the wedding gift

George squinted his eyes against the bright summer sun. As he lowered the sun visor, a fistful of unpaid parking tickets landed in his lap. He crumpled them under his seat without looking. Scanning the streets for a parking spot, he took a nip out of the can cradled in his lap.

He spotted a questionably legal spot down the block from the bank. The long Buick eased into the spot nose first. He sat in the car, looking left and right before tilting his head back and finishing off the can. He turned off the ignition and shoved the empty can into a bag with the others.

The streets were busy with people rushing home to their Friday nights. He sat and watched them, wondering who and what waited for them at home. His reflection filled the rearview mirror. He brushed a few stray hairs into place and stepped out of the car, tucking his thin flannel shirt into his jeans.

He placed his feet deliberately onto the pavement, one foot in front of the other. His steps felt clumsy. Making his way to the bank, he popped a mint into his mouth and cleared his throat. A stubborn dryness had settled in, making his tongue thick and furry.

It took both of his hands to open the heavy pane glass door. The cool air of the bank made the hair on his arms stand up. He shuddered against the chill while his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights.

Standing alone at the long counter, he inspected the pens chained to the marble top. His moist fingertips stuck to the withdrawal slip. He chose a pen and studied the slip, then looked around the bank for help. His lips moved as if words were waiting, but he remained silent. The pen moved repeatedly over the slip without touching it. He stared at the ceiling for an answer, biting his lip and blinking his eyes. With a sudden jerk, he bent his head low to the slip and scribbled across it. He walked towards the teller and stopped mid-stride, staring uncertainly at the slip. Then with a sudden burst, he rushed the last few feet to the teller.

The teller's face was puckered as if she were sucking on a straw. She did not look up as he waited, grinning. He finally slid the slip under the glass, and she snatched it up without looking at him. The computer keyboard tap tapped under her long nails as she stared at the screen.

"How would you like this?"

"Um, hundreds I guess?" She nodded at the screen while he shifted his weight. He felt suddenly sheepish and wished he were back out on the street.

"I've never taken out this much cash at once. Don't really know what it feels like".

She nodded again, counting out hundred dollar bills. He continued to grin, feeling the need to talk, to communicate, to connect.

"It's for my oldest daughter. She's getting married tomorrow." She smiled without meaning it.

"800, 900, 1,000. Congratulations." She still would not meet his gaze.

"Yeah. Wish it could be more. But I still got two more at home." She looked at him for the first time. Her eyes were kind.

"I'm sure it's fine." She slipped the money into an envelope and slid it to George. He took the envelope and waved it at her.

"Yeah. Well. Thanks." He tucked the envelope into his left breast pocket and headed out of the bank.

Out on the sidewalk, his muscles relaxed and he breathed out all of his nerves. His hand kept worrying the envelope in his pocket. He laid his palm flat against it, holding it there a moment like a boy about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

He winced against the honks and shouts around him. The streets were thick with people and cars. His head swam and his hands shook. As he walked towards the car, he spotted a tiny dive bar and decided to sit down and wait out the traffic some.

The darkness of the bar welcomed him home like a hug. The air was heavy with sleep. It relaxed him and eased the tension in his chest, as if the first cold drink were already slipping past his lips.

It looked as though no one had walked into, or out of, the bar in at least a decade. Shadowy characters were settled into booths, featureless and silent. A few were perched around the bar like religious idols glued to a dashboard.

The first drink eased the tremors of his hands. The bar felt cool and clean under his clammy palms. The second drink got him to looking around the bar. The faces all started to look familiar and inviting. The third drink made him ache with longing to talk. He was by nature a quiet and sullen man. But so much was happening around him. Words swelled inside of him until he couldn't hold them in any longer.

He talked and drank. With each sip the words slid out with greater ease. He talked about his daughter and her wedding tomorrow. How she was marrying a good man, a professor, who would never have to come home and clean the grease out from under his nails. He bragged about her job as a physician's assistant. He wasn't exactly sure what that was. He knew it was bigger than a nurse but not quite a doctor. She was always on him about his diet and vitamins, and yes, his drinking. But it was all done in love. He was proud that she knew all the right things to tell him, even if he didn't quite follow her advice.

