Preacher and A Drunk

A Drunk man named Lester is going to commit suicide, but Preacher Bill Williams tries to persuade him other wise by making him an unusual deal. Even for a preacher.

       Preacher and A Drunk

                 A Short Story

                 Jason E. Gartin

Lester Boone  sat on a park bench with an old, cheap guitar, and a mic amp. He'd been singing songs that he'd written, and sipping whiskey from a glass bottle. He seemed loud, uncensored, and very overbearing, but the crowd who gathered around didn't seem to care. They just wanted to hear him play guitar and sing.

His eyes were blue, his skin dark, tight and leather like, and he wore a brown paper bag on his head like a sailor's hat. The bag was what the whiskey was toted in from a local liquor store. After he got drunk, he just made a hat out of it.

"Oh, lord, here he comes, the man of God himself." Boone said, "Looking at the broad figure walking his way.

The crowd of about twenty people dismantled quickly, and went on about their business. Presumably, they didn't need any religion, or they didn't feel like being preached to.

"It's a glorious and beautiful day!" The preacher said. "Don't you think so?" .
"Hell no! It's hot as hell out here!" Boone said. 

The hills and streets of Delbarton were baking like bread in an oven, and West Virginia didn't seem like heaven that day. 

The preacher wiped sweat off his thick forehead with a white, cotton, handkerchief. His brown, beady eyes peered at Boone. Judgement seemed to ooze from his fat soul.

"I'm Bill Williams, the pastor of Delbarton Baptist Church." 

Bill Williams extended his right hand out, and Lester Boone shook his hand.

"Lester Boone. Most folks call me Boone."

 "Boone, Do you know Jesus as your personal lord and savior?" He asked, flipping his left wrist vigoursly, to reposition his gold braclet.

"Well, I do know Jesus, and did he save me from being killed in veitnam. He saved me, but others he didn't save. They got killed. You dig it!" He slapped his guitar, as if to put an exclamtion to the end his sentence. 

 "Can I sit down?" The preacher asked. 

"I don't know if this bench will hold three-hundred pounds, plus me, but hell, let's find out!" Boone said. "Have a seat." 

The preacher pulled his black, dress pants up, and straghtend his white, dress shirt, and centered his tie. He sat down on the bench. He wiped the sweat from his poochie, upper lip. "What if you died today in your condition?"

Boone said, "I guess, I'd go to heaven drunk." 

The preacher repositioned his large frame, and flung his right arm over the edge of the bench. Birds sang in the Silver Maples over head, as if to set the scene for divine enlightenment.

"Hell, ain't no wonder you're hot. You're dressed like it's mid January." Boone said. "And you want me to listen to you, hell, you can't even dress yourself properly."

"Do you want happiness and peace?" The preacher said, looking at the time on his Rolex.

Boone paused and laid his guitar back in the case where dollar bills and coins were sweating in the red, firry interior. He appeared to be thinking about his answer. He said, "Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward. Job 5:7." Boone said, "And, that means that no man or woman on this planet is guaranteed peace and happiness."

The preacher looked stunned. His puffy face lost it's frown. He seemed interested. He said, "Yes, that's ture, but..."

"No Buts!" Boone interrupted. "Butts are for good looking women." He paused to light his menthol cigarette. "And I'm not buying your propaganda. I know who Jesus is! I know who God is! You think because I drink, and dress in hand me downs that I don't know things. I know more than you think. You dig it!" 

He blew smoke in the preacher's face. The preacher chuckled and coughed. "I dig it. I'm just concerned about your soul. Don't you want to be happy and sober and to someday go to heaven?" He swatted the smoke like he was swatting  a fly. 

"Preacher, I was shot at in Vietnam, I was spit on when I came home." He paused, and stared at the preacher. "Have you ever been shot at? Have you ever killed anyone? Out of the twenty-three people I killed in nam, three of them were children. Now that's something I'll have to answer for."

