Unemployed in Atlanta

First appeared in Babel Magazine #45



It had been three days since I burned down the warehouse.

I woke up around three in the afternoon, pulled myself out of bed, and put on my boxers. I walked over to my bedroom window and looked down at the city. I had a great view from my sixth-story apartment. I could see people crowded around each other, walking to their cars and to the French bakery across the street. A kid with a mohawk ran into an old man and cursed at him. Atlanta. Jesus, sometimes I forget I'm even in the South. It's not at all what I had pictured when I saw the want ad on the Internet. I was just happy for an excuse to leave the dairy farm.

I went down the hall to make myself some breakfast, then watched some TV and got incredibly bored. So I called this bar, the Pub-N-Grub, looking to find a couple friends of mine - Dixie and The Sandman. I talked to Larry, the owner. He was in a bad mood. Larry said that The Sandman was drunk and he was afraid that Dixie and him were going to walk out without paying their tab. I assured him that if they did that, then he could put it on my tab and I would be happy to pay him later. He's known me since I came here a year ago. He trusts me. He thanked me and put the Sandman on the phone.

"Hullo?" he said. He was clearly drunk.

"Sandman, it's me, Danny. Why don't you and Dixie come over to my place? I'm bored."

"You want us to bring some drinks?" he asked.

"Sure, sure," I said. "I'm bored as shit over here. Hurry."

"That's cool," he said. "Just tell me how to get there."

So I gave him the directions. I had to repeat them over and over, and it drove me crazy. My place was on the opposite side of town, and there were a lot of directions. But my temper is short. I hung up and waited.

I sat on the couch and began to relax for a while. Think.

I remembered back a couple of weeks ago when I first met The Sandman. It was at the warehouse where I worked. I saw the boss man showing him around. I'd find out later that he was the boss man's nephew. He had purple hair and a few tattoos on his hand, probably on his arm too, underneath his flannel shirt. They were freaky tattoos, too. There were upside down crosses on his knuckles, and on each hand was (as he'd later explain to me) an anarchy sign in dirty neon red. I'm sure the boss man was lax on the dress code because the Sandman was family. I was impressed. I had seen a bunch of other people that looked like him around Little Five Points and other places in Atlanta.Music clubs. But not at work. Everyone around me was a good ol' boy, a redneck, people who were almost identical in personality and point of view to the rednecks from the old country town where I grew up. I came to the city to escape rednecks, whether from the North or the South. I wanted to experience city life, and that's why I hung out at some of the music clubs and bars where the younger kids hung out. I wanted to feel their culture, be one of them. Forget about New York. Forget about the dairy farm and country life.

I just couldn't seem to get a decent conversation going with any of them. But here with The Sandman, we had a job in common. It was a common point of reference, something that we could both relate to, a piece of conversation that could lead to other topics.

So I made it a point to talk to him at lunch-time. When the bell rang, I went to the break room. When I opened the door, I caught a whiff of all the sweaty rednecks. The smell seemed to be a lot worse when I started working here, and it scared me that I might be getting used to it. The rednecks were laughing. Just laughing their asses off. I saw The Sandman sitting at one of the break tables, wiping some purple jelly off his face.

"The kid's a hoot," one of the rednecks said.

I went over to The Sandman. "You okay, man?" I asked.

"I fell asleep," he said. The others started laughing again.

"You just fell asleep?" I asked.

"Yeah. I do that sometimes. Just fall asleep in random places. That's why everyone calls me The Sandman. My real name is Carter, though." I noticed that he had an accent. But it was slight.

"Well," I said, sitting down at his lunch table and opening my lunch bag, "maybe some company would help. I'm Danny, by the way."

"Hey Danny," he said, sitting down. "Sure. Some company couldn't hurt."

We talked for a while, and I learned that he was only twenty-one and had a wife (Dixie) who was two years younger than him. They were living with his uncle until they could find a place of their own. Their first place. He was from Birmingham. He was a punk rocker.

"Is Birmingham like Atlanta?" I asked. "I've never been there. Is it this big? I mean, is there a very big punk rock music scene in Birmingham?"

"Oh no," he said. "No way. Not near this big. The music scene sucks. That's one reason I was glad to get out of there. One of many reasons. No, Atlanta is the place to be if you're a musician in the south. Here or Nashville."

"Yeah," I said. "I've noticed there's a lot to do here."

I told him a little bit about myself (what there was to tell). Grew up all my life in Dryden, New York, working on the family dairy farm. Got bored with my life and like many other men in my town, I decided to leave for the city, any city. I found an ad on the Internet soon afterwards. Warehouse workers needed. Good pay. And I was gone.

