The sunlight blinded Jimmy as he slid out from under the corroding Ford F150 and stood up. He was happy. He felt his heart catching in his chest whenever he thought of her, as if he was galloping on his horse, Bartholomew, through the fields back home. Jimmy hadn't seen Karen in a day, seeing as he did not want them to become too attatched too quickly. He still felt as if he needed to experience the city some for himself, without a companion. Suddenly, a man meekly peeked around the corner of the bay doors and slowly made his way towards Jimmy.
"Good mornin' sir, how can I assist you?" Jimmy asked.
"Well, I'm looking for someone who I can give a check to. I had my car fixed the other day and didn't have the money on-hand, but I've come back with a down-payment of one hundred dollars." the man replied.
"I'm not sure I can help ya much there; Leo does most of the business stuff. I just fix cars. He's out right now, but why don't you take a seat and chat with me until he gits back?" Jimmy asked amiably.
The man reluctantly sat down and an awkward silence ensued.
"So, uh, where do ya live? What's yer name? Where ya from?" Jimmy inquired.
"My name is Henry Wilson and I live in Thallow Flats."
"OH- Thallow Flats?? That's where I live too! What floor do yer live on??"
"Uh- the fourth."
"Aw, shucks. I was thinkin' we coulda been neighbors. I live on the seventh."
"Oh."
"Well- what's yer story? How long ya lived here?"
The man hesitated, so Jimmy jumped in.
"Well, I'm from Georgia and been livin' here not longer than a month. Came to the city to get away from the country some. I reckon I needed to change my life some, break some old habits and start new. So that's why I came here."
"Ah. I've lived here for a while now, I'm not quite sure how long. My son just went away to pec- uh- boarding school, and my wife's been- uh- living in a foreign country on business."
"Hey man! You got some business!" Jimmy yelled to Leo as he walked into the garage. "Henry- there's the fella you wanna go talk to about yer car. Say- since I don't know many people and you seem like a decent feller- why don't we go out tonight? Grab a beer- well, I won't- but you can. I'll get a coffee or some coke. Whadaya say?"
"Why- sure. That sounds- nice."
"Alrighty- I suppose I'll come round to yer place round' 7."
"Okay. See you then."
Jimmy smiled to himself as Henry walked into Leo's bland, white office. He sensed lonliness or loss coming from Henry, but he figured it was because he was currently living alone. Returning to the Ford, he lifted the rusty hood to check it's innards. Karen's pretty face immediately entered his mind and he couldn't help but smile even more. Satisfied, Jimmy began to check all the parts of the engine, planning on stopping by Karen's place to give her a rose and a kiss before going out with Henry.
4 comments:
Im glad to see that a rusty car's innards brings thoughts of Karen to Jimmy's head. She must be a real looker. O yeh you're in mine so here it is.
James Gibson was wet. Here he was, stooped under some shop's overhanging roof catching his breath, while the rain pounded down all around him, making the day seem dark as night, although it was only 4: 30. He glanced in the shop's dusty window, and saw in the dim reflection somebody with his box held tightly in their arms. James let out a cry of anguish, and wheeled around to find the person who had his box, only to find out that his box was still in his arms, and the person was not there. Panting heavily, James decided that he needed to move on, in case the person came back. He looked up ahead, and saw the dim reflection of the words "Diner" in a puddle on the sidewalk, and choose that overhang as his next rest point. Checking his footing, James walked off into the rain, his box wrapped in his yellow raincoat, which he was holding in his arms and not wearing on his body. It was hard to see the cracks in this type of weather, so James moved slowly, until he hit a stretch of sidewalk that was free of cracks. He dashed wildly against the rain, as if he could outrun every drop, until he reached the Diner's overhang. Struggling to catch his breath after his mad dash, James leaned against the Diner window, and looked around inside. It was nearly empty, except for a couple in the corner, who were laughing at some joke the man had just made. The woman noticed James through the window, and gave him a cheerful wave, and her most dashing smile. All of her charm was lost on James, however, as he awkwardly turned away, tucked his box closer to him, and sat on the ground to rest his sore legs.
"Hey Jimmy, I've been meaning to ask you, who is that young man? I've seen him around a lot; I think he lives in our apartment building. Is he the delivery boy or something? Or does he always carry that box with him?" the woman questioned, like a young child after a visit to the zoo.
"Whoa, whoa, slow down there missy, too many questions," the man called Jimmy replied with a smile on his face. Taking a more somber note, he added, "I've heard some strange things about that fella right there, from Leo at the shop. Leo says that he always carries that box around, and he don't trust nobody; thinks everybody's after his box." Jimmy lowered his voice, and glanced quickly at the window, as if to make sure the young man wasn't eavesdopping and would hear him talking. "Leo says that he's.....uh.......uh.......obsidius impulsive."
"What's that?!" the woman squealed, drawing an urgent "Shhhh!" from her companion.
