From: blewis@be.seas.upenn.edu (benn bet nun nun lewis)
Newsgroups: alt.prose
Subject: STORY: The Last of the Glass Factories
Date: 27 Jan 93 06:21:10 GMT
Organization: University of Pennsylvania


        ***NOTE***
        As of yet, i'm not quite satisfied with this piece, hence
        i could use some COMMENTS COMMENTS COMMENTS, so please
        tell me what you liked and what you didn't...

                 The Last of the Glass Factories
by Benn Lewis

     Adam's green army jacket was falling apart at the
edges.  The ends of the sleeves were fraying, as was
the fabric around the buttons.  With one swift and
complicated motion, he tried unsuccessfully to pull it
together and take another drink.  A drip of beer
condensed on his pocket, then dropped down his zipper
and finally hit the ground.
     There were three standing around the back of the
pickup truck outside what remained of the older
forgotten parts of the glass factory.  In the distance
lie the newer parts of the complex, but they too were
still.  The old brick buildings were built during the
late nineteenth century during the height of the
business.  The original kiln, from the outside, still
looked like it was in good shape, but it hadn't been
fired up for decades.  The factory's newer additions
hadn't been fired up for a few months.
     The sun was beginning to set and the orange light
reflected of the bits and chunks of glass that were
thrown across the parking lot, around the abandoned
train tracks, and through the weeds surrounding them.
Many of the pieces were rejects left behind from the
business's later years: a microwave bowl that was out
of shape, a cracked ice tea pitcher, mugs in demented
shapes, and cracked pieces of random kitchen
servingware.  It looked like there were tiny stars on
the ground when the flecks of light on the pieces of
glass were contrasted against their background of coal
and rocks and weeds.  There once was an entire
sparkling universe around the factory's real estate.
     John, who by this time had taken a seat on the
back of the truck, spoke, "Shit."
     He scratched his uneven beard, "Your old man
actually agreed to lend you two thousand bucks?  Mother
fucker."
     "You bet he did and we sure as hell are going to
pay it back," Allison said.
     "My ass.  You're going to both blow it all and
even if you did make it to New York, you'll never come
back.  No one else ever does."
     Adam was quiet no longer, "Listen, the union is
still trying to buy back the place, and there might be
some state funding for it or something.  Besides, Al
wants to come back and start a business here once we
get enough money to come back."
     "Well I am sure as hell going to be here."  John's
grandfather owned a chunk of useless land.  John and
his grandfather had just started a business of burning
dead tires on the land since it was so far away from
everything else.  John wanted to expand the business to
dumping to because part of the land was on the remains
of a strip mine and would make a decent landfill.
     Adam was planning to got to New York with his
girlfriend Allison.  She had a cousin in Queens that
said she could find her a job as a manicurist.  Adam
didn't plan on leaving but as long ago as a year ago it
was an obvious choice.  His father had settled his
worker's compensation suit and there were no good jobs
around.
     His father stopped working except for the summer
when he ran a glass blowing booth that would travel
around to county fairs and folk festivals.  Although
Adam was good at glass blowing, no amount of experience
could compensate for the lack of a job during the fall,
winter, and spring.  This was his first year out of
school and now that the summer had ended, there was no
where else to go.
     The sun had set and the only lights that
illuminated the glass particles were the ones from the
high school parking lot across the valley.  It got dark
quickly so Adam turned on the parking lights of the car
while Allison and John helped themselves to another
beer.
     Allison handed one to Adam, "Fuckin' bitch man. 
Why do you care if we fucking come back?"  She kicked
some of the coal in the parking lot.  "I all know is
that we're going up there and makin' some money then
maybe gettin' married or something."
     "Oh, is that right Adam?"
     "Shit, I dun'no."
     "Well you better think about it because it's my
cousin that's puttin' us up until we make enough to go
on our own."
     John sat back down.  "So, is your cousin looking
for a husband too?  Maybe I'll come up too and visit
and see what happens."
     "The fuck you will."
     "Ohh, you bet.  I'll come and visit you when you
have that condo on sixth or fifth avenue or whatever."
     "Yeah, but she still wouldn't even consider hick
trash like you."
     "Well, you fell for me in seventh grade."
     "Bullshit.  You fell for me.  Anyways that was
before I met Adam anyways."
     Adam offered everyone a cigarette.  They sat in
the silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. 
"Yeah.  But what if it doesn't work out Al?"
     "What do you fuckin' mean?  You'll be able to sell
all that glass stuff in New York and we'll make a
fortune.  Those rich people buy anything that looks
folksy.  Besides, they'll think you'll be a fuckin'
genius is you wear all black and pretend to be an
artist.  You'll be able to sell perfume bottles for a
hundred bucks."
     "Well it better happen fast because my dad can
only afford to give me the old kiln and some random
bags of silicone for it.  It won't last forever."
