The Story of Mr. Seymour Better
He sat there at the bar eyeing up the beer sign, blazing blue and red in the dark dim light of the bar, hazy clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke making the scene look like the British boat docks when the fog would roll in, making seeing anything impossible, save for the bright, flashing, almost neon like light from the lighthouses, beer sign lighthouses of the night, although it was the middle of the day and he was still cold sober, despite having been sat there in that bar stool for over an hour, sipping his whisky and cola. He sipped the drink, he had never been a drinker, his stomach couldn’t handle it and his disposition, otherwise, couldn’t handle it either for when he did drink, on those ever-so-rare occasions when he did partake, when he would buckle under pressures; from social settings and pressure from his peers to the formal settings when the pressure wasn’t just from his peers but also from those superior to him, not only socially but economically, which is to say financially superior to him, or those that were morally, ethically superior to him; the priests, the rabbis, the philanthropists who made every breath they took seem like another benevolent act of kindness in a life destined for sainthood. He sipped the drink knowing that soon it would be all over; not just the day but the whole mad adventure, soon, very soon in fact, the whole adventure would be over and he would have to return, return ever so humble to the pitiful role, the position he had resigned himself to those many years ago, a position he had not really chosen for himself but that Fate had chosen to bestow upon him, a role that only the most acclaimed actors, or actresses, he reminded himself, trying to break a lifetime of chauvinism instilled into his brain by his father, uncles, and grandfathers, but all the same a role that any performer would have been honored and awarded for performing on film, when the scenes were false and the outcome predestined, but he had performed this role, this act of making others believe his performance in real life, when the stakes were life and death and when the outcome was never predestined, or was it, he wondered to himself, drinking another sip of the harsh whiskey. The bar did not have English whiskey or Scottish whiskey, as he asked for trying to act all sophisticated, he didn’t normally drink and he didn’t know the difference between whiskey made in England, Scotland, Germany, India, or Ohio, why Ohio a person may ask, but he never liked Ohio and if the whiskey he was drinking was from anywhere it must have been from a steaming pile of state like Ohio, the place where his innocence in the ways of love had been taken from him, one of the first times he had drank any alcoholic beverages and his girlfriend had ended up in bed with another man and his wife, leaving him, looking like a fool on the sidelines, a laughing stock at all the huge, bearded, tattooed and pierced bikers and their wives in attendance at the party, a party his girlfriend, an older woman, ten years his senior, who had taken a shine to his thin, sickly, spindly-armed frame and his balding, at age twenty-two, dark black hair, actually it was light brown but the amount of sweating he did combined with the oily, greasy nature of his physical being made the hair seem black, a deadly black like the inside of his heart as it burned in his chest that night, as he vowed by the pale, full moonlight of that stinking, dreadful, awful night in Ohio to never again be the victim, to never again be the fool, to never again be the butt of everyone’s jokes and laughter. He left that particular girlfriend after another three months, during which time he had plotted and planned his escape, fleeing several states and returning to the Midwest from the Deep South and beginning again, this time as an executive, an account executive, a salesmen, he had to admit that’s what he was, and had been for over three decades, during which time the greasiness of his hair was replaced by the ravages of time and his balding hair was now grey but the sweat stayed, worse now that in his youth but still, ever-present. His wife had met him almost two decades previously and forced him to marry her, his vow of never being the victim had went straight out the window, he had married his dream woman but she turned into a nightmare, or so he would tell anyone who would lend an ear to hear his pleas for forgiveness and his begging for answers to his predicament, but he knew the answer, he knew it all those years ago in Ohio and he knew it even more so now, now after three decades of being the fool, the pitiful, pathetic fool, laughed at, not only behind his back but straight to his face, he knew the answer but instead tried to hide behind the performer’s mask, hiding his fears, insecurities, his disappointments, and his terrible, crippling stuttering made him even more self-conscious but he carried on, his acting skills firmly in place, he would play this role as long as he could, ride it out but today he realized he didn’t know why he continued and he began to question it. He took another sip of his whisky, the foul taste reminding him of why he continued, because the Lord had told him to continue, as he would pray for guidance, he always felt that if the Lord wanted him to change or wanted him to leave his wife then the Lord would send him a sign, so sure was he of his significance, of his importance in this world, he knew that if the Lord wanted him to play a different role, then the Lord would send him a sign, but no sign ever came, until that morning, he thought, looking down the bar to his right to the television screen barely visible through the smoky, dim light of the bar, the television reminded him of the sign he had received that morning, a sign that had sent him on his journey, this journey, for which the bar had been merely a way station, a stopping point for a brief moment on his way to the end, the end of the journey, the end of the performance, an end to the lifetime of embarrassment and a lifetime of harassment, and end to the greatest role of his life and the beginning of his next role, of his ascension, of