Hard Headed
Ron Taylor was an irascible old coot, no question of it. Most of the people who knew him tended to tread lightly in his presence to avoid one of his tirades. They did this not because he was particularly wealthy or powerful in the town, but just to avoid the general unpleasantness of having him howl curses and invective at them.

Ron’s son Kevin had it worse than anyone, they all agreed, even worse than his wife. For he had been like that back on the long past day when they wed, and she had gone into it with plenty of warning and had stuck with him for thirty years now. But Kevin had had no choice but to be born into such a family, and he happened to take after his mother far more than his father. At one time or another everyone in the town had heard Ron heaping abuse on poor Kevin, and the boy just took it with his face either blank or with one silent tear running down his cheek.

The thing that made him really unpleasant, though, was that he wasn’t consistent. You could never tell what was going to set him off next- one day it might be the President’s foreign policy (which in truth he understood only slightly better than quantum physics), the next day it might be the price of a loaf of bread from the bakery. He might deride someone’s new haircut or he might hold forth on the terrible state of the children of the town and how ignorant and ill mannered they were compared to the truly great boys of his childhood. The only consistency was that each day he would find something to bellow about in his great roaring voice like a cross between a bull and a heron.

It was much like living near a nest of yellowjackets.

And so it was not a time of great mourning when he died.

*******

It happened so quickly that no one was sure of just what happened until it was far too late. Ron had been sitting in his favorite spot outside the local garage, and was in full rant about the decline in the quality of cars compared to the one he had when he was eighteen when he stopped in mid sentence, looked startled as though he had belched unexpectedly, then slumped forward to the ground.

The doctor shook his head as he stood. “Dead. Most likely a massive coronary. I doubt he even knew that there was really something wrong- his face looks almost calm.”

The ambulance drivers loaded him onto a gurney and popped him in the back of their truck. They drove almost sedately off toward the hospital and the morgue.

Sheriff Pratt shrugged and got into his police cruiser and followed the ambulance, his lights and siren also quiet.

That evening Millie and Kevin sat down to dinner, more out of habit than hunger, and the house was so quiet that Kevin could hear the drip of the faucet in the upstairs bathroom as clearly as if he were sitting on the pot right next to it. Neither he or his mother seemed to have anything to say- after all, if you interrupted Ron during one of his dinnertime soliloquies you were taking your life in your hands, or at least the enjoyable part of it. But now that the old man wasn’t there, the house was oppressively quiet.

After dinner they cleaned up the kitchen and washed the dishes, but neither was particularly inclined to turn on the television or stay downstairs to read. They went to bed by eight, and the silence became complete.

Millie lay there in bed, the tears streaming down her seamed face. Ron had been a larger than life presence for almost as long as she could remember, and while he was full of bluster he also had a kind side to him that very few ever saw. She missed him terribly, everything from the smell of his Old Spice to the deep breathing that always had a hint of a wheeze to it. As she lay there the bed seemed to be terribly big and lonely, and she cried herself to sleep. But just as she was finally slipping into her rest she could feel the mattress shift and sag beside her, and she fell asleep with the comfort of a familiar presence on the other side of the bed.

*****

The following morning Millie got up a bit later than usual. She put on her bathrobe and stumbled to the bathroom, and blearily brushed her teeth and did her usual morning routine. As she put her washcloth on the rack, she noticed that Ron’s was damp. She frowned at it, but decided that Kevin must have either used it or splashed water on it.

She got dressed, and her nose picked up the scent of Old Spice in the bedroom. It still had the alcohol edge to it that it always had when Ron put it on in the morning, the scent that announced to the world that he was ready to go set everything straight for another day. She frowned at the bottle on his dresser and wondered if it leaked.

When she got to the kitchen she saw the usual plate and fork in the sink, along with Ron’s coffee mug. She stopped in her tracks, her mind going back to the evening before, washing dishes with Kevin. There had been no dishes in the sink after that, yet here they were.

She realized that Kevin had most likely gotten up before her and had breakfast before going off to work- but wait, this was Saturday. And that was the mug that Ron always used, the one that no one else would dare to use. She stood with her neck tingling, staring at the dishes, when Kevin came into the kitchen rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. She jumped and whirled to stare at her son, her eyes huge and dark in her cloudy gray-white face, then she slumped to the floor.

She awakened to find Kevin holding her in his arms, sobbing. As she tried to sit up he stiffened, then with a glad cry crushed her in a bear hug. “Oh Mom! I thought I had lost you too!”