The bell rang soon afterwards, and all of the workers began to clear their stuff and get ready to get back to work. The Sandman and I got up and threw our trash away. He asked if I wouldn't mind getting a drink later, maybe meet his wife. He was going to a place called The Pub-N-Grub. I told him I had been going there for a while. I said sure, I'd go.

I met him at the bar around eight. He was with his wife, and they were already sitting at a table drinking a couple of beers. I sat down next to The Sandman.

Then I noticed Dixie. I got my first good look at her. She wasn't the type of girl that I expected to be married to the Sandman. She had long blonde hair that flowed in waves from a pink cowgirl hat with huge black splotches. She wore jeans that hugged her skinny body tight. Real tight. What was she doing with a punk rocker? I thought. She looked so sweet and innocent.

And when I heard her talk, I was shocked again. "You must be Danny," she said, holding out her hand. It was a deep, country sort of southern accent. Where the Sandman was almost lacking totally in an accent and was all decked out in Punk regalia, she was almost the exact polar opposite. I grabbed her hand, hoping that she didn't notice my sweaty palms.

So I ordered a beer and we all got to know each other a little better. The Sandman and I talked about work. I told him what he could expect during these first few days. I tried my best to have a decent conversation with him, but there wasn't much to talk about. Besides, I couldn't help staring at Dixie. Not that Dixie had much more to offer to the conversation. She mostly just sat there and nodded, and once in a while stared at a pool game that was going on. Her body was there; but most of the time her mind was somewhere else. But God, at least she was beautiful. I mean beautiful. I tried to steer the conversation towards her.

"So," I said to Dixie, "how'd you guys meet?"

"Oh," she said, realizing someone was talking to her. "I'm sorry. Did you say somethin'?"

I repeated what I had said.

"Oh. It's kinda embarrassin'."

"It's not that bad, hon," the Sandman said. Damn, jerk, I thought. Let the woman talk.

She smiled shyly at him. "Yeah well, it really is a little embarrassin'. Do you really wanna know?" I shrugged. She continued. "Well, I grew up in a trailer in Cullman, you know, it's not too far from Birmingham. I was in the school library durin' study hall, messin' around on the Internet. I was in a chatroom, just goofin' off, an the Sandman come in and started rilin' everyone up."

"It was a Christian chatroom," the Sandman said.

So what fucker, I thought. Shut up and let your wife talk.

"She got on my case pretty hardcore," the Sandman said. "But, you know, I was only playing a joke."

"I didn't know," Dixie said. "An' it pissed me off. Anyway, he let me know after a while that he was joking, and we started to talk. He struck me as a real bad-boy type, someone that would really piss my folks off. I really wasn't sure what he thought about me."

"I just thought she was real," he said while winking at me. I wasn't sure what the inside joke was supposed to be. "She went to see my band play a little while later, and she seemed to like it. After she graduated high school, we were married. Now we're here."

"Cullman, huh?" I said. "How big is Cullman?"

"It's a small town," Dixie said. "I grew up there. I miss it."

"You always miss your first home," I said.

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Then Dixie looked at me. "You've got the prettiest blue eyes, Danny."

That did it for me. "Excuse me for a sec," I said, getting up from the table. "I've got to go to the restroom."

I quickly left and jerked off into a stall.

We all went out some more. Twice, three times a week sometimes. I began to fall in love with Dixie. I wasn't sure why at first, but I realized that in my love for her was also a love for the countryside where I grew up. Whenever she mentioned Cullman, a lump began to form in my throat. In the intensity of her words was the passion for a town she had never truly left. In her voice (and soon, my head) was the longing to return to a simpler place with simpler people (like her) and an undisturbed land. I felt the romance of the city fade with every mention of Cullman, and I wanted to leave Atlanta. But I didn't want to leave Dixie.

It didn't take me long before I decided to burn down the warehouse.

I waited. Where the hell were they? We had been partying together for weeks now, and it wasn't like them to be on time, but it seemed like I had been sitting on my couch for nearly two hours. I wondered if they were coming at all. But pretty soon, they were knocking on the door. I got up and turned the TV off, then opened the door.

"Quiet down," I said. "There's old ladies around here." They were carrying Jack Daniels and two liter Cokes. "Set that stuff on the kitchen table," I said to the Sandman. I grabbed the Cokes that Dixie was carrying. She thanked me and walked over to the couch, then sat down.

I put the drinks in the kitchen and fixed me one. I walked over and sat down next to Dixie, and the Sandman plopped down on the rocking chair across from us.

