{"id":5104,"date":"2013-02-25T00:00:48","date_gmt":"2013-02-25T05:00:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/home\/?p=5104"},"modified":"2013-02-25T16:52:24","modified_gmt":"2013-02-25T21:52:24","slug":"the-bricklayer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/the-bricklayer\/","title":{"rendered":"The Bricklayer"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Bricklayer_585x585\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Danny O\u2019Toole suddenly found himself hovering somewhere between time and space; hearing conversations from people who were not there. He could feel his body, but he couldn\u2019t see it. He still felt old, but he didn\u2019t know how he could feel so light…so flowing and agile. He was everywhere and anywhere, hovering high above the ground. Out across the lonely rooftops, seemingly all around him in four directions, voices chattered up into the hazy sky. But he could only see a single spot below his house. The sky above him was frozen and the sun had no heat. He could look straight into the sun and it didn\u2019t bother him. He was conscious of nothing beyond the voices and the moment. It was a moment that went on and on.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t panic. Actually, it was with a strange calm that he looked down at the piles of bricks, each stacked neatly in rows anchored against the hard, dry dirt. The bricks were stacked five high and ten across in two solid red rectangles. To Danny, these had been monuments of possibility; solid blocks of reality perched against the emotional chaos that had been his life. To him, they were the muscles and bones of strong new buildings, or the firm breasts of a lean woman. Bricks or tits\u2014it didn\u2019t matter to him; he had cupped them both with the same masculine confidence. He always said he could build anything. He could conquer any woman. He thought he was the maker of the world.<\/p>\n

Still\u2026looking down into his little backyard, he continued to see his day as it had been when he was not so light and distant\u2014it was the only image of a day he could remember. He saw himself standing next to the wooden stair posts that led down to his new brick patio. He remembered feeling the coolness of his sweaty chest under his denim jacket. He had been putting the final bricks in place and had formed a small stack in the corner of his patio. These bricks that he had moved from one end of the yard to the other made his thin muscles bulge, like golf balls tucked under his skin. Just recently, he had started to obsess over his thinning muscles\u2014amazed that his body could ever change. As he had grown older, nothing looked big enough or felt hard enough.<\/p>\n

These thoughts made him feel empty. He swayed with the wind around trees that surrounded his yard. The voices\u2014now sweltering to a chattering boil, took over his entire consciousness.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy didn\u2019t Danny just play golf like my Lorenzo?\u201d Patty said, conscious of not holding up the line in front of the casket.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what he did\u2026build things,\u201d Marge said, as blandly as if Danny were a cat.\u00a0 \u201cAll day long he\u2019d just plod around on his knees.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think he was ever really happy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe built walls, he drank beer\u2026he fucked around. What\u2019s not to like?\u201d Marge answered sarcastically. \u201cBut I will say, Danny always liked numbers\u2026and there was lots of numbers in bricklaying. He told me that all the time. He\u2019d say \u2018Margie\u2026dear Marge\u2026it\u2019s all in da numbas!\u2019 He did well for me with numbers\u2026money that is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcept for Mira\u2026he didn\u2019t do right then.\u201d Patty said, leaning over, studying Danny\u2019s pale, tight face.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow could he? Mira made Danny sweat. Seriously\u2026I remember him sweating!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me tell you, Marge. I blame her, always did. You remember how she wore her dresses? Her tits stuck out over the diner counter. You could plant a hydrangea between them!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was perfect. \u00a0She ruined him for me,\u201d Marge sadly replied.<\/p>\n

For a moment the voices went silent and Danny\u2019s spirit drifted over to the corner of the patio where the pile of bricks lay ready. His gloves and jacket had been placed on the pile, along with his half-finished Budweiser. He looked at his unfinished work and remembered where he was in his head when the change came. He had been doing what he liked the most, figuring how to set the bricks into a cross pattern, two bricks horizontal and two bricks vertical. Marge once asked why he chose that pattern. He replied that he never really thought about it, just seemed natural. It made sense if you stood far enough away.<\/p>\n

Danny focused on the last square he\u2019d dug out with his trowel. He remembered squatting down on his knees, the lower part of his back arched inward as he rhythmically stroked small strands of dry dirt away from the hole, only about two inches down. He was amazed at how the earth retained its shape. He was good at smoothing and caressing and pushing against the flat surface at the base of the hole. He knew exactly where each brick should be each time he pulled a thick, red block from the pile. As emptiness filled inside of him, he had an image of laying each brick in the dirt one by one, then squeezing them together with his large, rough-skinned hands. He saw them there now as they lay in their homemade grave, stately and quiet, forever unchanging. Danny lowered his head, hearing the voices again as if they were right in front of him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, Father\u2026Danny once offered to do some masonry work here\u2026maybe fix the foot of our Mother of Sorrows?<\/p>\n

Father Mullin looked blankly at Father Stan as he was setting up the communion table.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what we Catholics need around here, more monuments,\u201d Father Mullin replied. \u201cWe need some more sculptures. That\u2019s what Baltimore needs.\u00a0 Frank Zappa\u2026did you know we have a Frank Zappa statue, for Christ\u2019s sake?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDanny didn\u2019t come to many services, did he?\u201d Stan said, looking over at Danny\u2019s casket and trying to change the subject, but Father Mullin wasn\u2019t listening.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess we could use a new statue around here, Stan\u2026maybe he could have done one of an angel\u2014only make her look like Marisa Tomei. Oh yeah\u2026Marisa Tomei. I\u2019d put her right over where I walk in on Sunday, coming up the steps to greet me. Maybe have her slightly bent over\u2026you know, with the dress hangin\u2019 down and all\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you think he just built things with bricks his whole life?\u201d Stan broke in.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Father Mullin said, adjusting the cloth on the alter. \u201cSome guys just like to build shit because everything else around them keeps falling down.\u201d<\/p>\n