She struggled free. “No, I’m okay… Kevin, did you get up early and have breakfast?”

“No, I just woke up twenty minutes ago. Why?”

She stood and held onto the counter, then forced herself to look. The plate, the fork and the mug were as before. “Then how… I mean, who used those dishes?”

Kevin looked puzzled. “I thought you did… wait, that’s Dad’s mug. Well, we must have forgotten to wash them last night.”

She looked dubiously at them. “I suppose…”

*****

The funeral was brief and nondescript, attended only by a few of the people of the town. No one stood to deliver elegies, but the minister did his best with what he had. In the end Kevin and Millie stood by the fresh mound of dirt for a moment, each thinking their own thoughts, and left.

Kevin dropped his mother off at the house and drove the car down to the garage to have the oil changed, as Ron had scheduled it to be done that day anyway. He thought it somehow fitting to take care of what he saw as one of his father’s last requests.

Fred took the keys and nodded. “No problem, Kevin. We’ll take care of it for you. I’m very sorry about your father.”

“Thanks, Fred. I’ll just wait outside for it.”

Kevin looked at the waiting area and grimaced. No, he didn’t want to sit in that grungy and dingy room on an old stained couch watching a fishing show. He’d rather sit outside in the sun- also fitting, as that was his father’s preferred spot. The door’s little bells gave a brassy chatter as he opened the front door and turned toward the chairs out front, then stopped and gaped.

His father sat in his usual chair, dozing.

Kevin shook his head and closed his eyes. He was hallucinating, obviously. He had seen his father in the casket and had seen it lowered into the ground, and had even watched the dirt being put back into the hole. His father was dead and buried. He reopened his eyes.

Ron still sat in the chair.

Kevin came closer. “Dad?...”

Ron’s eyes snapped open. “Well there you are! I told you to bring the car down for its oil change this morning! Where the hell have you been?”

Kevin felt the blood draining not only from his face, but seemingly everywhere else too. “I… uhh… Dad…”

“Well what is it? Don’t just stand there with your face hanging open! Where have you been all this time? It’s not like you have anything else to do today. If you’d gotten a girl and gotten your own place like you should have I could maybe see it, but you didn’t. So what kept you?”

“Uhh… sorry, Dad…”

Ron grunted. “Well, go find out how long it’s gonna take Fred to swindle me this time.”

Kevin went back inside, and Fred came out at the sound of the bells. He looked long and hard at Kevin. “Kevin? Is something wrong?”

“Uhhh… How long has Dad been waiting out front?”

Fred’s face went blank. “Umm, Kevin… your father died yesterday.”

Kevin gave a strange high pitched giggle. “Well, could you please come outside and tell him that?”

Fred cautiously came around the counter and followed Kevin outside, then stopped with his jaw sagging.

Ron turned and glared at both of them. “What, he couldn’t even get a simple answer out of you? Well? How long is it gonna be? I have other things to do today, you know!”

“Ron… uhh… you died yesterday.”

Ron’s glare deepened with disgust. “What the hell are you babbling about? I’m not dead!
I just had bad gas yesterday. Now are you going to fix my goddam car or not?”

Fred and Kevin went back inside, and neither spoke for a moment. Finally Fred said, “Okay, I have to know. Come on, let’s take a quick drive to the church.”

They went through the back way to Fred’s car and left by the alleyway, going around the block so they wouldn’t have to pass the front of the garage again. Down Main Street they went until they reached the church, then they got out and went around the side to the cemetery.

They stood looking at the granite marker for a full minute before Fred spoke. “You saw him in it, didn’t you?”

“Yes! He was in that casket! Mom and I both said our goodbyes and they closed it and loaded it into the hearse! I watched them drive it here, and I watched them bury it!”

Fred stood looking at the marker, the trees, anywhere but Kevin’s eyes. “Well, I guess I’d better fix his car so he’ll leave the garage.”

“But… What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Well, we’re at the church. Go talk to the minister and see what he thinks.”

*****

Reverend Fogarty was a kindly man in his middle fifties, with graying hair and gentle brown eyes. He listened to Kevin without interrupting, his face showing nothing but compassion.

Kevin finished, his face flushed and breathing heavily. “Well, will you come with me to talk to him?”

The reverend nodded. “Yes, I think I should give you a ride back. Come, my car is out back.”

They drove back in silence, Kevin staring out the window and the reverend giving him the occasional worried glance. They turned down Elmwood Avenue and the reverend pulled into the garage parking lot.