his transformation, of his metamorphosis, it was the beginning of the next phase in his life and it all began with a simple song, “Take it Back” by Johnny Switzer and the Bad Dawg Band was on the television that morning, his wife, the beautiful woman whom had told him they were marrying after she became pregnant with his baby, a feat he thought particularly fascinating as they had never had sexual relations, she had only let him kiss her on the cheek a few times prior to the pregnancy announcement, and only once on the lips, at their wedding ceremony, but the pregnancy turned out to be a mistake on her part, she explained something about faulty math and getting her dates screwed up, but he believed her and they were married, a couple destined to spend eternity together, not just here but in the afterlife, forever and ever, but she still would not have sexual relations with him, at first it was because of the baby but after a year of being married and no further pregnancy, she refused on religious grounds, saying their marriage was based on a lie and only through extreme commitment to the Lord would they be able to cleanse their unholy spirits and achieve purity enough to one day consummate their marriage, but until then, she insisted on separate bed rooms, only allowing him a few, harmless kisses on his birthday (she insisted that she spend the whole entire week of her birthday at a spa resort, or beach resort, or ski resort, or wine country resort, or any resort, but always by herself, although he always ended up having to pay for a double occupancy room, double room service, and double air fare, just in case one of her friends decided to go along, which she always claimed they never did, but he still had to pay double) and their anniversary, and once, just once, on Christmas in the year of their seventh wedded year, she became so intoxicated on eggnog that she allowed him to feel her up, over her sweater, of course, but she forced him into a pittance that included him doing community service road work, cleaning up the sides of the highways for six months because of that night, claiming that Satan himself had tempted her and caused them both to be sent backwards on their journey to purity, this wife of his, as Johnny Switzer and his band played their 1976 Top 40 hit, she looked up at him, turned and looked at the screen, then back at him and she began laughing. She laughed so hard that she began to snort, then she laughed so hard she began to cry, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as she couldn’t contain herself over the humor that she had seen, a humor that he couldn’t see, but that slowly, as if the Lord himself, or herself, he reminded himself, taking another sip of his whisky, as if the Lord wanted him to slowly see what the Lord had always knew, today would be the day the performance came to an end, today the acting was done and the sad, pathetic little man, with the bald head and grey tufts of hair over his ears was done being the fool, he was done playing the part, he realized that his wife, the blonde woman who didn’t look a day over twenty-five was laughing at him and the lyrics of the song, “One thing I’d do, to escape you, is I’d take it back” went the tune which told of a handsome surfer writing a letter dumping his plain jane girlfriend, only to die in a surfing accident before finished the letter but she still finds the incomplete letter, a real heartbreaker but a good belly rubbing song back in the late 1970s and early 1980s nightclubs and bars. His beautiful, loving wife, concerned about their everlasting souls, who secretly attended weekends with male lovers, females lovers, and groups of lovers at hotels, spas, resorts, shopping malls, movie theaters, or anywhere else to have wild sex parties, drinking and doing drugs, committing adultery and several other sins, all right under his nose, of course he knew, he feigned ignorance, playing his part, true to the role he had been given by Fate and the Lord our God, he played his part and ignored her dalliances, he ignored her addictions, he ignored her sleeping with the Police Detective that had investigated the break-in at their home, the break-in that was a result of her owing a Drug Dealer she was sleeping with six hundred dollars, he ignored it when both the Detective and the Dealer went to prison and she began to send both money, she claimed she was doing her religious duty, making life easier on the Police Detective, the handsome, full haired detective with a chiseled chin and the bluest eyes, who had sacrificed so much to help them, and doing her religious duty in turning the other cheek towards the Drug Dealer who had broke into their home, stealing all their electronics; the giant, flat-screen television she had insisted on, even though they had yet to watch one movie together on it, their computers, their stereo, actually her stereo (he had bought it for her one Christmas, she had given him a pot holder), and had known about their hidden safe somehow, or had discovered it, and stolen all their cash, over three thousand dollars he had been saving back, and the diamond ring his mother, and her mother before her, and her mother before her, had brought over from Mendlefelden, Germany when they had immigrated to America, at a nice jewelers the ring had been appraised at six thousand dollars, she had insisted that he take it to be appraised when he had inherited it following his mother’s passing, in fact his mother’s funeral had not even been held yet and she had insisted they go to the jewelers before the funeral home, but the burglar had barely gotten two hundred dollars for it at a seedy pawnshop that like to skirt the law, even selling prescription medications to the right people, as he found out a year later when she owed the Pawn Shop Owner three hundred dollars for sleeping pills and anxiety medication after she had run out of the pills provided by the high priced Nut Doctor and Psycho-Babble Doctor she would see four times a month, at two hundred dollars an office visit, his beautiful wife was laughing at him and the good Lord told him, revealed to him that this day was the day. This day was the day the laughter stopped.
