The Front Porch Prophet

note to tell Hog that Eugene had enjoyed the breakfast. It was the kind of news the old cook liked to hear.

“Anybody interesting in town this morning?” Eugene asked as he finished his coffee. A.J. handed over his own cup.

“I saw John McCord down at the drive-in.”

“Did you hit him in the kneecaps with your bat?”

“No. We had a cup of free coffee and he paid me off.” He showed the check to Eugene.

“If you don’t tell Maggie May about that,” Eugene noted, nodding at the draft, “you can have some good times.”

“Just one festivity after another,” A.J. agreed. “Girls, girls, girls.”

“Never mind. I can tell your heart’s not in it. You’d end up showing the girls pictures of Maggie May and the kids.”

“I do have some nice shots,” A.J. remarked, reaching for his billfold.

“I’ve seen them,” Eugene said, holding up his hands. “Real nice shots.” He shook his head. “You’re hopeless. Don’t you ever get the urge?”

“I think you’ve got the urge now,” A.J. said, sidestepping the question. “Maybe we can find someone to help you out with that.”

“What I’d like is to take care of one last urge with Diane,” Eugene said. He turned and asked, “What do you think my chances are?”

“I really couldn’t say,” said A.J.

“Come on. Don’t give me that. What do you think?” There was an earnest urgency in his voice that tugged at A.J.’s heart.

“I don’t think it is such a hot idea. Why don’t I run you up to Chattanooga? We can find you some girls to urge with, as many as you want.” In previous lives this plan would have held great appeal for Eugene. A.J. had noticed, however, that standing with one foot in the grave and the other in a daub of axle grease had clarified Eugene’s thinking.

“No, my Chattanooga days are over,” he said with a trace of melancholy. “Why don’t you think it’s a good idea to see Diane again? We got along real well yesterday.”

A.J. didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he felt it would be cruel to let Eugene harbor false hope. On the other hand, illusory anticipation is better than none at all, particularly among the hopeless. A.J. was mulling the best road to travel when Eugene spoke again.

“Shit. I know what this is,” he said, hitting his head with the heel of his hand. “She’s seeing someone, right?” A.J. was inscrutable. “Right?” Eugene insisted.

“I think maybe she is,” said A.J. slowly. He wanted to be out of this discussion.

“Who is it?” Eugene asked. There was defeat in his voice. He seemed to sag almost imperceptibly, as if a slight diminution of the life force had occurred, a quickening of the sand through the hourglass.

“I don’t know who it is,” A.J. said.

“You lie.”

“Okay, I know. But it won’t do a damn bit of good to tell you. Diane divorced you, and she can see whoever she wants to. So can you. That’s the way it works.” Eugene seemed to consider this argument, to hold it to the light as if checking for flaws. Then he spoke.

“I’m just curious,” he said petulantly.

“Bull. You’re just wondering who to go shoot, and you’re not getting anything from me.” He knew Eugene and his willful ways. And as much as he disliked Truth Hannassey, she didn’t deserve being shot. Not fatally, anyway.

“Just tell me if I know who it is,” Eugene obsessed. The subject held morbid fascination for him.

“You know the person,” A.J. said. “Now, let it go.” They fell silent. It seemed that the limited possibilities of the conversation had been exhausted. A.J. was glad to be moving to higher ground.

“Did you ever sleep with Diane?” Eugene asked. A.J. looked at him.

“Where the hell did that come from?” he asked. Eugene was slumped in the chair with his eyes closed. He presented a pitiful picture, unkempt and seedy.

“I don’t know,” Eugene said. “It just sort of popped out. I am curious, though. Did you?”

“Sleep? No, no sleeping,” A.J. said enigmatically. The question really peeved him.

“You know what I mean,” Eugene said. His eyes were still closed, and there was scant emotion in his tone.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. What I’m having trouble with is that you even asked me something like that.” The fact that he was only technically innocent of a premarital interlude with her was beside the point.

“Diane talks in her sleep,” Eugene stated, almost slurring the words. “One night I woke up, and she was talking to you. Apparently, you were doing a good job.” He fell silent. A.J. felt guilty, and the feeling of culpability was about the stupidest thing he had ever heard of.

“It was a dream, Eugene,” he said. “Her dream, not mine. I wasn’t really there.”

“I know. I just always felt bad that she was dreaming of you. She had a habit of comparing me to you anyway. I wish you would spend more time with your children, like A.J. does with his, she would say. Or, A.J. always treats Maggie nice. You’re a tough yardstick to be measured against.” A.J. was embarrassed for the both of them.

“You know, I’m just as screwed up as everyone else,” he said.

“Oh, I know what a sack of shit you are,” Eugene said. “It’s the women who are confused.”

“Just so we’re clear on that point,” A.J. said emphatically. They fell into silence. The dissonance produced by Diane’s fantasy melted away.

Presently, Eugene started to snore. A.J. attempted to rouse him but had no success, so he stepped inside and brought out a pillow. He arranged Eugene and left him to nap, then went back in the house.

Eugene’s housekeeping skills were poor, and the cabin was a shambles. A.J. decided to remedy the situation. He had time to kill, anyway, since he did not want to leave without saying good-bye. So he set to with a vengeance, and the cabin slowly became habitable again.

Later, he was resting on the porch when Eugene awoke. A small bonfire burned in the yard, fueled by the detritus from the cabin. The scent of pine oil lingered in the air, mixed with the meaty aroma of the stew A.J. was simmering. He was worn out. Cleaning the cabin had been a big job, and he had been forced to employ untraditional methods. First he had shoveled the floors. Then he had dragged the hose in through the back window and washed the place out. It was during the final phase of the project he discovered the letters. He had been straightening the chaos on Eugene’s desk-several planks laid across sawhorses-when he stumbled across a cache of correspondence. Presumably, Eugene was in the process of writing a note to nearly everyone he knew. Some of the letters were finished, sealed, and ready to mail. Others appeared to be works in progress.

He had been about to move on to the kitchen when he noticed an envelope addressed to himself. It was unsealed and contained several sheets of paper. His curiosity was aroused, and he wondered what was contained within. Uncharacteristically, he removed the contents and began to read.

Dear A.J.,

I always thought it was cool when people in the movies got letters from dead people, so I decided to send a few myself. If Ogden doesn’t screw it up, you will get this the day after I kick off. And since you’re reading, I must be gone. Hopefully, it didn’t hurt too much. Hopefully, you didn’t let me linger. I don’t have any doubt that you killed me. I hated to ask, and I know you really didn’t want to, but I needed the help, and I was too much of a chicken shit to do it myself. You were the only natural born killer I knew, the only one who could cut through the bullshit and get it done.

A.J. stopped and sat down. He felt sick at Eugene’s portrayal of him as an executioner. Almost involuntarily, his eyes strayed back to the testament before him.

There are some things I want to tell you that I couldn’t say while I was alive. Well, I guess I could have said them, but I didn’t. When we were in seventh grade, I stole twenty dollars from you. You probably don’t even remember it, but it has been on my mind for a long time. I didn’t need the money. I just didn’t want you to have it. I thought you had it better than me. I’m sorry.

A.J. let his eyes drift to the Sequoyah Police Station sign on the wall. He remembered the twenty dollars. He