{"id":9319,"date":"2026-09-02T05:41:21","date_gmt":"2026-09-02T05:41:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/josephrauch.com\/therauchreview\/?p=9319"},"modified":"2026-09-02T05:41:21","modified_gmt":"2026-09-02T05:41:21","slug":"a-man-named-steve","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/josephrauch.com\/therauchreview\/fiction\/a-man-named-steve\/","title":{"rendered":"A Man Named Steve"},"content":{"rendered":"

The lot was worth 80, maybe 85. The house wasn\u2019t worth a damn thing. Every piece of bent or broken wood that barely held the house up was in dire need of another coat of the two different tones of off-white paint Steve had bought at two different auctions. Even if they were painted, though, the house was starting to sag from the weight of misuse and decay. Over the past 10 summers rain had soaked into the 60-year-old structure, and mold had set in. Just going up the front steps seemed such a precarious undertaking that even the mail carriers wouldn\u2019t chance it. They would come in the yard if a package came, but just to leave it on the stoop.<\/p>\n

The front door to the house didn\u2019t lock and the screen door didn\u2019t even keep out the insects that thrived on the open water Steve left out in the open, never seeming to make the connection between leaving water standing and the annoying reality of getting bit all day.<\/p>\n

One thing or another always needed repairs in the house, but Steve had long since stopped caring about his home. Many thought he cared even less for himself.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t hard to spot \u2014 the self-loathing. Steve had a mop of greying, curly hair that he would wet down in the one working sink in the laundry room. That habit was as close to showering as he would get. After soaking his unkempt hair, he would run his perpetually dirty hands through the curls to half-ass control it all. The process left his hands with a thin and disturbing coat of natural oils, sweat and an accumulation of dirt. There was a fair bit of all three. It had been a while since his last trip to the river.<\/p>\n

He had been going to the river ever since the time he climbed the fence at the local outdoor pool in the middle of the night to have a dip and wash off. The pool had to be closed for cleaning for four days after his bathing experience, and the police knew exactly who had caused it. They said nothing. Two officers just showed up at his door, let themselves in and beat the shit out of him. They would have taken him in but didn\u2019t want to stink up their car or reward Steve with the luxury of a prison cell all his own that came with \u201cthree hots and a cot.\u201d<\/p>\n

After being taught the valuable lesson to not dirty up places others used for recreation, he would drive down to the riverbank with soap and a scrub brush and the bottle of shampoo he had been saving. It only had about half an inch of shampoo left in it, but $4 for a new bottle was $4. People used to say he could be identified because if he needed to carry seven pounds of shit, he would do it with a five-lb bag. The river was brown, smelled of chemicals and other disgusting things. It seemed nothing, aside from algae could live in it, but it came with almost no cost or consequences aside from the rash he got last Fall that caused his skin to turn red and itchy for a week.<\/p>\n

Today it was still summer. Mid-July and it was gorgeous out. Being past noon, Steve got out of the cluttered space he called a bedroom, slid out of the plastic hazmat suit that was his only protection against bed bugs and into some work coveralls. He walked out his back door and unzipped all the way to his crotch and started to piss on a tree in his back yard that had seen better days. His neighbors, an older Chinese couple, were walking down the lane while he stood in full view of them. He waved and smiled with his free hand. Mr. Li looked at him with disgust and muttered something under his breath. Steve knew he could get away with his daily exposures because the Li family was his only neighbor around during the day, and he suspected they had limited command of the language needed to report him. In response, as the yellow stream continued, Steve let out a lengthy and vile sounding fart. He wondered if he had shit himself by doing it, but after burying his head in his coveralls he couldn\u2019t smell anything seriously bad. That was good enough.<\/p>\n

Steve had lived in that wretched and decrepit old derelict house for 17 years now. It had seen good times and bad. When he first bought the place, not knowing the plumbing often backed up into the basement, the back yard and the living room, he was happily married with a three-year-old son named Adam. His boy thought the world of him. For a time Steve basked in the glory of being a hero not just to his son but to the beautiful woman he had married.<\/p>\n