"Took you guys long enough," I said, taking a sip of the drink I had just fixed.

"We kinda got lost," Dixie said.

"I can see that," I said. "How's the job search going?"

"Not good," the Sandman said. I couldn't understand him at first. He was mumbling and hunched over in the rocking chair. He looked real sick.

"Damn freaky shit, ya'll's warehouse burnin' down." Dixie said. She burped, covering her mouth just in time.

"Well," I said. "I'm glad you two came over. I was getting bored."

"The room's spinnin'," The Sandman said. He hunched over the rocking chair and grabbed his knees. He looked sick as hell.

"Damn, honey," Dixie said. "You drank too much." She walked over to the rocking chair and rubbed his back. She looked at me. "Is there somewhere he can lie down?"

"Yeah," I said. I pointed down the hallway. "He can use the bedroom down the hall. The Sandman nodded and he grabbed Dixie's arm and stood up. I put my drink down and went over to help. I grabbed his other arm. We led him down the hallway to my bedroom, then laid him gently on the bed.

Dixie kissed the Sandman on his forehead. He was already asleep. We walked side-by-side down the hallway, not talking. I could smell her perfume. A perfect perfume for her, slightly raspberry, slightly coconut. She sat on the couch and I sat in the rocking chair. I lit a cigarette and offered her one.

"No thanks," she said.

I smiled and looked her over. So blonde, so perfect. Her hair was even more immaculate when it wasn't hidden under a cowgirl hat.

"So, how are you two doing?" I asked. "Really. Be honest with me."

She buried her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. "Do you really wanna know, Danny?"

"Of course," I said.

"I don't know what we're gonna do if the Sandman can't find a job. We're getting pretty desperate."

"I've been thinking about going up north again. I could get my old job back helping out on the farm. There's a little cabin on the property. It's secluded on top of a hill. How's that sound?"

"That sounds great, Danny. I'm happy for you."

I quit rocking. I grabbed my whiskey and Coke from the coffee table and took a sip. "Thanks. You know - I was thinking - well, it's a big cabin, three bedrooms, and they always need plenty of workers for the farm. It may not be Atlanta, but it might be a start. You two can come if you want."

She put her drink down. "I - I would love to. Myself, I mean. I'm not sure about the Sandman, though. He's always been a city guy at heart."

"I'm sure," I said. "But you gotta realize, this is guaranteed work. No joke. And it can be temporary if you like. You guys can save some money, then go wherever you want."

"Yeah," she said, biting her lip. "You're right. We'll go back to the Sandman's uncle's house an' talk about it."

"Sure," I said. "I'm not staying here much longer, though. A week at most."

"We'll think it over," she said. "Probably tonight. Maybe tomorrow. After the Sandman recovers from his drinkin'."

We talked for a little while longer. The sun began to go down, creating a mellow orange light through my blinds. Dixie began to yawn and I offered to take the two of them home. She said it was a good idea. The Sandman didn't need to drive. It was near impossible to get him up, though. He was breathing heavily, obviously in a deep, deep sleep. The kind of sleep that only a drunk can have. I pulled him out of bed and let him fall. When he hit the floor, he woke up. Barely. Dixie and I each grabbed an arm and carried him to the elevator, then to my car. He was dead weight, heavy under my hand and most certainly under Dixie's. We plopped him in the back seat, then I drove across town.

Dixie was solemn as she looked out the window. She was obviously thinking about my proposal. There was no question in my mind that she would make the Sandman accept, because when I mentioned New York to her, I could almost see her childhood home in her eyes. You always remember the country no matter how much time you've spent in the city trying to forget it. What I had touched in side her was sentimental and sacred.

They were coming with me. I thought about the first nights, weeks, months in the cabin and how I would have to share Dixie with the Sandman. It would be torture. My mind would be filled with thoughts of lust every time I looked at her. And I couldn't have her. I would have to be patient and wait for a day that was perfect before I could come home with tears in my eyes. And I would sob and tell Dixie that there had been a terrible, terrible accident. It wasn't enough time, Dixie. This job can be deadly to a beginner. And soon, soon after that I would offer to take care of her, help her through her troubles.

I looked at the Sandman in my rearview mirror. He was curled up in a fetal position, passed out again. He was so white. He looked dead. There was a reddish brown stream of vomit running down his cheek, and the seat was stained with the stuff. It seemed odd, so odd to me that this pathetic creature could care at all for my Dixie.

I looked over at Dixie and she smiled for a second, then turned to the window.