I knew I had to get rid of this guy. I noticed that when I talked to my
folks or when I read something he wouldn’t come out. So, I focused on school when
I could go. I made the honor roll a couple of times, too. Who would have thought it.
Yeah, the teachers at Lindblom were shocked at Leo Sinkowski making honor roll.
Things were good, then junior year, I got a job from a guy who used to come to the
electric shop at school. I apprenticed under him for two years and had my electrician’s
license by the time I was eighteen. I got into the Union, met Margaret and things were
good. Pop died and I got Mom into a duplex on the same block where I lived. We were rolling.
Then I had a w-w-w-eak moment, and he came back. It’s true. He came back and talked
me into s-s-s-som-s-so-something r-r-real bad.
I will tell this!!! You can’t stop me!
My head is splitting!
I gotta do this now or die!! It’s me or you, and I can’t tell you now, you sonofabitch,
it ain’t gonna be me!
It was a great plan, but the devil himself created it. To this day, the Board of Education
thinks it was an accident. Well, that’s the story they gave the news boys. I had a great alibi
because I had told them the switches in the boiler room of that school needed replacing and
that the wiring was rotten. They dragged their feet because they didn’t want to spend money to
replace them. So, when he came to me with the idea, I knew I couldn’t lose. God, my head is
splitting, but I’m tired. I gotta tell this.
“What about the kids,” I said.
“What about the fire,” he came back with. “Don’t think about the kids. Besides, fire is pure.
It’s good for them. Cleans them up. Just think of all the fun you’ll have.”
I knew he had me. I went on to the school. The switches were in bad shape, but they never woulda started a fire like that on their own. I had an nitrogen tank I was using for welding, and took it to the school. It was issued by the same company that supplied the Public Schools, so that was the cover up if they happened to find it. I loosened the knob a little and flicked the switches off and on, building up static. The last time I flicked the switch off, I could hear that little click, and I knew the next one would be it. I positioned myself halfway out the back door of the place and turned the lights on.
“Kerfloom!”
It was something to see. They said half the first floor became a fire tunnel. Three classrooms and the lunchroom went up.
I was okay for a while. For three years, I didn’t think about it at all. Until we had Leo Junior,
then I thought about it all the time. I could see the kids’ faces, all crispy and charred, following
me around. That’s why I started drinking. I never talked about it to anyone but this sonofabitch who says he knows about truth. Well, I’m too tired to go on. I can’t carry him around anymore. I don’t give a damn if I die. I got nothing to lose.
So, I’m glad I had the chance to tell you this story. I know you didn’t come in here for all
this. You just wanted a cup of coffee and a newspaper. But I’ve been watching you. You one of
my favorite people. I wish people saw folks like you more often. They would say different things
about Chicago police officers. You are truly one of Chicago’s finest. And that’s why I know you’ll
do the right thing and take me in. And when they put you on the stand, I want you to tell them to give me the ‘chair’.
I mean, it’s only fair, isn’t it?
Showing posts with label Unreliable narrator. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Unreliable narrator. Show all posts
Monday, December 8, 2008
Leo's confession
So, this sonofabitch comes to talk to you about truth and sincerity and Jesus Christ, but he
tells you I got the restraining order against me because I went to my wife’s house. That’s a
frigging lie. I apologize for cursing earlier. It’s got to stop. It must stop. Anyway, he’s
framing me just like he did that day, tricking me into going over there. Don’t believe a damn
word he says. He wouldn’t know the truth if he stepped right in a big pile of it. And then he
names it “Leo’s Last Word.” I ought to know when my last stand is. I’ll tell you all of it.
I have always had a difficult life. My parents came from Poland with the shirt on their
backs and dirt on their hands. They sacrificed everything for me and never let me forget it.
It was eight years in a two room apartment before they had me. My mother always talks about how I never cried, never made a sound when I was a baby. They say I was always aware of my responsibilities. My mother said I didn’t want to add to their problems by crying. I don’t know what it was, but I know that by the time I was six, I realized there wasn’t a damn thing to cry about, since crying didn’t change anything.
My folks didn’t need me crying but working, so I started working when I was eight years old.
Pop had had a stroke and was laid up. I took on the chin at school, and that’s when my head started hurting all the time. I took all kinds of work—shoveling snow, toting, painting, cleaning out people’s garages. A guy paid me fifty bucks one time to set his car on fire. I did it and took the money home, and our rent was paid for three months.
