The following is an excerpt of my short story The Apartment.
Jimmy Clothier set his briefcase on the kitchen floor. He started for the fridge when he smelled cigarette smoke. Once before, when he first moved in to the unit, he had smelled his upstairs neighbour’s cooking. Then there had been some deterioration of the kitchen ventilation system. That was easily repaired by the building management.
Jimmy stooped beneath the stove intake vent and gave it a good sniff. Nothing. It was likely that someone had decided to sneak a cigarette in the hall without the knowledge of their wary spouse, he thought. Jimmy plucked a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon from the fridge and went into the living room.
“Care to share?”
Jimmy nearly dropped his beer. On the opposite side of the living room sat a statuesque blonde woman. Legs crossed, she smoothed one hand across her dark dress. She took a long drag on her cigarette and looked thoughtfully at Jimmy.
“Actually I would prefer something stronger. That is if you have it.”
Jimmy opened his beer and took a long drink.
“What’s the matter have you never seen a woman before?”
Jimmy started laughing. “You must be cracking up buddy. Just like in the old days, when we were kids. You’d have those waking dreams. All of sudden you would imagine that a fern plant was a hobo right in your living room. Then there was that time when Babe Ruth showed up in the garage. That stuff hasn’t happened in years. I must be working too damn hard.”
“Do you always refer to yourself in the third person? It’s a little odd.”
Jimmy laughed again. He went over to the chair for a closer look. He waved a hand in front of him. It passed right through where the woman’s chest should have been.
“If you’re gonna be that way you could at least offer me a drink.”
“This is really funny. It just seems so real.”
“That’s because I am real.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Hmm.”
“I think I spend too much time alone. I’m starting to see things.”
“You’re not seeing things.”
“Okay, I’ll play along. So do you come here often? Where are you from?”
“I live here.”
“That’s funny. I’ve lived here for about six months now and I’ve never seen you.”
“Actually it’s seven and a half, and I was glad when you moved in. The last tenant had a small child. Three years old. Kids that age are pretty good at sensing things. I had to spend most of my time in the front closet. Not too much of a life really. Then you came along and I was hopeful.”
“Huh. That’s interesting. Actually those people seemed like kind of a pain in the ass to me.”
“Tell me about it.”
Jimmy held out his beer. “Care for a sip.”
The woman laughed and rolled her eyes. “Thank you, but I can’t. I’m watching my weight.”
“That’s good. I mean not that you really need to. Hah. This is great. Thirty-five years old and I’m just now getting an imaginary friend.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. What’s the deal? You’re not a bad looking guy. Unless maybe, you don’t like girls?”
“I like them a lot when they’re not a pain in the ass, which is almost never.”
The woman laughed so hard she coughed.
“We are good at that aren’t we? Men’s reactions are always priceless. Especially when they try to fix everything. That part makes it all worthwhile. They are so determined that they have all the answers. Oh, I miss those days.”
“Well I think it’s time to get back to reality before I fall off the edge of the world. Ball game is starting.”
“I never really watched it much to be honest with you.”
Jimmy flipped on the remote and continued to hit the up button until he found the sports channel. “Okay now is about the time when you were just leaving. This figment of my imagination was kind of cool at first, but now it’s just getting a little weird.”
“So you’re sending me back to the closet?”
“Okay, whoever you are. You can go now.”
“I was here before you. At least you could be a good host.”
“Unbelievable. How can the Jays be losing to Kansas City? Okay seriously, if you’ve always been in my head, how come I have never seen you before?”
The woman took a long drag of her cigarette. “That’s because I’m not inside your head. I live here.”
“That’s funny. I’m pretty sure I don’t know you. I mean you don’t resemble anyone I have ever come across in my life. You do remind me a little of Lauren Bacall. But that’s about it.
“That’s cute. I thought about doing the dye job thing, but it’s just not me. Lauren Bacall? That’s nice. I like that. Although I think you really you should watch some more recent movies.”
Jimmy nodded. “So you just kind of hang around here like a ghost?”
“Stop it. I am a resident here. This is my place.”
“So can you watch me all the time, like a spirit?”
“Honestly you’re really not that interesting. Especially those things you do in the bathroom. If you ever get a girl over here, don’t do those things.”
“I really don’t want to do this anymore.”
“So you want me to go back to the closet?”
“Yes. I mean no. I mean. What are you doing here? Why is this happening?”
“IT is happening because you moved into my place. We could have a relationship that would make August Strindberg blush, but I really don’t want that.”
“Relationship? I think I’m starting to like this imaginary friend thing.”
“Don’t get any great ideas. I can’t fuck you. I’ve already figured that one out.”
“Whoah. I never said anything like that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“Well you are pretty good looking. If for some reason I am going to have an imaginary friend, I’m glad it’s you.”
“Whatever floats your boat. Just stop calling me imaginary. It makes me feel weird.”
“Okay. I guess. So this is a thing?”
“It’s not a THING. You live here now, with me. I don’t really have much of a choice in roommates, but I think you’re okay.”
“This place is fucked up. I could put in a request for another unit. Might take a while though.”
“May I ask you to reconsider? I really don’t want any weirdos living here. You are relatively normal. It’s a definite plus.”
Jimmy stood up and walked closer to the chair where the woman sat. He looked closer into her eyes. Her expression remained unchanged. A smile crept across her face.
“I have errands to run. I will leave you to your baseball and I will see you later.”
“Hey wait.”
But the woman was gone. Jimmy ran his hand back and forth across the place where the woman had sat. But there was nothing. He sat down in the chair and ran his hand over the wood on the seat. It felt cold.
Jimmy stood up. He paced to the front door and then back to the chair. He tried it again. Still no sign of the woman. He went to the kitchen and then darted back into the living room. But the woman wasn’t there. Jimmy picked up his beer. He unlatched the lock on the balcony door and stepped outside. He watched a teenage couple argue in the parking lot. Apparently sensing his presence the boy looked up at him. Jimmy averted his eyes to focus instead on the light traffic travelling East on the Gardiner Expressway. He watched the lights whiz by for a moment, then decided to head back inside.
Jimmy found neither sign of the woman nor any trace of the cigarette smoke. He went to the fridge and pulled another can of beer from the plastic ring. He shook his head at the thought of the woman. It had to be a mirage. It was kind of like driving too long in the desert, he thought. Or the white line fever the highway truck drivers sometimes complained about. He opened a can of stew and poured it into a pot. He turned the burner on medium and returned to the living room and the ball game.
The next day Jimmy rushed home eagerly from work, opting to skip the grocery store trip he so desperately needed. He unlocked his door and raced into the living room. The chair that the woman had occupied was empty. Jimmy walked the perimeter of his apartment looking for any signs of cigarette smoke but found none. He realized he could not sit still. He scooped his car keys from the kitchen counter and left the apartment.
“Jimmy! Fancy seeing you here on a Wednesday night. Girl trouble?”
“Something like that.”
The bartender placed a pint of Molson Canadian on the bar in front of Jimmy.
“Glad to see you. Pretty dead here tonight.”
“It’s baseball season. So everyone’s home playing poker.”
A girl sitting two seats away from Jimmy started to snicker. She did not look at Jimmy or the bartender but drew on the straw in her drink and kept her eyes trained on the baseball game.
Jimmy clapped. “Well at least we have one baseball fan here.”
The girl put her drink down on the bar and looked at Jimmy directly, catching him off guard.In an attempt to avoid an awkward moment, Jimmy quickly jumped in. “Do you follow baseball?”
“Unfortunately. I had a boyfriend who played for the Syracuse Chiefs. The Jays called him up but he never saw the field except for practice. He eventually got picked up by Tampa Bay. That was the end of that. And now, I watch baseball.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Not really. But he got me hooked on this game so I guess I didn’t come away empty handed.”
“Hmm. Krista this lady looks like she is running a little low. Bring her another one of those.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it much.”
“No problem. You look about the same as I feel.”
“I guess maybe. I’m Dawn.”
“Jimmy.”
“Nice to meet you. Fellow baseball fan.”
The bartender set a Cosmopolitan down in front of Dawn.
“Thanks. Damn I wish you could still smoke in these places. Do you smoke?”
“A cigar, once in a while.”
“Oh.”
Dawn tucked the cigarette pack back in her pocket. “Bad habit anyway.”
Jimmy took a long drink of his beer. “You’ve gotta have something.”
“That’s true. Cheers.”
Dawn raised her glass toward Jimmy and he clinked it.
“To Wednesdays.”
“To Wednesdays. Good old hump day. I guess at least maybe for some.”
“Not for me.”
“I hear that.”
“You never heard from your baseball player again?”
“Nope.”
“Maybe you should try another sport.”
Dawn eyed Jimmy coyly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound as cruel as it came out.”
“That’s okay. I like your sense of humour. If you don’t mind my asking what kind of girl trouble are you having?”
Jimmy set his beer on the bar. He eyed Dawn squarely.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Sure. I’ll give you my best opinion. Although I can’t guarantee it’ll benefit you in any way. I am somewhat drunk.”
“I’m not. I’m also not crazy. Although two minutes from now you might think so.”
“Okay. Mr. Jimmy tell me your troubles.”
“Alright. I came home the other day and there was a girl in my apartment.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh but I think I’ve had this dream before. I hate it when I wake up and he’s gone.”
“It wasn’t a dream. She was really there.”
“That’s different. What do you do for a living?”
“I sell software for an IBM partner company.”
“And do you work a lot of hours?”
“Yes. But that’s not the point. The thing is I came home to my place and she was there.”
“Was she lost? I mean did she somehow get into your apartment by mistake?”
“No. I don’t think so. She said she lived there.”
“I don’t really buy into a lot of that shit. But my sister is seriously into studying ghosts. She calls it Paranormal Activity. She wanted to try and make a living out of it, but there isn’t much of a call for Ghostbusters these days.”
“So you believe me?”
“Well you don’t look crazy to me. Sometimes shit happens that we just can’t explain. My advice is for you to confront this thing head on. Ask her what the fuck she’s doing there and then tell her to get the fuck out. If that fails call the Vatican. Just joking. But seriously dude, do you like living there? Or do you have like some brutal lease?”
“I like it there.”
“Well then my advice to you is to tell this chick to go.”
Jimmy returned to his apartment. He dropped his keys on the counter and surveyed the place. Although he felt more than a little strange, he felt a need to do a more in depth search of his place. Jimmy dropped to his knees. He took a good long look under the couch. He then checked the bathroom. He walked out onto the balcony and took a look around. He sat down on the couch. The girl was nowhere to be found.
Jimmy went to the kitchen. There were two beers left on the plastic ring in the fridge. He grabbed the plastic ring by an empty loop and took it out. He added ‘buy beer’ to the grocery list on the fridge door and headed into the living room to watch the baseball game.
Jimmy tossed and turned in a fitful sleep until he realized he was being disturbed by the sound of TV channels continuously being flipped. His first reaction was that his neighbor, a young tradesman had returned home from a late shift. Then he realized that the sound was much closer. Jimmy stepped out of bed and headed for the living room. He stopped just before he reached the front foyer. He sniffed the air for cigarette smoke but didn’t notice any.
“Is that you in my living room?”
“Gimme a whiskey, ginger ale on the side.”
The voice was that of Greta Garbo eminating from the TV.
“Are you in there?”
“Would you be shocked if I put on something more comfortable?”
This time it was Jean Harlow.
“All of these channels and still can’t find anything on.”
Jimmy entered his living room to find the woman sitting in the chair watching a flickering TV screen. She fished a cigarette out of the pack and lit up. Feeing his balance become unsteady, Jimmy sat down on the couch. The woman smiled warmly at him. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at her, and instead spoke in the direction of the TV.
“You’re back.”
The woman only smiled. Jimmy shook his head, he tried to stand up, but then sat back down again.
“I still don’t believe this is happening.”
“Nor do I. I’ve been so lonely for so long and now I have you. I’m sure you must have been lonely too.”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”
“You don’t have to be lonely anymore, now you have me.”
“But I don’t have you. I don’t even know what you’re doing here. Where did you come from?”
“I moved in here in 1972.”
“And when did you leave?”
“I’ve always lived here. I just didn’t want to freak you out when you first moved in.”
“I mean when did you…die?”
“That’s very personal. I don’t feel comfortable discussing it. It’s all irrelevant anyway. Except maybe for the physical part. I may disappoint you there but I’m sure we can find a way around it.”
“Who are you?”