As Danny drifted upwards again he sensed his body for the first time and stared at his hands in front of his face. He remembered how they shook when he visited the hospital. The doctor had been bland and precise, a bead of sweat formed on his forehead in the courtyard sun. He remembered that it was so hot, so bright that the sun pushed into his eyes and the brightness filled his throat and choked him. He didn\u2019t want to hear his words\u2026heart deficiency\u2026 ventricular septal defect\u2026 pulmonary hypertension. The foreignness of the words made him angry and sick. He was talking about his body\u2014his muscular chest and strong legs, not some sickly office-working pencil-neck like his brother over at the engineering firm. The two could not be the same. It couldn\u2019t be. As he walked away he remembered standing coldly away from Marge. He didn\u2019t know exactly why. The thought made him unsteady again and the voices came back and surrounded him like a fog.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe Mira gave him something that took the fear away,\u201d he heard Marge say.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was always laughing. You couldn\u2019t make that girl stop smiling,\u201d Patty replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Danny worked so hard,\u201d Marge said as they walked over to a few empty pews.<\/p>\n

Patty waited for Marge to talk. She knew there was something waiting.<\/p>\n

\u201cDanny wanted his women to have anything they wanted. If I needed a nice dress\u2026nice car…. He was even going build us a house. He said he could do it! I told him he was crazy. You can\u2019t build anything, \u2018I looked at him straight in the eye and said\u2026 \u2018Danny, when have you ever built anything like a house? You build sidewalks!\u2019 This is what I told him!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen he started working nights, didn\u2019t he?\u201d Patty said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess he didn\u2019t want to think about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe could have built it, you know, Marge.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. He could have built it. I just never wanted to tell him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Drifting higher up in the sky, he could no longer see his house or hear the voices. He suddenly remembered his last moments. He remembered an exchange of words like he was talking to someone who wasn\u2019t there. \u201cStraight rows\u2026.\u201d Danny remembered thinking as he buried his hands in the sand. He had arched his sweaty back upwards, his knees shot with pain\u2014the sun caught his eyes. In the spreading light a voice answered in his head. \u201cOf stone into sand….\u201d\u00a0 He remembered feeling his arms weakening as he fell back against the steps, reaching for the pile of bricks, trying to pull himself up. He felt so heavy, so very heavy. He remembered the cold and the sun fading behind the far neighbor\u2019s house. He pictured his head anchored on the hard brick, like cement.<\/p>\n

Then Danny remembered seeing pictures in his mind falling into linear grace, moving by one by one, faster and faster. He saw his daughter playing in the backyard. He saw his wife looking up at him from her wedding veil. He saw Christmas trees and summer beaches and his hand chasing a Frisbee in the park. When the pictures ended, Danny remembered feeling the warm sand in his hand and releasing the tiny grains. \u201cStone into sand\u2026,\u201d the voice said one last time, in an even softer whisper. The images in his mind were stacked and frozen like photographs. There were a million joyous images stacked neatly and perfect. It was Danny\u2019s house. It was glorious. And then it was gone.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood funeral, Father.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you see that woman in the yellow dress with the black hat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was Herb\u2019s wife, Mira. Herb passed a long time ago\u2014left her all alone\u2026no money.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI enjoyed giving communion looking at those temptations\u2014cups of salvation!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought Mira moved back to Richmond after her breakdown. You know, Father, she had an affair with Danny.\u201d<\/p>\n

Father Mullin didn\u2019t say anything and kept moving towards the coat rack.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess bricklayers are always looking for perfect\u2026huh, Father?\u201d Father Stan continued.<\/p>\n

Father Mullin grabbed his jacket and threw it over his back. He handed Father Stan\u2019s over to him. \u201cPerfect is everywhere\u2026.\u201d Father Mullin went on \u201cWe can always get enough perfect\u2026. Most of these poor suckers never get that.\u201d<\/p>\n

They walked towards the bright, warm sunlight streaming through the half-open doors. Father Mullin and Father Stan were the last to walk out. Father Mullin kicked the stopper and the doors slammed shut with an empty, echoing thud.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Danny O\u2019Toole suddenly found himself hovering somewhere between time and space; hearing conversations from people who were not there. He could feel his body, but he couldn\u2019t see it. He still felt old, but he didn\u2019t know how he could feel so light…so flowing and agile. He was everywhere and anywhere, hovering high above the ground. Out across the lonely rooftops, seemingly all around him in four directions, voices chattered up into the hazy sky. But he could only see a single spot below his house. The sky above him was frozen and the sun had no heat. He could look straight into the sun and it didn\u2019t bother him. He was conscious of nothing beyond the voices and the moment. It was a moment that went on and on. He didn\u2019t panic. Actually, it was with a strange calm that he looked down at the piles of bricks, each stacked neatly in rows anchored against the hard, dry dirt. The bricks were stacked five high and ten across in two solid red rectangles. To Danny, these had been monuments of possibility; solid blocks of reality perched against the emotional chaos that had been his life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":54,"featured_media":5302,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[218,200,219],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5104"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/54"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5104"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5104\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5306,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5104\/revisions\/5306"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5302"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5104"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5104"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5104"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}