Michael Brandonisio


Dreck Speaks

They call me Dreck. That’s right, Dreck. Two Drecks rubbed each other and made me, to put it nicely. Yes, indeed. She was Irish. He was German. I’m their spinoff, the dumbest mistake they ever made. They made me who I am today, the current Dreck. That’s me, Dreck, with no compassion left for those I’m acquainted with and neither for those from the bygone, most of ʹem all gone to oblivion by now, their just reward. Yes, indeed. I, Dreck, with no compassion for all the chumps out there I never knew in the first place and never will. Thank you.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-hmmmm-hmmmm-hmmmm-da-da-doo…

No compassion left. None at all. All that’s left are trickles that drip from my rusty spigot. Drip, drip, drip. Only teensy-weensy trickles left. Just tiny, tiny bits that drip, drip, drip, every now and then from my rusty spigot. That’s all for me besides things in my head, things spewed up, bits and pieces, helter-skelter, like a movie in my noggin. Images, sounds, without flipping any switch, turning any knob. These things, all mine, spewed out. That’s how I pass my time. That’s what’s left for me after she left me. Yes, that’s what I do. Yes, that and looking at hoary photographs, very hoary. They’ve aged as I have, not so great. That’s what I do. And the melodies in my head, distant melodies, all mine, from those distant days. Melodies that go: Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-hmmmm-hmmmm-hmmmm-da-da-do. That’s what I do. That is my lot. I use these things to pass away the days, the nights, to keep the wheels churning and churning. For what? Beats me.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-hmmmm-hmmmm-hmmmm-da-da-doo…

Yes, Dreck I am with only trickles of spirit left in my old, tired, corroded, semi-clogged pipe. The plumbing isn’t what it used to be. Not by a long shot. Dreck’s tired bone. Dreck’s rusty pipe. Dreck’s clogged heart. Yet I keep going. Who knows why? I don’t have eighty-four reasons. All Dreck wants now is more ales to cure what ails him, this body with all its parts, its comings and goings, its activities. For instance, drooo-ooo-ooo-ling. Yes, I drooo-ooo-ooo-l. Yes, I like to drooo-ooo-ooo-l. I do it often. It makes me thirsty. So, so thirsty. So, I have another brewski and the dark clouds pass and I feel like a kite flying in the sky.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-hmmmm-hmmmm-hmmmm-da-do…

You see, what I’m trying to say, what it all boils down to is this: I don’t give a crap anymore. And what’s more, I don’t think I ever gave a crap, ever. Nah. I was just faking it, like others with their sham smiles, cunning lies and backstabbing ways. But I wasn’t like that at first. I learned the hard way. But that didn’t work out well for me, like it has for others. The last nail in the coffin was when she left me for good. Whose fault was it? It was destiny. Those are the breaks. That’s what they say, whoever they are. Numbskulls What I do know is this: there’s another reality out there, not this one that’s being pissed off, no, I mean passed off as the one and only guaranteed reality that beats every other guaranteed reality out there fighting for attention. Nah. I don’t believe in all the flimflams being passed off as guaranteed realities. Da-da-doo. I don’t believe them for one piss stained second. Not one bit. Da-da-doo. You see, I make my own guaranteed reality. Yes, that’s what I do. I’m not the only one. Nah. No need to explain. Numbskulls.

Da-da-doo-da-da-doo-doo-doo-da…

Hmmmm…what was I saying? Oh, yeah. I have my usual routine. Let me tell you about it. Every day I wake up at 6 a.m. sharp, give or take a half-hour. I switch on the tube to the news channel and, as I make breakfast, I listen to the news, mostly all bad and violent and boring as molasses and then I switch to the old movies channel and sit down and have my breakfast and watch Hop Along Cassidy. They don’t make TV shows like that anymore. Too bad. I like watching old Hop Along save the day, day in and day out. It makes me feel good about life as I have my breakfast. I’m real fussy about my breakfast. Let me tell you about it.

After I wake up and drag myself into the kitchen, I boil a pot of water and I make a cup of tea. I eat a Danish, or an apple turnover, or a, whatchamacallit…a fruit cup. Or sometimes I have a little round cake with fruit in it –pineapple, strawberry, peach. I cut one of those little round cakes in half and I have half of that with a fruit cup. I like fruit cups. You can get four in a pack, cheap, from the discount store. I pour the juice from the fruit cup into my cup of tea. I like the juicy tea. That’s my morning breakfast. It’s good.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-da-da-da-doo-doo-da-hmmmm….