“No, I just don’t feel that you accept me yet. I wouldn’t want you getting any wrong ideas about me. I like you. I’m trying to make a good impression.”
“What is your name?”
“Elizabeth.”
“I’m Jimmy.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Jimmy stood up. He approached Elizabeth slowly. She sat looking up at him smiling.
“Elizabeth?”
“Yes?”
“It’s time for you to go.”
“I won’t leave here. I can’t. I’m not making that mistake again.”
“I live here now and you don’t. You need to go.”
“There is nowhere for me to go. Besides maybe I can help you.”
“The best thing you can do for me is leave.”
“Don’t do this to me. I want to stay here with you.”
“Leave now.”
“If that’s the way you want it. I’ll go.”
“And how will I know you’re really gone?”
“You’ll feel me gone.”
Jimmy found himself staring at an empty chair. He felt a chill run down his spine. He immediately went to his bedroom and slipped on his bath robe. He tipped the chair back, tucked it under his arms and pulled it out into the hall. He tipped it sideways and stood it up on one leg but found he still couldn’t get the right armrest all the way into the elevator.
“Can I give you a hand with that?”
Jimmy attempted a smile at his next door neighbor standing in front of the elevator.
“Thanks.”
“I think if you pull and I push, we might just get it in.”
“But then where will you…”
“I’ll wait for the next one.”
With some amount of jostling the chair was fit into the elevator. As the door closed Jimmy hit the button for P1, the first level of the parking garage and home to the building’s garbage room.
“Thanks Krista.”
“Cheers Hon.”
Jimmy put his lips to the cold pint glass and took a long drink.
“Ahhh. There’s nothing like that first sip is there? I mean the other ones are pretty good too. But that first sip.”
“Sure you get to sit on that side of the bar. Go rub it in why don’t you? By the way did you ever solve that girl problem of yours?”
“I think so. I mean I actually don’t know.”
“What did you do?”
“I just told in a not too polite way that she should leave. I haven’t heard from her since.” Jimmy took another drink of his beer. “She could still be there, maybe she’s just making herself invisible the way they do you know?” You wanna know something really fucking stupid though?”
“What now?”
“It’s been two weeks and I actually find myself missing her.”
“You know that girl Susan you were talking to a few weeks ago? She’s been coming in on Wednesdays a lot. Maybe you should break pattern. You know what I mean? Come in here on a Wednesday. She’s not too shabby and she’s no head case the way most of us are.”
“I don’t think I’m interested in dating right now.”
“I used to read a lot of Leonard Cohen when I was a student. He had this line ‘I’m fucking the dead people now’.”
“Very funny.”
“I guess it’s a lot easier having an imaginary friend. They usually don’t talk back.”
“This one did. I think that’s what I liked about her. She had a lot of character. Kind of like the girl who plays hard to get, but sticks around anyway.”
“I had a neighbor like that once. He knew a little bit about everything. He was so cool to talk to, but he never came onto me. I wanted to get into his pants so bad, but he ignored my signals.”
“I don’t know what to do. All of a sudden my place seems so empty. It kind of gets you down. She told me that she knew things and that she could help me. What do you think she knows?”
“Who knows? She’s dead right? She’s probably even watches you when you take a pee. Have you tried talking to her?”
“I’ve tried that.”
“Nothing?”
Jimmy shook his head and took a long drink of his beer.
“You know what? I think I will break pattern.”
“Hey, good for you.”
“I’m going to break pattern by ordering a shot of Jack Daniels to go with this.”
Jimmy slowed as he passed by the garbage room in his parking garage. Through the open door he could see his chair leaning up against the same wall where he had left it. Why was it still there? Did it not fit in the garbage truck. Maybe someone scooped it up and brought it home and then their wife rejected it.
Nonetheless there it stood. Jimmy backed his car up to the door of the garbage room. He was able to fit half of the chair in his trunk. He rigged up a bungee cord to hold down the trunk long enough to get to his parking space.
Jimmy was glad that he had learned the right way to fit the chair into the elevator from the first time around. He sat in his living room and stared at it. He had opened a beer for himself and placed a glass of red wine on the armrest of the chair for Elizabeth. Jimmy walked over to the chair. He eyed the wine carefully before sitting back down on the couch. He picked up his beer and took a drink.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like the wine? Maybe I should have given you milk and cookies. Might’ve pissed you off enough to ask for something else. You know if you don’t show up soon I might change my mind and start seeing someone else.”
Jimmy looked at the chair and waited, but nothing happened.
“Fuck. I can’t take sitting here alone anymore and talking to myself.”
Jimmy opened the door on the end table beside him and pulled out the yellow pages. He held his beer with his left hand while he thumbed through the Escort ads.
“That looks pretty good.”
He dialed the bolded phone number on the bottom of an ad that featured a girl who looked eerily like Elizabeth.
“Yes, I’d like an escort please. Well actually I was hoping I could get the girl in the ad. Why is that funny? No I don’t wish I could have the mannequin when I go to Sears. Do you? Hello? Fine well do you have a girl who looks like that model? Great, I’ll give you my address.”
Within thirty minutes Jimmy’s intercom system buzzed. The girl that appeared at his door looked very much like the girl in the ad except that she wore a grey jogging suit and had her hair in a ponytail.
“Wow, you guys are faster than Mamma’s Pizza.”
“Yeah and we smell different.”
“So this is it?”
The girl patted the side of the suitcase she held.
“Honey you called ‘Show Girls’ escorts. I can be anything you want me to be. I transform. So what’ll it be? I can do French Maid, Supergirl, Madonna?”
“Which Madonna?”
“’Over The Border Line era’. Early Madonna. Slutty and hot.”
“That sounds good.”
“Where’s your bathroom?”
Within five minutes the girl emerged from the bathroom. She had Madonna’s early look down pat, right down to the mole above her lip.
“That is pretty good.”
“So what’s your pleasure?”
“What?”
“What are you into? Do you want me to whip you? You wanna be spanked? Or do you just want to fuck? I’ll tell you right now that anal is not in my job description. Anything else goes.”
“Oh, well I don’t want to have sex with you. I mean you are pretty hot, but that’s not why I called.”
“So what’s the deal?”
“Can we go out in the hall for a minute?”
“Okay?”
They stepped out into the hall and Jimmy closed the door carefully behind them.
“Here’s the thing. The reason why I called you is that I want to make someone jealous.”
“Where is she?”
“She lives in my living room. I probably should have shown you. She sits in a chair on the other side of the room. I know you can’t see her but I’m sure she’s there.”
“Look, I don’t know what weird shit you’re into all I know is that I don’t want to wind up in your freezer before the end of the night. You, are going to wait here. I am going to go in there and get changed. And then I’m going to leave.”
“Can you at least strut around a bit in there?”
“I have mace and I know how to use it. Wait here.”
Jimmy sat down on the hall floor and leaned up against the wall. Within ten minutes his door opened and the girl appeared.
“You know normally I’m supposed to charge a twenty-five dollar minimum fee. But this is just too fucking weird and I don’t want to fill out the paperwork at the office. Goodbye.”
Jimmy stepped back into his apartment that now seemed emptier than ever.
“There I hope you’re happy. You won’t give me the time of day and yet I can’t seem to have anyone else here.”
Jimmy could smell the cigarette smoke. He looked over at the chair.
“Uh, uh. I’m over here.”
Elizabeth stood leaning against the balcony door.
“You’re back?”
“Um, yeah, back. By the way, that whole chair thing. That was very touching. An interesting approach, but very motivating.”
Jimmy walked toward Elizabeth.
“That’s close enough for now, okay? Any closer and things are gonna get a little weird, for you.”
“Okay.”
Jimmy took a seat in Elizabeth’s chair.
“That girl that was here, is it serious?”
Jimmy blushed with embarrassment.
“I’m just teasing. Makeup was pretty good. I was hoping she would sing.”
“She was no one.”
“I know that you dummy.”
“I’m just glad you’re back.”
“You know those were some pretty mean things you said to me. I could have gone ten years without you ever seeing me again. I’ve done it before. Then of course someone always brings over a dog that won’t stop barking. Makes it hard for me to keep quiet.”
“So you were here all the time? You’re always here.”
“Well, almost always. Like I told you before there are other things I need to do.”
“So where do you go?”
“That I can’t show you.”
“Why not?”
“It would drive you mad and I can’t have that.”
“Well, I want to see you all the time. Can we arrange that?”
“First of all I need my space, just as much as you do. And then there are things you would see that you wouldn’t like.”
Jimmy was dumbfounded. He couldn’t look directly at Elizabeth, but just stared at the wall.
“Jimmy don’t be sad. You can talk to me anytime you want and I’ll listen. When I can, I’ll make my presence known. That’s the best I can give you, for now. But I am going to tell you something. If you can’t see me, don’t go out of your way to try and find me. Some people who have lived here and sensed me tried all kinds of things. Noise detectors and other things. It gets pretty annoying. Some of that equipment is getting pretty sophisticated these days. There is a chance that you might actually wind up seeing something you didn’t want to see. I will have to leave and you won’t see me again.”
“Okay. I’ll give it my best try.”
“How can I help you sir?”
“I need some equipment for my apartment.”
“Alright. How many doors and windows do you have?”
“Well, it’s a one bedroom apartment. One balcony door, a front door and a bedroom window.”
“And what floor do you live on?”
“Twenty-third.”
“Okay. Well our solution for an apartment that size would be to wire the front door and balcony door.”
“What about the bedroom window?”
“Typically it would be near impossible for anyone to break in that way so you don’t have a lot to worry about.”
“What if I wanted to keep someone in?”
“I’m sorry sir, I should have asked if you have children.”
“Oh, no I don’t. Okay here’s the thing. I have a spirit living in my house and I want to be able to track whether she is coming or going.”
“I really don’t think I can help you there.”
“I’m sure you must have some sort of infrared motion sensor or something.”
“Only for tracking the movement of people. I can’t guarantee that anything is going to help you with spirits. It would be wrong of me to sell it to you.”
“Is there anything you can recommend?”
“I go to trade shows a couple of times a year to see the new stuff and keep tabs with suppliers. There is a guy in Pennsylvania who sells the kind of stuff you need. You can probably find him on the internet. Until now I always wondered who buys that stuff. Maybe I should start carrying it. Trouble is I would never be able to get my daughter out of the store.”
Jimmy wheeled the dolly into the middle of the living room. He hauled a massive Yucca plant onto the floor and pushed it in front of the balcony door. The other Yucca plant, he placed by the front door. He inspected each plant carefully to ensure that the motion sensor devices tucked into the pots were well concealed and yet fully functional.
Thank you for reading an excerpt of The Apartment please write to me for the full story
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Ten Bucks and a Bottle of Whiskey
“What you got?”
“Ten bucks and a bottle of whiskey.”
“You can leave the whiskey with me. The ten bucks you will need over there.I am supposed to ask you if you realize what you are getting yourself into, but by the looks of you I would say that you already know. Go on.”
“Thank you.”
Dexter Posh opened the door that led to a closet sized office. A man in glasses and a charcoal grey suit ushered him to sit in the opposing chair.
“I assume you have something for me?”
“I was told the going rate was ten dollars and a tip for the door man.”
“What did you bring him?”
“A bottle of whiskey.”
The man in glasses nodded. He leaned back in his chair. He glanced up at the single light bulb hanging over his desk for a moment then back at Dexter.
“You realize that the service we are providing here is not assisted suicide. We merely provide guidance to those who need help in ensuring a smooth process.”
“I understand”
“Good. Now explain to me why you want to do this?”
“I’m tired of helping people and not getting any reward for it.”
“But that is the way the world works.”
“That’s just it. Why bother putting all your time and effort into it when people are going to ruin everything anyway?”
“That is why they need you.”
“I think it would be worthwhile for all of us if we stopped helping them. Let them fend for themselves.”
“They would die. And that would create a whole other problem for us.”
“I suppose.”
“Maybe all you need is a nice vacation.”
“It wouldn’t help. Look I gave you my ten dollars, now do I have your cooperation or not?”
“You understand why we provide this service?”
“Yes.”
“I have convinced many others like you against taking such drastic actions.”
“You’re not convincing me of anything. I want out.”
“You realize that you will, in the future, be adding to the problem? And you will be back.”
“It is no longer my problem and I won’t ask you for anything more. “
“Oh but when you're there, you will."
“I won’t be back. I’ll find a way to stop that.”