He finished his whiskey, tipping back the glass, polishing off the last bit of liquid in it and pounded the glass back down hard on the bar. No one noticed, no one turned at the loud sound echoing through the still, smoky bar. Some of the smoke was from cigars and cigarettes, but some of the smoke was from the gun that lay next to his right hand, which he picked back up and tucked back inside his suit jacket. The yellow and white plaid jacket had those dark brown elbow patches and an inside pocket that he tucked the handgun back into, he had pulled it out only ten minutes before, when he shot the Bartender, two strippers, and three patrons, but not before ordering his lunch and eating it, polishing off three glasses of cola and finally asking for an alcoholic drink. The Bartender had laughed at him, just like his beautiful blonde wife had that morning, although once more he had allowed her, he wasn’t through with his part, not as far as she was concerned, not quite yet, but the Bartender had laughed and that was it, the sign from the Lord, just like at the office, the Lord pointed the way and he reacted, just as the Lord had wished him to. He waited until his drink was delivered and when The Bartender, who had been the latest man she had been sleeping with, asked for the money for the drink, he had pulled out the handgun and shot the Bartender right between the eyes, point-blank range, and splattered, in brilliant crimson red spray mixed with grey bits and fragments, what little brains the Bartender had on the mirror behind where he had been standing, but he had to turn quickly, quicker than anyone thought he was possible of moving, and put another bullet through both strippers; college roommates hoping to make extra money by selling glimpses of their flesh to dirty old men, lesbians, and young guys too young for places as dark and vile as this, the bullets dropping them also to the floor in puddles of their own red liquids, oozing from their bodies, then turning one final time and shooting the three old men; two priests and a rabbi, a tired, old joke that never played out…two priests and a rabbi walk into a strip bar…the punch line never to be finished, instead all three getting shot, precision-like, almost hit man-style, between the eyes, then another shot to the heart of each. He walked back to the bar, sat back on his bar stool, and finished his drink while at the same time finishing the fries in the red plastic basket his burger and fries had been served to him ten minutes ago. The Cook, a man he had never seen before in the Pit, a new hire, stood in the kitchen, not having moved since the first bullet passed through his boss’s head, continued to stay in the same spot as he finished his drink and his fries. After tucking the handgun into his suit jacket, the Cook continued to stay perfectly still, almost hoping that the man had not seen him, or forgotten about him, and he decided that the Lord didn’t want the Cook dead; the Bartender, of course the Lord wanted him dead, he was sleeping with his wife, although he doubted much sleeping went on, he smiled to himself at his little joke, he now could enjoy his own little jokes (his wife, his beautiful wife, and all of her friends and family and thought he wasn’t funny and, after a bit, he began to believe them, but not after this morning and the office, now he knew he had a terrific sense of humor, or at least he thought he did and it was time he enjoyed his humor), anyway, the Bartender certainly the Lord wanted him to dispatch that evil soul, same could be said about the wicked, evil harlots, the whores who tried to sell their flesh, they deserved to die, the Lord would want that type of filth purged from the planet, his Garden, and those servants of the Lord, the priests and the rabbi, teachers, educators, respected men of the cloth who spoke of the Lord’s works, the Lord’s plans, the Lord’s commandments sat, with sin in their minds and hearts, paying the whores and harlots while drinking the alcohol of the Adulterer Bartender, they also deserved to die, the Lord had spoken to him and told him to purge these evil ones. Now it was time to return home, just one little stop on the way, he told himself, the grocery store to pick up all the ingredients to make his wife, his beautiful wife’s favorite meal, beef tips and noodles with cherry cheesecake and strawberry marguerites. The grocery store visit didn’t take long, he gathered the items, paid in cash and got into his car without one problem, without one hiccup, without one time the Lord telling him to exact vengeance on one of his lying, cheating, beautiful wife’s adulterous suitors; not the Meat Market Man, not the Produce Man, not the Dairy Man, not once did the Lord tell him to bring them to justice, instead, the Lord showed him how each would die, the Dairy Man