Yin Yang

 

Yin Yang

 

Matt poked a stick into the log fire, sending sparks on the October breeze into the starlit sky.

“Hey, watch it,” his wife Denise yelped. “You’ll set my hair on fire. And I don’t need all that smoke coming my way.”

“Smoke goes toward the prettiest one,” Matt poked her butt that stuck out of the back of the lawn chair. Denise pushed the stick away. “Behave yourself.”

“You like me better when I don’t,” Matt grinned and took a final swig from the beer he’d been nursing, tossing the can over his shoulder and onto a pile ten feet behind. It rattled when it hit. “Ha, you guys hear that? Hit the pile without even turning around.”

“Speaking of behaving,” John, Carrie’s husband, broke the trance caused by the dancing flames, the warmth coming off the logs, and the evening of grilled steak and alcohol. “What the heck’s with Brian these days? He find Jesus or what? I saw him at the mini-mart chatting with the kid behind the counter nice as can be. Asked how I was with a big smile instead of growling about any and everything like he usually does.”

“Brian? You sure it was him?” Denise cut in. “His younger brother looks a lot like him now that Brian shaved off his beard.”

“That too,” John added. “That SOB had that beard since he got back from Iraq. Said he’d never shave again in protest of wars over oil.”

“SOB is right,” Denise chimed in. “That guy has no manners.  He’s all my-way-or-the-highway. I don’t know how Heather puts up with him. And she’s the sweetest thing. Always smiling, never a bad word about anybody. Willing to help out without being asked.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” John’s voice was loud in the quiet night. “He fall off his Harley and shake up his brain? He got a kick in the head somewhere along the line. He’s using please and thank you like I’m sure he was taught as a kid ‘cause I know his folks, and they never raised him to be a badass.”

“Heather said he was selling the Harley,” Carrie, who normally let conversation pass without her, spoke up. “She asked me how to put it on Craigslist. I went over there to show her.” She paused to pull a roasted marshmallow off the stick and blow on it before popping it into her mouth. “I asked her if Brian knew she was listing it. I didn’t want to see her face bashed in. She said he told her he’s done with it. Same day as he shaved his beard.”

“Strange,” Matt shook his head. “Real strange. A man don’t wake up one morning, shave his beard, sell his Harley, and turn from an asshole with a capital A to a nice guy. Just don’t happen.”

“Why not?” Denise asked him. “You turn from a nice guy to an asshole with a capital A every time you come home from work ornery.”

“That’s different,” Matt shrugged her off. “I got reasons to be ornery after a day at work. And going from nice to ornery is normal. Going from ornery to nice takes some effort.”

“Sure does,” John said and they all agreed with a yeah true. He got up and grabbed another log from the pile beneath the porch and tossed it on the fire.

“Only thing I ever saw make a man change is a woman. And he’s had the same woman since just after high school without changing. A new woman maybe?” Matt asked.

“Better not after what Heather has been through having to apologize for him left and right,” Denise responded. “You know, people stopped inviting her places because of him. When he was deployed, Ryan and Dayna helped Heather out a lot. Picked up the kids. Helped with the yard work. Dayna was friends with Heather in high school. They didn’t really know Brian that well.  Dayna told me when Brian came back, they just couldn’t have him in the house. His language was so bad around the kids. He’d talk rough to Heather in front of them. You know Dayna and Ryan are church-people. They didn’t want their kids hearing that. Maybe Heather threatened to dump him.”

“So, it was the war that made him mean?” Carrie asked.

“No. No,” John chuckled. “Brian was an asshole all his life. He was a bully in high school. Iraq fit his personality. Heavy metal and amphetamines. You can’t blame Iraq, just like you can’t blame his folks.”

 “You didn’t ask Heather about it when you were over there?” Matt directed the question at Carrie.

“How she supposed to ask?” Denise shot back. “Say, ‘Hey how come your asshole of a husband is acting human lately?’” Matt ignored her.

“Why don’t you ask Brian the next time you see him?” Carrie said softly to John.

“Novel idea,” John smiled and patted his wife on the shoulder. “I’ll do that.”

