8-Track

Sam
The Boathouse
Hubble
A Harley and Family History
Train Kept a Rollin'
Riders on the Storm
Cat and Mouse
8-Track
Eli Was His Name
Swingle’s

“Totally,” Bill replied gazing out the passenger window at the wiry cords dangling overhead from one telephone pole to the next. They reminded him of where he moved from in Providence, Rhode Island. It was strangely familiar, yet all so new. He had been in New Hampshire a week, yet here he was, riding with someone who appeared to have deserted the Hells Angels.
With all those
skulls
on his forearm, he may have even been their president.

After driving several miles, Eli pulled up and parked in front of a quaint, brown ranch style-home. The front yard was small but nicely landscaped with perennials blossoming in lavender and yellow. Several birch trees that were shedding their bark dotted the well-kept property. Passing an older blue Buick Riviera and a sharp racing green Datsun 240Z in the driveway, Bill could hear the faint sound of R&B music playing.

Eli wiped his distressed cinnamon-colored Red Wings on the doormat before knocking. A tall black woman with long dark hair and green eyes opened the door. Hugging Eli tightly she smiled, revealing her perfect white teeth. She was wearing a deep-red Adidas sweat suit, which accentuated her curvy figure. She reminded Bill of that new attractive female singer from Boston, Donna Summer. Bill thought she was foxy for a woman in her mid-forties.

“Bill this is my sister-in-law Vanessa,” Eli said.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand to Bill. She moved quickly and gracefully. 

“Same here,” he replied. He started mouthing the words and snapping his fingers to the familiar song playing. It was Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On”,  the same song he played on his 8-track player only days ago. The music was coming from one of the bedrooms down the hall, and got louder when the door opened.

Eli started singing. Bill continued to mouth the words until he saw the girl coming towards him. Her faded black Rolling Stones concert t-shirt was cut low in the front, exposing a hint of her breasts. The shirt barely covered the top of her torn denim-jean shorts. Her long curly hair was pulled back with a clip. A few tendrils dangled, just covering her big hazel eyes. Bill figured she couldn’t have been more than twenty. He tried not to stare as she hugged Eli, but he was captivated by her. 

“Sam, this is Bill.” Bill put his hand up in a short wave and smiled.

“Hi,” was all he could say.

“Hey,” she replied looking directly at him, a small curl in her lip. Her left arm was crossed over her torso, holding her right arm at the elbow.

“Looks like the landscapers came by today,” Eli said, pulling his brownish gray hair loose from a tie.

“They did,” Vanessa replied and opened the kitchen window.

Eli turned to Sam. “You and your mother hanging in there? Any more problems with ya car?” he asked, pulling his hair back and retying it.

“The Zs not making that whistling noise anymore. Mom, are we doing all right?” Vanessa had gone back in the kitchen to pick up her cigarette and take a drag from it.

“I’d say we’re all right,” she replied, feathering the smoke from her nose.

Sam crossed her arms and raised her chin. She looked Eli directly in the eyes before speaking. “That’s the news. Now when are you gonna let me drive your bike?” She wore a silly grin.

Eli smiled coyly, raising one of his eyebrows at her before putting his hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Bill, grab a seat while I talk to Nessa.”

“Sure.”

Eli and Vanessa disappeared down the hall while Bill sat down on the nubby beige sofa. He picked up a
People
magazine with Jack Lemmon on the cover and skimmed through it.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Sam asked, brushing her hair aside.

“Uh, no thank you. Did you go to the Stones concert?” Bill asked eyeing her shirt.     

“I wish,” Sam said looking down. “Eli got this for me at a concert back in sixty-nine. Do you like the Stones?”

 Bill cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. Two thin lines ran across his tanned forehead.“Doesn’t everybody?”

“Are you working with my uncle?”

“Yeah, and we’re in the same union. I’m helping him with a carpentry job at his house. Bill put the magazine down, sat back and crossed his legs. “Are you in school?” he asked while rubbing his hand over his thin brown beard.

“No, I graduated a few years ago, class of seventy-two. I’ve thought about college but I just don't know what I wanna do, ya know what I mean?”