He was so stunned that he ran into the back of the pickup sitting in front, waiting for a new radiator.

They got out of the car, and Ron glared at both of them. “Jesus, padre, what are you tryin’ to do? You been hittin’ the sacramental wine or something?”

“Ron?...” The reverend’s face was a peculiar putty color.

“Who else? What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re about to mess your pants!”

The reverend’s mouth moved, but he was unable to speak for a moment. Kevin touched his arm. “Come on, we’d better go talk to Fred about getting your car fixed.” He led the reverend inside.

The reverend sat down heavily in a chair in the waiting area, staring numbly at nothing. Fred came out of the back, wiping his hands on a rag. “Hello, Reverend.”

The reverend looked up at him wordlessly.

Fred cleared his throat. “I take it you saw Ron out front.”

The reverend shuddered and closed his eyes.

“Yep, that’s what I thought.” Fred looked over at Kevin. “Well, the car’s done. It’ll be twenty five even. Reckon I’ll just send you the bill, though.”

Kevin looked at the two men. “So what should I do now?”

Fred looked down at the reverend, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Why don’t you pull the car around front and ask him if he wants you to drive him home?”

“What! Are you nuts? What if he tries to get in the car?”

“Then you’d best drive carefully. You know how he loves that old car.” Fred turned to the reverend. “Come on, let’s take a look at what you’ve done to yours.”

*****

Kevin drove home slowly. He had no idea what he was going to say to his mother when he got there, but at least Ron had declined the offer of a ride.

He put the car away and closed the garage, After the events of the day, the kitchen was a haven of normalcy. He put the keys on the hook and went into the living room.

His mother sat happily knitting in her chair while the television blared out a news show, and his father sat growling at the headlines. Kevin licked his lips nervously, then cleared his throat. “Mom? Can I help with supper?”

She smiled up at him. “No thank you, dear. I have it all ready and in the oven.”

“Umm… Mom, could I see you in the kitchen for a minute?”

He sat her down at the kitchen table, then took the chair opposite. “I don’t know how to say this… Mom, didn’t Dad die yesterday?”

Millie patted his hand. “Of course he did, dear.”

Kevin stared at her. “But…”

Millie smiled. “It’s okay, dear. It was a shock to me too to see him there in his chair, but you know how he is. He just won’t believe that he’s dead.”

He tried to come up with something to say that didn’t sound completely insane, and failed.

Millie stood and went to peer into the oven, and glanced at the clock. “About another ten minutes, I would guess. That will give it a few minutes to cool while your father finishes watching the news.”

“But… Mom, he’s dead!”

“I know that, dear. But you know how stubborn your father is. Sometimes it’s better just to let sleeping dogs lie. Now go wash your hands and set the table.”

*****

On Monday Kevin went to his job at the grocery store. He found comfort in the familiarity of restocking shelves and ringing up customers, especially after the stress of the past three days. He had almost gotten used to his father’s presence again, but it was still unnerving to have the old man vanish and reappear somewhere else at unpredictable intervals. He almost wanted to ask him where he went when he vanished, but not enough so that he wanted to listen to the flood of invective that he knew would be his only answer.

He was rearranging a display in the front of the store when he caught a whiff of Old Spice. “Kevin! You mother told me to tell you to bring home a pound of hamburger and five good potatoes tonight. And we need more coffee too- the stuff we have at home doesn’t have any flavor to it.”

He nodded without looking up. He really didn’t want to see his father’s face. Although he did wonder how the old man could taste anything at all under the circumstances…

A woman screamed, and a bottle of something broke. He turned to see Mrs. Weldon stagger backward against a shelf, her legs splattered with spaghetti sauce. She stumbled and ran from the store, moving faster than she had in forty years.

Ron glared after her. “Huh. What’s gotten into her pantyhose?”

Mr. Durham came out of the office. “Kevin? What happened?” His eyes fell on Ron and he gasped, clutching the doorframe.

Ron turned to him with his arms folded over his chest. “Well? Now what?”

“Uhh… Ron… I thought…”

“What, you too? How many times do I have to say it? I’m not dead, dammit! I’m standing right here, aren’t I? Jesus, what’s wrong with you people? Are all of you idiots that superstitious? Didn’t your mommy tell you that there’s no such things as ghosts?” Ron shook his head in contempt. “Unbelievable. I’ve known you for sixty years, Bill. Never had you pegged for such a fool.” He turned back to Kevin. “Remember, hamburger, potatoes, coffee. Better write it down so you don’t forget.” And he turned toward the door and vanished before he had gone three feet.