being killed when a cattle trailer loses control and rolls over him, crushing him flat, the Meat Market Man, his necktie, that awful, ugly fish tie he wore every Thursday would get stuck, that very evening, in the blades of the slicer and he would be choked to death, or at least the coroner believed he was dead before the safety kicked the slicer off but not before it sliced part of his cheek and eye and nose, and the Produce Man would die from toxic poisons that he accidentally sprayed on the lettuce one morning, mistaking it for water in his drunken state, the man having spent the last twenty years inside a bottle after killing a teenaged girl under the town bridge, a secret he took to his grave, but the Lord had shown him all this, he knew that vengeance would come for all the adulterers but not from his hand, from the Lord’s divine intervention. Instead, he paid for his groceries and proceeded home where he prepared the dinner of his wife, his beautiful wife’s dreams, the only thing wrong, the only thing missing was Ramon, the Cuban swimming instructor from their honeymoon, which he had not gone on, although she insisted that he see the pictures when she got home, Ramon with his dark black chest hair, and arm hair, and stubbly beard, and all around good looks was missing and of course, he would be there instead, but other than that he had made her favorite dinner. He had candles lit when she came home, her hair out of place, her skirt turned backwards and her stockings tore, she obviously had a rough day, but he smiled his best sycophantical smile and served her a plate, poured her a glass of margaritas and began eating himself. She laughed, food flying out of her mouth, as she recounted for him, although he had been present, the morning’s events, complete with the Johnny Switzer song from 1976, the laughing, the rolling laughter, the snorting, and the crying, she told every detail and then proceeded to tell him why she was laughing, throwing it into his face about what a laughing stock of a pathetic, cuckolded husband he was, but soon her laughter began to die off, her snorts and tears not because of the laughter, not this time, the snorts, the gasps for breath, and the tears in her eyes were because of the rat poison he had purchased at Leo’s Grocery Store, the rat poison he had put into her beef tips and noodles, mixing it with the rich gravy made from solid beef stock and the antifreeze, also bought at Leo’s, that he had put into her strawberry margarita. She was clutching her throat, as foam began to rise from the corners of her mouth, her body beginning to shake, uncontrollably, as he continued to eat his medium well steak dinner, she fell to the ground and he continued to finish his salad, steak and baked potato dinner he had made for himself, her legs finally coming to a stop, the kicking, all movement coming to an end as she passed, her eyes open and filled with fear as they began to cloud over. He finished his dinner and waited for his ride, he knew they would be there any moment, the red and blue flashing lights on the back wall letting him know they were on their way. He sliced another piece of steak and forked it into his mouth, savoring the taste, as the sirens got closer and closer. The Lord would see him through this transformation, the Lord would see him though this metamorphosis, but first, the Lord would have to deliver him from this modern day Sodom, and the Lord’s Taxi Driver had shown up, the Police Detectives had arrived at his door, prompted, no doubt by the ten bodies he had left, stuffed into supply closets and bathroom stalls at his workplace, all evil Adulterous Souls that had taken that whore, that harlot, his wife, his beautiful, dead, mouth full of foam wife that lay on the floor, all those evil souls the Lord had instructed him to purge. No doubt, Police Detective, probably not THE Police Detective, the Lord told him THAT Police Detective was being sodomized, speaking of the ancient Biblical twin city of Evil, by THE Drug Dealer’s brother, but this Police Detective was approaching the door, his finger outstretched to ring the bell, once…a pause, and the finger stretches out again, to ring once more before giving a knock and calling out his name, well, the name he had always been known by, the name of the role he had been forced to play those fifty years, but now that role had been cast aside and he no longer recognized that as HIS name anymore, the finger outstretched one, final time, before HE put down his steak knife and fork, pulled the handgun from his suit jacket, his yellow and white plaid suit jacket with the dark brown elbow patches, he pulled the handgun from the inside jacket pocket, turned it to face the door of the house and waited for the bell to ring a third, and hopefully final time, and he pulled the trigger.
The End
