Grady Has A Part To Play

I've been saving this particular story for a special occasion.

Tonight's sort of a special occasion, so here we are. Together.

Reader, do you know what it means to trip over yourself because you don't know quite where to go? Or what to do if you did?

Maybe you're a... well, a bit of a misfit?

That's ok. That's what we're here for, tonight. To hold hands together, you and me. Little oddities, us.

Grady's kind of like that, too. An out of place, and maybe time, sort of nitwit. Lost, just on the other side of more than a little lost. Broken.

Still. However the view might be from other boxes. Whoever else might have thought of a different player, and a different part. On this night, dear reader, we'll come to find that, just as we misfits always do...

Grady Has A Part To Play by M. K. Dreysen

So this guy sets his mind up, he's gonna park his cart, like, right there at the curb. And I says to this guy, I says, "Hey, Santa-type dude, you're asking for some kind of citation there."

And the guy turns to me and says, swear to God, "Officer Dubronik and I have business together this evening."

And me, I'm like, whoa, 'cause who's going to mess with a guy who's got, like, BUSINESS, you know? 'Cause me, I've got business, you've got business, but this guy, he's gotta be having BUSINESS, you know? And with Dubronik, who's only like the toughest hardass walking a beat, right?

Everybody in Venice has got to have had a parking ticket with Willa Dubronik scrawled across the bottom line, right?

Well, except for me, but I don't have a car. Not the driving type these days, you know? No wheels kind of goes along with the no house, is what I'm saying.

So anyway, I says, to the Santa-type dude, I says "You looking for Dubronik, you're in the right place. She just walked past here not five minutes ago." Like it's Dubronik's night on the beat, is where I'm going with my story, which you might have guessed.

Only, this dude's a little busy for my story. Which, you know, I'm into it. Gotta be, like, a thousand guys and gals might walk by me every day of my life, and every one of 'em I've got a different story for, 'cause that's how I work. That's my gig, it's what I do.

And ten out of eleven, maybe on holidays it might be twelve, fifteen day of, you know? Like that kind of ratio, that's what I'm cool with, they walk by me like they don't want to listen to my patter. To my beat, my rap. Which is what this guy did, and what do you know, I'm cool with it.

So he walks on, and I look at these weird horses dropping standard issue steaming piles of poop on the road. And it's at this point that I wonder if hanging around when this guy leaves is going to be anything like a good idea.

I mean, Dubronik's a hardass and all, but she don't beat people up. She's just the kind who offers "Jail, or scoop the reindeer poop," if you're catching the wave I'm surfing, yeah? And there being no pooper scooper on offer...

So I'm down the block, realizing I'm short on funds this week. So maybe it's time to head to the shelter short on funds. Nice bunch, there. Warm food. Not too patient with Grady these days. As in, "Don't come back here, Grady. Or we'll call the cops." Like that.

Not cool. Not cool at all. But, hey, I kind of earned it. So, we're even. Except now I've got to find a place to sleep, which ain't easy. Venice is not what it used to be, amen and hallelujah my brother and sister dollar chasers.

At least it ain't coal country. I might be miserable this night. I might be a little teeth chattering, and I might be get up and walk every couple hours cold. But I'm not going to be deader than disco cold. I'm not gonna be oh wow, it's warm and then you fall asleep and never wake up cold.

Which when you think about it, is worth the trade. Oh, I could use the job. And the wife and the kids, them too. Only, they ain't none of them on offer, so let's think some more about this whole sleeping business, Grady. Like we know what we're doing, brother Grady, and we can at least make sure Dubronik don't stumble over us fifteen minutes into our siesta, am I correct my sister?

And yeah, that does sound pretty good, right? So I'm cruising, I'm looking for a settlement-type area, a cubby. Maybe even a warm dark place with a little bit of the old dream of home, if you know what I'm saying?

And wouldn't you know it? Here comes the self-same Santa-type dude. And this time, he's got some kind of rock in his hand. About the size of my fist type rock. A real rock.