“That’s an interesting idea. I look forward to hearing all about it when you come back.”
“If we’re done, I think I’m ready now.”
“Good then you will need this.”
The man handed him a dark blue suit.
“Just put this on and you’ll be all set.”
Posh held the suit out, considering it a moment. He looked down at his own white robe, now frayed and graying.
“There is a restroom in there if you’ll feel more comfortable.”
The man gestured to a door to his left. Posh went into the restroom. He emerged wearing the suit.
“You are free to go.”
Posh opened the door to the office. He looked back at the man for some further indication, but the man’s face remained passive. Posh stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He was instantly met by the stone cold glare of the door man.
“That way, Mr. Posh.”
The doorman gestured to a door at the far end of the hall.
Posh stepped slowly past the door man fearing some opposition but there was none. As Posh walked he began to feel that the hallway was getting longer and longer before him. Just when he was starting to wonder if he would ever reach the end, all at once the hallway shortened. Posh took one last look at his dark surroundings and opened the door.
Dexter Posh found himself standing on a busy street corner. He couldn’t immediately recognize which city he was in nor did he care. He already knew they were all the same anyway. He looked up at the sky. Up where they were. He felt victorious. Looking up there now, he no longer wondered what he was missing, but realized what he had lost when he left.
“Ten bucks and a bottle of whiskey.”
“You can leave the whiskey with me. The ten bucks you will need over there.I am supposed to ask you if you realize what you are getting yourself into, but by the looks of you I would say that you already know. Go on.”
“Thank you.”
Dexter Posh opened the door that led to a closet sized office. A man in glasses and a charcoal grey suit ushered him to sit in the opposing chair.
“I assume you have something for me?”
“I was told the going rate was ten dollars and a tip for the door man.”
“What did you bring him?”
“A bottle of whiskey.”
The man in glasses nodded. He leaned back in his chair. He glanced up at the single light bulb hanging over his desk for a moment then back at Dexter.
“You realize that the service we are providing here is not assisted suicide. We merely provide guidance to those who need help in ensuring a smooth process.”
“I understand”
“Good. Now explain to me why you want to do this?”
“I’m tired of helping people and not getting any reward for it.”
“But that is the way the world works.”
“That’s just it. Why bother putting all your time and effort into it when people are going to ruin everything anyway?”
“That is why they need you.”
“I think it would be worthwhile for all of us if we stopped helping them. Let them fend for themselves.”
“They would die. And that would create a whole other problem for us.”
“I suppose.”
“Maybe all you need is a nice vacation.”
“It wouldn’t help. Look I gave you my ten dollars, now do I have your cooperation or not?”
“You understand why we provide this service?”
“Yes.”
“I have convinced many others like you against taking such drastic actions.”
“You’re not convincing me of anything. I want out.”
“You realize that you will, in the future, be adding to the problem? And you will be back.”
“It is no longer my problem and I won’t ask you for anything more. “
“Oh but when you're there, you will."
“I won’t be back. I’ll find a way to stop that.”
“That’s an interesting idea. I look forward to hearing all about it when you come back.”
“If we’re done, I think I’m ready now.”
“Good then you will need this.”
The man handed him a dark blue suit.
“Just put this on and you’ll be all set.”
Posh held the suit out, considering it a moment. He looked down at his own white robe, now frayed and graying.
“There is a restroom in there if you’ll feel more comfortable.”
The man gestured to a door to his left. Posh went into the restroom. He emerged wearing the suit.
“You are free to go.”
Posh opened the door to the office. He looked back at the man for some further indication, but the man’s face remained passive. Posh stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He was instantly met by the stone cold glare of the door man.
“That way, Mr. Posh.”
The doorman gestured to a door at the far end of the hall.
Posh stepped slowly past the door man fearing some opposition but there was none. As Posh walked he began to feel that the hallway was getting longer and longer before him. Just when he was starting to wonder if he would ever reach the end, all at once the hallway shortened. Posh took one last look at his dark surroundings and opened the door.
Dexter Posh found himself standing on a busy street corner. He couldn’t immediately recognize which city he was in nor did he care. He already knew they were all the same anyway. He looked up at the sky. Up where they were. He felt victorious. Looking up there now, he no longer wondered what he was missing, but realized what he had lost when he left.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Tom and Gerald
Gerald McLachlan was not particularly fond of his next door neighbour. Granted, they lived in as close proximity as any two strangers could and yet still be expected to co-exist. The not so luxury town homes afforded residents individual driveways, but not much else. Not that Gerald was opposed to compromise. He had worked in the same box of an office with mostly the same people for nearly twenty years. But work was work. The fact that the guy who sat next to you was close enough to pick the lint off your shirt mattered little when you were nose deep in paperwork.
But home was different. For Gerald it was not so much the lack of physical space, but having to watch the ways in which people chose to live their lives. He hated all of the personal habits that people had. All of the annoying things they did that sometimes seemed to make absolutely no sense at all.
Tom was a single man in his fifties. He was tall and thin with frizzy white hair at the sides of his head. He always had the same closed mouth grin on his face. Tom never said much, only nodded. Unlike Gerald, Tom had not chosen the single life. The single life had chosen him when his wife died five years earlier. A Chartered Accountant, Tom left his house at five every morning and returned at six every night. On weekends he carried in boxes.
One Saturday, Gerald watched as the man carried in eighteen boxes, each one waist to chin high. The most puzzling thing for Gerald was that he never saw the man carry anything out. Ever. Not so much as a lunch bag or briefcase. And yet every weekend, there was Tom, carrying in boxes of all different sizes.
Gerald was out watering his lawn when he overheard his neighbour from across the street calling across to Tom.
“Moving in Tom?”
Tom only smiled, nodded and continued to carry in boxes.
Now and then when Gerald would be out pruning his shrubs, he would attempt to sneak a peek into Tom’s window. To his frustration, he was never able to see much of anything before Tom returned with another armful of boxes.
This went on week after week for a year. Then the following March Tom had to go away for a week on business.
Gerald sat in his kitchen the day after Tom had left. He stroked his hand through a mop of brown hair. He straightened his glasses and took a long drag of his cigarette.
Even as a kid, Gerald had never stolen anything, trespassed or got into a fight. This time though, his curiosity got the better of him. In Gerald’s mind there was no other option. That night he would slide open a basement window in Tom’s house. He would see for once and for all how it was that his neighbour Tom lived.
Gerald waited until the last of his neighbour’s lights had gone out. He crouched beside the back basement window, but the window was jammed. Gerald knelt down to get a better grip cursing as the wet grass soaked through his jeans.
The window creaked and skidded along the dirty track. Gerald took one last look around and lowered himself in.
Gerald was barely able to get two feet on the floor before his back thudded up against a wardrobe-sized box. He crouched low and flipped on his pocket light. Gerald had never in his life been claustrophobic until that moment.
Packed from floor to ceiling, were boxes. While there were many different sizes it was the waist to chin size that Tom seemed to favour.
Gerald followed a narrow footpath through the basement. He made his way up the stairs. Every floor was the same with only one narrow footpath throughout the house. At last Gerald could stand this madness no longer. He opened his pocketknife and sliced a careful opening into one waist high box in the living room. He pulled the side of the box open.
A stream of photographs poured out at his feet. Gerald pulled one out of the heap and held it up to his pocket light. It was a picture of Tom, smiling that same closed mouth grin. He aimed his flashlight down at the pictures as he sifted through them. In some pictures Tom stood beside a tree. In others, he leaned up against a fence. In one he stood alone in a room, stark naked.
Gerald ran his knife along the boxes. Box after box contained only pictures of Tom. Most were self-portraits of that same closed mouth smile that Tom had displayed every box carrying Saturday.
Gerald eased his way along the footpath and out of Tom’s house as fast as he could manage. He locked himself in his house and drew the blinds.
A week passed and Tom had not returned. Instead, a Real Estate Agent pulled up in a red Jaguar and nailed a “For Sale” sign on the lawn.
The following week, a work crew showed up. They parked an industrial sized bin in the driveway. For the next three days, they hauled out box after box. When the bin was full, they towed it away and replaced it with another one. The following week a young couple moved in. No one ever heard another word from Tom.
About three months later, Gerald had a knock on his door, as he got ready for work one Tuesday morning. It was a courier. He handed Gerald a pad to sign, then he handed him a box. Gerald set the plain brown box on the table. He opened his pocketknife and carefully
sliced open the top of the box. He pulled open the flaps and looked inside.
But the box was empty.
But home was different. For Gerald it was not so much the lack of physical space, but having to watch the ways in which people chose to live their lives. He hated all of the personal habits that people had. All of the annoying things they did that sometimes seemed to make absolutely no sense at all.
Tom was a single man in his fifties. He was tall and thin with frizzy white hair at the sides of his head. He always had the same closed mouth grin on his face. Tom never said much, only nodded. Unlike Gerald, Tom had not chosen the single life. The single life had chosen him when his wife died five years earlier. A Chartered Accountant, Tom left his house at five every morning and returned at six every night. On weekends he carried in boxes.
One Saturday, Gerald watched as the man carried in eighteen boxes, each one waist to chin high. The most puzzling thing for Gerald was that he never saw the man carry anything out. Ever. Not so much as a lunch bag or briefcase. And yet every weekend, there was Tom, carrying in boxes of all different sizes.
Gerald was out watering his lawn when he overheard his neighbour from across the street calling across to Tom.
“Moving in Tom?”
Tom only smiled, nodded and continued to carry in boxes.
Now and then when Gerald would be out pruning his shrubs, he would attempt to sneak a peek into Tom’s window. To his frustration, he was never able to see much of anything before Tom returned with another armful of boxes.
This went on week after week for a year. Then the following March Tom had to go away for a week on business.
Gerald sat in his kitchen the day after Tom had left. He stroked his hand through a mop of brown hair. He straightened his glasses and took a long drag of his cigarette.
Even as a kid, Gerald had never stolen anything, trespassed or got into a fight. This time though, his curiosity got the better of him. In Gerald’s mind there was no other option. That night he would slide open a basement window in Tom’s house. He would see for once and for all how it was that his neighbour Tom lived.
Gerald waited until the last of his neighbour’s lights had gone out. He crouched beside the back basement window, but the window was jammed. Gerald knelt down to get a better grip cursing as the wet grass soaked through his jeans.
The window creaked and skidded along the dirty track. Gerald took one last look around and lowered himself in.
Gerald was barely able to get two feet on the floor before his back thudded up against a wardrobe-sized box. He crouched low and flipped on his pocket light. Gerald had never in his life been claustrophobic until that moment.
Packed from floor to ceiling, were boxes. While there were many different sizes it was the waist to chin size that Tom seemed to favour.
Gerald followed a narrow footpath through the basement. He made his way up the stairs. Every floor was the same with only one narrow footpath throughout the house. At last Gerald could stand this madness no longer. He opened his pocketknife and sliced a careful opening into one waist high box in the living room. He pulled the side of the box open.
A stream of photographs poured out at his feet. Gerald pulled one out of the heap and held it up to his pocket light. It was a picture of Tom, smiling that same closed mouth grin. He aimed his flashlight down at the pictures as he sifted through them. In some pictures Tom stood beside a tree. In others, he leaned up against a fence. In one he stood alone in a room, stark naked.
Gerald ran his knife along the boxes. Box after box contained only pictures of Tom. Most were self-portraits of that same closed mouth smile that Tom had displayed every box carrying Saturday.
Gerald eased his way along the footpath and out of Tom’s house as fast as he could manage. He locked himself in his house and drew the blinds.
A week passed and Tom had not returned. Instead, a Real Estate Agent pulled up in a red Jaguar and nailed a “For Sale” sign on the lawn.
The following week, a work crew showed up. They parked an industrial sized bin in the driveway. For the next three days, they hauled out box after box. When the bin was full, they towed it away and replaced it with another one. The following week a young couple moved in. No one ever heard another word from Tom.
About three months later, Gerald had a knock on his door, as he got ready for work one Tuesday morning. It was a courier. He handed Gerald a pad to sign, then he handed him a box. Gerald set the plain brown box on the table. He opened his pocketknife and carefully
sliced open the top of the box. He pulled open the flaps and looked inside.
But the box was empty.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Short Story: Nathan Finch
The following is an excerpt. To read the full version please write to me at: geppettoslab@yahoo.ca
The wiry red-haired woman stared listlessly out the train window, as if fixating on a place she had never been or where she would rather be. Oversized sunglasses hid the fading pigment of what had been one serious shiner. Much like the black eye that no one could see, such were the dark blotches up and down her sides and across the insides of her thighs. Luckily, it was October in rural Ontario; long skirts and baggy sweaters covered things like that nicely.
