Redwood Liquor

Funds are low, but on we go —
Our spirits are high, and I don’t know why. ~ Bob Pepper
After months of rain, the backyard lawn is a muddy sponge that squishes underneath my shoes as I walk. Fearful garden spiders scurry in the grass after a fresh mowing; I have, by chance, hit their nest. They run for cover to the Meyer Lemon tree. I chase them, gaining speed with my clumsy feet as I beat them to the tree and manage to grab ten or so lemons. In the process, I trip on an old tree stump; its presence pushing against the surrounding soil like a wart protruding through fair skin. It has been already nineteen months living here in the neighborhood. The many lives that have passed through are less than the smoke from memories dissipating in the forgetful sky. Only on Mary C Drive do they know how to gather on the front lawn and laugh, lawn chairs in a circle, bright eyes and chuckles sustained on years of friendship. On other streets it can seem forced most of the time, except on Fridays when everyone gathers in backyards and anticipates the next thing in a cycle of funny things that perpetuate into a fiery ball. into a promising night. There are, of course, the times we are motionless, listening to the frogs and crickets, watching the stars. Friday night can be the hiding place for relaxation after a rather wearisome week of showing up on time at some place if only for that paycheck. Yes, there are indeed a few of us who are passionate about our current line of work, but our passions for the most part still remain unfound. A light at the end of many of our tunnels are these Friday night gatherings that take place through the house and into a backyard or garage-​cum-​playroom. Redwood Liquor Store, formerly known as Emil’s, is the replenishing place in the middle of the night. Emil is in the history books for serving many of the former residents in this neighborhood. Like many of us will become, he is just a former cockroach that once scurried about in the underbelly of this town. Most of the residents of Emil’s neighborhood have moved on by choice, or passed on by time. The newer Redwood Liquors looks exactly like Emil’s. The aluminum foil is out of stock and the ice machine is still in the shop. But he’s got every thinkable brand of vodka in any size imaginable, from Skyy to Stoli, from Artic to Zyr. The wine area in the back is still selling the more affordable bottles — Some look like they’ve been collecting dust for years were it not for the 2009 vintage on the bottle.
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Back in the day, there was James. He could run the bases like Rickey Henderson. He had more hits, on a given day, than Pete Rose. He had an eye for the ball. He was the best outfielder among all fourth graders. To see his feet now scraping the sidewalk, you’d swear he was a mirror ghost, a dead reflection of his former self. He slides into Redwood Liquor for another bottle of liquid silver as his sister stumbles out of the van to throw away the former bottle. Sometimes, a dream can forever drown in our sorrows and there’s no certain way to see something like that coming. Therefore, there is no way to run from it and no way to prevent it.
We are all of us in the gutter. But some of us are looking at the stars. ~ Oscar Wilde