Chapter 4
four
Dead Mountain Living
Charlie
It’s like the city of Pittsburgh has forgotten about this town.
If you look up at the six-hundred-foot mountain side from the city, it looked like the devil himself burned the hillside to ash.
Not one living plant. Just rock, dirt and coal debris.
The only proof of life you could see were the two inclines that go up and down the mountain to transport materials and individuals, as well as the mile long Indian Trail Steps.
At the base, there was the railroad for trains to come and go with coal and other Pittsburgh manufactured items and materials.
Walking through Mount Washington at the top, in the state that it’s in, you would think we were hundreds of miles away from the nearest city.
However, this patch town was better than the one we just came from in West Virginia, so I guess that’s something.
That was more like an old western ghost town.
Mount Washington was populated with more people, houses, and buildings than I have ever seen in one place before.
The buildings and homes closest to the mine looked practically unlivable.
Some were even abandoned, left to decay by themselves.
But the farther away we walked, their condition got better and more habitable.
There were single and multi-family homes for those that could afford it.
Probably people that either work in the city and choose to live up on this dead mountain or those that work higher up in the Pittsburgh Coal Company.
There were a couple of pubs and restaurants near the mine, for the workers to stop for a drink or four after a shift, just like every mining town.
There is also a Post Office and other business store fronts, so if we never wanted to leave the patch town and venture out to the city, we didn’t have to.
We didn’t live far from the mine, only less than a mile’s walk. Huffing north on East Sycamore Street, away from the site until we reached the end of the street and turned left on Olympia Road.
After walking in silence since we left, Dad startled me by speaking the one thing I was most afraid of, “Still a secret?”
I coughed when I exhaled out of irritation. “Yes. It’s still a secret.”
“Good,” he said, as I continued to follow him to Chatham Village, where we rented a unit from the mine. One of the sets of row homes that were connected together.
My Dad was hard to read. He’s never been very verbal with me, or anyone for that matter.
But after my mom died three years ago, he really clammed up.
The most I ever heard him speak wasn’t that long ago when he had to come to my defense.
To say I was surprised would be an understatement on multiple levels.
Not able to take the silence anymore, “How was working with David?”
Giving me the side eye, like he knew I just wanted to fill the space as we normally don’t talk about work. “Fine. He’s chatty. Didn’t shut up the entire day.” After a beat, he added, “He’s best friends with your trainer. They were split up to be partnered with us, which he seemed bitter about it.”
After another beat of silence, we finally got to Olympia Park, the park that is across the street from where we lived. My dad looked at the sandboxes and play area for the kids with longing in his eyes. “You know, I still remember the day I first took you to a park with your mom.”
The statement shocked me. He never brought her up.
Not once since she died, other than the day we buried her, had he mentioned her.
I tried once to talk about her and he swiftly, but calmly, walked out of the room.
One thing about my dad is he isn’t an angry man, even though his demeanor looks otherwise.
The only time I have ever seen him mad as hell was the day… I exhaled.
“I miss her too, Dad,” because I didn’t know what else to say.
“No…, I mean yes, of course,” he exhaled. “But what I mean is it just feels like yesterday and now you’re working in that damn mine. Somewhere I never wanted you to be.”
“We are not doing this again. I need to work the mine to help. And it wasn’t that bad.
Jim seems nice enough,” remembering him putting his arms around me and feeling his hands on mine.
I felt my cheeks start to warm so I turned and looked at one of the row homes we were passing in the Village to try to hide my reaction to the memory.
Our place wasn’t far off the street. It was in one of the row homes that all looked similar to each other and can’t be accessed by the road. We had to take a walking path to reach it. We lucked out and got an end unit, number six-fifteen, a three-story, two-bedroom residence with a cellar.
We reach our side door, which we have to take stairs down to because it was the entrance to the cellar. As my dad unlocked it to let us in, he asked, “What do you mean, ‘nice enough’?”
Stepping into the cellar, which is essentially storage, laundry, a shower area and an oddly placed toilet with no privacy. I turned around as my dad was closing the door and locking it again. “He’s a quiet man, like you. He didn’t say much other than to teach me the job and protocol.”
I started to head for the stairs that were against the left-hand wall that took you to the living area, I added, “By the sounds of it, Jim counterbalances David’s personality. I wonder how long they–”
My query got cut off by my dad saying, “Stop. We don’t go upstairs until we are clean. We are going to do this right, unlike my bad habits. Strip down and jump in the shower.”
I hesitated, which he noticed. “It’s fine. I’ll start filling the wash tub for our jumpers.”
I turned on the shower and quickly undressed my filthy clothes. My under garments looked and felt just as dirty as my jumper, like it was the only thing I was wearing. I left everything on the floor and stepped into the stall that was about the size of an oversized coffin.
Under the rushing warm water, I closed my eyes for a moment to savor the feeling and when I opened them again and looked down, streams of dark grey were rushing across the white tiles and down the drain.
I didn’t have the greatest physique. I’m five foot six, and thin.
One hundred and forty pounds, tops. I didn’t have much going for me as I never played sports or worked out a day in my life.
Today had been the most physical day I have ever experienced and my muscles were already screaming in protest. I am hairless except for around my dick and my pits, unlike my dad who had a heavily covered chest. I couldn’t even grow facial hair.
Clearly, I didn’t inherit much from him and his side of the family.
I really had to scrub hard to get the dust and dirt off me. I even had to wash my hair twice. When I was done and opened the curtain there was a towel on the hook to the side of the shower that wasn’t there before. My Dad was still standing at the wash bin, facing away from me.
After I dried off and wrapped my towel around my waist, I went and stood next to him.
He was staring at our jumpers in the sudsy water when he said, “We won’t be showering in the mine’s Dry Room.
We will always come home.” He gave me a serious look, making it clear his reason through his expression, so I just nodded my head in agreement.
“Go get something to eat and some rest, our jumpers are going to soak for a while before I scrub them down. There is another one for you in a box in the living room. You just need to find it.”
Nodding my head again, I left toward the stairs with only the sound of breathing from my dad to bade me goodnight. I didn’t see him again until morning, having finished my dinner before he came upstairs.