A couple of weeks had passed. Jimmy sat on the sofa in his living room, reminiscing about the previous night's date with Karen. He had borrowed one of Leo's old cars and picked her up from her shop. They drove around the city, not far from Thallow Flats, of course, and found a quiet Chinese restaurant. They talked and talked and talked, and Jimmy delighted in her smile and happiness. She reminded him of home. He thought she was adorable, especially as they were leaving, when she gasped and ran across the room to peer at the exotic fish in the tank.
"I wonder what it feels like, bein' able to breathe underwater and swim around all day!" she exclaimed.
Jimmy chuckled to himself, humming along with Prince as he sang "Little Red Corvette" in the background. He grabbed her hand, slid his other arm around her tiny waist, and walked together to the car. After he kissed her goodnight, Jimmy skipped up the stairs to his apartment, feeling so content that he slid right into bed and into a sound sleep.
Now, looking out the window, he saw the magnificent sunlight illuminate the drab cityscape surrounding him. With his feet propped up on a simple, wooden hand-made coffee table from home, Jimmy lingered over his sausage biscuit and grits. There were many things he wanted to do today, like covering the stained white walls with a pale blue paint, or maybe even build the model airplane he hadn't gotten the chance to start. Although he thoroughly enjoyed his new job, Jimmy was grateful to have a day off from Leo's dry humor and Buck's ceaseless growling.
Suddenly, he knew what he wanted to spend the day doing. He called Karen to say that they should both go out tonight and that he would come by her apartment around 6. It was 1 o'clock now, so he knew he'd have plenty of time. Running down the stairs into the lobby, Jimmy spotted Mamet, and called out to him.
"Mamet!" Jimmy's souther drawl echoed across the atrium, causing Mamet to turn around abruptly.
"Hello, Jimmy. How did your date go?"
"Well I'd say it was right nice. I'm plannin' on makin' Karen a surprise tonight, so where do ya reckon the nearest grocery is?"
Mamet thought for a second.
"I believe there's one not too far down the road, a long-ish walk. I think it's called something like Pig Wig or something," he said brusquely.
Two hours later, Jimmy returned to Thallow Flats with two paper bags full of groceries and a bouqet of fresh flowers. Once he was back in his apartment, Jimmy wrote Karen's invitation to dinner in careful calligraphy. When that was done, he began to cook like a madman- frying, baking and boiling. At around 5:30, Jimmy jumped in and out of the shower, dressed in his best outfit, grabbed a rose and the invitation and headed to Room 408. He placed them on the floor in front of the door, rang the doorbell and ran to the landing. Peeking behind the wall to see if she picked them up, Jimmy watched Karen open the door, bend down, read the note and smell the rose. He smiled. Singing "Dos Gardenias" and dancing back to his room, Jimmy stopped and thought for a moment.
He came here, to the city, to start anew. He got a job and then was robbed. A wonderful girl came into his life and wiped away his fright, his abandonment. He knew that, after all that had happened, he had no clue what could come around the corner. The city was so different from the country, so harsh, so strangely beautiful, so cold. He'd found someone who reminded him of home. Still- was he doing the right thing? Was love, while he was so naive in this new world, a good thing?
Deciding he'd finish the though later, Jimmy returned to the savory aromas of his apartment. While he waited for his date to arrive, he rearranged the bouqet of flowers on the kitchen counter for the third time, making sure they were perfect.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Jimmy's legs began to cramp as he knelt on the floor of his living room, picking up shards of glass and pieces of dill pickles and carefully placing them in a wicker trashcan. Sunlight came streaming in his windows, forming beautiful shapes on the floor. The stained glass window turned the white sunlight different hues of blue, green and red, and Jimmy felt slightly comforted, recognizing a familiar sight. Jimmy forced himself to recall the events of the dramatic, unsettling last twenty-four hours:
He arrived home yesterday to an open apartment and found his refrigerator empty of food and his guitar, signed by Lynard Skynard, missing. Frantically racing out of his apartment to look for signs of the thief on the street below, Jimmy tripped over an abandoned jar of his favorite type of pickle, shattering the jar and soaking the already water-damaged wooden floor. Still feeling the thrill of pursuit, Jimmy leapt onto his feet and raced down the stairs, through the lobby and into the daylight, whipping his head in all directions, scanning the surroundings, trying to glimpse his fire-engine red guitar. He began to run in one direction, then another, then another, until finally the unyielding forced of gravity caused him to collapse into a pathetic, panting heap on the concrete.