As Adam grew up, Steve spent endless hours with him, teaching him all the tricks and tools of a jack of all trades. He would tell him things he learned, like never pay someone to do work you can do yourself \u2014 which was just about anything \u2014 and to take full advantage of what other people throw away. His wife bought them matching overalls and plaid shirts, and they were constantly painting, sawing, hammering or scavenging for discarded items they could turn into projects.<\/p>\n

That time was before the accident.<\/p>\n

He rolled those words over in his head. Before the accident. As he half accepted and half denied that there had been an accident, Steve felt a wave of sadness come over him that nearly brought him to tears.<\/p>\n

Steve wasn\u2019t stupid. He knew his heart still pined to see his Adam smile and to hear his laugh. Hell, it would be nice if he could hear him cry and do all he could to make it better. But not being able to do so was a reality he couldn\u2019t change.<\/p>\n

Something had to happen. Something had to slacken and let him move on, but he had been stuck in the past for some time now. Steve made his way to his 1982 Ford F-150 Turbo Diesel. He had let his house go to pot, but he wasn\u2019t going to let his truck do the same. It ran loud, it had rust, but it had never failed him. He had put enough maintenance hours into his machine that it likely ran better than a lot of new vehicles. It didn\u2019t hurt that it was his dad\u2019s truck before it was his. Yes. Grampa. Another human entity that had ceased to be a going concern.<\/p>\n

Steve got in his truck and saw there was a note tucked under his windshield wiper. He got out and grabbed it, then read it. It was a form letter from Greenpeace, with the logo on it. It read:<\/p>\n

Dear Friend:<\/p>\n

It may be time to upgrade your vehicle to a cleaner and more efficient one. Did you know that the average driver can save as much as $3,000.00 a year in gas by opting for a small car and $2000.00 a year just getting regular tune-ups on older cars?<\/p>\n

Your new neighbours and friends,<\/p>\n

John and Carol.<\/p>\n

The letter came with a glossy sheet containing a cartoon picture of an angel choking on exhaust while flying above a jumble of traffic. Crumpling it up, he saw in his rear-view mirror what must have been John and Carol in the recently built house across the alley. Before he started his engine, they were standing beside their Prius smiling and waving at him. He waved back and started up the eight-cylinder diesel and tramped down on the gas. He had set up his engine to \u201cblow coal,\u201d which meant it smoked black death like a son of a bitch when he wanted it to. He could see John and Carol\u2019s faces drop and their waving lose all enthusiasm. As he went past them, he tossed the crumpled-up note at them and drove off making as much noise and smoke as possible.<\/p>\n

The drive was the same every day. Down 104th Ave up to 116 street from 95th. A left then a right, down two blocks and he was there. It was Lucy\u2019s group home. Today he could only stay for half an hour, but he just couldn\u2019t let a day go by without seeing her. Lucy had been here since being released from a psychiatric ward. She hadn\u2019t been hurt but somehow when the accident happened, she just sort of lost the will to do anything. She started chain smoking without seeming to notice she was doing so. Her face lost all the beauty of her younger days and now hadn\u2019t seen the sun in years. Steve hadn\u2019t wanted to put her in that place, but he also couldn\u2019t cope with things like adult diapers while trying to keep the mortgage paid and the truck running. But today seeing her somehow did something different to him. Usually, he would talk to Lucy, who never said anything, play a game of crib with her, counting her points and playing the game to the hilt, cheering her on and letting her win. Today something felt different. Steve had a deep pit of hurt welling up in his abdomen, and it made everything feel so bleak and depressing. He sat down next to her and just put his arm around her and rested his head on her shoulder, staying there until the last minute he could. That was all he could manage.<\/p>\n