     "Well fa thi sit."  Allison's voice was muffled
while she took a drink from the can.  Then she put it
down on her lap and started to play with the metal tab
on top before ripping it off and throwing it to the
ruins.
     "Don't worry, 'cause I'll still be here.  I'm
going to be a priest.  No fuckin' church will take me
but I'm still going to be a minister or something. 
I'll heal the tires," and John slammed his hands on the
back of the truck, "You're healed!  Then I'll burn 'em
and sacrifice 'em to the gods."
     "You want to stop rubbing it in.  Can I help it
that I've got a skill?  Look at these fuckin' hands. 
They're the same as yours."
     Allison cut in, "Yeah, but John's cuticles are all
fucked up."
     Adam cracked his knuckles.  He turned off his
truck's lights and the engine to save on gas.  The car
stopped vibrating and it got quiet.  He threw his empty
can at the brick building but missed by twenty meters.
     "Hey John.  Do you remember when we were kids and
we came down here with our twenty twos and we snuck
into the recycled bin and took out all those busted up
big chunks of blue glass?  We set them up on that wall
over there and shot them all to hell."
     "Oh yeah.  We used to always take shit from the
reject pile and use it for targets.  Remember when we
took that huge bowl, it was like a big punch bowl, and
put it on the fence post around Mrs. Snyder's trailer
and the shards busted up so much that pieces tore
through the screen doors on both of our trailers."
     As it became darker the sounds of south western
Pennsylvania increased.  It was one of those years when
the cicada were everywhere around this part of the
state.  The hum turned into a prominent buzz.
     "Holy fuckin' shit!," Allison held up the cicada
for everyone else to see, "Jesus fuckin' christ that
mother just scared the living shit out of me, fuckin'
crawled up my beer can."
     "It's just a bug, man."
     "Yeah whatever they still always freak me.  Do
they have cicada in New York?"
     Adam was first to respond, "Man, I really don't
know.  I guess so they're everywhere aren't they?  Like
locusts?  Or maybe they just have locusts there?"
     "No way," John answered, "They need trees to
breed.  They barely have shit for trees in New York
City.  I bet there are people there that haven't ever
seen a tree."
     "Nah,"
     "Yeah, you bet.  There are some weird people
there.  Like guys who would drink motor oil for a high
before they'd put it in their cars.  Shit, it's like in
the movies.  Everyone just ignores everyone else. 
There's no way they'd have cicadas and even if they
did, they'd all be dead from all the fuckin' roach
spray."
     "Well . . ." Adam thought for a second, "shit,
because if I can grow up in this shithole then I can
handle New York.  How different can it be from the
'burgh.  There are some pretty cool bars like that
sports bar.  They have to have some good bars there."
     "Yeah I bet.  Except in New York they're all owned
by the mafia."
     Meanwhile, Allison had been flicking dried up
cicada shells from a tree near by.  "Hey, are you guy's
talking about Ed's?  Lets go."
     "No, we were just talking about bars in general. 
But I'm about ready anyways, how about you John?"
     "Yeah, shotgun."
     "No, you drive and Al and I'll sit in the back."
     "Where are the keys at?"
     "In the car still, alright?"
     "Yeah."
     John turned the key, fiddled with the clutch and
gunned her up while Adam threw Al in the back and got
in himself.  It was a bumpy ride.  The parking lot they
were in was littered with huge holes from rain since
they haven't put rocks down on it for years.  Even
though the back road they took to the bar was paved
just a few years ago, it was full of cracks and pot
holes.  The curves produced uneven banking as the
pavement sunk during the freeze-thaw cycles.
     Al held Adam's hand in the back.  He held on to
her as not to slide about.  They bounced around
together until Adam's hand slipped.  Al told him, "None
of that funny business yet."
     "So, is the old lady still making you feel guilty
about leaving?"
     "Nah, I think she got used to the idea.  Actually
I think she's kind of proud, you know.  I'm like the
modern women of the family since all her younger
sisters got married under twenty and all.  I've got a
career and shit.  I just told her listen, don't worry
I'm staying on the pill because she was like yesterday,
I don't want to have to take care of any kids while
you're off having a grand ole' time in the big city. 
Then she shut up.  I think she's kinda sad me leaving
and all since I might just make it on my own."
     "Yeah, shit my dad is quiet about it all too.  I
mean not like he cares to much but I bet he's proud, me
glass blowing and all in the city.  But I still think
it won't be any different than all these yuppy fucks
staring at us when we do the art's festival in August. 
They just stare but they usually buy the stuff and
that's what's important I guess."
     "Yeah."
     "Yeah, like I wish we could stay here though
sometimes.  Or if this was already right on the edge of
some city so we wouldn't have to go very far to find
something to do."
     "Yeah but you get all this creepy shit around
here, and the sulfur and hitting dogs with your car and
stuff.  It creeps me out sometimes like when you see
someone's dog all smashed up on the side of the road. 
That doesn't happen in cities I don't think."
     "Yeah, I bet it happens there anyways it's just different."
     "Well, I dun'no."
