Northener - 55

The TV was on but nothing was on it. Not even static. Not a blue glow. Nothing. As if it weren't plugged in. It was. I checked three times. I had little choice in this dank little motel, and no choice with the blizzard. I tried the radio, but only got snow and drifting channels.

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Wasting Time

Derek knew that trouble was brewing but had no recourse but to go through with the plan. It was a scant plan, with no real direction but the outcome, and the outcome was highly suspect, at that. Oh, they knew well, the risks, but had nothing to lose outside of a few years in the hoosegow, and if the price was right, it wasn’t too great a price to pay.

Nathan was the man with the plan, but his focus became hazy when Wanda came around, so the boys decided that, if they were going to play, then Wanda had to stay away for a few weeks, if not longer. Yes, they knew Nate would sneak away on occasion, but gambled that eighty percent of Nate’s time was worth more than what they each had or could ever offer. Besides, Nate was the brains of the whole operation, so they had very little to complain about, but what they didn’t trust is Wanda and the trouble she would bring. Yes, Wanda had them worried, alright, but Wanda said, “I got ya covered, boys." Wanda was right again.­

She'll be in for eight-to-twelve.

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FLESHY

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Rufus There's a Ruckus

Rufus!

Yes, Madam?

Rufus, there’s a ruckus…

Another ruckus, Madam?

I fear someone is being bludgeoned…or worse!

Madam, we’ve been down this road before…

Not like this, Rufus, I can assure you. In fact, I’m shocked you can’t hear the screams in the Lobby!

The Waverleys again…?

Whom else?

I am afraid the Police won’t be too quick to respond this time around…given ‘our history’…

You suggest that I sit quietly by, sip some tea, and listen to the victim in the throws of her demise.

Mr. Waverley addressed those concerns on each prior occasion, as was verified by Mrs. Waverley, who hardly looked the worse for wear, I might add.

I believe they had been drinking! How else would you explain such laughter and frivolity…oh!”

What is it?!

She’s pleading for her life, Man! You can’t hear that?! ‘Oh, please! Please, please, please!!!!’ Where’s the compassion? What’s the world coming to? You can’t hear that?

No Madam, the walls are quite soundproof.

If that’s the case, Rufus, then how the hell can I, a wearer of, not one, but TWO, hearing aids, mind you…not to mention my tinnitus!…How can I possibly hear so very clearly all that is transpiring. I can feel the thuds…the very blows!…vibrating through the floor. He’s pummeling her with a heavy object, and she’s screaming bloody murder, while no one…absolutely NO ONE, is listening to me! Her blood will be on your collective hands when this is done.

But Madam, Mr. Waverley has put us both on notice…should it happen again, there will be repercussions, which I take as, I could lose my job.

Over my dead body!

I’m afraid that won’t help, Madam.

What if it’s not Mr. Waverley? Did you consider that?! It IS broad daylight…! Why would he be home? It could be a stranger…an intruder!

I doubt that. I do keep my eyes peeled for strangers. Actually, Mr. Waverley passed through the lobby not an hour ago. He was in quite a cheerful mood, and in a bit of a hurry.

I’d be willing to bet he had a plan in mind, and was on his way to carry out the foul act!

He was whistling...but…perhaps if you turned on your TV…

Rufus, I know you to be a good man, but I cannot drown out the screams of dying woman. Besides, I tend to depend on the Closed-Captions, so the sound is irrelevant…except for the sound next door, of which I am miraculously capable of hearing!

If I may be so brazen as to suggest that you may be experiencing some issues with your hearing aids, or perhaps a ringing in the ears of some sort.

RUFUS! I am no old fool, and will not be treated as such!

No offense intended, Madam. I was simply trying to be conciliatory. Would you prefer to have your walls inspected? They really are quite soundproof, I assure you.

thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud……

You can’t hear that?!

Perhaps they are hanging paintings…

Oh, that’s ripe, Rufus! Why do you defend the….WAIT ! Oh dear! Good for you darling! Strike back!

Excuse me, Madam?

It seems she has turned the tables! Where she found the strength I’ll never know!

How so, Madam?

She suddenly seems to have the upper-hand! He’s begun to beg for mercy!

Madam, perhaps…

That-a-girl! Throttle him! Give him the old ‘what-for’! OH! YES! Take that! How does that feel? Suffer you bloody bastard!

Madam, really…I think perhaps your imagination…

Rufus, there is nothing imaginary going on. It’s all too real, I assure you. Wait…

Madam, I must tend to other business.

More important than MY business, Rufus? Really? I shall remember that come Christmas…?