"No." Bill said. "I've never been shot at, though I have been spit on. I'm really not judging you. Just concerned that's all."

The preacher scratched the gray scruff on his chin, and wobbled on the bench, and thwittled his stubby thumbs. 

"Yeah, I know who you are. My daddy and your daddy used to work the saw mill together." Boone said.

"You knew my father? Frank?" Bill Willams asked.

"Lord, yeah. He used to give me sticks of  chewing gum when I was a little boy. He'd drive up to Taylorville, where I used to live, and him and daddy would file saw blades. They sure could make them blades thin. I think your daddy liked the bottle, too." Boone took a sip from his bottle. "If I'm not mistaken." He winked.

Bill Willaims, stood about five-nine, maybe forty, clean cut hair, kind of greasy, and his eyes sat deep in his sockets. His voice was loud and stern. He said, "So you faught in Vietnam."

"Yeah, Tet Offensive. Private first class." Boone said. "1968, city of Hue. Should've been killed there."

"Well, thank you for your service." Bill said. 

A distant popping sound echoed through the valley, bouncing off the red brick buildings that lined the streets, and snapped like a rifle. Boone covered his head, and hunkered low, as if he was taking cover from incoming artillery. His face went white. The sound was someone shooting a gun in the hills not far from where they were. 

Boone said, "Gets me every damn time! You dig it." 

The gun fired again. Boone jumped and shielded his head, and then he appeared to be embarassed, as if he'd wet his pants. "Damn it!" He said. 

He took long, slow drink. The brown, stinchy liqour, ran down his chin. Boone  placed the bottle lip under his chin to catch  what drops he could to salvage.

Bill said, "You're drinking yourself to death."

Boone took another hard swallow, and showed his teeth, as if to say, man that stings, and said,"Drinking ain't gonna kill me, preacher. I'm gonna kill myself." 

Bill, still twittling away at his thumbs, stopped, and looked at Boone, and said, "Now, why would you say that?"

"Because it's true." Boone said. "This is my last bottle of whiskey, my last time playing and singing songs, my last time caring about life, and my first and last time talking to you."

The whiskey had set in, and the sun beamed down hard. Distant traffic drove by, horns honked, and people mingled. One man hung his head out of an F-150, and yelled, "Sing us one, Boone!" 

Boone waved and laughed. "Yeah, yeah, I hear ya." He said.

Bill wiped sweat from his forehead, and then his upper lip, and took his black, suit jacket off, and laid it on the bench behind him. He had a serious look. "Are you serious?" He asked. "Are you really planning on taking your own precious life, that God has given you?"

"I'm gonna donate whatever money is in my guitar case to your church, as long as you give it to charity, and not thicken your wallet with it. It ain't much, but it might buy someone something they need." He smiled. "And...and.... I'm gonna give you my guitar, case, and mic amp. Maybe you could use it in your church." Boone stuttered.
Bill said, "I can't let you do that?"

"How you gonna stop me? Sit on me?" Boone laughed. He took another long swallow.

 
Bill squirmed to repositon his torso. He said, "I could stand to lose a few pounds, but I'm not a drunkard." He said. 

"There it is." Boone said. "There's the real you. Mister judgemental himself. What is the difference between drinking too much, and, obviously, eating to much, uh?" 

Boone's bright, blue eyes were teary, as if he was going to cry. He chugged another gulp from the bottle, as the sun glistened through the thick glass.

"Well, alot, I guess.."

"Bull s**t. Bull ssshhhit!" Boone stuttered.

"We all sin, but.."

"Them damn butts are gonna get you in trouble, preacher." 

A young woman came strolling by the bench in front of them. She had blonde hair that was tied high up on her head in a pony-tail, and long-tan legs. Burgundy, short-shorts, and a white tank top. 

"Would you look at that, just look at that, preacher." Boone said, pointing. "My, she sure is fine."

"Lusting." Bill said. "We need to keep our minds on spiritaul things, and not the fleshly things."