Nathan Finch had been in the process of removing his overcoat when she had stepped on at the Guildwood stop. He removed the contents of his coat pockets - a map and a package of Beeman’s Peppermint gum - before folding it neatly and tucking it into the overhead bin. It wasn’t until he began to open the map, that Finch was attuned to the woman who now sat kiddy corner to him. Though he had yet to lay eyes on her, already his mind was a flood of images.
Finch knew about the bruises; all twelve of them. He also knew about the scars that lined her left forearm like tiny tributaries of a creek. He looked across at her, through the sunglasses into her eyes. Now came the hardest part.
Dull, burning pain coarsed through him from the inside out. Each blow increasing in proportion to the drunken assailant’s frustrations. Over and over he was beaten to the floor, only to be pulled back up again. His lungs longed for breath; legs would no longer hold him. His face felt crushed, disfigured beyond repair.
To any of the train’s occupants, he was a man possibly in his early sixties; tall and dignified with a neatly pressed suit and a small thin moustache. A calm, patient man who had been in the process of unfolding a map of Northern Ontario when he was distracted by the young red-haired beauty who sat across from him and the subject of his unchanging gaze. They knew nothing of the bruises or how they had gotten there. It was not their job.
As quickly as it had happened it was over. Nathan was again staring intently out the window at farms that had long been cleared of their bounty. The woman was not going as far as he was. She now readied herself for her departure as the train roared into Kingston station. She longed for escape and inner peace. At that moment, though she herself may not have felt it yet, Nathan was quite certain she would find it.
As the woman stepped out onto the platform, Nathan reopened his map. He had chosen a small town called Gatineau in the province of Quebec. Or rather it had chosen him. At any rate, he determined an approximate half hour cab ride from Ottawa station would get him there.
Nathan chose a bachelor apartment in a four story building in the town’s aging downtown core. It was simple and he could rent it on a monthly basis which suited him fine. The building manager was a man who looked far beyond his actual age of fifty-two. Waking up with a fresh bottle of bourbon every morning would have that effect. In any case he was sure to be the type of man who would be far more trouble to himself than he could be to anyone else.
Nathan’s room was the last one at the end of the hall. Nathan took in all of the sounds and odors as he carried his single bag down the hall. Local news, soap opera, gratingly loud rock music, someone had burned lunch again, and in the apartment across from his a woman was crying.
Nathan paused for a moment before opening his door. The crying had reduced to a sobbing moan. She sounded young; maybe in her twenties, early thirties. This was not the first time in recent days that she had been this way. He longed to know more. He would have to see her to do that. He could try. Then just as quickly he decided against it. There would be time for that later.
He unlocked his door and set his bag down. The room had come with a pull out couch, a half mutilated pine dresser, a small round kitchen table and a fridge and stove - both relics from the 50’s. Abandoned by the previous owner they were all his for the taking if he wanted. If not the building manager would be more than happy to assist in disposal. That is, if he were asked before noon, Nathan had thought. The unfortunate sod wouldn’t be much good after that.
It didn’t matter, for what they were worth Nathan was keeping them anyway. He hadn’t any need for subtleties. If the folks from Better Homes happened to be conducting any reviews he would just be sure not to answer the door.
Nathan picked up his bag, set it down on the couch and began emptying its contents. Four cotton button downs, two pairs of gabardine pants, some dark socks, white boxers and two pairs of flannel pajamas. All of this, he tucked neatly into what had once resembled a dresser. He returned to his bag, unhooked the button on the inside carry pouch and removed a leather bound folder.
Nathan took the folder to the kitchen table. With a black Mont Blanc pen he made two notations. First, the details of his present location, including length of travel time and mode of transportation. In his second notation he wrote himself a reminder to check in on the sad woman across the hall.
He closed the book. On the wall below the window was a flat steel plate covering the space that had been left when a wall mounted air conditioning unit had been removed. Nathan pushed up on the bottom edge of the plate and eased it off. The opening on the outside wall had been sealed off by a much heavier bolted version of the plate that Nathan had just removed.
Nathan placed his folder inside the makeshift vault and replaced the steel plate. He picked up his keys and headed out of the apartment. As he fitted his key into the lock he noted that the sobbing across the hall had stopped.
The streets were all but silent, with most folks at work or tucked away in warm homes. Two blocks from his apartment, Nathan found a small diner. He went in and chose a table by the window.
The restaurant had obviously been run by the same family for a number of years. All bore a similar resemblance but at different stages of their lives. And all looked as equally displeased as those who suffer minimal wages to work the family business. Nathan could never understand why people treated strangers better than their own.
A shy girl of about sixteen came to his table, pulling out a notepad with a cover that had been nearly obliterated by nervous doodling.
“What can I get you today sir?”
Her eyes were downcast as though she were focusing on a point somewhere around the middle of his chest. Nathan sunk back slightly in his chair and peered up, forcing her to look him in the eye. Now the girl smiled nervously. Nathan smiled.
“I’ll have a toasted western sandwich, an apple juice and a newspaper.”
“Thank you.”
Within seconds the girl hurried back with his apple juice and a copy of the local daily. Now she smiled and looked him in the eye, though she was still nervous.
Nathan sipped his juice, glancing across the restaurant. A man sitting at a table across from him was making train tracks in his mashed potatoes. The man seemed unaware that as he was raking his fork back and forth he was sending mashed potatoes over the side of his plate and onto the table.
There was a gun in the man’s car. At this point the mashed potato masher was debating if he should use it or not. The problem was he loved his wife far too much and any such course of action would undoubtedly change their relationship, whether he got caught or not. She would find out, potato man thought and then she wouldn’t love him anymore. Although at this point there was nothing more he would like than to see than the bastard’s nuts sprayed all over his pants.
Nathan’s thoughts were interrupted when an older woman, the girl’s mother, appeared with his western sandwich.
“Here you go sir, anything else you’d like?”
“Oh no, no thanks.”
Nathan waited until she had turned around before he took his black pepper shaker and hid it behind the napkin dispenser. He stood up and walked over to the table where the man continued to rake his fork through his mashed potatoes. He stood solemnly over the man who hadn’t yet noticed him.
“Excuse me sir, but were you going to use your black pepper?”
The man dropped his fork startled. Their eyes met. The man looked puzzled, as if he were sorting a confusion of thoughts. Eyes locked, for a moment neither man blinked. Slowly the man’s eyes widened and he smiled. He offered the pepper shaker to Nathan.
“Sure thing buddy.”
“Thank you sir, I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
The man tidied his fork, wiped his hands and pushed himself back from the table. Nathan removed the top slices of bread from his sandwich and shook the pepper liberally onto his eggs. He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to realize that the man was getting set to leave and already in a slightly better mood than when he left. Somewhere in town a particular adulterer would never know how close he came to having his life ended that night.
On his way back to his apartment Nathan had purchased two postcards, these he now placed on the kitchen table. Removing a pen from his coat pocket he addressed both identically, while writing nothing on the inside. He placed the postcards on the edge of the kitchen table facing the front door.
He hung his coat in the front closet, once again listening for the woman across the hall. Just as when he’d come in, he now heard nothing.
At 3:00 am Nathan was awakened by a loud thumping on his door. While he struggled to gain his senses he peered through the viewer in his door. Outside, a short balding, stocky man was stamping his feet and shuffling in nervous little circles. Nathan unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
The man lunged forward, hands clenched at his sides.
“Where’s Chester?”
“Chester?”
“You know, Chester.”
The man paused, waiting for Nathan’s recognition. Then in a moment of sudden awareness, the man leaned back and loudly slapped his hand against the side of his face.
“Oh that’s right, you don’t know Chester.”
“I’m afraid not,” Nathan extended his hand; “I’m Nathan Finch.”
“I’m Bill Price.” He shook Nathan’s hand excitedly with both hands.
“Would you care to come in for a moment Mr. Price, so that we might sort this out?”
“Sure, sure, glad to.”
The man shuffled past Nathan and sat down at the kitchen table. Nathan followed.
“My apologies, but I don’t have anything to offer you to drink, except maybe water. I just arrived in town this afternoon and haven’t had the opportunity to pick anything up.”
“It’s okay, don’t need anything.”
“So you are looking for a man named Chester?”
“Yes, Chester Davis.”
Nathan eyed the man levelly. It turned out this Mr. Price had quite a history that he was keeping to himself as well as a fairly serious drug problem. Good old Chester had been more than happy to provide Price with his daily essentials, in exchange, sometimes for money but more often for sex. Price had gone away for a while when he became paranoid that Davis would kill him. But as it turned out someone had gotten to Davis not too long after that. The building Super had found him in the parking lot, apparently bludgeoned with a hammer. These were facts of which Mr. Price was well aware, but he was too dim witted to get past his own denial.
“Was this Chester Davis a friend of yours?”
“A friend? Yes, yes you could say that. A good friend yes. I mean he gave me things.”
“What things?”
“You know? Stuff.”
The man looked puzzled at Nathan’s lack of comprehension. A look of understanding passed over the man’s face.
“Oh, I get it,” Price laughed a squeaky laugh, “of course, you’re just letting on.”
The man now got out of his chair and knelt down in front of Nathan. He began working away at the drawstring of Nathan’s flannel pajamas. Nathan pushed him back with one hand to the middle of his chest.
“That won’t be necessary”
“What do you mean? You don’t have the stuff? Because I’m sure you do. You wouldn’t be joking about something like that.”
Price drew a knife. He lunged at Nathan, clutching him by the throat.
Nathan placed his hand underneath Price’s chin and tilted his head upward. Price dropped the knife. A smile came over his face.
“Sorry, to have bothered you Mr. Finch. I think that I’ll be going.”
The man headed toward the door. He placed his hand on the knob, and then turned toward Nathan.
“By the way, does that crazy bitch still live across the hall?”
Price made circling gestures with his finger at the side of his head and started in with his squeaky laugh as he left the apartment. Nathan removed his journal from its hiding place and made a few quick notations, before going back to bed.
Three months had passed since Nathan had first arrived in Gatineau. Even in that short period of time, he believed that he had managed to cross paths with a good majority of the people that lived there. With the exception of a few isolated incidents all had been fairly smooth.
The building’s super had passed a month earlier of a fatal heart attack. A tenant on the second floor had found him when he went down to deliver a late rent check and pushed the unlocked door open. The man, who could not believe that he had found himself in the local newspaper, went as far as to say that he had gone in and turned off a still playing radio before Merle Haggard could finish singing “Tonight the bottle let me down.”
The old super had been hastily replaced by a tart that couldn’t face the fact that she was twenty five years older than twenty five. To Nathan she seemed to wear at least twelve coats of make up. She would answer her door wearing see through camisoles and make awkward passes at male tenants.
The restaurant where Nathan had eaten lunch nearly every day, closed for two days due to family crisis. It had been discovered that the sixteen year old daughter who had brought Nathan his Western sandwich was three months pregnant. Her raging father immediately closed the restaurant and threatened that he would not reopen it until his unfortunate daughter revealed who the father was. In an unexpected turn the girl and her father agreed to quietly put aside their differences when he promised to cease his actions if she promised not to reveal that it was his brother’s years of abuse that had finally put her in the predicament.
It was there that Nathan now decided to return for lunch, only partially due to the fact that they had quite possibly the best Western sandwich he had ever tasted. As he locked the door to his apartment he once again heard the sobbing across the hall.
This time, Nathan turned and knocked on her door. The sobbing ceased and Nathan could hear footsteps on the tile floor. The door was slowly opened by a short, frail looking woman in her mid thirties. Her dark stringy hair was sweaty and matted to the sides of her face, her dark eyes ringed black by her sobbing. She wore a torn nightgown several sizes too big that trailed the floor behind her. Nathan smiled warmly.
“I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you miss. I don’t believe that we have met, I’m your new neighbour across the hall.”
The woman simply nodded her gaze unchanging.
“My name is Nathan Finch.” He extended his hand.
The woman remained motionless.
“I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I have a bit of an urgent problem. I’m waiting on the phone repair man to fix my line. In the meanwhile I have an urgent call to make. If I go off in search of a payphone, I’m liable to miss him. Would you mind if I use yours?”