“Yes, I do. I graduated high school seven years ago and although I love being a carpenter, some days, I’m just not sure,” Bill answered. He took in her long coco-colored legs. It had been so long since he even noticed another woman.

“Are you married?” The question brought him back down to earth.

“I was. Laurie. She passed away from cancer a little over a year ago.”

“Oh I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” Sam said quickly.

“No, it’s OK. You couldn’t have known.” 

“Eli probably told you that I lost my dad in an accident.”

Bill nodded.

“Shit happens. My mom and I are just lucky we’ve got Eli, he helps us out a lot.”

“That’s great.” Bill spotted Eli standing in the hallway. They made eye contact.

“Sorry man, I’ll just be a few minutes and we’ll be leavin'.”

“That’s cool, take your time,” Bill said. He turned back to Sam.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

“No, really I’m good, thank you.” 

 “You wanna see one of my drawings?” Sam asked while getting up from the couch.

“Drawings, ah sure.” Bill followed her down the dimly lit hall. Passing an open door, Bill stole a quick glance inside. Eli was sitting at the end of a bed next to Vanessa, holding her hand.

Bill waited in the doorway of Sam’s bedroom while she went to a drafting table in the corner. It was covered with sheets of Bristol board, pencils and a stack of 8-track cassettes, several of which had fallen on the floor. The clutter reminded Bill of Laurie’s old desk. Bill eyed her taste in music,
America, Jimmy Hendrix, the Stones, Aerosmith. Not bad.
Several plastic cheerleading trophies that were badly faded, sat thrown in a cardboard box on the floor. Concert posters from numerous musicians blanketed the walls, even the ceiling. 

Sam handed the drawing to Bill, it was a portrait of Marlon Brando. He took in the fine pencil-lines, cross-hatching and varying degrees of shading. “What do you think?” Sam asked leaning in.

“Wow, this is far out. You really captured his eyes,” Bill replied catching the lavender scent of Sam’s hair.

“You think so?”

“Oh definitely. You’re very talented.”

Eli poked in his head from behind Bill. “Sam, are you boring Bill with your art?” 

“Have you seen it?” Bill asked as he turned around.

Eli nodded. “I know, she’s very gifted. Let’s hit it man,” Eli said and hugged Sam.  

 She pushed her index finger into his shoulder. “Don’t forget, I’m ready for that bike of yours…in case you forgot.”

Eli laughed. Pausing at the front door, he looked back at Vanessa. She was flicking the ashes of her cigarette into a Coke can.

“Everything’s gonna to be fine,” he said with an assuring tone. “You’ve moved on with your life, we all have. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Good to meet you,” Bill said.

“You too,” Vanessa replied as Sam appeared. Bill held the door and made eye contact with her.

“Keep up the artwork, you’re really good. By the way, I also love Aerosmith.”

 Sam noticed Bill’s dimples. Slightly smitten, she smiled back, not noticing her mom observing from afar.

“Everything cool?” Bill asked as he strapped his seatbelt on.

“Yeah, Nessa wanted to rap about someone coming back to town.”

“Of course,” she said taking her cream-colored robe from the closet.

“Arigato,” he replied.

He sat up and reached for a Winston before sauntering over to the phone. He drew a long drag before picking up the receiver, placing it to his ear and clearing his throat.

“Eli,” said the gruff voice on the other end.

“Hubble, what it is man.” Eli sat down in the chair at Bitty’s dressing table.

“It’s going brotha, their lettin me outta here tomorrow. I was hoping you could pick me up?” 

“Nessa and I rapped, she told me they’re letting you out early.”      

“Yeah man, fucking good behavior. Buddy said I can stay out back in the garage.”      

“What time tomorrow?” Eli asked taking another drag.

“Noon.”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up.”

“Thanks brotha, I’ll see you then.”

Bitty placed a cup of coffee by Eli’s arm. He picked it up and took a sip, burning his tongue. The pain didn't distract him from the fathomless parade of thoughts thundering through his head.

It was nearly nine o’clock when Bill knocked on Eli’s front door.

“Good Morning,” Bill said, nodding at Bitty.       

“Hi, please come in.”