"The difference between people like me, and people like you, preacher, is the fact that I don't hide my thoughts, and you do. I call it like I see it. She was beautiful, and I lusted. At least I'm honest about it.  Boone said. "You...You mean to tell me that you don't look, and admire the beautiful women God made. Are you dead, man!" 

"Not dead, just cautiuos." Bill said. 

A moment of silence came, and they both sat there gazing at the beautiful green mountains, the sweating streets of Delbarton, the rippling water of the creek near by, admiring more beauty that God made. The smell of snakes, and earth hung thick in the air, and the pine trees sweet scent made a breath of fresh air even better. 

Bill took a deep breath, and said, "So, what put you in this drunken state? Why are you so against religion? And why are you wanting to kill yourself?"

Boone paused for a moment, then leaned back in the bench, and lit another cigarette, exhaled, and said, "Before, before...I went in to battle in Hue, I got a letter from home saying that my fiancee, Mary Ferrell, was gonna marry my brother, John. I swear, swear...to God, the letter came just a fews day prior to our mission launch. I was devastated. The anger and rage is what probably helped me get through that bloody battle. I was livid!" 

"I can't imagine." Bill said. "It must have..."

"Anyways." Boone interrupted, "After coming back home from hell, I beat the hell out of my brother, and told Mary Ferrell that she could go to hell." He sighed. "I really loved her. She was the one."

The preacher sighed, and shrugged his broad shoulders, and said, "I could see how something like that could make a man go the other way. But that's where God comes in." He said.

Boone looked at him, as if he could run right through him. "God was nowhere to be found! You dig it! The damn devil did that!" He said.

 Boone took a long, slow drag off his cigarette, the smoke hung and lingered in the air as if looking for another way around the humidity. He then took a swallow, then a sip, and another long swallow. "You...you dig it!"

"I dig it, and I guess your right. The devil did do it, but God, no let me finish." His deep voice commanded. "God was there waiting for you to call on him."

"How in the hell would you know if God was there, or not? I was there, he wasn't there. And you was probably here protesting the war, too. I bet."

Bill wiped the sweat from his forehead, then loosened his tie, and the wet shirt collar from around his neck. He stretched his neck to losen them up. 

"What makes you think I protested the war?"

"Cause, damn it! You're all the same."

"All the same?" Bill said.

"Yeah, you shake my hand, thank me for my service, and you don't make eye contact, especially, to the Vietnam Servicemen."

"Well, you're right, I did protest, to be honest with you." Bill said.

"Anyways, after I got over Mary Ferrell, I settled down, and married a woman named Betty Sue May, and we had two children together, and we even joined your church, way before you came. Went evey Sunday! Every S...S...Sunday." He spat, and wiped his chin."

"Betty May? Cecil May's daughter?"

"Yeah, that was her."

"Me and Betty May were first cousins on my mother's side." Bill said. "We used to pick blackberry's up Elk Creek in the summer. Good times. I haven't heard from Betty May in years. So you married Betty May. Come to think of it, I remember mom saying Betty married a Boone from Delbarton. Small world, uh?"

"Sure is." Boone took another chug, and said, "After our son died, things began to...to hurt our relatonship, we lost the closeness, you know. I started nipping a little, and she became very depressed. I tried to cope using this damn bottle, and she coudn't cope at all."

Bill Williams sat there for a moment, and seemed to be looking for the right words to say, and said, "I'm sorry about your son."

Another car, a red Ford Mustang, went by. The driver said, "Give him hell, Boone."

 Then the driver spun his tires, and left skid marks on the street in the straight stretch through town heading in the direction of Belo. Sirens sounded, and the driver took off like a bat out of hell.

Boone said, "That'll keep ole Dyke off me for awhile, look at him go, he'll never catch him. That ole b*****d, he's always confiscating my booze, and I'm sure he takes it with him so he can get liquored up to do his job." 

