26. MARY KAY HICKEY
I used to always think there'd
be a way for me to find a real
meaning in life and end up doing
just that one meaningful task, to
my own liking, all the time. It
never turned out that way, no. My
life mostly has been spent - or
had been spent up until a two years
or so back - doing the bidding
of others. The way you have to, for
money, as a job, to stay alive and
remain in place. I've never had a
knack for anything - some guys
I've known, they could spin a
dime instantly from a thought
or a dream. Some women could
do that too. Whether it was a sense
of power, a forceful personality,
or an ease and a complacency
about being glib, they'd never
look back, and were usually on
their way to the bank. Anything
I ever got from them was the
shavings of what they'd leave
behind. Wages. Boring, old,
deadening work. I hated it but
always just stayed with it. I even
reached the point where I got to
telling other people to 'stick with
it.' I'd go on about how what
counts, over time, is the longevity
of what they were doing; no matter
how miserable it seemed, it would
be better for them to not be jumping
around from job to job and instead
show themselves as steady and
dependable. I have no idea what I
was thinking - reflecting my own
stupidities, I guess. My average job
time was maybe 12 years, maybe
15, on a job. I once knew a girl,
she's in Tucson now for many years,
who held strictly to the 'seven-years
and out' rule. Mary Kay would leave
a job in the seventh year, no matter
what - she said past that point it
was all tiresome, and there was
nothing more to invigorate her
or keep her there, money included.
She stuck to her guns on that too.
-
Mary Kay lived in Elmira with us,
on the other end of town. Having
grown up there - her father was
a tool and die maker, had been,
in Elmira's postwar industrial
heydays - she stayed. She
was a cool kid, my age, very
opinionated, militaristic
'feminist' in those 1971 early
days of the women's movement.
She lived with a girl she called
'Kiki'. Every so often Mary
would get hooked up again
with some guy or another,
short periods of time, and
then it would crumble and
she'd be back. More militant
than ever. I remember being
glad it was never me on the
receiving end of her venom -
though, to be frank, I would
have never minded that one. I
always was gainfully enough
attracted to her. One time she
moved to Syracuse, taking up
with some surprisingly boring,
divorced guy with two kids. That
didn't work, maybe two months,
and she was back again. Her and
Kiki than moved to Corning, for
a while, a nice apartment in a big
old house that had been broken up
into apartments. She had a new 1972
Datsun B210, I think it was called -
the original Datsun import car, the
one that made their name here (now
they are no longer 'Datsun', and use
'Nissan' instead). She drove that car
to death and she drove it forever.
Over their bed, in Corning, or her
bed, or whatever, she kept a calorie
chart. I guess it was some sort of
woman's movement, or MS Magazine
joke - a large poster that illustrated
about 20 varied sexual positions,
and the calorie count for calorie
burn-off, of each sexual position.
Then, the rest were listed, with
numbers, instead of being illustrated.
Big whoop. Every time we'd visit
there, she had Elton John blaring
on the stereo, the album 'Tumbleweed
Connection,' I think it was, and
the cut 'Burn Down the Mission',
because she said it always reminded
her of me. Big whoop #2, I guess.
(0 calories).
-
Living in Elmira was like living in a
grim, sad, mining town, after the
mines had closed, the seams had been
exhausted, and people walked around
thinking they had memories about
something that once was good times,
but they can't quite fully recall. It
always seemed to get dark early
there; I guess the little hills around
it shut the sun out early. Maybe.
Even when it was light though, it
was lonely, like you knew you were
far away from anything useful or
that mattered or was 'alive.' A dot
on Rt. 17 somewhere, that's where
you were. Funny thing was, we
were always told - as if it had
some real self-importance - that
because of the big IBM plant over
in Waverly, about 12 miles east,
the entire area was on the list of
first places the Soviets would send
their nuclear-tipped missiles to take
out (IBM had some defense and
tracking systems headquartered there
in Waverly). No one ever really found
out what was true and what wasn't,
but I wouldn't put it past anyone -
the dumb corporate and defense
bastards would not have cared
less about what places or people
they'd get obliterated. 'Collateral
Damage' that's called today. A
guy I worked with, Rod Reynolds,
of Waverly, his father worked at
that IBM location, in some mid-level
capacity, and it was Rod who first
told me about it. Rod was a real quiet,
sedate guy, always praying. I mean
that literally. We worked at Whitehall
Printing, on e.1st Street, downtown
Elmira, and whenever we were on
break, or at lunch, or whatever, he'd
start praying. Saying grace, reciting
prayers, the whole bit. I never knew
what that was about, but I just always
kept away from it, and no one else
ever said anything - just made fun
of him when he wasn't around. One
day, he left at lunch, and came back
about 2 hours later saying his wife
had just had a baby, his 2nd or 3rd,
I forget, at home, at lunchtime. She'd
called, and he'd gone home to assist
at the birth. And then he just came
back. Didn't talk much. I guess he
had midwifery and all that, almost
like Amish stuff. We went to visit
him one evening when he'd invited
us to a quick cook-out. It was his
father's big house, and they all lived
there too. It was OK, we ate some,
and then the 'boys' (Rod's two younger
brothers and Rod and myself) had to
go out on the adjoining field, and play
catch for like a half-hour, baseball-stuff,
just throwing back and forth, before
we could leave. Pretty weird Summer
night. Rod drove a pretty nice, V-8 '67
Chevelle. Not hot-rodded or anything,
just a nicely kept, large engined, probably
fast and furious, car. I wasn't even ever
sure if he knew what he had.
-
I never much judged - I mean others
or people and their ways. It never much
mattered to me the fabric of the lives of
others. Anyway, I'd had enough of all
that living with my father in his house
all those years. I kind of knew what I
was and wanted, and how greatly it
differed from other people's wants
and desires, so I just kept quiet. My
wife was enough like that too. We
knew each other's general themes.
Other people would start talking
about money or trips or vacations
or their fancy dining and stuff and
we - used enough as we were to
poverty-line stuff and none of that -
just pretended to listen well, feign
interest, or show concern. None of
that was ever for us. Their dollars
were our dimes. But we got on. I
always figured to be dedicated to
my work and my craft, and the rest be
damned, as it were - I know I had no
time for niceties, and, besides, I was
always ready for the big changes to
come. That never came, but whatever.
I guess, when you came right down to
it, Mary Kay Hickey (her full name) had
me pegged rightly - a real 'Burn Down
the Mission' kind of guy.
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