He became louder and more emphatic. Bar stools scraped out of his reach as he began to slap shoulders around him. At some point, his glass stopped being refilled. He sighed and slumped down in the stool. He conceded that he had better get some rest for the big day. He pounded on the pocket that was bulging with the bank envelope.

"Got something important here to give my little girl tomorrow," he boasted.

It took some doing for him to get up and off of the stool. He watched two figures make their way out of a booth and through the dark door of the bar. The sunlight had drained from the street. He didn't want to go out into the dark night. He preferred the comfort of the bar with its smells and melting ice cubes clinking against glasses. He stood wearily and waved good-bye. No one wished him well on his daughter's big day.

The sidewalk was disorienting. Sounds and smells and faces crowded his senses. He looked wearily down the block towards his car. His legs felt like lead and his vision wavered. It would be a difficult drive home.

As he struggled down the block, a beat up old Nova pulled along side him and honk honk honked. He squinted his eyes at the two men grinning and waving at him.

"Hey, buddy! Long time no see." The driver smiled at him. George looked around, confused. The passenger leaned over the driver and waved.

"What, you don't remember anyone from the old neighborhood?" They were working men, around his age. They looked like men he would have known.

"Oh, sorry. How you doin?" The passenger slid back over to his side of the car and opened the passenger door. He stood up and out of the car.

"Where you goin? Hop in. We'll give ya a lift." He hesitated, looking down the street at his car on the corner. A parking ticket was flapping against the windshield.

"Nah. Thanks. Car's at the corner." The driver leaned further out of the window.

"Say, hear your kid's gettin married. Congrats. Boy, haven't seen her since she was tall as my knee. Must be a beaut by now."

"Oh yeah," he swelled with pride. "She's a great kid. Real pretty."

"Sure would love to see a picture. Got some a my own kids in here. Come on, buddy. Get in the car so we can catch up a minute." The driver jiggled a flask in front of him. The passenger jumped in the back seat, all teeth and hair grease. George slid into the front seat and shut the door behind him.

The inside of the car smelled like a wet dog. The front and back seats were littered with newspapers and empty cigarette packs. Smoke rings reached him from the back seat. He stared hard at the driver, trying to place him and his buddy. His head swirled from the excitement, and the drinks. He took a long pull from the cool flask and immediately felt a flush rush to his face.

"So? Let's see a picture." The driver held his hand out expectantly. George twisted around to pull his wallet from his back pocket. The passenger reached forward and pounded George's shoulders heartily.

"Boy you haven't changed a bit. He looks good. Doesn't he look good?"

"Yeah, he looks great."

"See that? You look great." A brief look passed between the two men. George felt an uncomfortable knot in his chest. The air in the car was close. Sweat burned his eyes. He wanted to gulp fresh air and fill his lungs.

He finally found his wallet and pulled out a picture of his wife and kids. The two men poured over it, whistling and sucking in air through their teeth.

"Some good lookin kids ya got there."

"Oh sure, the kids are great. But that wife is somethin else, huh? You sure did good, buddy. Good wife, good life. Huh?" The two men chuckled and shoved his shoulder playfully. He began to feel dizzy. Their words overlapped and buzzed in his ears. The driver fished around for a picture of his kids, flailing papers and garbage around the car. While the driver rifled through the glove compartment, the passenger patted George's chest roughly. A wave of nausea wrenched his stomach. The city lights seemed too bright.

"I can't seem to find them pictures anywhere."

"Well look at the mess in this car. It's a wonder you found the steerin wheel!"

"Yeah well, you don't seem to mind when I'm drivin your lazy ass around. Sorry about all this."

"It's all right." George was swimming in the garbage being thrown around the car. He was ready to go.

"Hey, we gotta get goin. Ya know we got that thing..." the passenger fidgeted in the back seat.