The kind of rock ol' Dubronik might think brother Grady is getting ready to toss through a window and help himself to the items sitting there. Which, "Not cool, Santa-type dude. I don't do weapons." Not these days. Grady is a peaceful type. These days.

"Grady Edwards. Dubronik has disappeared, my friend. Which means you are called to a service this evening." And the Santa-type dude he hands me this rock. The one I've already indicated is not, I mean NOT, Grady's way of working. Brother Grady has sworn off it, really.

"Grady, look at me." And I look at the Santa. Expecting the whole middle America, sitting at the mall, waiting for the kids to calm down long enough to take a picture to send to Grandma type Santa. You know, old dude, picks up a little extra cash on the weekends while Mary Alice and Grady Junior piss on him.

I handed them over like that, knew better. But the line was long and I was there by myself. So Santa got peed on. "Not the first time today, Mister Edgars, won't be the last." And he's got patience, my sisters and brothers. I mean, PATIENCE.

This dude standing in front of me on the street corner of Venice Beach? He's got BUSINESS.

Not PATIENCE. Or even patience. No time for that when you got BUSINESS, am I right?

"You're going to have to stand up tonight, Grady. Stand and hold the fires of heaven." And so Santa gives me his rap, his story. That brother Grady is one of the elect, that kind of story.

Tonight at least. "Hey, Santa, I get where you're going with this, and where I'm at is, why me?" Because that's the question that never gets answered, from my humble point of view. Not cockroach humble, but I'm no Buddha, you see? And the stories they never quite say the "What for?" on a level your correspondent has ever been able to dig into. Get cool with.

And Santa, he grins at ol' Grady. "Because Dubronik ghosted me, Grady. Simple as that. Or, just maybe it's because the Universe decided you're worthy of the challenge. Don't let it go to your head." And then Santa he gets in his ride and takes off for the stars.

I wanted the Rudolph Red-Nose exit. I wanted it bad. Because, hey, if you're gonna do it, if you're gonna be the one to leave Grady standing there with a rock he didn't ask for, and a challenge he most definitely, I mean MOST DEFINITELY DID NOT VOLUNTEER FOR this fine evening.

Ain't you gotta give Grady a little bit of that holiday cheer, am I right? I'm right.

But that still ain't shining no lights on Grady. Only thing I've got, is a rock. And something like half a metric ton of reindeer poop. I may be exaggerating. For effect. It being my story, yeah?

Dubronik should have shown, right then and there. That's Grady's kind of luck, my sisters and brothers. Way it's always been. Cop shows up when Grady's not fixed for company. Only, no Willa with her notebook and badass disposition. Which was kind of disappointing, really.

A jail cell ain't much, but it can often be warm.

Santa's story didn't include all the details. Like the way the shadows moved around me. As if this rock I'd inherited needed company for its facets. As though the absence of light, the lack of reflection, the holes in Grady's perceptions called like to like.

I not being a hang around much for the way this was going type, I put a block or two between me and those hungry shadows. This worked. A little. The shadows in the new place must not have been as awakened to the little piece of unreality I'd tucked into my bag. And that's encouraging, in that particular moment. In case you're ever there, you know?

A piece of knowledge. A nugget of higher learning. I might have contemplated this information a little more deeply than I needed to. If running into Lizbet, like I did, indicated. "Oh, hey, Lizbet, I am sorry."

Lizbet was, I am sorry to report, not cool with Grady's entry. "What the hell's wrong with you, Grady?" And she proceeded to read me my faults.

I'm not saying I'm used to it. Lizbet being intense is kind of difficult to become inured to. I'd poked around the edges, once, and she'd told me "Because the pills mess with my head, Numbnuts. Screaming at people ain't right. Dumb to the world is worse."

She didn't mind me not looking at her, either. I kind of had business, now. New business, got shoved to the top of the agenda. The shadows here in Lizbet's alleyway became more and more solid as she proceeded. This worried me. "Lizbet," I started saying, when she looked like she was ready to hear something come out of my mouth.