A lot of thoughts went through Steve\u2019s mind as he drove off to the landfill site, which Steve called his \u2018trapline.\u2019 The thoughts were mages of fire, of pain of descending into a pit of unquenchable fire. He had no counsellor, no support group. All he could do was focus on driving and take deep breaths. These methods worked, especially when he was drunk, but right now there would be no more booze until he could bring in some ready cash.<\/p>\n

The day went by slowly. There were bills due. Electricity, his gas card. He had to find all the copper he could. It was dangerous and dirty work. Rummaging through the dump meant anything could happen, you could step on a hypodermic needle, you could make a mistake in your footing and break your leg. You could even fall down a mountain of waste and impale yourself on the numerous hazards. It wasn\u2019t until late in the afternoon when he found what he was looking for. A few copper pipes, just large enough to be worth recycling. It wasn\u2019t a bad haul; he needed to make two trips to his truck for all of them. Then, on the way to look for more, he found half a dozen batteries. He knew a recycler who would give him $15 a piece for them. That amount was good enough for Steve. He called it a day after lugging everything to his old Ford.<\/p>\n

Steve\u2019s sad eyes gazed out at the sun as it was beginning to get lower in the sky. This was the best time to be alive, he thought. Anticipating the sunset, feeling the cool air and navigating the roads in a finely oiled machine. The copper brought in what he wanted, and all the batteries were good. Hundred and fifty-five bucks! This was a good day. For some reason, he didn\u2019t feel off, or odd like he did earlier. Maybe just sitting and listening to his wife Lucy\u2019s heartbeat had been some kind of medicine for him. Maybe tomorrow he could get up a bit earlier and instead of his jumpsuit wear his jeans and boots and guarantee himself a hundred bucks or more down at the temp labor office. He stopped at the liquor store and bought a 24-pack of generic beer, resolving to just drink enough to drift off to sleep early so he could get up at five to head to the labor office. At the counter he bought a small pack of black-market cigars, knowing his son loved the smell of them and that it would bring back happy memories when he lit one.<\/p>\n

Steve pulled his truck into his back yard and cracked a beer, wanting to head into his house and sleep but also wanting to take a quick look at his engine. For some reason, he realized if he stopped his truck from putting out so much black diesel smoke, it would probably save him a lot on his gas bills like the letter said. Most of the time Steve didn\u2019t like to make friends with people. In fact his biggest habit in life was to shock people or piss them off, especially after he realized that this almost always caught people off guard, leaving them speechless. He opened the hood manually from the outside, set his ratchet set and toolbox down nearby and started to work.<\/p>\n

It was a funny thing; time would get away from Steve when he worked on his truck. He ended up being under the hood for two and a half hours. He was done tuning and re-oriented to normal time as a tap and a whisper from behind him sent a shiver down his spine.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello?\u201d the voice asked. Steve went to rapidly stand up and let out a string of curse words after catching a corner of his head on the open hood. He didn\u2019t like that someone had come on his property. Simultaneously, while the house the new neighbours were now in was being sold, he salvaged parts and some copper pipe from it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, what can I do for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, uh\u2026 My name is John. I left the note on your windshield this morning.\u201d He had one hand hidden behind him and then extended his free hand for a shake. John gave Steve a firm grip then looked to see his hand was now covered in grease.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yeah\u2014hey, I appreciate you doing that.\u201d Steve said. \u201cI\u2019m tuning up my truck right now so it will have less emissions.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, hey\u2014that\u2019s great, thanks a ton! We all try to do our part eh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, I guess. What\u2019s that you have hiding there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh this?\u201d John revealed a Tupperware container in his other hand. \u201cThis is for you, my wife\u2019s finest spicy chicken.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo way! That\u2019s amazing, I was just craving\u2026 I was\u2026\u201d For a brief few seconds Steve trailed off, then stopped talking and his eyes seemed to grow vacant. His mouth dropped open and his skin took on the pallor of someone in shock, as he stared blankly off in the distance.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you OK?\u201d John asked him.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah \u2014 yes. I\u2019m good. I just. I was just thinking\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, don\u2019t worry about it, I have memory slips all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, thanks. I\u2019ll be OK.\u201d Steve was far from OK. The chicken had been Adam\u2019s thing. His mother\u2019s spicy chicken, every Saturday, the one day they could spend all day together. Now there was\u2026just a faint memory.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry to disturb you uhh\u2026. Ummm..?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSteve. I\u2019m Steve.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHi Steve. I\u2019m John. I\u2019ll come back tomorrow to say hi and grab our container.\u201d<\/p>\n

