Excerpts from “Untitled Phil”
I.
The brown waves moved slowly against the docks. Seagulls screamed into the sky, stark white against the grey clouds. A faint drizzle turned the pier into a mush of browns, greens and greys. The reds and purples of the summer speedboats were still safely covered and in the backyards of rich Long Island homes. It looked like a scene from one of the watercolor paintings they sold at the Totten Place Drugstore. Except for the seagull shit all over the piers and the McDonalds wrappers in the parking lot.
This time of year belonged to the watermen. Men that drove boats that were reliable and made for efficiency. Men who painted their boats grey and had only a tiny alcove for protection from the water spray. These men were starting a long day of crabbing, fixing broken crab traps and hosing down their boats.
Phil Larken was not among these men.
Phil Larken was lying in his bed, fast asleep, dreaming. In his dream, Phil was squinting against the sun as he pulled the pots hand over hand into the boat. He was surveying the trap. Eight medium size crabs and two softshells. The crabs climbed over the cage and the chicken remnants, raging against the capture. Deceit! Deceit! They screamed to him.
Phil pulled up the anchor and started his old fishing boat. Mariana was painted in crimson on the boat’s hull. Pulling into the dock, Phil saw his friend Marty working on his own boat. He raised a hand and yelled:
“Hey Marty! Looks like my crabs ran right from my trap into yours!”
Marty looked up and smiled. “Phil Larken!”
A small, brown-haired man with big gentle eyes, Marty looked like a boy in his golashes. “Well maybe if your pots weren’t so damn ugly, the crabs wouldn’t be scared.”
Phil laughed. His antique traps were always a joke around the docks. They worked though, so he had never bothered to change them.
“Good to see you back, Phil,” Marty shouted. It was good to be back. Phil smiled and began to unload the boat. It was time to clean up the bait and wash down the deck. As he grabbed some buckets, his boat began rocking side to side. The rocking turned to the kind of thrashing he’d only seen once before during a tropical storm. Phil fell facedown on the deck and tasted the old paint on the wood. Panicking, he grabbed the metal rails of the boat and tried to position himself so he could tighten the ropes to make it stop banging against the docks.
The watercolors dimmed. He despaired as the dock scene grew fainter and fainter until he realized Karen was shaking him.
“Get the fuck up!” Karen yelled. “I’m late for work!” Phil rubbed his eyes and murmured, “I was dreaming of the water….”
Karen violently sighed and put her petite hand on her petite waist in an attempt to feign patience, “Phil, that’s great,” she said, “you should get back out there and quit doing landscaping.” Her voice was especially squeaky when she was trying to be understanding. She ran to the bathroom to brush her teeth again.
“What are you talking about, ‘you’re late?’” Phil said into the bathroom, “you’ve got a half hour before you’ve even got to leave.”
She peaked her head out of the bathroom.
“Then why’d you wake me up? And why do you always insist on waking me up before you leave for work anyway?” Phil pulled himself to a sitting position.
“You should start your day like a normal person.”
“Who’s fault is it that I’m like this, anyway?”
Karen didn’t respond, she pulled something out from her makeup bag and started applying it heavily to her face.
“and the reason you woke me up a half hour early today?”
“Um, well, it’s Bobby’s birthday,” she stammered.
“And?”
“I’m afraid to call him.”
Phil’s eyes got big. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “That ungrateful little brat should just be happy that you’re still talking to him,” Phil said, “after the way he treated me.”
Her eyes moved in the direction of the other bedroom where there was a hole in the door from Phil’s fist.
“Bobby was just kidding around, he didn’t mean anything by it…”
“I’m glad he’s gone.”
“He says he’s glad he’s left.”
Phil stood up and turned away from her. “Well you’re welcome to leave anytime too.”
A panic came over Karen, she ran behind him and put her arms around him. “Oh no, no, no.” Her voice grew soft. “I love you too much for that. Bobby’s dad is just a jerk, he taught Bobby to be a jerk.” Phil didn’t turn around or push her off. She moved her thin fingers over his stomach in a rubbing fashion. “Anyway,” she added, “we need each other. We can’t get along without each other. Right?”
He un-tensed his body and sighed, “Right.”
Convinced that Phil was sufficiently persuaded, she moved her hands to her sides, sat down at the foot of the bed and began picking invisible lint off her pinstriped pants.
“So, what are you up to today?”
Phil pulled himself to a sitting position. “Well, I was thinking of heading to that party at Cheryl’s…”
Karen threw herself up again and turned towards Phil. “She’s not going to be there, right?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“I don’t know who Cheryl invited to her party. I didn’t ask for a guest list.”
Karen patted her nonexistent stomach in the mirror and frowned.
“I don’t want you seeing her. I need to go to work now. Jen is on vacation, so I have to work the shift today alone and the patients have been grumpy all week.”
Without waiting for a response, Karen left the room. Phil heard the door slam behind her and the car start up and the sound of the gravel as she backed out of the driveway.
II.