Only, explanations seemed like they weren't going to do it. So instead of running my mouth, I reached in my bag and drew the stone.

Something in my mind turned over; from the back and the bottom it clawed at me. An idea, a greed, that's what was floating up from the ugly spaces. "Don't show don't share don't give away."

Lizbet reached for the stone. But before her hands got there, she stopped, then stuffed them back in her pockets. "Don't offer that which you cannot give, Grady."

Uh-huh, ok. "You know something I don't, Lizbet?"

She shuddered and turned her back on me. "Only that so long as you're carrying that stone, Grady, you have a place to be. And it's not here in my alley."

Grady being fully capable of taking a hint, I moved my feet. This was harder now. Everywhere was molasses, tar, my shoulders and my feet trapped in it, and I ignored the pains of stress drifting through my knees and hips.

I had to. The shadows were bad. What was coming behind them was worse. Harbingers begat doom, that's sort of the way it works. I heard fear torturing hate, slavering there. For Grady meat.

There are only ever two ways to go in Venice. If you're of a mind to stay in town, I mean. If you really want to beat feet, just head north or south and you're golden. Hang around, and there's the upscale works, the murals and the gyms and the restaurants from which we wring our daily sustenance, such as it is.

And then, there's the water. Beyond the wall and the sidewalk, the palms and the weight yard for those golden of sweat and occasionally, demeanor, the view of a million commercials. There, it's the water, mother of us all. Sea and salt that ever fills my nose and the calls of the birds, but now just surf because it's night and the seagulls are none of them awake at the moment.

I stuffed the stone back into its new place and made my way to where the sand meets the waves.

I don't come here much, to the ocean. Kind of funny, right? I'm a mountain kid. The ocean beyond just wasn't part of my existence, before I hit the bottom, of, of many things. It's good to know it's there when I need it, all else being gravy.

I guess I needed it that night. Foam overtopped surf and the constant rush in my ears; everpresent wind pressing me back, telling me the water wasn't for me. Catalina winked at me, along with a few dozen boats from here to Santa Monica and beyond. I wondered what it was like, Christmas on a boat?

Then I cast curiosity aside and turned back to the city. Santa's story, short on specifics in other ways, wasn't built of hints and riddles on this front.

That which came for the stone in my bag would come from the city. Well, from the east, at least: mountains and desert and a continent's worth of discontent brewed up my fate.

All the world enfolded me. Lights of humanity caught me up in a swirl of idea and hope and fear and love. Which is what it feels like, Pacific behind sand beneath and Southern California stretching all the world around. To me on that night and others, I am small and the people are not.

Behind the lights, that molasses and oil tar built to something I know not. I swam through it to get here and for now the mass of it waited.

For Willa Dubronik to step forth and tempt me. "You're carrying something that should be mine tonight, Grady."

"All you need do is walk a little farther, Officer."

She stopped at the end of the concrete. A little farther along, maybe she could have come closer to me, but my place was distant from the weight benches. Here there was sand, all the way to the little wall where the skaters made their day runs. Would she dare the sand?

Groomed, clean, as natural as anything else in the L.A. basin. Dubronik wasn't interested in testing it. "You're the one holding a suspicious object, Grady. Even if you survive this night, will you be ready for what the law of daylight holds in return?"

Come in and we'll go easy on you? "I don't hold anything against you, Officer. But I've been given something in trust."

Please, God, don't let me screw this up.

She reached then, and gave me a taste of what had taken Willa Dubronik's form on this night. Her hands and arms stretched, spine and legs too, talons of blood-red steel fangs of diamond they all of her came for me and what I held against her and her new masters.

Three feet. If I'd told you I'd judged that space, behind me water in front of me sand and my feet would have been wet a couple hours earlier, if I told you I'd planned it... I'd be a damned liar. I didn't plan it, yet her claws swiped the air and her jaws slammed shut just about three feet in front of my face.

