that coppery smell -and I ended up watchin some stupid comedy show and drinkin one of the Hawaiian Punches I keep in the back of the fridge for Joe Junior's twin boys. I made myself a frozen dinner but didn't have no appetite for it once it was ready n ended up scrapin it into the swill. I settled for another Hawaiian Punch instead - took it back into the livin room n just sat there in front of the TV. One comedy'd give way to another, but I didn't see a dime's worth of difference. I s'pose it was because I wa'ant payin much attention.

I didn't try to figure out what I was gonna do; there's some figurin you're wiser not to try at night, because that's the time your mind's most apt to go bad on you. Whatever you figure out after sundown, nine times outta ten you got it all to do over again in the mornin. So I just sat, and some time after the local news had ended and the Tonight show had come on, I fell asleep again.

I had a dream. It was about me n Vera, only Vera was the way she was when I first knew her, back when Joe was still alive and all our kids, hers as well as mine, were still around n underfoot most of the time. In my dream we were doin the dishes - her warshin n me wipin. Only we weren't doin em in the kitchen; we were standin in front of the little Franklin stove in the livin room of my house. And that was funny, because Vera wasn't ever in my house - not once in her whole life.

She was there in this dream, though. She had the dishes in a plastic basin on top of the stove - not my old stuff but her good Spode china. She'd warsh a plate n then hand it to me, and each one of em'd slip outta my hands and break on the bricks the Franklin stands on. Vera'd say, 'You have to be more careful than that, Dolores; when accidents happen and you're not careful, there's always a hell of a mess.'

I'd promise her to be careful, and I'd try, but the next plate'd slip through my fingers, n the next, n the next, n the next.

'This is no good at all,' Vera said at last. 'Just look at the mess you're making!'

I looked down, but instead of pieces of broken plates, the bricks were littered with little pieces of Joe's dentures n broken stone. 'Don't you hand me no more, Vera,' I said, startin to cry. 'I guess I ain't up to doing no dishes. Maybe I've got too old, I dunno, but I don't want to break the whole job lot of them, I know that.'

She kep on handin em to me just the same, though, and I kep droppin em, and the sound they made when they hit the bricks kep gettin louder n deeper, until it was more a boomin sound than the brittle crash china makes when it hits somethin hard n busts. All at once I knew I was havin a dream n those booms weren't part of it. I snapped awake s'hard I almost fell outta the chair n onto the floor. There was another of those booms, and this time I knew it for what it was - a shotgun.

I got up n went over to the window. Two pickup trucks went by on the road. There were people in the backs, one in the bed of the first n two I think - in the bed of the second. It looked like all of em had shotguns, and every couple of seconds one of em'd trigger off a round into the sky. There'd be a bright muzzle-flash, then another loud boom. From the way the men (I guess they were men, although I can't say for sure) were swayin back n forth - and from the way the trucks were weavin back n forth -I'd say the whole crew was pissyass drunk. I recognized one of the trucks, too.

What?

No, I ain't gonna tell you - I'm in enough trouble myself. I don't plan to drag nobody else in with me over a little drunk night-shootin. I guess maybe I didn't recognize that truck after all.

Anyway, I threw up the window when I seen they wasn't puttin holes in nothin but a few low-lyin clouds. I thought they'd use the wide spot at the bottom of our hill to turn around, and they did. One of em goddam near got stuck, too, and wouldn't that have been a laugh.

They come back up, hootin and tootin and yellin their heads off. I cupped m'hands around m'mouth n screamed 'Get outta here! Some folks 're tryin t'sleep!' just as loud's I could. One of the trucks swerved a little wider n almost run into the ditch, so I guess I threw a startle into em, all right. The fella standin in the back of that truck (it was the one I thought I recognized until a few seconds ago) went ass-overdashboard. I got a good set of lungs on me, if I do say so m'self, n I can holler with the best of em when I want to.

'Get offa Little Tall Island, you goddam murderin cunt!' one of em yelled back, n triggered a few more shots off into the air. But that was just in the way of showin me what big balls they had, I think, because they didn't make another pass. I could hear em roarin off toward town - and that goddam bar that opened there year before last, I'll bet a cookie - with their mufflers blattin and their tailpipes chamberin backfires as they did all their fancy downshifts. You know how men are when they're drunk n drivin pick-em-ups.