A TRAIN TO CATCH

 

It was the kind of day that made you want to stay in bed. No good reason to start the day, but the paycheck, and that so measly, one had to wonder ‘Was it worth it?’ Damn frustrating, but he knew the outcome, and snoozed it ‘til he could no more. A chilly shower in his cold flat, got dressed, coat and hat, grabbed a banana, and headed down the hall. The day did not disappoint, as bleak and dark as he’d imagined, and the bite of the wind, out-the-door, was merciless. The line at the coffee shop, too long, so he hit the convenience store next door, which was more what he could afford anyhow. On the way out the door he passed the girl, and she stopped him in his tracks. He held the door open, and once she entered, didn’t know what to do. If he left there’d be a good chance he’d not see her again, and he wanted to. So he ducked back in and pretended to be most interested in the doughnuts and muffins, even though they were at least a day old, and lingered in the display case, waiting for a desperate buyer. She bought a caffeinated shot, and was quick to head back out.  He followed, feeling a bit like some pervert, but what choice did he have? At Sixth Street she turned right, which was the direction opposite of which he needed to go. If he missed his train he’d be forty minutes late while waiting for the next. Still he followed, now picking up the pace in attempt to catch up. When he finally did, he caught her off guard, because she was in a rush too, and was not prepared for this ‘stalker’.

“Excuse me, Miss, I know you’re late but could I have your number? I’d love to talk, and maybe take you for a date…lunch…something easy, maybe a drink after work…or coffee?”

She was taken aback but flattered.

“I’ve got a train to catch and not much time…” he pressed on desperately.

“In that case, you give me your number, and I’ll think about it,” she responded. He liked that, and fumbled for his card, not easy with a gloved hand, one holding his coffee, but he managed.

“I’ve got to run, but I hope to hear from you.”

“We’ll see,” she said, with a smile he deemed promising.

“Nice meeting you…” she looked at the card, “Raymond…”

“It’s Ray, I…I gotta run. Your name?”

“Laverne.”

“Laverne. Okay, I gotta go. Call me! Bye.” and he sprinted  desperately for his train, his heart full of the possibilities.

She smiled and tucked the card away. It was a flattering gesture, but with a husband and two kids at home, she’d never call, but all-in-all, a good start to Rachel's day.

Once seated on the workday train, he caught his breath, and then it dawned on him;
 
"Laverne is a bullshit name..."

V

A WEEK AT THE SHORE

There was, at first, a question and it's answer was evident.

"Do you need a vacation?"

Of course I do, but I am not disposed to take one, due to my many responsibilities. The arrangements that would be required to be made would take as long to convey as the vacation itself. So, sort of self-defeating. But after some rather adamant convincing from senior management, I managed the time in my schedule to do it. It was done very quickly...too quickly for my taste, but with management breathing down your neck it's wise to get out of town rather quickly.

With only last minute arrangements, I managed a stay at the seashore. The fact that it was February didn't cross my mind ‘til I got there and found it wet and dreary. 

The accommodations themselves were 'obvious'. I couldn't afford The Ritz so my choices were the Bayfront, and...well, there really wasn't an "and", because the Bayfront's what I could afford, so the Bayfront it was.

The room itself was adequate, if you didn't mind the draft, and the mold. The mold wouldn't be so bad if you could open a window.. If you could open a window, which means, of course, you'd freeze your nuggets off.

For laughs, I'd take long dreary walks in the rain, just to get out of the room. Meals tended to be a choice between greasy or bland, so I tried to eat in balance, so's the 'constitution' wasn't disrupted. It was disrupted on that Wednesday when I erupted, and didn't leave the room. Next day was 'bland', and then I was back on track. The owner of the inn was a surly old bastard, especially in the off-season, when the staff was thin, as was his skin, and he didn't take lightly to being put-upon, so I tried to keep my distance which was his plan all along. When I had the 'disruption' I had to suffer in relative silence rather than request something from the nearest pharmacy. But we learned our parameters, that day. 