     Adam held on to Al amidst the warm air that felt
cool rushing in around them.  He knocked on the cab and
yelled through the sliding window, "hey, put the music
louder so we can here it out here.  Those fuckin' bugs
are really loud tonight."
     John yelled something back and bent over to hear
better but hit his head on the gun rack.  "Bitch."
     He turned up the radio, then rubbed his head. 
When he turned back around to the wheel a cicada at the
exact instant splatted against the glass.  All Adam and
Al heard was "Fuck."  when the truck rammed strait into
a mother pot hole and the back went slanted.  John
slammed on the breaks.
     "Fuckin shit John, you blew a tire."
     "I'm really sorry man.  That bug is all over the
windshield and I didn't see it."
     "Yeah, fuckin' shit man, let's change it."
     Allison stayed in the back and nursed a new beer
while the two men went about their business.  Adam
began to mutter to John about how he wouldn't be able
to leave right away now because he'd have to get some
more money for a new tire because he didn't want to use
any of the cash he had saved up for the trip yet.
     "I'm fuckin' sorry man.  Here's the jack."
     They pumped the truck up and got the lugnuts off. 
After a few minutes the spare was on the axle and they
started putting the pieces back together.  "Hey John,
we're missing a nut."
     "Shit, I don't have it."
     "Yeah, well help me look then where the fuck is
it.  Here, use your zippo at least."
     They looked around the truck and Adam got more and
more pissed off.  "Where the fuck is it?  Let's get the
fuck out of here."
     John began to laugh as Adam got more and more
fired up, "Fuck shit damn mother fuck," John imitated.
"Here man, it's in my hand I was just fucking with
you."
     Adam was too mad to laugh, "You're a fucking
dick," and he punched the cab's window.  But he calmed
down when he drew his red hand back from the cracked
glass.  His knuckles were dripping with blood and a
single crack spanned sideways across the window,
"mother fucker."
     Al jumped up from the back, "What the fuck are you
two doing.  My god Adam what did you do to your hand? 
Are you alright."
     "Yeah, I'm fine," he wrapped a bandanna around his
fist, "It's not that bad, but the window is fucked. 
It's just a surface crack though I shouldn't need to
buy a new window yet.  I'll just seal it or something. 
Goddamnit."
     He crawled back in the back with Al and she tried
to nurse him back to health while John drove to the
bar.  "Don't worry about it.  Don't worry about leaving
and shit.  We'll have a good time there.  You'll do
alright."
     Adam just sulked, "If I wasn't drinkin' this hand
would probably hurt like a bitch.  I hate this shit,"
and he lightly hit the side of the truck then cringed.
     Allison could be nice sometimes.  She was slightly
centered in life, having goals and all, completely
opposite to John.  He drove the truck.  He always drove
the truck because Adam rarely could make up his mind
whether or not he wanted to drive, especially when he
was drinking.  But John understood.  He knew, at least,
that some people don't always want to drive.  Al on the
other hand used to get nervous for Adam since he never
showed any signs himself.  By now she was used to
sitting in the back with her boyfriend, but seceretly
had her doubts.  So she cracked open another beer.
     "Hey, better hurry up before we miss the buck a
mug," she said.
     "Yeah, yeah, but you know I can't drive over
thrity with the spare."
     "Fuck, I'll have to buy a new tube tomorrow."
     There were indeed three.  And doubts aside, in
less than a week, two would leave.
     When they were at the bar, conversation slowely
stopped and they finally got to the point when they
were going to say what they really wanted to say.
     John said, "Listen, we should piss across the
Mason-Dixon line tonight."
     "Are you fucking nuts?"
     "No, no, listen, it'll make you feel better about
leaving and all.  It'll be like our last crazy thing we
do for a while because who knows when you'll come back
and all."
     Adam insisted, "No, we're visit soon..."
     "...whatever, but I say we do it.  I'll drive."
     Allison looked a little dizzy and agreed
wholeheartedly, "Let's GO!  John'll drive!  It'll be
FUN!"
     "Yeah, sure John, but what about the spare?"
     "Don't worry about it.  It'll hold.  I can promise
you that."
     "You'll drive?"
     "Yeah, I'll drive."
     "Alright."
     They left the bar, and Alison and Adam climbed in
the back.  John shook his head to remove the alcohol's
clutch, then got in the cab.
     They took 119, south.  Alison sobered up along the
way and she and Adam just lied down on their backs
while the truck drove from intersate to highway to
road.  They talked, sometimes looking at each other,
and othertimes looking at the sky.  One half of it was
full of stars, the other half was filled with the
orange glow of whichever city they were passing
through.  The further they went from where they
started, the quieter the cicadia became until it was
quiet.
     John thought about the window he broke.  He
imagined what would have happened if it had shattered,
the pieces of glass flying all around him, scattering
the sky's light in a million directions.  He squeezed
Al's hand tighter and looked strait up.
     And before they got to West Virginia, Adam drank