Kevin sighed and put down the cans he was holding. “I’ll go get a broom and a mop.”

Mr. Durham grabbed his arm. “What the hell just happened? He wasn’t really here, was he?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Durham. We all saw him, that’s for sure. But whether or not he was here? Well, here’s where he was standing. That’s where he walked. And I don’t see any footprints in that spaghetti sauce.” He gently pulled his arm free and went to get the broom.

*****

A few days later the town supervisors called a public meeting to deal with the agitation that was gripping the community. They held the meeting in the town hall at six, just as the news broadcasts were starting, because they knew exactly where Ron would be at that point.

The room was thronged with muttering people who became silent only when Mayor Griffin took the podium. “Thank you all for coming tonight. We called this meeting to discuss our current situation.”

“’Situation’? Is that what you’re calling it?” The man in the back sounded just short of hysterical.

The mayor looked irritated. “Well, what would you like me to call it?”

“I dunno, but it just ain’t natural!”

The room murmured darkly in agreement.

“No question of that, Tom. I called us all here together to ask what we should do about it. This goes way beyond anything I’ve ever had training to deal with.”

“Well then, what about the reverend?”

All eyes turned to Reverend Fogarty, who flinched. “Don’t look at me. We never studied exorcism in seminary school.”

“Well someone’s gotta do something about it! It just ain’t right! That old bastard dropped dead almost a week ago! He ain’t got any call to be runnin’ around scarin’ people half to death!”

Mayor Griffin put up his hand to quiet the crowd. “Okay, first of all, that was uncalled for. In case you hadn’t noticed, Ron’s son is sitting right over here. I would ask that you show at least a little respect.

“Second, if you’ve got a suggestion on how to deal with this, I’d sure love to hear it. What do you say to him? ‘Sorry, Ron, you’re supposed to be in the next world’? You all have dealt with him for as long as I have. Do you really think he’s going to listen to that?”

“Can’t we just make him go away?” a woman asked plaintively.

Another man laughed. “How? What are you going to do, grab him by the arm and march him out of town?”

There was a sprinkling of uneasy laughter.

Another man stood. “Well, I’d like to hear what Kevin has to say about it.”

Kevin had been sitting there with his eyes on the floor throughout the meeting, but now he looked up. The room went silent as everyone craned to see him as he stood and approached the podium. He looked nervous but resolute. “Very well, Mr. Harris. I’ll tell you what I think.

“All of you know my dad. He’s not easy to miss, either alive or dead. Like Mr. Griffin said, if you try to tell him he’s dead he’ll just tell you you’re crazy. Only he won’t be so nice about it.

“Ever since the funeral he’s been around the house, just like he’s always been. He’s also been sitting in his favorite chair at the garage, walking around the town like he always has, and doing all the things he always did. As far as he’s concerned, nothing has changed, because he didn’t die. He doesn’t eat dinner with us anymore- he says he isn’t hungry, and just watches the television until bedtime. That’s about the only change I’ve seen in him.

“What do I think? I think we’re stuck with him. He’s not going anywhere, that’s for sure. He’s perfectly happy doing what he’s always done. And I think he’s going to keep doing it for a long time.”

Tom spoke up again. “But… it just ain’t right!”

“Now Tom, calm down,” Mayor Griffin said soothingly.

“Calm down, hell! There’s a ghost running around our town!”

For the first time Fred stood up and spoke. “So what? What harm is he doing?”

The room fell silent.

“So he’s a ghost. So what? He’s been sitting outside my garage every damn day for the past fifteen years. He still does it. The only difference is that he doesn’t come in to use the restroom anymore. Other than that, he’s the same as always, still talking the ear off of anyone who comes within ten feet of him.

“Well, if he’s not doing any harm, and you can’t do anything about it anyway, what are you complaining about?”

There really wasn’t anything left to say after that, and everyone slowly filtered out back to their own homes.

*****

And so life went. The town gradually got used to its rather unusual citizen, who somehow never really seemed to notice that everyone around him aged. Over time he began to call younger people by their parents’ names, or even their grandparents’ names, but no one really minded too much. The chair in front of the garage was always occupied by the same old man, spouting the same old gripes for as long as anyone could remember, and if he paid little attention to the rest of the world, they paid him even less.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 21 Aug 2008, 15:17, Reply)