Bill laughed, and fanned himself with his hankechief. He said, "Boone, I'll tell you what. If you promise me you won't take your life, and come to church this Sunday, which is tomorrow, I'll help you finish that bottle, and I'll fork over the cash to get you  the right help you need to sober up, and to stay that way. What do you say?" 

Boone spit his liqour out through his nose. He leaned forward, and just let it drip. Boone looked at him, as if he was flaggergasted, and said, "You shittin' me?" 

Bill Williams grabbed the bottle of bourbon from Boone's left hand, wiped the top off with his right hand, and took a swig and swallowed. His face turned forty shades of red, the large nares on his nose flared out like a raging bull, and his large lips puckered into a whistle hole. "How do you drink this stuff? Sakes alive, I think my esophogus is on fire!"

Boone bent over double. He laughed so hard that he couldn't breathe. He grabbed his stomach, then leaned back on the bench, and chuckled.

"I...I...never thought I'd see the day when a preacher would share my bourbon. Ain't you worried your flock will flog or stone you?" Boone asked.

"Give me a minute. I can't feel my tongue." 

"You may not feel it for awhile." Boone said.

"Now a deal is a deal." Bill said.

Boone said, "What was I saying? Oh yeah, after my son died in a house fire, we moved and settled over in Matewan for awhile. Me, Betty, and Sissy."

Bill still rolling his tongue around, as if trying to get house insulation off his tongue, said, "Did your house burn down?"

"Yelp."

 Boone took the bottle from Bill's hand. "Down the hatch." He took another long gulp, and said, "I left the house that morning in hurry for work, and left the st...stove burner on. I was having to cook  breakfast because the wife was s...so depressed, she just lost interest in everything, and I had to cook for us all, too. By the time the fireman got there, Jody  had already died of smoke inhalation. And Betty and Sissy got out of the house just in time."

Bang! Bang! Bang! Shots rang through the hollow valley, and echoed off the brick walls. They both jumped, but Boone grabbed the top of his head, and said, "Damn it, gets me everytime."

Bill grabbed the bottle from Boone's hand. Took another small swig, and gritted his teeth, and swallowed hard. "So, you blame yourself for the fire, and your son's death?" He coughed.

"Well, I started the damn fire! You drunk already, preacher?" Boone said. "It was my fault. I started the fire, and I killed my own son."

Boone grabbed the bottle from Bill's hairy hand, and said, "You dig it!"

Bill wiped sweat from his face, and the took his tie off. He then unbottoned the top two buttons of his long, sleeved white, dress shirt. He said, "I don't know what to say. I really don't. We will never understand God, but we must trust him, and know that he knows..b.. best."

"So, you asked earlier if I wanted peace and happiness, well I did, and he never gave it to me, instead, he took if from...from me."

 Boone swayed to his left side, then swayed towards his right side. Bill eased him back to a safe balance, and said, "You ok?"

"That's not a dumb question at all, preacher. Of course I'm not ok. I'm gonna kill myself today! You dig it!"

Bill bent down to re-tie his black, leather shoe. He tied the laces up, snatched the bottle from Boone's trembling hand, and said, "Give me another sip. Just a small one. Now a deal is a d..deal."

Boone got quiet. His paper bag hat began to crinkle up due to moisture from his bald head. Boone grabbed the bag off his head, and wadded it up. He then threw it in the trash bin beside them, and said, "And just like that my Jody was gone forever."

"You'll see Jody again."

"Yeah, I'll see him today."

"So, where's your weapon?"

"Haha, preacher, I'm smarter than you even when I'm drunk. I'm not tellling you where my gun is, and it's not in the guitar case, either, if that's what your thinking."

"P..please, Lester, don't do kill yourself." Bill said, squirming.
"At least not before you come to church tomorrow.  Bill said. "A deal's a deal. S...suicide is not p...pleasing to the Lord. Who are you to take your own life?" He stuttered.