I loved watching the car burning. The fire was so red and so forceful. I know I sound like a fruit, but there is no other way, after all these years, to describe it. It was a gas! I loved smelling the rubber from the tires burn. My eyelashes got singed from the heat when the car exploded, but I knew I was on to something. That was also the first time he showed up. I know he was trouble because he goaded me, always talking about setting something on fire. I’d be gone for half an hour and I’d end up sitting in my car with a sack of matches and a full can of gasoline. I-I-I s-s-set fire to a d-d-d-dog I found in a park because he told me it was half-
dead and needed to be put out of its misery. Even then I knew it was a lie, but I didn’t care because I wanted to see it burn. I heard it scream.
I st-st-st-till do.
tells you I got the restraining order against me because I went to my wife’s house. That’s a
frigging lie. I apologize for cursing earlier. It’s got to stop. It must stop. Anyway, he’s
framing me just like he did that day, tricking me into going over there. Don’t believe a damn
word he says. He wouldn’t know the truth if he stepped right in a big pile of it. And then he
names it “Leo’s Last Word.” I ought to know when my last stand is. I’ll tell you all of it.
I have always had a difficult life. My parents came from Poland with the shirt on their
backs and dirt on their hands. They sacrificed everything for me and never let me forget it.
It was eight years in a two room apartment before they had me. My mother always talks about how I never cried, never made a sound when I was a baby. They say I was always aware of my responsibilities. My mother said I didn’t want to add to their problems by crying. I don’t know what it was, but I know that by the time I was six, I realized there wasn’t a damn thing to cry about, since crying didn’t change anything.
My folks didn’t need me crying but working, so I started working when I was eight years old.
Pop had had a stroke and was laid up. I took on the chin at school, and that’s when my head started hurting all the time. I took all kinds of work—shoveling snow, toting, painting, cleaning out people’s garages. A guy paid me fifty bucks one time to set his car on fire. I did it and took the money home, and our rent was paid for three months.
I loved watching the car burning. The fire was so red and so forceful. I know I sound like a fruit, but there is no other way, after all these years, to describe it. It was a gas! I loved smelling the rubber from the tires burn. My eyelashes got singed from the heat when the car exploded, but I knew I was on to something. That was also the first time he showed up. I know he was trouble because he goaded me, always talking about setting something on fire. I’d be gone for half an hour and I’d end up sitting in my car with a sack of matches and a full can of gasoline. I-I-I s-s-set fire to a d-d-d-dog I found in a park because he told me it was half-
dead and needed to be put out of its misery. Even then I knew it was a lie, but I didn’t care because I wanted to see it burn. I heard it scream.
I st-st-st-till do.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
If You're Going to Preach, At Least Take a Shower--Leo's Last Word
It’s a shame, some people.
I'll have to take over now, because Leo isn't feeling well. I know what he told you I was at his ex-wife's house and got a restraining order against him. That's not true. He did that. I actually was there to keep him from hurting somebody. He owes me. I saved his life. So, I'll tell you this last part of the story because Leo doesn't really know how to tell it.
Now, he's arguing with me, saying there are some details I don't know, so I'll just let him tell the story with me. Or will I?
It's a shame, these kids today, with all their electronic little gadgets. Listen, Leo admits he doesn’t know a whole lot about much of the stuff out there. We have a cellular phone, a cd player, a computer. We get on the internet when we need to look stuff up, but we don’t think any of that crap is the key to anything. A guy can be just as happy without it. Anyway, a couple of days ago, some kid came into the store. Probably about legal age or a couple of years older. He had his cell phone and a briefcase, not a nice briefcase, but we thought he was making his point by carrying a briefcase at all. You know, “I’m important! Look at me!” That kind of thing. He had on a button-down shirt and slacks, but he was kind of dirty. Well, his shirt was wrinkled and his hair looked really greasy. He picked out a couple of donuts and poured a small cup of coffee. The whole time he’s walking around being real vocal, speaking to everybody—
“Hey, how’s it going? How’re you doing today?” We knew he was going to say something crazy to me. So he comes up to the checkout counter. “How’s it going, there,” he says. His breath smelled like shit. Oh, excuse us—We're not cursing anymore. Feces. It smelled like feces. His nails were dirty, too. We felt sorry for him, really. Poor kid. He asks us if I’d seen any good movies lately. He said he’d seen the movie that told him the truth about life. Go to the MOVIES, he says, to find out the TRUTH about God.
He kept saying, ‘Religion is ridiculous,’ or something. Like the movie changed his life. He said something that some other guy who gets up and shaves every morning just like him taught him the truth about God. He said people who believe in God are idiots, and that Jesus was a con-man. We couldn’t believe it. He said our Lord and Savior was a con-man. We don’t know if you’re a praying man or anything, but we ask you, how in the hell—excuse us, how in the world can a guy who gets whipped and spat on and nailed to a cross by his hands and feet be a con-man? Isn’t the purpose of being a con to get something out of the deal, to
get over on people?