Jimmy rose slowly, defeated, unable to understand, unable to comprehend what had happened. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before- he had never been driven to lock his doors from the fear of intruders. He though of calling the police but didn't know the number. No friends were here to help him search for the perpetrator. Jimmy was alone. Jimmy was not at home.
Hours passed and Jimmy found himself sitting in his old, moth-eaten recliner, staring out the window, feeling empty. He didn't recall returning to his apartment. Turning around, he realized that his door stood open; rays of light from the dim overhead lamps flooded into the darkness of his living room. Jimmy fumbled for his wallet and keys in the deep pocket of his jacket, found them and left, carefully locking the door behind him. A raw numbness sat in his stomach, and he slowly felt it spreading to the farthest corners of his body.
"Why would someone do something like this? Why would they take my guitar? My guitar... my guitar! Dad... dad!"
The rumbling of his stomach interrupted Jimmy's thoughts, so he headed for the Tavern; "One beer won't hurt- right? "
Part of him pleaded with him to not go inside the Tavern, to simply find a diner. But Jimmy felt the hunger deep inside, the hunger that didn't want food, the hunger that longed for escape. It longed to numb the shock, to take him away from this new place, to help him feel at home, to fix his problems. Frightened of the past and the could-be future, Jimmy gathered his strength and fought the hunger. He just needed a beer. One wouldn't hurt. He would be fine.
Jimmy walked blindly into the dimness and headed straight to the bar. He asked for a Bud, but pulled the bartender aside and asked him to only give him one beer, even if he demanded more. A lone man sat on the center bar stool, slumped over a glass that was one of an astonishing number of empty ones, which were spread out next to him. The two men made eye contact and Jimmy approached him.
"You know whar the nearest diner is 'round here?"
"Take a right outta here and it'll be a couple of blocks down," the man replied.
A silence followed.
"So- I'm James. And what's a young guy like you doin' in this shit-hole?" the man asked.
Before Jimmy could answer, the door opened and a beautiful woman walked in. The strange man immediately focused all of his attention on her, and had no more words for Jimmy. Deciding that it was worthless to be in a bar that had customers as miserable as that man, Jimmy drained his glass and went into the night, searching for a place to eat.
He arrived home yesterday to an open apartment and found his refrigerator empty of food and his guitar, signed by Lynard Skynard, missing. Frantically racing out of his apartment to look for signs of the thief on the street below, Jimmy tripped over an abandoned jar of his favorite type of pickle, shattering the jar and soaking the already water-damaged wooden floor. Still feeling the thrill of pursuit, Jimmy leapt onto his feet and raced down the stairs, through the lobby and into the daylight, whipping his head in all directions, scanning the surroundings, trying to glimpse his fire-engine red guitar. He began to run in one direction, then another, then another, until finally the unyielding forced of gravity caused him to collapse into a pathetic, panting heap on the concrete.
Jimmy rose slowly, defeated, unable to understand, unable to comprehend what had happened. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before- he had never been driven to lock his doors from the fear of intruders. He though of calling the police but didn't know the number. No friends were here to help him search for the perpetrator. Jimmy was alone. Jimmy was not at home.
Hours passed and Jimmy found himself sitting in his old, moth-eaten recliner, staring out the window, feeling empty. He didn't recall returning to his apartment. Turning around, he realized that his door stood open; rays of light from the dim overhead lamps flooded into the darkness of his living room. Jimmy fumbled for his wallet and keys in the deep pocket of his jacket, found them and left, carefully locking the door behind him. A raw numbness sat in his stomach, and he slowly felt it spreading to the farthest corners of his body.