Eli was lacing up his boots. His hair was down and loose. A mask of frustration on his face.

“Morning,” Bill said. He kept his voice casual, trying to feel out Eli’s mood.

“Hey.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll talk about this tonight,” Eli said to Bitty and snatched the keys off the table. “Let’s get going, Bill.”

Eli pushed Johnny Cash’s
At Folsom Prison
into the tape player and backed out of the driveway. He turned up the volume.

Clearly he had more on his mind this morning than just carpentry, 
Bill thought. “You think to have the house done by the end of the summer?”

“Would be really good. Maybe,” Eli shouted.

“Everything OK with your sister-in-law?” 

“Only time will tell.”

“Supposed to get warmer.”

“Uh huh,” Eli replied. He stared straight ahead, his brow slightly furrowed. Bill decided to give up on the one sided conversation.

The sun was shining overhead when they arrived at Eli’s lake house. Bill noticed a family of ducks riding the current across the lake, their yellow feathered breasts breaking the lake’s dark green surface like canoes. Removing the keys from the ignition, Eli finally broke the silence.       

“Let’s work downstairs today.”

“Sure.”

“You still got the key?” Eli asked tying his hair back and fastening it with a thick rubber band. Bill put his tattered tool belt on and dug into the side pocket. He pulled out the house key and waved it.

“Since you’re going to be helping me, just hold onto it.”

“Cool.”

Over the next several hours Bill worked alone in the sunroom off the kitchen. He was in the process of ripping old, outdated paneling off one of the walls when Eli walked in.

“Bill, I’m gonna run out for lunch, same thing as yesterday OK?”

“Yeah,” Bill replied pulling out some cash and handing Eli a five dollar bill.

“Righto.”

Bill removed his tool belt before going upstairs to use the bathroom. The enclosure felt like a museum with its claw-foot cast iron tub and overhead pull-chain toilet. The walls and flooring were bare, exposing all the original frame work. Yanking the chain on the toilet Bill laughed. 
God this house is old.

Knowing Eli would be gone for a short while, Bill took the opportunity to explore the house. He wandered into the master bedroom. Unless he was mistaken, there was a stairwell in the closet leading to the roof. The double oak doors swung open with ease, and Bill peered up the shadowy staircase.
Jackpot.
Through the dim lighting, he could see a thin sliver of yellow light coming from above. At the top he found the latch on the door and undid it.

Pushing it open, bright sunlight filled the gloomy staircase. The house felt more like a small castle as Bill ventured out onto the roof-top deck and looked out. The property faded off into the surrounding woods, much like his own house. Eli had no immediate neighbors, the closest remained several lots away. An abandoned ham-radio tower rose above the tree line. Scanning in the other direction, his eyes stopped on one object,
the boathouse.
The shingling on it was badly faded and cracking. Overgrown shrubbery and Shagbark had scaled up its sides, covering most of the rotting trim.

Shaking his head over the dilapidated condition of the building, he left the roof-top perch and went back inside. Taking the stairs two at a time Bill exited the house and went straight to it. The closer he got, the more he felt it.
There was something cold, almost dead about it.
Thinking he heard a car door shut, Bill backtracked to find Eli standing there with his brow heavily furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

“I was just checking out the boathouse.” Bill pointed with his thumb over his shoulder like a hitchhiker. Eli handed him a lunch bag. 

“There’s nothing there for ya. Stay away from it,” Eli said, abruptly turning and tromping  towards the pier.

Bill debated for several minutes on whether to join him for lunch.
He wasn
’
t in a talking mood.
Wiping his forearm across his sweaty forehead, Bill began walking towards the pier. When he sat down, Eli was nearly finished eating and was leaning on his elbows, taking in the sun. 

“Can I ask you why you’re not living here?” Bill sat next to him.

Eli sighed and sat back up. “It’s a long story filled with shitty old family drama. Let’s just say I’ve got mixed emotions about this house.”

“I can dig that.”

Eli wrapped up his trash, got up and started back to the house. “Take ya time eatin.” 

“Thanks,” Bill replied looking back over his shoulder at the boathouse. He wondered why Eli had bit his head off for going near it.