Close enough for hot breath on my face and the sizzle of acid drool on the sand. Gravegoods stench held me, tasked me with vomiting ahead of the terror feasting on the images running through my mind. She showed me told me what awaited me. "I will claim your worthless hide for boots. Every stride I take in claiming this world will drive silver spikes through your soul. Your screams will delight my ears for eternity, Grady Edwards."

"Promises, promises." If she'd the ability just then, why was I still standing there? Instead of decorating some demon skinner's loom, I mean?

I held on to that, even as my knees threatened to dump me ass over teakettle, and my stomach to empty what dinner I'd scrounged as decoration for the dumbshit Grady getting in over his head party we were all getting ready for.

In Lizbet's alley, a part of me I didn't enjoy being in possession of had turned vicious, tried to, when I'd taken the stone from hiding. Here it came again, that needy ugly me, and now...

Now it reached for the stone, to show it to Dubronik. Show her my new power, my place in the world, my sudden promotion to Grady Matters.

I fought it, like I'd once fought for my family. Only, this time, I accomplished something. A little something.

I kept my hand in my pocket. And didn't pull the stone free. "Looks like your turn in the barrel is coming to a close, Officer."

And she was absorbed into the army of night arrayed before me as an afterthought. She didn't even have time for a cinematic look, or comment.

I was starting to appreciate that screenwriters must be in the habit of putting some polish on these things. If Grady ever finishes his screenplay... but not tonight. Ain't got time for running gags and perfect comic timing tonight, does Grady.

All the nightmares of the world are facing me. Terror and hate and that which they breed stand above and beyond and fill my vision. The city is gone, the world is gone, all that holds me now is the worst of us.

Sand and surf are as nothing. The force of them... I am torn down and wrung for the dregs. I am nothing, not even the void. All that I might have dreamt of has run screaming for the hills.

And been consumed.

I am also prepared. My hand reaches now for the stone, coal black and dark, polished somehow perhaps by hands shaking the way mine were at this moment. I had not the space for greed hate love nor money, all I had was the strength to pull that stone from my bag.

And that strength dribbled out somewhere below my elbow. Would I make it?

"You're supposed to light now," I told the stone. "You're supposed to show the stars and the moon and all the good things?"

I'd done my part. The stone was aloft in my grasp, and if I'd had any strength left I think maybe I'd have crushed it to diamond right there in my hand but the only bit left was just that strength sufficient to keep the stone there. I'd done what the man with the red suit and the flying sleigh had told me to do.

I'd done it, and the stone was as dark as the space in my heart where the memories of Mary Alice and Grady Junior and Lissa stay.

"You never told me this," I said to the stone, and the man who'd given it to me. Neither stone nor Santa being the responsive type, I fought the army of despondency the only way I could. Alone.

I don't go to those memories. And I am ashamed of this fact. I've run across a continent to avoid those memories. When Mary Alice took her first step, and then the two of us collapsed into astonished giggles. When Grady Junior bit me, to let me know his first tooth arrived.

When he yanked on Lissa's hair, or Mary Alice put a loop of it in her mouth. Lissa's frown, the way it scrunched up the space between her eyes. Love, before and after kids.

Before... before the hole in my mind where Grady cannot go. The one that he cannot look into. A gap. The one that the army before me laid hooks into, tore free and laid out for me to observe and weep over. Jealousy and vindictiveness; petty grievance; that look on your face when your baby brother gets a gift like you'd never have dreamt of. Those are the lines in which that army is drawn.

And I am all over dreaming of the laughter and the rustle of paper. The puppy stealing the ham from the table, and the tears in Lissa's eyes from how she can't control the giggles.

From such small sparks and others that are mine alone does Grady kindle the light of the world. Tears streamed down my face, joy sorrow love and maybe a little hope, they burned my cheeks and filled my tongue with salty wonderful bitter memory. And hope.

And wouldn't you know it, the stone it did light.

Damned near dropped it, Grady did. Which, if you're wondering, would very much have been a bad no good very naughty type thing. Only I didn't. Drop it. I held it there and beheld that which faced me.