Did I mention this "innkeeper" had a daughter? He did. A most stunning young girl of maybe seventeen. Too young for me, but captivating nonetheless. I finally got to meet her, and when the old man went out for supplies, I did my best to charm her ass off, ‘til he got back. I found myself trying to impress her with witty banter and card tricks. She laughed and laughed, but it was all I had up my sleeve, and after an afternoon of it, I could tell she'd had enough. Then he returned and it was business as usual, which meant, 'Go back to your room until dinner.' 

I read magazines, I read books, I did jigsaw puzzles and I walked in the rain. Such was my week.

Mercifully I returned to work.

But that one afternoon, it was magic. 

V

BADGER'S UNDOING

 

Badger knew every element. The ups the downs, the bumpy ride, yet he never complained. He went about his business in an efficient, friendly manner. One wouldn’t call him ‘cheerful’, and certainly not “carefree”. “Carefree” he was not. The banter had it that he had troubles at home…with, the Wife. But that was no one’s business, and as long as we’re accounting for our time, there is NO time for Mr. Badger’s domestic affairs. It’s all, Business As Usual.

Yet it was a sad predicament. So sad, that, …after hours, I found myself thinking of him. What was he going through at this very moment? Was she depraved, or depressed? …or both? Was he suffering her slings and arrows, or shaking her awake from some somnambulistic trance. Was she high-as-a-kite, strung out, or anesthetized?  

This was of course, nonsensical, since I had no real read on the situation. But I am sensitive to those that suffer in silence, and I sense, Badger was one of those. 

I had taken a chance, not long ago, and ventured a query of Badger, asking if he’d like to join me for a drink, after work…just the two of us, but he declined in a reticent, yet stoic manner. I could not convince him if I’d tried, but I didn’t. I let it slide, and bid him a  ‘…goodnight’. Perhaps if I had pressed him…

This weekend past, Badger met with his maker. His wife had succumbed as well. They called it a murder-suicide, I call it a pity. Didn’t really matter who pulled the trigger, the damage was done.

V

MISSING MY MACHETE

 

I am missing my machete. This concerns me. It concerns me on several levels, but mostly it concerns me because I don’t want to buy a new one. I know you probably saw it as an ‘at risk’ issue, but my sense was for the immediate, and as long as I wasn’t being ‘pounced upon’ by ‘said, borrower’… (I’ve checked the house, it’s clean.) ...but to be out another $20 to $40…(cheap steel is fine with me)…otherwise, it’s rather obscene, I think.

So, this machete…it’s old and rusty. Anyone that knew anything about gardening would know immediately that it was useless as a tool. However, an Amateur, might seize upon it as a weapon. A tool for thrashing…hacking away. His madness found in the splay…

But I digress, and state, once again – I’ve checked the house and it is clean. So let’s put that issue to bed. The perpetrator is not present. Thankfully.

That would lead one to imagine that the perpetrator is ‘at large’ in a very large city, wielding a weapon, stolen from my tool shed…or, the garden box…or the garage. There may be some confusion, but it’s not to be found. End of story.

Or is it?

I try not to picture a mad man, slashing his way through Brentwood, or the slaughter at the Mall.

“Swing!..” it sings, fresh drawn from it’s scabbard.

Not hard to imagine the horrific images splashed across your widescreen. 

Try not…just try.

Rather, rest easy with me. Buy the ‘short-term’. Be inconvenienced…put-off, but casual. No need to breed panic in the street when it was potentially, accidentally, misplaced…is there? 

And yet…

          SWING.

V

THE 'WISPER'

 

Lyle knew the limitations, and yet, forged ahead. It wasn’t him to make excuses or use deceitful ruses. Lyle will shoulder this burden, and the next…and the next, if need be. That was just his making. He rejected fear, and embraced it, simultaneously. He was the source of balance and gravity, grace and brute force. Lyle was the Ultra.