"Why would someone do something like this? Why would they take my guitar? My guitar... my guitar! Dad... dad!"
The rumbling of his stomach interrupted Jimmy's thoughts, so he headed for the Tavern; "One beer won't hurt- right? "
Part of him pleaded with him to not go inside the Tavern, to simply find a diner. But Jimmy felt the hunger deep inside, the hunger that didn't want food, the hunger that longed for escape. It longed to numb the shock, to take him away from this new place, to help him feel at home, to fix his problems. Frightened of the past and the could-be future, Jimmy gathered his strength and fought the hunger. He just needed a beer. One wouldn't hurt. He would be fine.
Jimmy walked blindly into the dimness and headed straight to the bar. He asked for a Bud, but pulled the bartender aside and asked him to only give him one beer, even if he demanded more. A lone man sat on the center bar stool, slumped over a glass that was one of an astonishing number of empty ones, which were spread out next to him. The two men made eye contact and Jimmy approached him.
"You know whar the nearest diner is 'round here?"
"Take a right outta here and it'll be a couple of blocks down," the man replied.
A silence followed.
"So- I'm James. And what's a young guy like you doin' in this shit-hole?" the man asked.
Before Jimmy could answer, the door opened and a beautiful woman walked in. The strange man immediately focused all of his attention on her, and had no more words for Jimmy. Deciding that it was worthless to be in a bar that had customers as miserable as that man, Jimmy drained his glass and went into the night, searching for a place to eat.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Apt. 714
"Good luck!" Jimmy's mother cried as he hung up the phone.
Jimmy Lee crossed the pale yellow kitchen, walked through his living room and stopped. He liked the urban feel of his new apartment, although the apartment itself was definitely not new. Glancing at his favorite stained glass window, he exited his apartment without locking the door. Jimmy made his way to the staircase, which smelled of stale urine and food, and walked down all seven fights. Once outside, he realized that he left his wallet on his bedside table, so he reluctantly trudged back up the stairs to his apartment, #714, and happily emerged from the stairs into the fresh air once again. Jimmy didn't like elevators.
With a nervous look around his new block, Jimmy headed towards the grungy auto-shop next door. He entered the grim darkness of the shop through the open bay doors, and when his eyes adjusted, Jimmy noticed an old man sitting in a white plastic chair in the back left corner of the shop. A big black dog laying next to the man began to utter a low, guttural growl.
"Excuse me, sir, I been wonderin' whether you in need of a new mechanic," Jimmy said.
The old man did not respond.
"Mah daddy's got an aut-oh shop down in Georgia, and I been workin' there since I been 15. I'm 21 now."
Nothing.
"I sure do got a lot of experience, sir. I been learnin' bout cars since I been 5."
All of a sudden the dog leapt to it's feet, barking, snarling and spitting, straining at it's leash which was tied to the wall.
"SHUT UP ya good-fa-nothin' dog!" yelled a large elderly man with a peculiar accent Jimmy had never heard before.
"Can I help you?" the man asked Jimmy gruffly.
"Yes, sir. I came to see if you been needin' another mechanic 'round here. I been learnin' 'bout aut-ohs fer 15 years and been workin' on 'em fer 6. My daddy owns a garage down-"
"Yeah, yeah, whatevuh. So you say you're good with cars?"
"Why yes sir, if I do say so myself."
"Den if you're so good, go take a look at dat Honda right there and tell me what's wrong."
Jimmy walked over to the jacked-up car, peered inside, and noticed that the engine block was cracked. He told the man what was wrong.
"Good. So- uh- what's ya name and where ya from?"
"My name is Jimmy Lee, sir, and I'm from Blairsville, Georgia. I like to hunt and fish and listen to the Buena Vista Social Club."
"Well, Jimmy, I'm Leo and I'm from Brooklyn. Dere ain't much huntin' and fishin' 'round here, but that Buena Vista Social Club sure is somethin' else. That's all I play in this garage. Tell ya what, come back tomorrow, and if ya do good work, ya hired."