Ugly. Tortured. Sinuous burned twisted wrought from a night when all the other guys have rented tuxes and the girls wear store bought dresses and you're standing there with an orchid when what she really wanted was something like everyone else had. Like that.

They tore me down still, whatever was left of Grady the army feasted on it and set tableau for my perusal. Every embarrassment, every humiliation. I wept at my frailty, at the ugly in me that cringed and called out to the beasts surrounding me.

I did that. And I looked up at the stone alight. Did it waver? I feared it did.

"Just give me a moment, friend Grady," Santa had said. An eon ago. "You'd be astonished what a moment can do."

It's not red. In case you're wondering. Mine wasn't. Maybe the lady standing on Bondi beach, facing her demons down, had seen a red beacon. Or the little family in Lagos, they could have. All the world across that night and I had companions in their ones and twos and threes, fighting back their fronts on the vast empty tides of despair.

Me, I saw a candle's flickering yellow dancing in my hand. It sank and it sparked and it wanted, more than a little, to give up the ghost right then and there. I'd like to say, Grady would, that he held it together, that he put his all into remembering.

I could tell you that story, if you wanted. But what really happened, I don't know for sure, except that somewhere between me wondering if changing a poopy diaper while Lissa chased the dog with the roll of wrapping paper in his mouth around our little apartment was the best or worst or both type of memory to giggle over at this precise moment in time, and that little yellow flame wandering off into the night, we between us found our joint purpose.

And that light burned then as bright as the sun. And we held, me and my little bit of starry universe, we held up the pillars of the world. Long enough for Santa to finish his BUSINESS, if you know what I mean.

They knew when they'd been beat, and the army faded from the scene just then and there. Even the remnant of Officer Dubronik eased her way on into the begone, with not even a parting viciousness for me. Which, hey, kind of rude, but what are you gonna do?

If you're Grady, you're gonna stand there between collapse and vindictiveness, with a holy swell of righteousness you didn't know you had bubbling up from the ugly side of you. And you'll stare up at your candle of joy and you'll wonder if you're a paladin tonight, if since you've got this weapon maybe you've got the will and the duty to go out and right some wrongs.

Clean up the joint, is where I'm headed as all the starry world whirls itself back into my view. That's what Grady's giving his all to, when her face and her voice come into my head.

"It's time to let go now, Grady," the Mrs. to the Santa-type dude whispers to me.

And if you believe Santa has BUSINESS... she has TERRIBLE PURPOSE, beauty and wisdom and there ain't no hint of warm cider; she's as cold as blue steel, is the Mrs. Claus, when she's laying down the rules of the road to Grady, reaching above the needs of the moment is Grady and I know it.

So, I stuff myself back into myself. I blow on the candle so bright, and tell it "You done good, but we're past our bit." And the flame it juggled a bit, it danced a bit, it brought a smile to my eyes and my mouth a bit. And then it went out.

I'd tell you she, or maybe the Santa, came to reclaim their rock. Except Grady took a nap, collapsed into the sand in a heap, right at that very moment. So I can't say, not being a witness to the event, where the rock went and how.

I woke to Lizbet dragging me across the sand. "What's up?" I wondered.

"I'm dragging your scrawny ass out of the way of the tide, Grady. I figure, if you're gonna save the world, leaving you to the sharks is poor payment."

Which, ok. If anyone's going to ask Grady's opinion on the matter, I for one have got to agree with the sentiment. I made her stop, long enough to recover something like a moment's dignity. Or, you know, sit there on the sand and shake like a three-year old with a full bladder, either's good. "Where can I buy you breakfast, Lizbet?"

"I'm buying, Numbnuts. You couldn't scrape up change for a Coke and a Ding-Dong at the moment. The Tooth Fairy paid good last month."

Which, that's Lizbet's story, the whole Tooth Fairy gig. And I ain't stepping into her story, because Lizbet's got opinions about that sort of thing.

Me, I just know one thing. Some Santa-type dude shows up with a lump of coal for you? Be ready, my brothers and sisters.

Your part might just be getting started. Which is what I'm saying, you know?