It goes back to what we said earlier. The key to being found after being lost is to admit that
you don’t know anything. Seems like whoever made that ridiculous movie is pretty lost, himself. We didn’t say anything to the guy. We wanted to punch him in the nose. We knew if we said anything, it would end with him picking himself up off the floor. So we kept silent. That’s another thing we’ve learned too—how to pick my battles. No, we didn’t say anything to the kid. We just wanted him to leave. We figured this kid would learn soon enough the TRUTH about lies. So, he tried to pay with a debit card, which was declined. We took back the donuts and coffee. He left. We kept thinking about what he said: going to the MOVIES taught him the TRUTH about GOD, about LIFE. He hadn’t made his truth look all that appealing to me. We figure if you’re going to preach, at least take a damned shower. He had a cell phone but couldn’t pay for two donuts and a cup of coffee. For the moment, that was his truth.
I'll have to take over now, because Leo isn't feeling well. I know what he told you I was at his ex-wife's house and got a restraining order against him. That's not true. He did that. I actually was there to keep him from hurting somebody. He owes me. I saved his life. So, I'll tell you this last part of the story because Leo doesn't really know how to tell it.
Now, he's arguing with me, saying there are some details I don't know, so I'll just let him tell the story with me. Or will I?
It's a shame, these kids today, with all their electronic little gadgets. Listen, Leo admits he doesn’t know a whole lot about much of the stuff out there. We have a cellular phone, a cd player, a computer. We get on the internet when we need to look stuff up, but we don’t think any of that crap is the key to anything. A guy can be just as happy without it. Anyway, a couple of days ago, some kid came into the store. Probably about legal age or a couple of years older. He had his cell phone and a briefcase, not a nice briefcase, but we thought he was making his point by carrying a briefcase at all. You know, “I’m important! Look at me!” That kind of thing. He had on a button-down shirt and slacks, but he was kind of dirty. Well, his shirt was wrinkled and his hair looked really greasy. He picked out a couple of donuts and poured a small cup of coffee. The whole time he’s walking around being real vocal, speaking to everybody—
“Hey, how’s it going? How’re you doing today?” We knew he was going to say something crazy to me. So he comes up to the checkout counter. “How’s it going, there,” he says. His breath smelled like shit. Oh, excuse us—We're not cursing anymore. Feces. It smelled like feces. His nails were dirty, too. We felt sorry for him, really. Poor kid. He asks us if I’d seen any good movies lately. He said he’d seen the movie that told him the truth about life. Go to the MOVIES, he says, to find out the TRUTH about God.
He kept saying, ‘Religion is ridiculous,’ or something. Like the movie changed his life. He said something that some other guy who gets up and shaves every morning just like him taught him the truth about God. He said people who believe in God are idiots, and that Jesus was a con-man. We couldn’t believe it. He said our Lord and Savior was a con-man. We don’t know if you’re a praying man or anything, but we ask you, how in the hell—excuse us, how in the world can a guy who gets whipped and spat on and nailed to a cross by his hands and feet be a con-man? Isn’t the purpose of being a con to get something out of the deal, to
get over on people?
It goes back to what we said earlier. The key to being found after being lost is to admit that
you don’t know anything. Seems like whoever made that ridiculous movie is pretty lost, himself. We didn’t say anything to the guy. We wanted to punch him in the nose. We knew if we said anything, it would end with him picking himself up off the floor. So we kept silent. That’s another thing we’ve learned too—how to pick my battles. No, we didn’t say anything to the kid. We just wanted him to leave. We figured this kid would learn soon enough the TRUTH about lies. So, he tried to pay with a debit card, which was declined. We took back the donuts and coffee. He left. We kept thinking about what he said: going to the MOVIES taught him the TRUTH about GOD, about LIFE. He hadn’t made his truth look all that appealing to me. We figure if you’re going to preach, at least take a damned shower. He had a cell phone but couldn’t pay for two donuts and a cup of coffee. For the moment, that was his truth.
Leo Takes a Stand
I don't know what that son-of-a-bitch told you about me. I don't even know the guy really.
