GW.37.i | V86: Dry Veins

Ch.12: Toxic Town

- Disclaimer: The following chapter contains a depiction of abject intolerance and racism. Viewer discretion is advised. -

Shadow Puppets
A Minute or Two Later

I thought soon after the drive began that I should put on my shades and activate my recorder. Y'know, because my crazy, evil-eyed grandma was currently acting like a cheap villain from a family movie, and it might be useful as evidence to social services. Why embellish a tale when it's already a wild one? It sat in my pocket, without the usual benefit of the wire. Luckily, it was the left pocket.

- Audio Transcript -

Crystal puffed vapor and started fiddling with the radio.

Crystal:
My show is on.

???:
(BZZtkt-) YoUR not gonna- (bweeeoooo) if there's one thing I- (kkckt)

She slams her palm on the dash, hard enough that the interior rattles. I look down at my feet – it's all ashes. The ash-tray is full, her cupholders are full, the floor is awash with it. It's like a sandbox in here, with littered bottles of glass and plastic buried inside; caps astray, hidden away in foil bags that used to hold over-salted, oil-drenched potato chips. The simple act of me pressing my foot into it, this pile of trash and volcanic post-smolder, makes a puff of powder hit my face like a heavy smoke. I almost sneeze, but I'm already covering my mouth. It's like she's acclimatizing herself to cremation before lung cancer makes it inevitable... getting herself used to living like she's on the inside of a vase.

Crystal:
Come on, you...!

Dryce:
Grandma, it's just not tuned to the station.

I turned the knob and the words came through. I could tell from a glance she was trying to listen to 550AM, that evangelical talk show with Carl Burger. A real meathead. The only thing he gets on the air-waves to do is fill them with smog.

Burger:
- so now we're back, and we're talking with Mr. Rah- -

Crystal quickly jabs the power button, turning the radio off. Did he say Mr.Rah? Like, Mr. Romano? I wait a second and turn the radio back on.

Burger:
- Mr. Ramshackle, how do you see this current crisis of inner city violence and the AIDS epidemic? -

She breathes a sigh of relief (that stinks). I look at her dead in the eyes and she averts eye-contact.

Dryce:
I thought they were gonna say "Romano"... that maybe it was my dad, or something. Do you know why I have his name even though mom and him weren't married?

Crystal:
(Curt.) No, I don't.

Dryce:
(Genuinely upset.) Oh, okay.

I wait for her to show some kind of pity; maybe she'll tell me a little bit about him, or comfort me in some way. Show me a sign of humanity so I can believe in her just a little bit more. But it never happens – she just hands me another cigarette to light, and makes me change out the one in her holding pen. I stick the old one in a cupholder, and let it stand like a flag. She doesn't say a word... just keeps driving with one hand on her smoke, and the other on the wheel. I start to roll down the window, and I shit you not, she says to me:

Crystal:
Don't – I don't like the smell of the air outside. It's toxic, it's not good for you. Those oil derricks and factories are ruining everything around here.

Dryce:
(Flabbergasted, shocked.) Yeah, yeah I suppose they are.

I was speechless. The radio kept talking, and she turned it up – carefully, with her smoking hand. I was already wired like a telephone pole with one cord cut loose and whipping around, sparks everywhere. I just sat still and counted down from ten, over and over.