The woman said nothing but turned and led him to a phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen. The sinks were not piled with dishes as Nathan expected, in fact the kitchen looked hardly used. The smell that hung pungent in the air was that of a woman who rarely left her apartment or took the time to bathe.
Nathan picked up her phone and dialed his own number. He let it ring several times before returning to the living room.
“Didn’t seem to be any answer.”
Now his eyes were fixated on a wooden table in the center of the room. On the table were two piles, each close to three feet high. A gigantic pile of envelopes was matched by an equally enormous pile of loose-leaf advertisements. The table was flanked by six boxes, three on either side looming over it.
“I’m Brenda.”
She stood to the left of the table, hands at her hips, clearly measuring his curiosity.
“Yes. Well it’s good to meet you. And thank you for the use of your telephone.”
“I stuff envelopes. That’s what I do.”
Now it was Nathan’s turn to nod.
“It gets very upsetting. But I don’t like to work outside of the home.”
Nathan smiled awkwardly.
“I can understand that. I am very private at times myself.”
Brenda nodded and smiled slightly.
“I don’t know what I have to offer you. I don’t get many visitors.”
“Oh really I should be getting back to my apartment.”
“I think you should stay. We’ll hear the repairman when he knocks across the hall. The walls are so thin in this place.”
Brenda was already heading toward the kitchen.
“I have a fresh pot of coffee, how do you take it Nathan?”
“Just black for me please.”
Brenda returned with two cups of coffee and sat down on a threadbare couch in the corner of the room. Nathan followed.
“I get twenty-five cents for each envelope. A man comes once a week and delivers those,” she gestured to one pile of boxes, “then another man comes and delivers those,” she gestured to the other pile of boxes.
“Looks very tiring.”
“It gets very upsetting.”
Nathan was lost in her sad dark eyes. He quickly turned and sipped his coffee.
“And what do you do Mr. Finch?”
Nathan focused his attention on an advertisement poking out of the middle box on the floor facing him. From the top of it dangled an ad boasting a free buffet at the Sparkle Club.
“I travel mostly. I was a Doctor for some time, a Psychologist. Although I suppose it’s a profession you never stop being a part of. I published a few journals. The big problem was, I didn’t like being in one place”.
Nathan returned to sipping his coffee. He could feel her gaze upon him and continued.
“They offered me a position, traveling to different places and giving conferences, but I had my own plans.”
“What was that?”
“To simply meet as many different people as I could before I died.”
Both of them were quiet for some time, before Brenda broke the silence.
“I guess your repairman isn’t coming.”
“I guess not.”
Nathan looked up, meeting her stare. And now his eyes were inside hers, seeing as she did. Seeing through years of self imposed isolation and delusion. Brenda McCallum had been twenty-three when she first realized that she could no longer venture out into the public without all eyes staring at her. They laughed at her inside and thought of her as an unstable person who would at any moment break down into a trembling quivering mass. She would tremble, and then she would shake, sometimes when her nerves gave out, her legs wouldn’t move at all. And she would be stuck standing there while they watched.
They followed her into her home while she sat alone. She could feel them in the room watching her every step, making it an effort to move around at all, even within her own tiny space.
She was forty and had been living inside her own prison for seventeen years. Aside from the deliverymen from the advertising company and a friend on the first floor who ran errands for her, Brenda had almost no contact with the outside world.
Nathan took both of her hands in his and smiled. Brenda smiled too.
“Thank you so much for the coffee. Now I really should be going.”
Brenda pulled away from him. “Okay. It was nice meeting you."
“Likewise.”
Nathan moved toward the door, while Brenda remained seated. Nathan paused as he opened the door. He turned to Brenda.
“Please stop in and visit me if you like.”
Brenda nodded.
Back in his apartment, Nathan began packing his clothes into his suitcase. There was a knock at his door. Nathan opened the door to find Brenda. Her hair had been combed back from her face. Her eyes were bright and she smiled warmly. The bright light from Nathan’s apartment revealed a truly beautiful woman who needed only to enjoy life again.
Brenda contorted her face slightly as she struggled to find the words.
“I wanted to know why I started to feel better when you were in my apartment.”
“I mean it wasn’t just that you were a visitor. I sometimes do get them. It had to be something else.”
“Won’t you come in?”
Nathan noticed that she had tied the bottom of her nightgown up to just below her knees for a less cumbersome length. It pained him to see her in clothing so dirty and worn.
Brenda took a seat on his couch.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“No thanks, I’m okay.”
Nathan sat down beside her. He watched as Brenda curiously surveyed his apartment. Her attention focused on the two postcards that Nathan had neglected to mail. She turned to him anxiously.
“Friends back home?”
“No actually I don’t have a home anymore. I gave it up a number of years ago to travel full time. Those postcards are for an accountant I have that maintains my estate. Let’s her know I’m still kickin around.”
She smiled and leaned back against the couch, likely the most at ease that she had felt in years. A beautiful, intelligent woman who looked as though she were about to break through the bonds of the monster that had held her captive and regain the person she had been in her youth.
“You never married?”
Nathan met her curious glance with a shy grin.
“I guess I kept to myself mostly.”
As she stretched back against the couch, Nathan felt guilty that in the bright daylight of his apartment he could see her dark nipples through the worn paper thin fabric of her tattered nightgown. Now Brenda sat up straight.
“The question I was asking you before. Why did I feel so different when you were in my apartment? When you looked at me I swore you could see right through me. And when you left I felt as though I had woken from a crazy dream, wearing someone else’s clothes and living in an apartment I never would have chosen for myself. It was as if I had been hypnotized for so long and now I’m free.”
Nathan leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands. His face bore the approving grin of a magician who had been found out by the one member of his audience who was able to keep up with him.
“I’m wondering what kind of world is out there and if I step back into it, will I be taken prisoner by it again.”
The wiry red-haired woman stared listlessly out the train window, as if fixating on a place she had never been or where she would rather be. Oversized sunglasses hid the fading pigment of what had been one serious shiner. Much like the black eye that no one could see, such were the dark blotches up and down her sides and across the insides of her thighs. Luckily, it was October in rural Ontario; long skirts and baggy sweaters covered things like that nicely.
Nathan Finch had been in the process of removing his overcoat when she had stepped on at the Guildwood stop. He removed the contents of his coat pockets - a map and a package of Beeman’s Peppermint gum - before folding it neatly and tucking it into the overhead bin. It wasn’t until he began to open the map, that Finch was attuned to the woman who now sat kiddy corner to him. Though he had yet to lay eyes on her, already his mind was a flood of images.
Finch knew about the bruises; all twelve of them. He also knew about the scars that lined her left forearm like tiny tributaries of a creek. He looked across at her, through the sunglasses into her eyes. Now came the hardest part.
Dull, burning pain coarsed through him from the inside out. Each blow increasing in proportion to the drunken assailant’s frustrations. Over and over he was beaten to the floor, only to be pulled back up again. His lungs longed for breath; legs would no longer hold him. His face felt crushed, disfigured beyond repair.
To any of the train’s occupants, he was a man possibly in his early sixties; tall and dignified with a neatly pressed suit and a small thin moustache. A calm, patient man who had been in the process of unfolding a map of Northern Ontario when he was distracted by the young red-haired beauty who sat across from him and the subject of his unchanging gaze. They knew nothing of the bruises or how they had gotten there. It was not their job.
As quickly as it had happened it was over. Nathan was again staring intently out the window at farms that had long been cleared of their bounty. The woman was not going as far as he was. She now readied herself for her departure as the train roared into Kingston station. She longed for escape and inner peace. At that moment, though she herself may not have felt it yet, Nathan was quite certain she would find it.
As the woman stepped out onto the platform, Nathan reopened his map. He had chosen a small town called Gatineau in the province of Quebec. Or rather it had chosen him. At any rate, he determined an approximate half hour cab ride from Ottawa station would get him there.
Nathan chose a bachelor apartment in a four story building in the town’s aging downtown core. It was simple and he could rent it on a monthly basis which suited him fine. The building manager was a man who looked far beyond his actual age of fifty-two. Waking up with a fresh bottle of bourbon every morning would have that effect. In any case he was sure to be the type of man who would be far more trouble to himself than he could be to anyone else.
Nathan’s room was the last one at the end of the hall. Nathan took in all of the sounds and odors as he carried his single bag down the hall. Local news, soap opera, gratingly loud rock music, someone had burned lunch again, and in the apartment across from his a woman was crying.
Nathan paused for a moment before opening his door. The crying had reduced to a sobbing moan. She sounded young; maybe in her twenties, early thirties. This was not the first time in recent days that she had been this way. He longed to know more. He would have to see her to do that. He could try. Then just as quickly he decided against it. There would be time for that later.
He unlocked his door and set his bag down. The room had come with a pull out couch, a half mutilated pine dresser, a small round kitchen table and a fridge and stove - both relics from the 50’s. Abandoned by the previous owner they were all his for the taking if he wanted. If not the building manager would be more than happy to assist in disposal. That is, if he were asked before noon, Nathan had thought. The unfortunate sod wouldn’t be much good after that.
It didn’t matter, for what they were worth Nathan was keeping them anyway. He hadn’t any need for subtleties. If the folks from Better Homes happened to be conducting any reviews he would just be sure not to answer the door.
Nathan picked up his bag, set it down on the couch and began emptying its contents. Four cotton button downs, two pairs of gabardine pants, some dark socks, white boxers and two pairs of flannel pajamas. All of this, he tucked neatly into what had once resembled a dresser. He returned to his bag, unhooked the button on the inside carry pouch and removed a leather bound folder.
Nathan took the folder to the kitchen table. With a black Mont Blanc pen he made two notations. First, the details of his present location, including length of travel time and mode of transportation. In his second notation he wrote himself a reminder to check in on the sad woman across the hall.
He closed the book. On the wall below the window was a flat steel plate covering the space that had been left when a wall mounted air conditioning unit had been removed. Nathan pushed up on the bottom edge of the plate and eased it off. The opening on the outside wall had been sealed off by a much heavier bolted version of the plate that Nathan had just removed.
Nathan placed his folder inside the makeshift vault and replaced the steel plate. He picked up his keys and headed out of the apartment. As he fitted his key into the lock he noted that the sobbing across the hall had stopped.
The streets were all but silent, with most folks at work or tucked away in warm homes. Two blocks from his apartment, Nathan found a small diner. He went in and chose a table by the window.
The restaurant had obviously been run by the same family for a number of years. All bore a similar resemblance but at different stages of their lives. And all looked as equally displeased as those who suffer minimal wages to work the family business. Nathan could never understand why people treated strangers better than their own.
A shy girl of about sixteen came to his table, pulling out a notepad with a cover that had been nearly obliterated by nervous doodling.
“What can I get you today sir?”
Her eyes were downcast as though she were focusing on a point somewhere around the middle of his chest. Nathan sunk back slightly in his chair and peered up, forcing her to look him in the eye. Now the girl smiled nervously. Nathan smiled.
“I’ll have a toasted western sandwich, an apple juice and a newspaper.”
“Thank you.”
Within seconds the girl hurried back with his apple juice and a copy of the local daily. Now she smiled and looked him in the eye, though she was still nervous.
Nathan sipped his juice, glancing across the restaurant. A man sitting at a table across from him was making train tracks in his mashed potatoes. The man seemed unaware that as he was raking his fork back and forth he was sending mashed potatoes over the side of his plate and onto the table.
There was a gun in the man’s car. At this point the mashed potato masher was debating if he should use it or not. The problem was he loved his wife far too much and any such course of action would undoubtedly change their relationship, whether he got caught or not. She would find out, potato man thought and then she wouldn’t love him anymore. Although at this point there was nothing more he would like than to see than the bastard’s nuts sprayed all over his pants.
Nathan’s thoughts were interrupted when an older woman, the girl’s mother, appeared with his western sandwich.
“Here you go sir, anything else you’d like?”
“Oh no, no thanks.”
Nathan waited until she had turned around before he took his black pepper shaker and hid it behind the napkin dispenser. He stood up and walked over to the table where the man continued to rake his fork through his mashed potatoes. He stood solemnly over the man who hadn’t yet noticed him.
“Excuse me sir, but were you going to use your black pepper?”
The man dropped his fork startled. Their eyes met. The man looked puzzled, as if he were sorting a confusion of thoughts. Eyes locked, for a moment neither man blinked. Slowly the man’s eyes widened and he smiled. He offered the pepper shaker to Nathan.
