They Call Me Crazy Read Free Page A

Hell, I’m not sure Archie could tell you the exact date of his opening, but I won’t ever forget it. His beginning was, in a way, mine, too.
    The Greyhound bus stop was across the street, in front of what used to be Shouse’s Gas Station. Archie was having a party in the parking lot. A big Grand Opening sign hung over the front door, and half the town milled around the lot holding red, white, and blue balloons and eating hot dogs. The band kicked in as I stepped off the bus. I turned, but the bus driver had already shut the door.
    Unlike a lot of guys that go into the military, I had planned to make a career out it. From the minute they cut off all my hair, I knew the Army was the place for me. No longer was I Rolly’s big brother, or a football jock, or some pretty boy that all the girls wanted to lift their skirts for. Not that any of that was so bad, but that standard-issue buzz cut made me Private Adams. I became part of a bigger team, a band of brothers. And the girls still lifted their skirts. I was proud of who I was. I loved the Army. Loved the job. Loved the life.
    So when I got off the Greyhound that November sixteen years ago, I wasn’t looking for a homecoming celebration. The sounds of the band and the happy voices of the partygoers across the street felt like a shot in the back. I sat on the bench in front of Shouse’s, staring across the highway and wondering what the hell I had done to deserve such a thing.
    Rolly and Cassie picked me up. The day was unseasonably sunny—even the weather wasn’t cooperating with my mood. Cassie jumped out of the cab of their truck—a different one than the beat-up blue Ford they have now—and threw her arms around me as if I were a returning hero. She didn’t care why I was home. And never once in the last sixteen years has she asked why I got out early.
    My brother, on the other hand, asked quite a bit. He knew the basics, but for some reason, he wanted me to tell him the story over and over. I don’t know if he was entertained by the details or the fact that I had failed, but the interrogations got old. Fast.
    Even though Archie’s is right next door to the hardware store, I don’t go there very often. Seeing the place every day is bad enough, but going in reminds me of the remorse of that day and why I came home.
    Cassie stands in front of the double glass doors, hands on her hips, staring at me with impatient eyes. “You okay?”
    I shake my head. “Fine. Sorry, I…”
    She turns toward the entrance, not caring if I complete the sentence or not. That’s fine, because I don’t know what comes after “I.” I follow her in and hear the soft music playing over the PA system— White Christmas … in May.
    When they first opened, Archie’s was nothing but a discount liquor store. Over time, it became more like a general store, selling everything from bread to hygiene products. He doesn’t sell bait, though. I’ve got the corner on that business.
    Cassie takes off down the aisle toward hair care, and I trail after her. I hope she isn’t going for female products. I don’t care to watch her shop for that stuff, but I really don’t want to just browse, either.
    She stops in front of a long line of hair dye displays, picks up a box, and holds it up beside her head. “How is this color?”
    The model has hair as red as a cock’s comb, and I don’t like it at all. “Why are you dyeing your hair?”
    Cassie is what I hear girls refer to as a dishwater blonde. Her hair reminds me of wet sand, and I like it just the way it is.
    She shrugs and chooses another box—white silver. I don’t like that, either.
    She picks up a third and moves on down the aisle. I swear, she doesn’t even look at the color. I follow her to another aisle, where she grabs a huge red jug of bubble bath.
    I wonder if Rolly follows her around the store like a pet, nodding as she picks up different items for show. I doubt it. Knowing my brother, he probably sits in the truck and gives