"Ya know, like where somebody always does somethin' a certain way, all perfect like, and they can't have it no different," Jimmy replied.
"Ooooh you mean obsessive compulsive, not obsidius impulsive you silly man," giggled the woman. Her cheerful facial expression quickly diminished as she saw the serious look on Jimmy's face.
"Karen honey, it's nothin' to laugh at. Leo told me one more thing about this poor fella. His momma died when he was just a youngin'; apparently she fell down in some open manhole on the street, and cracked her head open on the sewer down below. She died later that day in the hospital, and that poor ole' boy, James I think is his name, saw the whole thing, from her fall to her death. He thought it was the cracks that killed her, thought that she had stepped on a crack, and it swallowed her up and done killed her. To this day, that man avoids them cracks, like they were the devil himself, out to get him too."
James sat under the Diner's overhang, wanting to go home, but not wanting to get any more wet, until the rain finally abated to no more than a drizzle. He watched as the man and the woman in the diner left, and they both walked by him, under the man's large umbrella. The man avoided eye contact with James, but the woman stared at him with a sad look on her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but the man nudged her and she turned around and they both walked off into the hazy rain. James finally got to his feet, grabbed his box in his raincoat, and slowly walked the rest of the way to his apartment, carefully avoiding the cracks. Finally arriving at his building, he headed straight for the mail boxes in the foyer, and unlocked his, knowing that there would be nothing in there, because his bills didn't come until the next week. Gloomily he put his hand in the dark box, and felt around, expecting his fingers to touch nothing. However, in the corner of the box, James's index finger grazed the tip of something, and he quickly pulled the mysterious object out. It was a letter, and the delivery address was James's; therefore it could not be to the wrong person, as James initially thought. Reading the delivery address again, James's breath caught in his throat. Even after a decade, James still recognized the hand writing. His mind racing, James slowly looked to the top corner of the envelope, where the return address was. The words here confirmed his suspiscions, and James Gibson began to cry.
Dr. James Gibson, Sr.
334 West Meadowpine Drive
Detriot, MI 48208
"Dad........." he sobbed.
Barnaby. A middle-aged man of the past. Always the past. I must look in my notebook when I return to the apartment. I weave through the Sunday churchgoers. Lightly touching my skippered feet onto the sunbathed cement. The door to the atrium surprisingly stands open to intake the warmth of the air. Barnaby. I picture him in my thoughts in the dark courtroom just below the one, massive dormant ceiling fan. I do not know the reason for the oppressive room of justice and enforcement, but I do register the emotion that lies in its disturbing atmosphere. I step into my loveable kitchen and almost immediately the disconcerting and tragic image fades from my eyes. A knock sounds from my door. My pulse freezes. I am incomprehensive. Visitors. I should have none. Reaching for the doorknob, I notice the purple veins softly pulsing and protruding from my fragile hand. I pull back the door. Karen. Of course. I do have a visitor. One. Recollections of our meetings instantly become subtly translucent whenever the door opens. Somehow, our meetings that refuse to maintain sustenance throughout my daily events fall into complete normalcy when Karen formally arrives. I never fail to feel the shock of true sanity when she appears. Surprise touches the recesses of my thoughts when I see an attractive young man at her side. Now I have two. His dark, calloused, work ridden fingers jerk nervously with the bottom point of his zipper on a navy blue jacket. I can sense his discomfort at being forced to meet Karen's delusional friend. I refuse to reveal my faulty reality to this new visitor; this new young man. I feel bewilderment at my own normalcy when I say: "You must be Jimmy. How nice to meet you." He looks at me curiously and calls me "ma'm" as he asserts that he is indeed Jimmy and pleased to meet me. His voice has the soft twangs similar to that of Karen. I do not inherently know these soft tones of an accent, but it gives me a since of calm that only the soft yellow kitchen and Karen's visits can compare with. He steps inside with Karen anxiously rubbing his fingernails that have the faint line of dark colored dirt. They sit quietly at the rickety, round table, while I put water into my pink kettle for tea. I turn to see Jimmy smiling faintly at my soft, yellow kitchen. I bring teacups from my cupboard over the sink to the table. We sit and faintly discuss pleasantries such as the newfound warmth of the weather and the general dinginess of the flats. I smile at Karen as she stands to cross the room to the only exit. Jimmy courteously says he is pleased to know me, and they leave. The grimy door closes. My typical worries of uncertainty return with a dull pain. I am alone again. I lift my notebook from the used, faded green lounge chair. Set it in my lap, and flip through the pages of my past, attempting to reveal the divine mystery behind my encounters with Barnaby.
I'm glad Jimmy is making a new friend- that's cute! It's kind of funny because Ford F150s are my favorite type of truck. Maybe it will be Karen's favorite too!
Jimmy's so adorable! Barn Dance, in the hall, you and Karen. It's ON!
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