“Sure thing buddy.”
“Thank you sir, I appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
The man tidied his fork, wiped his hands and pushed himself back from the table. Nathan removed the top slices of bread from his sandwich and shook the pepper liberally onto his eggs. He didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to realize that the man was getting set to leave and already in a slightly better mood than when he left. Somewhere in town a particular adulterer would never know how close he came to having his life ended that night.
On his way back to his apartment Nathan had purchased two postcards, these he now placed on the kitchen table. Removing a pen from his coat pocket he addressed both identically, while writing nothing on the inside. He placed the postcards on the edge of the kitchen table facing the front door.
He hung his coat in the front closet, once again listening for the woman across the hall. Just as when he’d come in, he now heard nothing.
At 3:00 am Nathan was awakened by a loud thumping on his door. While he struggled to gain his senses he peered through the viewer in his door. Outside, a short balding, stocky man was stamping his feet and shuffling in nervous little circles. Nathan unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
The man lunged forward, hands clenched at his sides.
“Where’s Chester?”
“Chester?”
“You know, Chester.”
The man paused, waiting for Nathan’s recognition. Then in a moment of sudden awareness, the man leaned back and loudly slapped his hand against the side of his face.
“Oh that’s right, you don’t know Chester.”
“I’m afraid not,” Nathan extended his hand; “I’m Nathan Finch.”
“I’m Bill Price.” He shook Nathan’s hand excitedly with both hands.
“Would you care to come in for a moment Mr. Price, so that we might sort this out?”
“Sure, sure, glad to.”
The man shuffled past Nathan and sat down at the kitchen table. Nathan followed.
“My apologies, but I don’t have anything to offer you to drink, except maybe water. I just arrived in town this afternoon and haven’t had the opportunity to pick anything up.”
“It’s okay, don’t need anything.”
“So you are looking for a man named Chester?”
“Yes, Chester Davis.”
Nathan eyed the man levelly. It turned out this Mr. Price had quite a history that he was keeping to himself as well as a fairly serious drug problem. Good old Chester had been more than happy to provide Price with his daily essentials, in exchange, sometimes for money but more often for sex. Price had gone away for a while when he became paranoid that Davis would kill him. But as it turned out someone had gotten to Davis not too long after that. The building Super had found him in the parking lot, apparently bludgeoned with a hammer. These were facts of which Mr. Price was well aware, but he was too dim witted to get past his own denial.
“Was this Chester Davis a friend of yours?”
“A friend? Yes, yes you could say that. A good friend yes. I mean he gave me things.”
“What things?”
“You know? Stuff.”
The man looked puzzled at Nathan’s lack of comprehension. A look of understanding passed over the man’s face.
“Oh, I get it,” Price laughed a squeaky laugh, “of course, you’re just letting on.”
The man now got out of his chair and knelt down in front of Nathan. He began working away at the drawstring of Nathan’s flannel pajamas. Nathan pushed him back with one hand to the middle of his chest.
“That won’t be necessary”
“What do you mean? You don’t have the stuff? Because I’m sure you do. You wouldn’t be joking about something like that.”
Price drew a knife. He lunged at Nathan, clutching him by the throat.
Nathan placed his hand underneath Price’s chin and tilted his head upward. Price dropped the knife. A smile came over his face.
“Sorry, to have bothered you Mr. Finch. I think that I’ll be going.”
The man headed toward the door. He placed his hand on the knob, and then turned toward Nathan.
“By the way, does that crazy bitch still live across the hall?”
Price made circling gestures with his finger at the side of his head and started in with his squeaky laugh as he left the apartment. Nathan removed his journal from its hiding place and made a few quick notations, before going back to bed.
*************************
Three months had passed since Nathan had first arrived in Gatineau. Even in that short period of time, he believed that he had managed to cross paths with a good majority of the people that lived there. With the exception of a few isolated incidents all had been fairly smooth.
The building’s super had passed a month earlier of a fatal heart attack. A tenant on the second floor had found him when he went down to deliver a late rent check and pushed the unlocked door open. The man, who could not believe that he had found himself in the local newspaper, went as far as to say that he had gone in and turned off a still playing radio before Merle Haggard could finish singing “Tonight the bottle let me down.”
The old super had been hastily replaced by a tart that couldn’t face the fact that she was twenty five years older than twenty five. To Nathan she seemed to wear at least twelve coats of make up. She would answer her door wearing see through camisoles and make awkward passes at male tenants.
The restaurant where Nathan had eaten lunch nearly every day, closed for two days due to family crisis. It had been discovered that the sixteen year old daughter who had brought Nathan his Western sandwich was three months pregnant. Her raging father immediately closed the restaurant and threatened that he would not reopen it until his unfortunate daughter revealed who the father was. In an unexpected turn the girl and her father agreed to quietly put aside their differences when he promised to cease his actions if she promised not to reveal that it was his brother’s years of abuse that had finally put her in the predicament.
It was there that Nathan now decided to return for lunch, only partially due to the fact that they had quite possibly the best Western sandwich he had ever tasted. As he locked the door to his apartment he once again heard the sobbing across the hall.
This time, Nathan turned and knocked on her door. The sobbing ceased and Nathan could hear footsteps on the tile floor. The door was slowly opened by a short, frail looking woman in her mid thirties. Her dark stringy hair was sweaty and matted to the sides of her face, her dark eyes ringed black by her sobbing. She wore a torn nightgown several sizes too big that trailed the floor behind her. Nathan smiled warmly.
“I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you miss. I don’t believe that we have met, I’m your new neighbour across the hall.”
The woman simply nodded her gaze unchanging.
“My name is Nathan Finch.” He extended his hand.
The woman remained motionless.
“I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I have a bit of an urgent problem. I’m waiting on the phone repair man to fix my line. In the meanwhile I have an urgent call to make. If I go off in search of a payphone, I’m liable to miss him. Would you mind if I use yours?”
The woman said nothing but turned and led him to a phone hanging on the wall in the kitchen. The sinks were not piled with dishes as Nathan expected, in fact the kitchen looked hardly used. The smell that hung pungent in the air was that of a woman who rarely left her apartment or took the time to bathe.
Nathan picked up her phone and dialed his own number. He let it ring several times before returning to the living room.
“Didn’t seem to be any answer.”
Now his eyes were fixated on a wooden table in the center of the room. On the table were two piles, each close to three feet high. A gigantic pile of envelopes was matched by an equally enormous pile of loose-leaf advertisements. The table was flanked by six boxes, three on either side looming over it.
“I’m Brenda.”
She stood to the left of the table, hands at her hips, clearly measuring his curiosity.
“Yes. Well it’s good to meet you. And thank you for the use of your telephone.”
“I stuff envelopes. That’s what I do.”
Now it was Nathan’s turn to nod.
“It gets very upsetting. But I don’t like to work outside of the home.”
Nathan smiled awkwardly.
“I can understand that. I am very private at times myself.”
Brenda nodded and smiled slightly.
“I don’t know what I have to offer you. I don’t get many visitors.”
“Oh really I should be getting back to my apartment.”
“I think you should stay. We’ll hear the repairman when he knocks across the hall. The walls are so thin in this place.”
Brenda was already heading toward the kitchen.
“I have a fresh pot of coffee, how do you take it Nathan?”
“Just black for me please.”
Brenda returned with two cups of coffee and sat down on a threadbare couch in the corner of the room. Nathan followed.
“I get twenty-five cents for each envelope. A man comes once a week and delivers those,” she gestured to one pile of boxes, “then another man comes and delivers those,” she gestured to the other pile of boxes.
“Looks very tiring.”
“It gets very upsetting.”
Nathan was lost in her sad dark eyes. He quickly turned and sipped his coffee.
“And what do you do Mr. Finch?”
Nathan focused his attention on an advertisement poking out of the middle box on the floor facing him. From the top of it dangled an ad boasting a free buffet at the Sparkle Club.
“I travel mostly. I was a Doctor for some time, a Psychologist. Although I suppose it’s a profession you never stop being a part of. I published a few journals. The big problem was, I didn’t like being in one place”.
Nathan returned to sipping his coffee. He could feel her gaze upon him and continued.
“They offered me a position, traveling to different places and giving conferences, but I had my own plans.”
“What was that?”
“To simply meet as many different people as I could before I died.”
Both of them were quiet for some time, before Brenda broke the silence.
“I guess your repairman isn’t coming.”
“I guess not.”
Nathan looked up, meeting her stare. And now his eyes were inside hers, seeing as she did. Seeing through years of self imposed isolation and delusion. Brenda McCallum had been twenty-three when she first realized that she could no longer venture out into the public without all eyes staring at her. They laughed at her inside and thought of her as an unstable person who would at any moment break down into a trembling quivering mass. She would tremble, and then she would shake, sometimes when her nerves gave out, her legs wouldn’t move at all. And she would be stuck standing there while they watched.
They followed her into her home while she sat alone. She could feel them in the room watching her every step, making it an effort to move around at all, even within her own tiny space.
She was forty and had been living inside her own prison for seventeen years. Aside from the deliverymen from the advertising company and a friend on the first floor who ran errands for her, Brenda had almost no contact with the outside world.
Nathan took both of her hands in his and smiled. Brenda smiled too.
“Thank you so much for the coffee. Now I really should be going.”
Brenda pulled away from him. “Okay. It was nice meeting you."
“Likewise.”
Nathan moved toward the door, while Brenda remained seated. Nathan paused as he opened the door. He turned to Brenda.
“Please stop in and visit me if you like.”
Brenda nodded.
Back in his apartment, Nathan began packing his clothes into his suitcase. There was a knock at his door. Nathan opened the door to find Brenda. Her hair had been combed back from her face. Her eyes were bright and she smiled warmly. The bright light from Nathan’s apartment revealed a truly beautiful woman who needed only to enjoy life again.
Brenda contorted her face slightly as she struggled to find the words.
“I wanted to know why I started to feel better when you were in my apartment.”
“I mean it wasn’t just that you were a visitor. I sometimes do get them. It had to be something else.”
“Won’t you come in?”
Nathan noticed that she had tied the bottom of her nightgown up to just below her knees for a less cumbersome length. It pained him to see her in clothing so dirty and worn.
Brenda took a seat on his couch.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“No thanks, I’m okay.”
Nathan sat down beside her. He watched as Brenda curiously surveyed his apartment. Her attention focused on the two postcards that Nathan had neglected to mail. She turned to him anxiously.
“Friends back home?”
“No actually I don’t have a home anymore. I gave it up a number of years ago to travel full time. Those postcards are for an accountant I have that maintains my estate. Let’s her know I’m still kickin around.”
She smiled and leaned back against the couch, likely the most at ease that she had felt in years. A beautiful, intelligent woman who looked as though she were about to break through the bonds of the monster that had held her captive and regain the person she had been in her youth.
“You never married?”
Nathan met her curious glance with a shy grin.
“I guess I kept to myself mostly.”
As she stretched back against the couch, Nathan felt guilty that in the bright daylight of his apartment he could see her dark nipples through the worn paper thin fabric of her tattered nightgown. Now Brenda sat up straight.
“The question I was asking you before. Why did I feel so different when you were in my apartment? When you looked at me I swore you could see right through me. And when you left I felt as though I had woken from a crazy dream, wearing someone else’s clothes and living in an apartment I never would have chosen for myself. It was as if I had been hypnotized for so long and now I’m free.”
Nathan leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands. His face bore the approving grin of a magician who had been found out by the one member of his audience who was able to keep up with him.
“I’m wondering what kind of world is out there and if I step back into it, will I be taken prisoner by it again.”
Monday, April 9, 2007
Short Story: Bus Stop
“Look at the ad on that bus over there. That guy looks exactly like Roger. How is Roger doing anyway?”
Ellen dragged on her cigarette. She cast a wary eye over at Tim as she exhaled. The two of them had waited off and on at the same bus stop for the past five years. Roger was another regular. He went away on business a lot, which meant he wasn’t as regular as the others.
“He was beheaded.”
“What?”
Ellen dragged on her cigarette again.
“Yeah, it was a bad accident.”
“You think someone would have told me.”
Ellen shrugged her shoulders.
“Shit. Shit.”
“It wasn’t like he was a close personal friend or anything. It’s not as if someone just told you your dog just died.”
“I know. But still.”
“So you think you’re gonna get that raise?”
“It depends on a couple of things.”
“What?”
“There are some personnel personality issues.”
“You could just sleep with him.”
