Game Day - Week 5 of 52round2

MONDAY

“Herbert, sit down at the table and eat your meal.  If you go wandering through the house with your plate, there will be a trail of crumbs all over the floor and the carpet in the living room.  I don’t have time to be sweeping and vacuuming ten times a day.  There’s a new family that is moving in next door, and I have to keep an eye on them to see what they’re up to.”

“Helen, I won’t leave a trail of crumbs anywhere.  There isn’t even anything on my plate to make crumbs with.  I mean, all I have is meatloaf and mashed pota…”

“Herbert, will you look at the size of that moving van?  How are they going to fit all that stuff into that tiny house?”

“Helen, I can’t see the television if I sit at the table and since it’s Monday, I would really like to watch the 6 o’clock…”

“Herbert, what are you going on about?  Sit down and eat your dinner.  Stop distracting me.  I’m trying to see how many mattresses they unload.”

TUESDAY

“Herbert, hurry up and change your clothes.  You look like something the cat dragged in.  If we don’t leave soon, we will be late and I refuse to let you make me look like a fool since I reserved a seat for the both of us.”

“Helen, where are we going?  You know on Tuesdays after lunch I like to watch my favorite…”

“Herbert, I told you to hurry up.  We cannot be late for the film showing at the library today on treatment of athlete’s foot in the elderly.  I signed us up for the movie and for the lecture that comes after.  They will only hold our places until the lights go out, so get moving.”

“Helen, neither of us has ever had athlete’s foot and I’ve been waiting to see this episode.  It is the one where the judge plans to reveal who found…”

“Herbert, what are you going on about?  Just put a jacket on over that ugly shirt you always wear on Tuesdays.  Sometimes you can be so thoughtless.”

WEDNESDAY

“Herbert, turn that television off and move the couch and recliner into the other room.  I’m steam cleaning the carpets this morning so they’ll be dry by this evening for when my knitting club arrives.  Hurry now so I can get started.  I don’t want to have to pay for extra time on this equipment that I rented from the grocery store.”

“Helen, there’s only ten minutes left to this show.  Right after this commercial, they’re going to be interviewing my favorite actor about his new movie.  You know, the one that’s called The Beast in the…”

“Herbert, you need to get your hearing checked.  Didn’t I tell you to turn that television off right this second?  I’ve already got the machine plugged in and ready to go.  I’ll start here where you’re sitting, so get your recliner out of my way.”

“Helen, that carpet cleaner is so loud.  If you could just turn it off for a few minutes, I would be able to hear the details about this great new movie while I’m moving the…”

“Herbert, what are you going on about?  I can’t have a conversation with you with this machine on because it’s too noisy.  I’ll turn the television off myself while you hurry and get this furniture out of the living room.”

THURSDAY

“Herbert, help me carry these cupcakes out to the car.  It’s my turn to bring the snacks this week.  We’re going to have an enjoyable time.  I’m glad I signed us up when I did because there were only two spots left.  Come on, Herbert.  We don’t want to be late.”

“Helen, what did you sign us up for?  You know on Thursday evenings, I always watch that reality show about the windowless house on the…”

“Herbert, turn off that foolishness and put your shoes on.  I’m looking forward to our Thursday night card games, so stop being to selfish.  I signed myself up for Canasta and you’re going to be playing Pinochle.  There was one spot open and your partner is going to be Wilfred Haston.  You remember him, don’t you?  He’s the one who beats you every year at the church’s pie-eating contest.”

“Helen, you know I can’t stand Wilfred Haston.  He’s senile and spits when he talks.  I’ve been following the people on this show and tonight, they’re going to vote on who put a hole in the wall to let in some…”

“Herbert, what are you going on about?  I’ve turned that silly show of yours off so you have no excuse for any further dawdling.  Let’s go, because those cards won’t shuffle themselves.”

FRIDAY

“Herbert, Turn off that nonsense you’re watching.  We can’t be late for our Friday class.  We’re going to be learning how to cook on an outdoor grill.  Once we’ve completed a few classes, we can purchase one, because by that time, we will know which is the best model on the market.”

“Helen, You know I always watch the cooking channel at this time on Fridays.  Besides, today, the show is all about outdoor grilling and I think we’d learn so much more if we sat and…”

“Herbert, help me carry these chickens out to the car.  Grilling whole chickens is going to be today’s lesson.  I’m very anxious to learn how to grill ribs too.  They are so expensive at the restaurant and we will save so much money if we are able to do it ourselves at home.”

“Helen, I learned how to grill ribs last Friday from watching this show.  I wrote it all down on a card and put it in the…”

“Herbert, what are you going on about?  Hurry and take this meat out to the car so we can go.  I don’t want to miss a minute of our lessons.”

SATURDAY

“Herbert, Turn off that television and put on the suit I have laid out for you on the bed upstairs.  I’ve also put out your comfortable shoes because you’ll need them tonight.  I don’t want you to complain to everyone about how much your feet hurt.”