So, what was I saying? Oh, yeah. After I finish breakfast and had my fill of Hop Along, I go back under the sheets and sleep and get up at one o’clock and I have my lunch. Pizza. I buy two slices the night before and bring them home and put ‘em in the fridge. I cut one of the slices in half. I heat a half-slice on the stove and I have that with a glass of beer. The other half-slice I save for later. And then I watch the tube for four or five hours and drink more beer, and then I go out for a little stroll and I stop at the store near the train station and play the numbers and get a few things I need. And then I go back home and have my dinner, more pizza or fried chicken from the Chinese place and I drink more beer and watch more television, a lot of shows fifty years or more old. I like watching ʹem over and over. They keep me company. Other times I watch my porn tapes. Old and new. I’ve got a lot of old porn, bookshelves full of ʹem. Vintage porn, from forty, fifty years ago. Vintage porn is the best. I got two different machines to play ʹem. The old machine for the old tapes and the new machine for the new ones. Sometimes my legs hurt from sitting there for four or five hours straight. It cuts off the circulation, you know.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-hmmmm-hmmmm-hmmmm…

Oh, before I forget, and I forget a lot, let me tell you something that tickled my fancy. I saw something on the news channel the other day. There was a story about a bandit, a geezer like me. He’s been pulling off robberies in fancy apartment buildings. This hooligan, I almost peed my pants when I heard he’s 82. He’s been getting away with these robberies for ten years, they say, outfoxing cops and doormen – how come it’s always doormen and never doorwomen- anyway, this geezer made off with 400 grand in loot over the years, stealing jewelry and watches and heirlooms worth a helluva lot of money, they say. But in the end he got a little too greedy. Now they’re going to lock him up and he’s going to rot in prison till he’s dead. But what a life. The old bastard almost got away with it. 82-years-old. It brings a smile to my face. Maybe I could try something like that on these young know-it-alls that call on the phone all the time with their scams, trying to give old-timers like me heart attacks. They need learning. They do. I’d like to teach ‘em. Hmmmm, boy, I sure would.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-da-da-da…

Hmmmm…hmmmm…I always got the trouble in the head. It never goes away. I mentioned it before. Row, row, row your boat…it all boils down to Ada, the one that got away.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-da-da…

Hmmmm…hmmmm…Now where was I? Where was I? I was with her, Ada, my one and only, on the lake, with her on the lake, rowing, rowing. Row, row, row your boat I was. On the calm lake with Ada, gently rowing with her. It was a gorgeous day, all sunshine and lush. I had been drinking only a little gin for the gut. They say gin is good for the gut. And I drank some. And it was the most gorgeous day in my life, all sunshine and roses. I said, “Let’s stop here, Ada, for a little rest.” And, so, I stopped rowing. She was sitting there at the other end of the boat and she looked good enough to eat.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-da-doo-da-da…

So, hmmmm, yes, I recall…I recall that I took out my handy-dandy camera and took her picture. The light was perfect, all sunshine and clarity. It brought out her best features. I felt a surge and, so, I crawled over to her gently, so as not to upset the boat. And when I reached her I took her hands in mine and looked into her eyes and asked her if we could do it, right there and then. “You’re beastly, Dreck,” she says to me. “Beastly,” says I. “No, no. You’ve got me all wrong, Ada. It’s only because of you. You are the beauty who has turned me beastly. It’s all because of you.” She cackled and took my head and placed it gently upon her bosom and I was at peace, like a newborn being suckled. And we remained there on the lake for quite a while, in that position, with my head upon her heaving bosom, a newborn being suckled, all sunshine and heat.

Da-da-doo-da-doo-da-hmmmm-hmmmm…

What came then? Then…then…I recall, yes. And then suddenly, like thunder afore a storm, horror. The thought horrified me. I didn’t want another mother, like Smithson, who ended up marrying his. I didn’t want that, no. I raised my head from Ada’s heaving bosom and said, “Ada, I don’t need another mother. I had one already and she wasn’t that great. I need a real woman now.” And with that Ada cackled again and in a vicious tone said, “No, no. I know you don’t want a substitute mother, Dreck. What you want is a doormat, like your friend McGuff, who married one to tender to his beastly ways. That’s what you want of me, a personal doormat. That could never be. You say you want a real woman. Well, Dreck. I need a real man, and I’ve come to the conclusion you don’t fit the bill. You come up way short. We’re finished.” That’s what she said. I came up way short.

Da-da-da-dippity-do…

I have not been a happy man since that day with Ada. I didn’t know what I was doing but I slapped her hard across her face and she toppled into the water. And I never saw her again. She disappeared without a trace. I lost her forever. No one knew we had gone out on the lake on that gorgeous day, all sunshine and regret. The cops investigated. They came up with nothing. Me and Ada, we were both secretive types. I covered my tracks well. I returned the boat just as the sun was going down. There was a change of shift and the new guy on duty wasn’t on when I first took the boat out. It was luck. Lady Luck was shining on me that day that I rowed, rowed, rowed the boat ashore. Sadly I wish it had all turned out different. I love her still. Ada, my darling Ada. Forgive me for letting you float gently down the stream while you screamed and screamed. Only the hawks, ducks and gulls heard you and then you screamed no more. Bloody hell.

Da-da-da-doo-doo-doo-da-da…hmmmm…hmmmm…

So, what was I saying…I got a lot of fog in my noggin…hmmmm…I told you my name already. Didn’t I tell you? My name is Dreck. I cannot scream. One day, one day I will.



A creative writer, visual artist and photographer, Michael Brandonisio lives in Brooklyn, NY.

 
 

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