Tim gave Ellen a cock-eyed glance.
“It was a joke. I mean unless you were actually considering it.”
“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes. And no I don’t think that works for me. You didn’t actually think that I was. I mean that I would?”
“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”
“You too at it again?”
“She loves me too much. She just won’t admit it.”
“Ellen would love the devil himself if he kept her in cigarettes and coffee.”
Ellen stamped out her cigarette.
“You’re forgetting the red wine.”
“I’ll bring it over later.”
“Too bad you don’t know where I live.”
“He doesn’t but I do.”
“Yes but we’re not going to talk about that.”
“Is there something I don’t know about?”
“It was two years ago. It was raining and the buses weren’t running.”
“So we split a cab.”
“I got off and you kept going, remember?”
“Oh I remember.”
Ellen shook her head and fished another cigarette out of her pack.
“Hey John did you know about Roger?”
“Yeah he was beheaded. You didn’t know?”
“No I didn’t.”
“Well it’s not as if you were close or anything.”
Ellen exhaled and nodded in agreement.
“I mean shit. You know?”
John shrugged his shoulders while Ellen nodded.
“Where is that damn bus anyway?”
“Still got five minutes.”
“Jerome was always early.”
Ellen exhaled, intentionally directing some of the smoke toward Tim.
“Jerome was always drunk.”
“Well at least he was early.”
“So Tim, what’s the deal with you? Are you getting that raise or what?”
“He says there are personal issues.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Personal issues? I worked with a guy who exposed himself at a Western Union.”
Ellen exhaled suddenly in John’s face. “No shit I think I heard about that guy.”
“Hey watch where you’re pointing that.”
“What kind of a freakshow pervert whips it out in a public place?”
“It was a Western Union.”
“So?”
“He wasn’t a freak.”
“Really? I heard that he was aiming it at customers. Girls and guys.”
“No he was alone. He was going through a divorce. He was walking by a Western Union and he thought that the girl looked very approachable.”
“At a Western Union?”
“Will you let him finish the story?”
“So anyway he walks in and just starts talking. The girl asks him if there is a transaction he would like to make. Only he’s already talking about other things. You know, like asking her what she thinks it takes to be accepted in the world and things like that.”
“What? He says do you want me and then he whips it out? That makes no sense.”
“Tim? Fuck off. I need to hear this.”
“So it’s like they’re speaking two different languages and neither one stops to see if the other one understands. They’re just both talking about their own things at the same time. She’s reading off a list of possible transactions. He’s going on about what it means to be accepted. Some shit about material versus physical things. When he reaches the end of his thought he opens his zipper and takes it out.”
“Fuck.”
“Interupting Ellen?”
Ellen grabs her crotch at him.
“So both of them stop talking. She is just standing there not saying anything. I mean in reality she doesn’t give a shit. She’s standing behind bullet proof glass and she’s not exactly facing a lethal weapon. So she’s just watching the show and he’s asking her if she thinks it’s big enough. Finally I guess she’s not seeing it getting any bigger so she pushes some kind of panic button. Cops show up and take him away and she finishes her shift like nothing happened.”
“So was this guy like some kind of a fucking pervert that likes to hang around school yards and shit?”
“He had never done it before. He told the cops that he hadn’t been naked in front of another person in so long that he just had to show somebody.”
“That is right out there man.”
“Well when was the last time anyone saw you naked?”
“When was the last time anyone saw you?”
“If you’re trying to win me over it’s not going to work. Although if you feel the need to whip it out Tiny Tim I won’t complain.”
“You had your chance.”
“Oh not this cab ride thing again.”
“You missed it Ellen.”
“Well the next time it’s raining and the buses aren’t running.”
“And cigarettes no longer work.”
“Good one John.”
“And we both need a cab.”
“Really?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe you two should?”
John was about to add further comment but he saw it first.
“Car! Ellen!”
Tim turned to see the black Cadillac charge through the intersection. He jumped to push Ellen out of the way as John was frozen in place. All those nearby could only look out for themselves.
********************
“It makes me feel kinda strange waiting at this bus stop again.”
“I know doesn’t it?”
“It’s hard to accept that these things happen.”
“One day you’re thinking about a raise. And the next?”
“I heard the guy was about to become like the head of like this huge company.”
“That’s not what I heard . I heard the three of them were involved in a love triangle. The three of them were big time into drugs and the girl would have to shop herself out to pay for it.”
“Fuck why wouldn’t the guys help pay for it?”
“Well look at your guy.”
“What about him?”
“Wasn’t he involved in some kind of a thing?”
“He apparently exposed himself at a party in his college days and it followed him for the rest of his life.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Some kind of an attention seeking thing I guess. He wanted to be known.”
Ellen dragged on her cigarette. She cast a wary eye over at Tim as she exhaled. The two of them had waited off and on at the same bus stop for the past five years. Roger was another regular. He went away on business a lot, which meant he wasn’t as regular as the others.
“He was beheaded.”
“What?”
Ellen dragged on her cigarette again.
“Yeah, it was a bad accident.”
“You think someone would have told me.”
Ellen shrugged her shoulders.
“Shit. Shit.”
“It wasn’t like he was a close personal friend or anything. It’s not as if someone just told you your dog just died.”
“I know. But still.”
“So you think you’re gonna get that raise?”
“It depends on a couple of things.”
“What?”
“There are some personnel personality issues.”
“You could just sleep with him.”
Tim gave Ellen a cock-eyed glance.
“It was a joke. I mean unless you were actually considering it.”
“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes. And no I don’t think that works for me. You didn’t actually think that I was. I mean that I would?”
“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”
“You too at it again?”
“She loves me too much. She just won’t admit it.”
“Ellen would love the devil himself if he kept her in cigarettes and coffee.”
Ellen stamped out her cigarette.
“You’re forgetting the red wine.”
“I’ll bring it over later.”
“Too bad you don’t know where I live.”
“He doesn’t but I do.”
“Yes but we’re not going to talk about that.”
“Is there something I don’t know about?”
“It was two years ago. It was raining and the buses weren’t running.”
“So we split a cab.”
“I got off and you kept going, remember?”
“Oh I remember.”
Ellen shook her head and fished another cigarette out of her pack.
“Hey John did you know about Roger?”
“Yeah he was beheaded. You didn’t know?”
“No I didn’t.”
“Well it’s not as if you were close or anything.”
Ellen exhaled and nodded in agreement.
“I mean shit. You know?”
John shrugged his shoulders while Ellen nodded.
“Where is that damn bus anyway?”
“Still got five minutes.”
“Jerome was always early.”
Ellen exhaled, intentionally directing some of the smoke toward Tim.
“Jerome was always drunk.”
“Well at least he was early.”
“So Tim, what’s the deal with you? Are you getting that raise or what?”
“He says there are personal issues.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Personal issues? I worked with a guy who exposed himself at a Western Union.”
Ellen exhaled suddenly in John’s face. “No shit I think I heard about that guy.”
“Hey watch where you’re pointing that.”
“What kind of a freakshow pervert whips it out in a public place?”
“It was a Western Union.”
“So?”
“He wasn’t a freak.”
“Really? I heard that he was aiming it at customers. Girls and guys.”
“No he was alone. He was going through a divorce. He was walking by a Western Union and he thought that the girl looked very approachable.”
“At a Western Union?”
“Will you let him finish the story?”
“So anyway he walks in and just starts talking. The girl asks him if there is a transaction he would like to make. Only he’s already talking about other things. You know, like asking her what she thinks it takes to be accepted in the world and things like that.”
“What? He says do you want me and then he whips it out? That makes no sense.”
“Tim? Fuck off. I need to hear this.”
“So it’s like they’re speaking two different languages and neither one stops to see if the other one understands. They’re just both talking about their own things at the same time. She’s reading off a list of possible transactions. He’s going on about what it means to be accepted. Some shit about material versus physical things. When he reaches the end of his thought he opens his zipper and takes it out.”
“Fuck.”
“Interupting Ellen?”
Ellen grabs her crotch at him.
“So both of them stop talking. She is just standing there not saying anything. I mean in reality she doesn’t give a shit. She’s standing behind bullet proof glass and she’s not exactly facing a lethal weapon. So she’s just watching the show and he’s asking her if she thinks it’s big enough. Finally I guess she’s not seeing it getting any bigger so she pushes some kind of panic button. Cops show up and take him away and she finishes her shift like nothing happened.”
“So was this guy like some kind of a fucking pervert that likes to hang around school yards and shit?”
“He had never done it before. He told the cops that he hadn’t been naked in front of another person in so long that he just had to show somebody.”
“That is right out there man.”
“Well when was the last time anyone saw you naked?”
“When was the last time anyone saw you?”
“If you’re trying to win me over it’s not going to work. Although if you feel the need to whip it out Tiny Tim I won’t complain.”
“You had your chance.”
“Oh not this cab ride thing again.”
“You missed it Ellen.”
“Well the next time it’s raining and the buses aren’t running.”
“And cigarettes no longer work.”
“Good one John.”
“And we both need a cab.”
“Really?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe you two should?”
John was about to add further comment but he saw it first.
“Car! Ellen!”
Tim turned to see the black Cadillac charge through the intersection. He jumped to push Ellen out of the way as John was frozen in place. All those nearby could only look out for themselves.
********************
“It makes me feel kinda strange waiting at this bus stop again.”
“I know doesn’t it?”
“It’s hard to accept that these things happen.”
“One day you’re thinking about a raise. And the next?”
“I heard the guy was about to become like the head of like this huge company.”
“That’s not what I heard . I heard the three of them were involved in a love triangle. The three of them were big time into drugs and the girl would have to shop herself out to pay for it.”
“Fuck why wouldn’t the guys help pay for it?”
“Well look at your guy.”
“What about him?”
“Wasn’t he involved in some kind of a thing?”
“He apparently exposed himself at a party in his college days and it followed him for the rest of his life.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Some kind of an attention seeking thing I guess. He wanted to be known.”
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Short Story: The Store
“Why is he pacing out there?”
“I don’t know he always does that. Why don’t you go out and ask him?”
“I’m not asking him, but something must be wrong.”
“For a long time.”
The two men just looked out the window in disbelief. They were not unfamiliar with the man pacing ceaselessly in front of their store. Though they were not familiar with him either.
The fact that the same middle-aged man had maintained his odd sidewalk sentry for the past three months had never raised any questions. Maybe the store had always been too busy for anyone to notice. Or maybe it just fit as a part of the fabric of a neighborhood where people still hung about in the streets rather than huddled alone indoors.
Whatever the case, there he was. Appearing daily just after the store opened and disappearing just as it closed. Never once had he ventured inside.
“Doesn’t he have any friends?’
“I suppose I must have seen him talk to someone on occasion.”
“You should go out and talk to him.”
“Why me?’
“You have been here longer than I have.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
The two men stared out the window again. After a while the younger man spoke.
“You could tell Harry.”
The store manager squinted and stroked his hand through thinning slicked back hair.
“You want Harry to think we’re crazy? Why don’t you go out and talk to him?”
“What if he’s dangerous?”
“How could he be dangerous?”
The man continued to pace. Mostly looking down at his feet. Occasionally he looked straight ahead but never did he look in the direction of the store. When the weather was cool he wore a red cardigan sweater. When the weather was warm a pressed white shirt. His grey flannel pants always had a crease. Any guesses would place him anywhere between mid forties to sixty. The pacing never ceased.
Harry Sycamore, the building owner had never seemed to notice. At least he hadn’t mentioned it if he had. But then Harry never said much of anything, unless the phone rang.
“I don’t know why we even care. The customers don’t notice him and it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
The younger man was growing frustrated.
“Don’t you at least want to know? If a man paced endlessly in front of your house, wouldn’t you ask him why?”
“It’s not my house. Maybe Harry should ask him why.”
“Or call the police.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know him.”
“Would it matter if we did?”
“Yes.”
“And if a man who was your friend was pacing out in front of the store, would you ask him why?”
“Yes I would.”
“But you won’t ask this man?’
“Maybe I could get his attention. Make him look this way.”
The store manager shrugged his shoulders.
The younger man stepped towards the door his eyes trained on the man in the cardigan. He opened the door and stepped out in front of the store. He took a couple of steps forward and stopped. He waited. The store manager looked on in curiosity.
The man in the cardigan continued his rhythm back and forth. Once he looked off into the distance, but never back at the clerk or the store.
The younger man stormed back inside.
“This is pointless. I’m calling the police.”