Steve wondered if there was any more room in the cupboard where he stashed the Tupperware people gave him knowing one day they might come in handy. He forgot his work on the truck and the memory of Adam for a moment as he wondered how much he could bring in if he had a Tupperware party.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure, thanks John. Thanks a bunch,\u201d he said, dollar signs almost appearing in his eyes.<\/p>\n

John cautiously walked away looking back and smiling at Steve who picked up his beer and walked back into his house. Without realizing, he left the the hood on his truck open and didn\u2019t put his tools away. It was getting late, and he would need to sleep, but it didn\u2019t matter much to him anymore. He was hungry, thirsty and ready to lose himself ruminating over the past. After sitting down in his worn and duct-taped easy chair, Steve took out a piece of chicken and chewed at it. It was still a little warm and juicy. \u201cYep, just like Lucy would make,\u201d he thought to himself.<\/p>\n

After that first bite, what was to be a week\u2019s worth of beer went down one by one while the food sat untouched. After ten beers or so, Steve pulled out a cigar and lit it. It hit him like a lightning bolt. It was here. The smell of the cigar, the perfect chicken. Right in the kitchen. Was it 10 years ago now? No, it couldn\u2019t be. Steve had taken Adam fishing, and he caught one, a lovely trout, all on his own. The minute they pulled in he raced into the house to show it to his mom at just the same moment Lucy was taking a large pressure cooker full of boiling water and Pine-Sol out back to clean the gunk that had built up on their patio furniture and deck. Steve only heard a clatter, a splash and the severe shock of Adam screaming. His beloved, precious little companion had been scalded horribly and after a few moments of uncertainty they called an ambulance. For the next week, as Adam lay in his hospital bed crying and screaming in pain, nearly every waking moment it was obvious he was dying slowly. The grief was unimaginable. Steve just couldn\u2019t let go. He couldn\u2019t let go of his boy, and he could never let go of Lucy.<\/p>\n

Perhaps it was fortunate what ended up happening. A stray ash from a cigar lit just a few minutes before Steve passed out in his chair caught some loose couch stuffing on fire and soon consumed the house. The coroner confirmed that Steve had never regained consciousness and died from smoke inhalation. A quiet, peaceful ending followed by an eternal rest.<\/p>\n

A few months after the memorial service, Lucy\u2019s sister took her to see the family grave sites. As Lucy sat in a wheelchair in front of the small grave and the large one, her sister noticed tears coming out of her eyes.<\/p>\n

Out of nowhere Lucy said, \u201cWell, I guess it is time to go home now.\u201d<\/p>\n

More About the Author of This Piece: Leif Gregersen is an author, teacher, public speaker and active blogger, writing about his life journey through mental illness and recovery. You can find him on his Substack<\/a> and contact him via leif.n.gregersen@gmail.com.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It wasn\u2019t hard to spot \u2014 the self-loathing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":24,"featured_media":9321,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[20],"tags":[40],"class_list":["post-9319","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-short-fiction"],"yoast_head":"\nA Man Named Steve - The Rauch Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"In this short fiction piece by author Leif Gregersen, a man is attempting to pick up the pieces of his life after a devastating accident.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/josephrauch.com\/therauchreview\/fiction\/a-man-named-steve\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" 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