"Yeah. I sure am sorry about this, buddy. Great seein ya and all." The driver leaned across him and opened the passenger door. Hands again patted his shoulders and chest as he scooted out of the car.

"Nice seein ya, pal."

"Uh, yeah. You too." George stood on the sidewalk and bent down into the open window, shaking the rough hands of both men. He tripped on the curb as the Nova bolted away, disappearing into traffic.

George struggled to stand upright and stared after the car in a daze. The dense night air swirled around him and he shook his head hard, trying to knock the drink out of him. Stumbling towards the car, his right hand shot up to his left breast pocket. A chill like a knife sliced through him. His rubber legs left him and he sat heavily on the curb. It was gone.

He pictured their faces, worn with work like his. Their hands were calloused and blistered, familiar. He watched their bent backs leaving the bar moments before he had. Right now, they were headed to another dive bar, where they would drink his daughter's gift down. He stared at a pot hole and hoped it would open up and swallow him whole.

The next morning, five minutes before the bank closed, he stood before the same sour-faced teller. He handed her his account number and asked for a balance.

"Your remaining balance is $317.47." He stood motionless in front of her. Numbers danced in his head. He tried hard to make sense of them.

"Is that all?" she asked impatiently.

"Yes. No." His lips worked silently as he scanned the ceiling.

"How else can I help you?"

"Um, you know, my daughter? Well I wanna give her a few bucks more, you know, for the wedding."

"Oh," she seemed to perk up some at that. "Of course. How much would you like to withdraw?"

He considered this for a moment more.

"Um, 200. No. No. 250. 250 please." She jotted figures onto a slip and passed it to him.

"Sign here please." The pen hovered over the paper. Sweat slid off his chin and onto his hand. He wiped his forehead with an open palm, then signed the slip with his eyes closed.

"Yeah. She's a good kid, ya know? She deserves it." He nodded decisively and passed the slip back. "She deserves it."

"I'm sure she does," the teller responded while counting out fifty dollar bills.

He was walking Tiny through the park and there she was. Tiny yanked on his chain and tugged him over to her. She had just gotten back from her honeymoon. They sat down on a bench in the shade. Tiny looked up at her, beating his tail against the grass. She could do no wrong in Tiny's eyes. When she was a little girl, she had looked at him that way. She would wrap her little arms around his neck and pat his back. She never cared where he was or why he was gone so long. She was just glad that he was back.

He hadn't intended to tell her. It was the sunburn that did it. It made her look so hurt and vulnerable. He thought of all the ways he couldn't protect her in the world, and all of the ways he had hurt her. He wanted to make it all right for her.

They each stared straight ahead as he told her the story. Tiny licked her hand the entire time. He was glad the dog was there to comfort her. His lips twitched as he spoke. When he finished, her eyes fell on him for the first time. He felt the weight of a can of Bud in his pocket and wanted more than anything to hear the hiss of the can popping open.

"So that's why it wasn't more. It shoulda been. But that's what happened."

He could tell she was trying to believe him. She wanted to so much. Her face ached with the strain of it. He wanted to know the thoughts she was thinking but he was afraid. Something passed over her face. He braced for it as if waiting for a clap of thunder after a lightning strike. But it passed like a cloud. He watched her fold her thoughts up neatly and tuck them away in a suitcase. He hated to think of her lugging it around.

"Don't worry about the money. I'm just glad you're okay." Her voice was dry sand paper scraping against his heart. She stood wearily, burying her face in Tiny's neck and making kissing sounds.

"You know your old man. Tough as nails." He puffed out his meager chest but she didn't smile. Her eyes were too tired.

"Gotta go. See ya later, Dad." She walked away with a weak wave. She didn't even remind him to take his vitamins or lay off the red meat.

Leaves pattered to the ground around him. He fished the can of beer out of his pocket and popped the top open. He took a long swig from the can and let Tiny lick the sweat from it. He sat and thought of ways he could make it up to her.