It’s not that, Madam, and I do appreciate the $20 each and every year…most generous.

Shhhhh!!!!

Something happening?

Seems they’ve come to some agreement.

How so?

They are settling their differences.

Can you be more explicit, Madam?

He…she…they are both shouting in agreement!

Agreement?

Yes. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! …and so on.

Excellent. So the problem seems to have resolved itself?

I suppose. I do prefer that couples get along. I mean them no ill will, whatsoever. But Edgar and I never raised our voices…

Sorry to hear that, Madam, perhaps if you had…

Had What, Rufus?

Had Celebrated more….if you’ll pardon me…

I see. Well, we chose to celebrate silently, Rufus. We were private people…Civil.

Pity the world has forgotten how that’s done.

They are actually laughing, Rufus. I do hope this was not some sick joke at my expense.

I doubt that, Madam.

Still…I think I’ll ‘keep an ear out’ should it turn nasty again.

Odds are it will, Madam.

You see, Rufus? Vigilance. I am gratified that you’ve finally coming around to my way of thinking.

Yes. I have indeed, Madam, I have indeed.

Feeling rather light-headed…now that it’s all quiet, I think I’ll lie down for a bit...perhaps a nap.

Sweet dreams, Madam.

Thank you, Rufus.

(click)

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Pic 66

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Go To The Flag

The man came in through the garage. I was under Unit 9 and I saw his feet go shuffling by. I called to him and he waited while I rolled out.

“Can I assist you sir?”

“Where’s the cops?” is what he says. I told him he was turned around and this was the City Yard. He pointed to ‘9’ and says, “Cops.” I tell him “You are a block away from the Police Station.” I walked to the back bay and pointed out the flag pole. “That flag is at the Police Station. Understand?” He looked confused. “Go to the flag.” I saluted instinctively, and he saluted me back. Right snappy, like he’d done it before. He nodded and walked out.

******

That man has been whittling for the last three months. He never whittled before in his life, he said, but he had a purpose this time, just never told no one what that purpose might be. His hands hurt and he grew frustrated, I could tell, finding half finished objects, almost like a child’s carving. Looked something like an airplane – like a Cub Scout might try. Tossed them out his front door in a tantrum…scattered all around on his yard. At first I worried about the knife and him cutting himself, but he seemed to avoid it, and handled it proper, that I could see, and thought maybe it was some good therapy. Then, I asked him that very same week, what he did to his hands. You saw the hands. They were black. Inky. Like dye. He said he scrubbed and scrubbed and just couldn’t get it off, but he needed it for his project. I offered to help, maybe with a brush, but he yelled at me said he needed no help, and he wasn’t my child. Who was I to argue? I let him be after that. He’d been through a lot. Losing his wife. He was a most kind man. They both were. Laughing…!!! Sweet people. Life don’t stay the same.

I saw him walking up the street that morning. I was worried because he had gotten lost on two occasions recently….and…you don’t know about some people’s state of mind. The police brought him home before, and I talked to them. They asked questions about his family…his care. I told him I was a close neighbor and try to keep ‘an eye…’, but that’s about all he had left. They said something about Social Services, but I don’t know what transpired. They had my number, but no one called. I watched him walk up that street. How could I stop him? Why should I stop him? If I’d known, I would have stopped him.

******

“What time did he enter the building?”

“10:48.”

“Front door? Scanner?”

“East Entry, Front. He ‘Passed’ the scan. He looked to be lost. Stood in the middle of the lobby gazing around, so I approached him. He fumbled with something in his pocket. I thought maybe he was stashing a pint. He was disheveled. I smelled no booze. He cursed to himself and withdrew his hand…looked like it was covered with grease, like a mechanic. I took a closer look to make sure it wasn’t gangrene at his age, but found it more like some blue-black ‘ink’. He said he wanted to talk to ‘cops’. I ask if I could help but he shook his head. I thought I looked the part, but apparently he didn’t agree. I asked if he wanted to file a report, witnessed a crime or needed our services. He nodded yes, and said ‘…crime’. I wondered if this crime might include counterfeiting…with the ink… so I asked him to take a seat on the bench. He did. He sat for awhile, then moseyed on down to the drinking fountain, then the men’s room. When he comes out, he’s smiling. He shuffles past me, into the duty room and the next thing I know 14 guys are unloading their weapons…like a firing range in there. He was here on a mission and he finished it. Wooden gun and shoe polish…damn sad ending. Hope he got where he wanted to go.”

Nov. 2012

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Reflects / Pic 63

I tend to gather glimpses.

sparse moments

no subtext 

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