Phil pulled on the cowboy boots he’d worn the first day he’d met Laura. He ran his fingers over the white stitches sewn into the black leather. There was something about the paisley swirls that he found comforting. He worried about the conversation he was going to have today.
As he buttoned up his plaid shirt, Phil found himself looking into the mirror and patting his own stomach the way Karen had patted her own that morning. The difference of the action was that Phil’s stomach was substantially larger and the pat was much quicker. He turned his attention from his unhealthy bulge. Phil turned his slight frown into a forced smile. At forty-five, Phil’s grin, which always had a strong canine sensibility, now made him look mangy. He winced as he sat down at the table. His back was bothering him this morning.
Phil ate his second donut and poured another glass of milk. He thought about how much he hated that Karen bought skim milk. She’d buy him what food he liked because she didn’t touch it, but she refused to buy any milk but skim. If he was awake when she went to work, he’d watch her morning routine. Each day, she’d skip breakfast, but she’d take one glass of skim milk and crush a vitamin in it. Her very own energy drink.
Phil took a look at his house as he walked to the car. He lived in the kind of complex where every townhouse looked the same from the outside. White siding, grey trim, one big window in front. Phil was waiting for the night he came home drunk and got lost trying to find his own place. He tapped his finger on the faded steering wheel cover. He was singing along to The Eagles on his burnt-out speakers, but his hand was tapping something else. Laura. He thought with each tap. Laura. Laura. Laura. As he drove, he hung his arm outside the window of the truck.
Phil saw a teenager driving a new silver truck passing him. “Bastard.” Phil said in jealousy. Phil was riding in a pickup that was originally dark blue, but now was as nicked as not. A relic of his fishing days, the truck smelled like rotten crab and drove erratically.
A waft a crab reached Phil’s nose and he longed for his now totaled sports car. In the crash, Phil had also totaled his back, so now he couldn’t fish or play baseball. Phil “had gained a few pounds,” but he knew that he could take it off in no time, with no effort, whatsoever. He was the kind of guy that knew himself deeply and intensely.
III.
Phil fiddled with his napkin. This wasn’t going as planned.
Laura rubbed her forefinger against her thumb and stared out the window of the restaurant. Then she sighed and focused her eyes steadily on him. He wondered why he had never noticed that her eyes were green with blue rims, like an ocean wave during a storm.
“Well, Phil, I don’t see why you’d worry about our friendship. We really aren’t friends anymore.”
“What? Why wouldn’t we be friends?” Phil said.
“Friends don’t have to sneak out to have coffee.”
“I don’t sneak out.”
“Oh?” Laura raised one eyebrow. “Then tell me, does Karen know you’re here?”
Phil didn’t say anything.
Laura continued, “Phil, that’s even besides the point. I’m just done with dealing with you. I wish you all the luck in your move to North Carolina, but I don’t see a reason for us to keep in touch.”
“But we’re good friends.”
“No, I’ve been the good friend—”
“Hardly,” Phil interrupted.
Laura ignored him and continued on quietly, but firmly.
“I’m sick of always being the person there for you. I don’t care about your fights with your psycho girlfriend and I don’t care about how miserable you are because your back hurts—”
He tried to cut back in, “But I was in an—”
“An accident. I know. You’ve whined to me for the past eight months. If you lost some weight, your back would feel better.”
“I’m trying,” Phil added meekly. Laura glanced at his piece of cake and looked at him.
“Sure.”
Phil sulked, hoping Laura would feel bad for him. Everything that was good about me is gone, he thought.
“So when are you moving?”
“Mid July, I think. Soon as I can sell the townhouse.”
There was a silence.
“I hear North Carolina is a nice place to live.”
“It is. The best place for a waterman like me.”
“Well, the weather is definitely more accommodating.”
“That’s for sure. I can’t wait. There’s nothing left on Long Island for me anyway.”
Laura didn’t ask about Karen. She didn’t care. She looked at her watch.
“Got a date?” Phil asked. He liked to lash out when hurt.
Laura ignored his tone. “Nope, just the kids. I told Jake I’d pick him up in a half hour. Emily is using the other car.”
He saw Laura wait for his usual comments on her child rearing, but he was quiet.
“I guess I should be heading out.” She stood up to put on her coat.
“Okay.” Phil said. He got up and gave her a hug. “So you want to catch a movie next week or something?” Please, he thought.
Laura put money on the table and left.
IV.
It was dark when Phil pulled into the end of Cheryl’s driveway. Her house had a big window in front and the front room was lit up so he could see the people standing around talking. Some of them were holding blue plastic cups, others were shoveling food into their mouths from Styrofoam plates. Instead of getting out of the truck, Phil rolled down his window and listened to the sounds of the party. He hung his chin out the window and breathed in the moisture from the wet grass. He could hear a woman he didn’t know cackling “that’s so funny.” Phil was sure that he wouldn’t like the woman if he met her. He didn’t like most people.