John didn’t expect that the next time he would run into Brian was at Denise and Matt’s bonfire two weeks later.  Denise decided that since Brian was a changed man, which she had confirmed with two other folks at the mini-mart, and both she and Carrie liked Heather, she would invite them over.

Heather didn’t ask what dish she could bring to pass, which was unusual for her, but Denise figured she’d bring something and was surprised when Heather came round to the backyard empty handed. Brian was all smiles as he handed Matt a bottle of Jack Daniels Old No. 7. Matt and Denise exchanged a quick look. Three years before, they had agreed the bonfires would be beer and wine coolers only because people got out of hand on hard liquor. Even John and Carrie, who never said a nasty word to each other, had a rip-roaring fight one night after the fifth round of margaritas. John ended up sleeping it off on their couch.

“That’s for you two” Brian winked. “Not to pass around tonight. I got beer in the cooler. Here, I’ll put that bottle inside just to make sure.” Brian took the bottle back and headed in the patio door. Denise followed him in to pull some shrimp out of the freezer and make a dip to go with a box of Ritz since now they were short a dish. Heather had pulled a chair up to watch John build the fire.

“You know, if you put some newspaper underneath the kindling it starts better,” she instructed John in a tone you’d use with a kid. Then she got up and went into the house, bringing back a brown paper bag that she ripped into pieces and tossed at him. “Ball it up.”

John did as he was told and tucked the paper into the kindling which was already throwing enough flame to light the logs.

“Did the Harley sell?” Carrie asked Heather.

“Yeah. Didn’t get shit for it though. What kind of fool sells a bike in September. You wait until spring when people are itching to ride.” Heather took a long slug of beer and belched. “Said he put half the money on the mortgage and made a couple extra payments on the car. I’ll see when the statements come in. For all I know, he could’ve gambled it away.”

Carrie and John exchanged a look.

Brian came back from the kitchen carrying shrimp dip and crackers then proceeded to portion it out onto plates for the others. “Here you are, dear,” he said passing a plate to Heather.

“Ya know I don’t eat shrimp. Christ-sakes.” Heather pushed his hand away.

Brian sat down and carefully scooped some dip onto the cracker. “Nice fire,” he said to no one. “Beautiful night. Thanks, Matt.”

After several attempts to make conversation with Heather, Carrie went inside to help Denise bring the rest of the food. Matt retreated to the grill, bringing back a plate of meat. The three couples then ate in near silence with Brian starting conversation that Heather would quickly shut down with some snarky remark. Matt, thinking all they needed was to loosen up with a couple more beers, guzzled his and handed out more as soon as he noticed the cans tipped at an angle to the mouth indicating the last draft was swallowed.

“He don’t need more beer,” Heather snapped when Matt offered a can to Brian. Brian smiled and put up his hand indicating he was OK.

            Even stoking the fire up to roaring didn’t take the chill out of the air, so the evening ended early with Heather grabbing her purse and saying a quick good-bye without a thank you tagged on. Brian shook hands with Matt and John, nodded and thanked Denise and Carrie, then grabbed the cooler as he hustled out.

            “What the hell was that?” Matt asked after walking them to the car. 

“Damned if I know,” John pulled the logs apart to kill the fire. “He got Jesus and she got the Devil, I guess.

  

Suzanne Zipperer    

 

Suzanne Zipperer grew up on a farm in northeastern Wisconsin with a dream of seeing a baobab tree as pictured in her third-grade geography book. Her curiosity about other places and cultures took her from riding a bike past the migrant workers’ camp to ten years overseas living in Europe and Zimbabwe. On her return to Wisconsin, Suzanne did community work in Milwaukee where she continued to learn about the “others.” Her writing is as varied as her life, and she continues to be curious. Suzanne has published short stories in “Ariel Chart,” “The Literary Yard,” “Across the Margins,” “Made of Rust and Glass,” “Adelaide,” “The Write Launch,” and poetry in “The Crone’s Nest,” and “American Journal of Nursing.” She was a semifinalist in the Wisconsin People and Ideas Short Fiction Contest in 2022 and 2024.  ”