“And tell them what?”
“About him.”
“He’s not dangerous.”
“How do you know?”
“Look at him.”
“So?”
“He’s not dangerous.”
“Why don’t you care? How can you be so casual?”
“It doesn’t affect me.”
“You manage this store.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been manager here?”
“Six years. Almost seven actually.”
“Well then go out there and talk to him.”
“Since you are so interested I think maybe you should.”
“You’ve been staring out this window as long as I have.”
“So?’
“I’m not the store manager here. I don’t even give a damn about this place. I could quit tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“How do you know?”
“I think your wife might have something to say about it.”
“Fine. Maybe you should try getting married. Or do you think of anyone but yourself?”
“I hired you didn’t I? The store is not busy, and yet I’m not sending you home.”
“I’ve got an idea. He always leaves when we close the store right? The store isn’t busy, why don’t we close up for a while. We’ll go and grab a bite and come back in an hour. We’ll see what he does. Does he leave? Or does he stay?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Come on Victor, what do we have to lose. The store’s not even busy.”
“And what if Harry comes by?”
“You can blame it on me. Say I got sick and you had to take me to the hospital. You didn’t know what else to do.”
The store manager mulled it over. He looked back out the window at the pacing man.
“Alright we’ll close up, but only for a while. One hour. When he sees us leave, he’ll think we’re done for the day. And then he’ll do what he always does. Then we can get back to business and not have to bother with this anymore.”
The younger man was lost in his thoughts.
“Okay?”
The younger man looked up.
“Great I’ll get the keys.”
“Wait, we’ll leave in separate directions and meet in that restaurant around the corner. That way he won’t just think we’re stepping out to pick something up for the store.”
The two men turned off all the lights and placed the “closed” sign in the window. They locked the door and went their separate directions.
An hour later they started back to the store.
“What do we do if he’s still there?”
“He won’t be.”
“But what if he is?”
“Then you’re going to talk to him.”
“You should talk to him.”
“Alright we’re getting close.”
The two men turned the corner to find that the man had gone.
“It worked! See I told you it would work. I can’t believe it. Alright now for sure the next time he shows up I’m going to talk to him.”
The store manager just shook his head and unlocked the door. The men placed the “open” sign in the window and turned all the lights back on.
Within five minutes of their return, they received their first customer of the afternoon. A teenager looking for cigarettes. While the younger man tended to the customer, the store manager looked back out the window. The man in the cardigan had not returned.
“Why did you guys close up so early?”
“Oh, we had to pick up a few things.”
“When I came up I thought I was going to have to come back later. Then I saw you unlock the door.”
The young clerk reached behind the counter for the cigaretttes. He turned to face the barrel of a revolver.
“Now you can just go ahead and empty that register.”
Both the clerk and the store manager froze.
“I don’t want to make this difficult. Give me the money, now.”
The young clerk was too scared to move. The man’s patience ran out.
“I said give it to me!”
The man attempted to grab the young clerk by the collar, while the store manager made a move for the gun. The man pulled back, he fired a shot into the young man’s chest. The store manager ducked to the floor.
The man leaned over the counter and took aim at the store manager’s head. Another shot. The man returned to the top of the counter, emptied the cash register and fled.
A customer discovered the bodies of the two men about ten minutes later. Two weeks later, the store re-opened and Harry hired a new manager. An enterprising young man, who vowed not only to step up the business but security as well.
He was a good store manager with many return customers. Business was good and two new employees were hired.
There was only one question on the store manager’s mind as he opened the store each morning and closed it at night. Who was that odd man who paced in front of the store?
Jason Baker
The Store was previously published by Canadian online magazine Ascent Aspirations. Check them out at www.ascentaspirations.ca
“I don’t know he always does that. Why don’t you go out and ask him?”
“I’m not asking him, but something must be wrong.”
“For a long time.”
The two men just looked out the window in disbelief. They were not unfamiliar with the man pacing ceaselessly in front of their store. Though they were not familiar with him either.
The fact that the same middle-aged man had maintained his odd sidewalk sentry for the past three months had never raised any questions. Maybe the store had always been too busy for anyone to notice. Or maybe it just fit as a part of the fabric of a neighborhood where people still hung about in the streets rather than huddled alone indoors.
Whatever the case, there he was. Appearing daily just after the store opened and disappearing just as it closed. Never once had he ventured inside.
“Doesn’t he have any friends?’
“I suppose I must have seen him talk to someone on occasion.”
“You should go out and talk to him.”
“Why me?’
“You have been here longer than I have.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
The two men stared out the window again. After a while the younger man spoke.
“You could tell Harry.”
The store manager squinted and stroked his hand through thinning slicked back hair.
“You want Harry to think we’re crazy? Why don’t you go out and talk to him?”
“What if he’s dangerous?”
“How could he be dangerous?”
The man continued to pace. Mostly looking down at his feet. Occasionally he looked straight ahead but never did he look in the direction of the store. When the weather was cool he wore a red cardigan sweater. When the weather was warm a pressed white shirt. His grey flannel pants always had a crease. Any guesses would place him anywhere between mid forties to sixty. The pacing never ceased.
Harry Sycamore, the building owner had never seemed to notice. At least he hadn’t mentioned it if he had. But then Harry never said much of anything, unless the phone rang.
“I don’t know why we even care. The customers don’t notice him and it doesn’t have anything to do with us.”
The younger man was growing frustrated.
“Don’t you at least want to know? If a man paced endlessly in front of your house, wouldn’t you ask him why?”
“It’s not my house. Maybe Harry should ask him why.”
“Or call the police.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know him.”
“Would it matter if we did?”
“Yes.”
“And if a man who was your friend was pacing out in front of the store, would you ask him why?”
“Yes I would.”
“But you won’t ask this man?’
“Maybe I could get his attention. Make him look this way.”
The store manager shrugged his shoulders.
The younger man stepped towards the door his eyes trained on the man in the cardigan. He opened the door and stepped out in front of the store. He took a couple of steps forward and stopped. He waited. The store manager looked on in curiosity.
The man in the cardigan continued his rhythm back and forth. Once he looked off into the distance, but never back at the clerk or the store.
The younger man stormed back inside.
“This is pointless. I’m calling the police.”
“And tell them what?”
“About him.”
“He’s not dangerous.”
“How do you know?”
“Look at him.”
“So?”
“He’s not dangerous.”
“Why don’t you care? How can you be so casual?”
“It doesn’t affect me.”
“You manage this store.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been manager here?”
“Six years. Almost seven actually.”
“Well then go out there and talk to him.”
“Since you are so interested I think maybe you should.”
“You’ve been staring out this window as long as I have.”
“So?’
“I’m not the store manager here. I don’t even give a damn about this place. I could quit tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“How do you know?”
“I think your wife might have something to say about it.”
“Fine. Maybe you should try getting married. Or do you think of anyone but yourself?”
“I hired you didn’t I? The store is not busy, and yet I’m not sending you home.”
“I’ve got an idea. He always leaves when we close the store right? The store isn’t busy, why don’t we close up for a while. We’ll go and grab a bite and come back in an hour. We’ll see what he does. Does he leave? Or does he stay?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Come on Victor, what do we have to lose. The store’s not even busy.”
“And what if Harry comes by?”
“You can blame it on me. Say I got sick and you had to take me to the hospital. You didn’t know what else to do.”
The store manager mulled it over. He looked back out the window at the pacing man.
“Alright we’ll close up, but only for a while. One hour. When he sees us leave, he’ll think we’re done for the day. And then he’ll do what he always does. Then we can get back to business and not have to bother with this anymore.”
The younger man was lost in his thoughts.
“Okay?”
The younger man looked up.
“Great I’ll get the keys.”
“Wait, we’ll leave in separate directions and meet in that restaurant around the corner. That way he won’t just think we’re stepping out to pick something up for the store.”
The two men turned off all the lights and placed the “closed” sign in the window. They locked the door and went their separate directions.
An hour later they started back to the store.
“What do we do if he’s still there?”
“He won’t be.”
“But what if he is?”
“Then you’re going to talk to him.”
“You should talk to him.”
“Alright we’re getting close.”
The two men turned the corner to find that the man had gone.
“It worked! See I told you it would work. I can’t believe it. Alright now for sure the next time he shows up I’m going to talk to him.”
The store manager just shook his head and unlocked the door. The men placed the “open” sign in the window and turned all the lights back on.
Within five minutes of their return, they received their first customer of the afternoon. A teenager looking for cigarettes. While the younger man tended to the customer, the store manager looked back out the window. The man in the cardigan had not returned.
“Why did you guys close up so early?”
“Oh, we had to pick up a few things.”
“When I came up I thought I was going to have to come back later. Then I saw you unlock the door.”
The young clerk reached behind the counter for the cigaretttes. He turned to face the barrel of a revolver.
“Now you can just go ahead and empty that register.”
Both the clerk and the store manager froze.
“I don’t want to make this difficult. Give me the money, now.”
The young clerk was too scared to move. The man’s patience ran out.
“I said give it to me!”
The man attempted to grab the young clerk by the collar, while the store manager made a move for the gun. The man pulled back, he fired a shot into the young man’s chest. The store manager ducked to the floor.
The man leaned over the counter and took aim at the store manager’s head. Another shot. The man returned to the top of the counter, emptied the cash register and fled.
A customer discovered the bodies of the two men about ten minutes later. Two weeks later, the store re-opened and Harry hired a new manager. An enterprising young man, who vowed not only to step up the business but security as well.
He was a good store manager with many return customers. Business was good and two new employees were hired.
There was only one question on the store manager’s mind as he opened the store each morning and closed it at night. Who was that odd man who paced in front of the store?
Jason Baker
The Store was previously published by Canadian online magazine Ascent Aspirations. Check them out at www.ascentaspirations.ca
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Who accounts for all the Whys and Why Nots?
When I was a student I always liked it whenever anyone asked me what I wanted to do. Without hesitation I would tell them that I wanted to be a writer. Then I would allow the necessary pause as they went through the range of emotions that was becoming a ritual response. First there was the open mouthed gaze, then the uplifted eyebrow while they contemplated whether or not I was serious, then came the smile and nervous laugh, sometimes followed by an "oh, you really got me" kind of clap. It was fun at parties.
I finished a degree in English followed by a diploma in Marketing. I managed to get a start as a marketing writer with a sort of start-up software company. 1998. Hey it made sense then. Who knew? When this company started to invent fake employees with fake voice mails to impress investors I decided to move on. Nonetheless I managed to find work as a business writer for a number of larger companies. My assignments were mostly writing business letters and presentations. At first it felt cool when one of my letters got approved. My stuff would be read by all kinds of people all over the place. Then came the frustration of answering phone calls for the sales guy chosen to sign the bottom of the letter. I finally started to return to stories that had sat on the shelf for far too long. I was fortunate enough to see one of my short stories published by Canadian online magazine Ascent Aspirations. David Fraser is that rare breed of editor that not only prefers the work of new writers, but also doesn't mind a story with a bit of an edge. A lot of publishers prefer to stick with the safer, more traditional stories and are reluctant to publish a story that is more creative. As a result, a lot of aspiring Canadian writers have resorted to different measures to express themselves. I recently discovered that one of my former classmates, also a writer, had opted to pose nude online. I briefly weighed this option, but decided instead to start a blog. Non nude... of course.
I finished a degree in English followed by a diploma in Marketing. I managed to get a start as a marketing writer with a sort of start-up software company. 1998. Hey it made sense then. Who knew? When this company started to invent fake employees with fake voice mails to impress investors I decided to move on. Nonetheless I managed to find work as a business writer for a number of larger companies. My assignments were mostly writing business letters and presentations. At first it felt cool when one of my letters got approved. My stuff would be read by all kinds of people all over the place. Then came the frustration of answering phone calls for the sales guy chosen to sign the bottom of the letter. I finally started to return to stories that had sat on the shelf for far too long. I was fortunate enough to see one of my short stories published by Canadian online magazine Ascent Aspirations. David Fraser is that rare breed of editor that not only prefers the work of new writers, but also doesn't mind a story with a bit of an edge. A lot of publishers prefer to stick with the safer, more traditional stories and are reluctant to publish a story that is more creative. As a result, a lot of aspiring Canadian writers have resorted to different measures to express themselves. I recently discovered that one of my former classmates, also a writer, had opted to pose nude online. I briefly weighed this option, but decided instead to start a blog. Non nude... of course.
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