But would you know it from the looks of the nebbish standing before you? Is that you, Chameleon ?  I wonder…no, I marvel, at your sorcery. The way you underplay…there is no breath on the mirror… You are, in fact, no longer here. Are you? 

Instead your shadow stands, a little man, in a big suit, barely able to stutter a response. Why?

Or is this part of the act?

Are you only a ‘wisper’?

Shallow. Hollow. Vaporous.

Infinite.

One senses the dilemma.

The Ultra is everything.

V

THE PUPPET

 

I was on the verge of berserk, just a shade off of panic. The unimaginable lingered within the width of a fingertip. Mania gone full throttle. Something is very wrong. Someone is the matter. It’s a blind pledge I take with the unconscionable. Deaf to the chorus, deaf to the chatter.

What will mama think?, is not in the equation.

Mama keeps a clean house, a neat house, a tidy house, a meticulous house…You get? 

But Mama pissed me off one-too-many times and eventually, grown old together, your regret, it manifests - you resent, you despise, because she’s gone toxic…sadistic…dark as the storm, and ten times as fierce. As tamable as a hurricane hurled in off the coast. Not in a romantic way, more in a frantic, tragic…hopeless, way - you seek shelter and hope to ride it out. 

If any other but her life, it was a waste, … but awaited and expected, as it was, just another gruesome outcome, there was no alternative, it was time for her to go. 

You can rightfully call it homicide if one side is psychotic. But both? 

It didn’t register, the splay, until the room had cleared of the swirling demons, that I noticed and knew it was me. No need to explain. It falls on ears uncaring. It crashes the skull of the unthinking.

A puppet is driven away, and put back in the box where he belonged, unblinking.

V

LOOKING FOR LIPSKI

There was no reason for Lipski to wander off, but

wander off he did. At first no one noticed. A guy...a

summer's night...who knows, and who cares?

Then the chatter happened. Slowly at first, but

getting more frantic:

"Where's Lipski?"

"Lipski's missing!"

"Have you seen Louis?"

(Which threw me at first, because I only knew him as Lipski, and I've known him, his whole life).

Pretty soon the town was hunting for Lipski. All the volunteers in the Fire Department, they showed up. One of them brought a dog, thinking maybe they could detect a scent. His mother shared some underwear, it was all she could readily get her hands on, having done the laundry that very afternoon. The dog sniffed them, howled, and took off. We were all encouraged. But the dog stopped at the highway. He paced back and forth nose to the ground, but Lipski, it seemed, was in the wind.

By now it was almost dawning and folks were tired.

Someone had the notion that they needed a break,

so it was decided we take shifts in the search.

Dealing with limited resources, we really had no

choice. We decided to set three, twelve hour shifts,

staggered so one team rests, while two continue the

search. Handbills were handed out, news flashes

were generated, but the news is only news for a few

days. Two weeks was an eternity, and the news had

to move on. So, too, had people's lives, and most

returned to the necessary routine of their every day.

(There were a couple of investigators from the County, but they had a backlog, and 'how much time you going to spend...?' )

Only Lipski's most loyal friends remained.

It really didn't matter. We lost Louis Lipski that night.

It turns out, Lipski had had this 'thing' for a girl and he left the fair to pursue her. They had only met that afternoon at the Cyclone. Each of them addicted to the sharp, neck-wrenching, shifts in direction, the dizzying way  it makes you feel when you exited, you didn't want to stop, so you got back on...and again, and again...they coalesced in the centrifugal coincidence of the pairing, and partnered up in a chemical manner.

They were a great team, anticipating the 'snap' before it happened, laughing at the whip, daring it to whip harder. Finally the poor girl got sick and they both were covered in the results. They exited the ride as soon as it was over. She, so embarrassed, ran into the crowd. He followed, but lost her. He caught a glimpse of her being driven off in a black sedan. He ran after it, but to no avail. But he didn't give up...didn't come back where we could comfort him...commiserate with him...no, he impulsively caught a bus headed East, which is all he had to go on, so off he went. He never had a chance of finding her, but he took the excuse, and ran. Damn him.

V