"Thank ya sir, thank ya right much!"
Jimmy walked calmly out of the shop into the bright sunlight, and as soon as he was out of sight, a big "YEEHAW!" and a jig erupted right out of his tall frame. He took the steps two at a time, not noticing the two kids writing graffiti on the wall, anxious to tell his momma the news. When he reached his landing, Jimmy sprinted down the hall to his apartment. His feet stopped five feet from his door and his pulse quickened. Slowly creeping forward, Jimmy was shocked to find the door wide open.
Jimmy Lee crossed the pale yellow kitchen, walked through his living room and stopped. He liked the urban feel of his new apartment, although the apartment itself was definitely not new. Glancing at his favorite stained glass window, he exited his apartment without locking the door. Jimmy made his way to the staircase, which smelled of stale urine and food, and walked down all seven fights. Once outside, he realized that he left his wallet on his bedside table, so he reluctantly trudged back up the stairs to his apartment, #714, and happily emerged from the stairs into the fresh air once again. Jimmy didn't like elevators.
With a nervous look around his new block, Jimmy headed towards the grungy auto-shop next door. He entered the grim darkness of the shop through the open bay doors, and when his eyes adjusted, Jimmy noticed an old man sitting in a white plastic chair in the back left corner of the shop. A big black dog laying next to the man began to utter a low, guttural growl.
"Excuse me, sir, I been wonderin' whether you in need of a new mechanic," Jimmy said.
The old man did not respond.
"Mah daddy's got an aut-oh shop down in Georgia, and I been workin' there since I been 15. I'm 21 now."
Nothing.
"I sure do got a lot of experience, sir. I been learnin' bout cars since I been 5."
All of a sudden the dog leapt to it's feet, barking, snarling and spitting, straining at it's leash which was tied to the wall.
"SHUT UP ya good-fa-nothin' dog!" yelled a large elderly man with a peculiar accent Jimmy had never heard before.
"Can I help you?" the man asked Jimmy gruffly.
"Yes, sir. I came to see if you been needin' another mechanic 'round here. I been learnin' 'bout aut-ohs fer 15 years and been workin' on 'em fer 6. My daddy owns a garage down-"
"Yeah, yeah, whatevuh. So you say you're good with cars?"
"Why yes sir, if I do say so myself."
"Den if you're so good, go take a look at dat Honda right there and tell me what's wrong."
Jimmy walked over to the jacked-up car, peered inside, and noticed that the engine block was cracked. He told the man what was wrong.
"Good. So- uh- what's ya name and where ya from?"
"My name is Jimmy Lee, sir, and I'm from Blairsville, Georgia. I like to hunt and fish and listen to the Buena Vista Social Club."
"Well, Jimmy, I'm Leo and I'm from Brooklyn. Dere ain't much huntin' and fishin' 'round here, but that Buena Vista Social Club sure is somethin' else. That's all I play in this garage. Tell ya what, come back tomorrow, and if ya do good work, ya hired."
"Thank ya sir, thank ya right much!"
Jimmy walked calmly out of the shop into the bright sunlight, and as soon as he was out of sight, a big "YEEHAW!" and a jig erupted right out of his tall frame. He took the steps two at a time, not noticing the two kids writing graffiti on the wall, anxious to tell his momma the news. When he reached his landing, Jimmy sprinted down the hall to his apartment. His feet stopped five feet from his door and his pulse quickened. Slowly creeping forward, Jimmy was shocked to find the door wide open.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
On the way to school...
I had a semi-difficult time getting to school this morning because Hagrid came by my house and needed to talk. Apparently BuckBeak has been flakey lately and didn't meet him in Diagon Alley OR at the Three Broomsticks on Monday. Anyway, Hagrid emerged from the shadows as I was getting in the car and begged me to stay and chat. We ended up making tea, watching Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and making fun of BuckBeak the entire time. It was such a great way to start the morning!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)