He just shows up sometimes, saying he knows what I need. Talking about he's gonna take care of me. Don't listen to him. Then again, he is pretty straight-forward. I think he'd give his life for me. I definitely have to say I trust him. Still, I don't know. He just showed up at my ex-wife's house one day, crying. Begging her to take him back. Like he knew her or something. I mean, I'm Leo. Wouldn't I be the one to beg her to take me back? Why would he beg her to take him back? To go 'back' to something, don't you gotta be there in the first place? I show up, and my wife is standing there looking at me, asking these stupid questions.
"You alright," she says.
What the fuck are you talking about, I say. Of course I'm alright.
My son Leo, he's Junior, says, "Pop, get the hell out of here, 'til you straighten up."
I'm going, "What the hell are you fucking fucks talking about? I'm straight! I just came by to say 'hello.'"
So, that guy messed it up, where I gotta stay about 150 feet away from my wife at all times.
I don't care what the courts say, she's still my wife. So, that guy screwed that up for me. Still, he's been there for me in some tight pinches. Taking over when my head starts hurting.
Okay, I'll tell you this before he comes back. I definitely believe there are just as many bad people in the world as there are good. Before this job, I was a licensed electrician. For about nineteen years I worked with the City, then with Com Ed (that’s Commonwealth Edison to
you non-Chicagoans). I knew a lot of people and made really good money. Then my head started hurting all the time, and I screwed up. I hit the booze. Things got pretty bad. I lost my family, my license. I was even in a shelter for about ten days. So I know what it’s like to be lost. And I know how to come back from that, too. I guess I could have gone back on the job, back to working with the Union, but I think that’s what got me in trouble in the first place—stress. My head would be pounding. Anyway, my son Leo and I have finally gotten to be pretty good friends, and we talk sometimes about how things were when I was drinking. He was just a kid, and God knows I wasn’t a great father then. He says the scariest thing for him was
that he might end up like me. You gotta respect that. Who wants to be like that? I never hit my wife or kid or nothing, but I broke furniture, crashed the car, yelled at them all the time, showed up at work drunk. When things were at their worst, I felt out of control, but in the beginning of it, I felt like I was a king. Like I had the world in a jug and the stopper in my hand. Like I knew everything. Which brings me back to my point about working this job and knowing how to come back from being lost. The key is for a man to admit that he doesn’t know a damned thing.
Okay, this fucker's coming back. I'll talk to you when the coast is clear.
He just shows up sometimes, saying he knows what I need. Talking about he's gonna take care of me. Don't listen to him. Then again, he is pretty straight-forward. I think he'd give his life for me. I definitely have to say I trust him. Still, I don't know. He just showed up at my ex-wife's house one day, crying. Begging her to take him back. Like he knew her or something. I mean, I'm Leo. Wouldn't I be the one to beg her to take me back? Why would he beg her to take him back? To go 'back' to something, don't you gotta be there in the first place? I show up, and my wife is standing there looking at me, asking these stupid questions.
"You alright," she says.
What the fuck are you talking about, I say. Of course I'm alright.
My son Leo, he's Junior, says, "Pop, get the hell out of here, 'til you straighten up."
I'm going, "What the hell are you fucking fucks talking about? I'm straight! I just came by to say 'hello.'"
So, that guy messed it up, where I gotta stay about 150 feet away from my wife at all times.
I don't care what the courts say, she's still my wife. So, that guy screwed that up for me. Still, he's been there for me in some tight pinches. Taking over when my head starts hurting.
Okay, I'll tell you this before he comes back. I definitely believe there are just as many bad people in the world as there are good. Before this job, I was a licensed electrician. For about nineteen years I worked with the City, then with Com Ed (that’s Commonwealth Edison to
you non-Chicagoans). I knew a lot of people and made really good money. Then my head started hurting all the time, and I screwed up. I hit the booze. Things got pretty bad. I lost my family, my license. I was even in a shelter for about ten days. So I know what it’s like to be lost. And I know how to come back from that, too. I guess I could have gone back on the job, back to working with the Union, but I think that’s what got me in trouble in the first place—stress. My head would be pounding. Anyway, my son Leo and I have finally gotten to be pretty good friends, and we talk sometimes about how things were when I was drinking. He was just a kid, and God knows I wasn’t a great father then. He says the scariest thing for him was
that he might end up like me. You gotta respect that. Who wants to be like that? I never hit my wife or kid or nothing, but I broke furniture, crashed the car, yelled at them all the time, showed up at work drunk. When things were at their worst, I felt out of control, but in the beginning of it, I felt like I was a king. Like I had the world in a jug and the stopper in my hand. Like I knew everything. Which brings me back to my point about working this job and knowing how to come back from being lost. The key is for a man to admit that he doesn’t know a damned thing.
Okay, this fucker's coming back. I'll talk to you when the coast is clear.
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