In fact, Phil realized he wouldn’t really like a good number of people at the party. He had known Cheryl since high school, but he didn’t know her friends. They weren’t his friends. Why go to a party when you don’t like anyone there? he asked himself. The more he thought, the more he was certain that this party was a bad idea. A terrible idea, really. Thank god Karen had to work late and isn’t here to give me a guilt trip. He looked into his rearview mirror and ran his hand over his head. I need to be with people like me. The thought was turned officially into an aching desire to leave. “Cheryl will understand,” he said into the mirror and put the truck into reverse.
V.
The pub was full when he got there. With its high wood beam ceiling and the enthusiastic blue-collar patrons, it was the kind of bar that could be found on a corner in any small Long Island town. This bar in particular was called Woody’s Tap and loved mostly for its Irish bartender, Seamus, who would only enforce the state’s nonsmoking laws until he got drunk. Phil himself didn’t smoke—he was too proud of his athletic nature—but most of the men that drank there did.
Phil made his way past the old men sitting at the bar and into the back where there were barnacles on the stools. There was no mistaking the occupation of the men that sat there. The faces in that corner were always tanned and deeply lined. Since many of the men came right from work, a faint, proud smell of low-tide emanated from the area. Although mostly older men sat sipping their beer, some younger men sat amongst them. Age wasn’t as important as the time you spent on the water. When Phil walked into that corner, he was met with a warm welcome.
“Look who it is!” shouted a white-haired old man. Another man patted Phil on the back and handed him a beer. After shaking hands with the rest of the group, Phil sat down with Marty.
“How’s it been out there Marty?”
“Not bad, not bad…I’ve got a few buyers for crabs, hopefully those won’t dry up anytime soon.”
“Yeah, that would be a shame,” Phil nodded and sipped his beer. “I don’t think it is going to dry up for a while though.”
Marty looked him for a second before responding. “There’s no telling in this business.”
“Not for certain, no,” Phil said, shifting in his seat.
“I’m not pulling in as many crabs as I did last year either. The crabs don’t seem to be running.”
“Well, maybe you’re not putting your pots in the right place. Have you been making sure to put them to the left of the bridge?”
“Um, yeah.” Marty took a deep breath and changed the subject. “So Phil, how have you been feeling?”
Phil forced a pained smile, but he really just wanted to leave. Who was he, bossing Marty around? Marty is a good crabber, he didn’t need any of his advice.
“Oh, it’s been rough, with having to be so out of shape because of my back, and all, but I think I’m finally getting better enough to be back on the water soon.”
“Oh yeah? Hear that boys? Phil is coming back,” Marty said over his shoulder to the table of old men behind him.
Someone yelled: “It’s about time!”
The white haired man said “How are you gonna crab with a gut like that?”
“Maybe the crabs will like it,” Phil said and patted his belly.
Everyone laughed and Phil looked down at his beer. He was in the middle of his second already.
“I don’t need to take this abuse, I’m going to go take a piss,” he said jokingly and stood up.
Phil made his way to the bathroom, walking along the hallway that was covered in old beer signs. “My Goodness, My Guinness” read one that had both a man with a Charlie Chaplin mustache and a seal balancing a bottle of Guinness on his nose. Next to the sign was a mirror with Bud Light etched on the top and thin black lines running through it, but Phil could still see himself as he passed. He paused for a moment and was horrified by his reflection. Looking at the mirror, he saw a pale old man, with a double chin and a fake smile. I may never be happy, he thought for a brief moment. He shook the thought away.
He decided that he’d had enough to drink for that night. Without saying goodbye, he left the bar through the back door.
VI.
When Phil got home that night, Karen was already there watching TV. She sat on his faded plaid couch wearing a pink bathrobe, her hair still wet from her bath. Even in the plush terry cloth, Karen still looked pointy. Her skinny feet were propped up on the coffee table and she was shaking them side to side as she changed the channels. When he came in the room she stopped shaking and looked up.
“Hi,” he said.
“How was Cheryl’s?”
“Fine.”
“Must have been a great party to be ‘fine.’”
“Yup.”
Karen looked back to the TV for a moment. She vacantly watched the child on the screen. He was splashing in a mud puddle with a big smile on his face. His blond hair was getting darker with each jump.
Phil stretched and yawned. “I think I’m going to bed, I’m pretty beat.”
“I’ll come too.”
When Phil finished brushing his teeth, Karen was already in bed. He got in behind her and put his arms around her.
“When we move, will you miss Bobby?” Phil asked into the darkness.
“Why would he miss me? He lives with his father now.”
“I didn’t ask you that.”
“He can come visit on breaks.”
“Still not answering me.”
“When I called him about his birthday today, I told him about the move.”
“And?”
“And, he cried and told me I was abandoning him.”
Phil ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach and snuggled in deeper to Karen, trying to find a warm spot. When he couldn’t find one, he dug his nose into her wet hair. It smelled like flowers. She’s not so bad, Phil thought.
Phil stopped thinking and tried to let his brain melt away into a North Carolina watercolor scene.
How grey would that sky be? Are there white seagulls down there or those weird brown ones? He wasn’t sure. One thing was certain though, things would be better in North Carolina. He knew it down to his very bones.
Otium