"Then who the hell was...was Sampson?" Boone shouted. "Uh! He killed himself, and God let him do it. Why can't I?" Boone said, then slumped forward. "Anyways, A year later, Sissy drowned in the Matewan swimming pool."

When Boone spoke those words, it was as if,  the birds stop chirping,  and the traffic stopped moving, and people stopped mingling. Bill hung his head, and began to cry. He raised his hands up in the air, and was saying, "Lord, please have mercy on this man. Please, lord, have mercy on t..this man." Big, salty tears stuck to the sides of his cheeks, and his voice was horse when he finished bellowing.

Bill said, "Please don't k..kill yourself. Give God a chance. Give life a chance. God left you here for a r..reason, man." 

Bill wiped his face, his scruff, his eyebrows, his eyes, as if he was taking a bath. He just sat there with his head hung low. Then he grabbed the bottle from Boone's shaking hand, and took a hard swallow.

"I honestly think God meant to take me, too, but somehow during his busy schedule, he forgot about me. I have nothing to live for. My life is up there. And, preacher, that's where I'll be. And drunk I'll be, when I..I get there." Boone gazed into the clear, blue sky, and pointed up with his finger.

"A deal's a deal." Bill said. "And I'll help you. Please, let me help you."

"Anyways, After sissy died, Betty, your cousin, left me, and I've been drunk every since."

"When did she leave?"

"A year ago."

"Why?"

"You tell me. Religion tought her to think that I was a cursed man. Like we were unequally yoked or something. Kinda like Job's wife. Curse God and die, she told him. If I'd been Job, I'd shot that woman." He said.

"Did all these things happen to you in a c..certain time  s....span?" Bill asked.

"Yeah. T...Two year span. You dig it!"

Bill stood up to straighten his pants. He was somewhat wabbly. He grabbed the handle of the bench to steady himself, and said, "How much did I drink?"

"Damn near the..the hole bottle." Boone said. "You hogged it all."

"Remember, a deal's a deal. Now...now...Don't you forget it. I wanna see you in the morning, and where's my c...car."

Boone laughed, and said, "you didn't bring a car, you old, fool, you walked, my freind."

As Bill steadied himself to walk home, Boone slipped his earnings for the day in 
Bill's right pants pocket without him being aware, and Boone reached him the guitar case, and the mic amp, and pointed him in the right direction of his home at very edge of town. He staggered away drunk as on old sot, swaying and singing, "We shall gather at the river.."

"Sing on preacher, you got a good voice." Boone said. "You sound better than me."

"I'll see you in the morning." Bill said. "And a d...deal's a d...deal. Where bright angel's f...feet have trod..d"

Boone shook his head, and said, "I never agreed to your deal. You dig it!"

Lester Boone made his way back home to a camper that he lived in by the creek. He took a faded picture of his family from his left pocket with his left hand. He gazed at happy faces. Faces that once made his life worth living, and faces that were now out of his grasp.  He cocked the gun in his right hand, and asked God to forgive him of his sins.
 The sun set behind the tall, majestic hills, and shade covered the park bench where the preacher and a drunk sat. And a single, irry gun shot echoed through the valley, and Lester Boone was dead.

                                                         The End.

Author's Note

Please ignore grammar issues as this is a rough draft. I really want to know if I have a good story, and if I keep readers interested in my story. Any info will be appreciated.

Reviews

[Wathanya.5KY3]

The grammatical mistakes of first drafts are admittedly distracting, but I got through to the end.

The story itself was simple due to the short nature of flash fiction, so I can't say much about it. However, your description, "A Drunk man named Lester is going to commit suicide, but Preacher Bill Williams tries to persuade him [otherwise] by making him an unusual deal. Even for a preacher," is intriguing.

The beginning of the story itself was fine, things became much more interesting towards the end, specifically after Bill started drinking. I think that if this was polished, it would be a fun piece to read.

Another thing that's quite distracting is the lack of space between or before paragraphs, so you might want to keep that in mind when editing this.