“Helen, I’m watching the weekly sports updates.  They give you all the scores for all of the…”

“Herbert, Make sure you put on a clean undershirt too.  Since we’ll be switching partners at the Saturday night dance class I’ve signed us up for.  I don’t want you to embarrass me with stains on your shirt.”

“Helen, I always like to watch this sports show.  It helps to keep me informed on all the games that I miss during the…”

“Herbert, what are you going on about?  Make sure you put a handkerchief in your jacket pocket too.  It helps to make you at least look dignified.”

SUNDAY

“Herbert, turn that television off and come help me clean out the basement.  There is so much clutter down there.  Most of this is junk that you have saved and haven’t touched in years.  We need to get it all ready to take out to the curb for garbage pickup tomorrow morning.”

“Helen, there’s plenty of time.  I’ve been waiting to see this football game for weeks.  For the first time, there are two teams that I like playing each other.  I know all the players and I’m anxious to see how…”

“Herbert, you’ll need to put a new light bulb at the top of these basement stairs.  It’s very hard to see where you’re going without any light and it would be very easy for someone to slip and fall and hit their head on that concrete floor.”

“Helen, that is by far the best idea you’ve had in years.”

"Herbert, what are you..."

That’s when I pushed her down the basement stairs.  She made a little groan when her head hit bottom, but there’s been no sound since.  I’m going to watch my football game now and when it’s over in a few hours, I’ll call somebody and let them know about Helen’s unfortunate accident.  First though, I’m going to get a big bowl of chips and pretzels and bring them into the living room so I can have some snacks while I watch.  I sure hope this one goes into overtime!

Dominic and Frederick - Week 4 of 52round2

Dominic awoke just as the sun was setting.  He didn’t make it a habit of sleeping so late, but he functioned best with a full 12 hours of undisturbed sleep.  How he adored the night though, with the moon and the stars lighting up his world.  A few years back, he had been a typical nine-to-fiver, punching in and punching out, and shuffling papers in between.  It had been a generally satisfactory life, and he had earned enough to get by, but that’s all he had been able to do – get by, until the night he met Lenora.

Tired of his routine, one evening he decided to treat himself to a show at one of the small theaters at the south end of town.  He had heard co-workers discussing their fascinating experiences there and found himself captivated.  Those productions and players were not the sort one sees in a typical community playhouse.  There were several stages set up, each with their own unique backdrop, in a large field that was part of Teddy Jenkins’ farm.  In an adjoining field, a band of gypsies had set up their camp, and performed in all the nightly shows.

Teddy had tried to run them off when they first arrived, but over time, it appeared they came to a mutual understanding.  Teddy maintained his home and the rest of the farm’s operations and the gypsies kept their camp clean and trouble free, and were able to sustain themselves with the take from the tickets they sold to their various productions.  There was a great deal of variety to be found.  There were high wire acts, plays depicting characters from various times in history, musical performances, and card readers to tell fortunes.  Dominic sampled them all and one evening, decided to get his fortune told, just for a laugh.

He didn’t believe it was possible to see into one’s own future, but Lenora proved him wrong.  She showed him what was to be and how he could obtain a long and stress-free existence.  She set him free from his dreary life and he would be forever grateful to her.  He left the area soon after and never saw Lenora again, but the memory of her and the world she opened up for him would remain dear to his heart forever.

Free now to travel to seek his fortune, Dominic settled in a small village in a county whose name he could not pronounce, but that didn’t matter.  The people were kind and gentle and Dominic made his home in an abandoned estate a few miles from town.  None of the locals minded since the owners were long since deceased and no heirs came to claim it as their own.  Tourists passing through often stopped by thinking it was a bed and breakfast.  Dominic always accommodated them since it was a mutually beneficial proposition.  They were afforded the opportunity to spend the night in a luxurious mansion and Dominic was provided with the means to maintain the house and property.  Also, having guests in his home served to keep up his spirits and sense of well-being. 

This morning had brought him an unexpected windfall.  A group of people on their way to a family reunion decided to spend the night at Dominic’s.  There were 18 of them; men and women, boys and girls, and grandmothers and grandfathers.  Dominic was beside himself with delight.  For a brief time, he had a bit of company, and with what they paid him, in advance, he could complete his make-over of one of the downstairs sitting rooms.

They had all bid him goodnight and retired to their rooms, planning for an early morning start after breakfast to continue their journey.  Dominic was in his room preparing for his nightly routine when he heard a window break in one of the downstairs rooms.  Slowly he crept down his private staircase to confront the intruder.

***

Frederick had always been a happy and easy-going soul.  His parents were hard workers and while they could never be considered wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, Frederick’s home was always filled with love and joy and toys and small treasures his father would purchase for him when a few extra dollars could be spared.  They were a close and solid family unit; that is, until Frederick’s terrible accident.  His mother had permitted him to play outside in their backyard while she completed her housework inside.  The terrible scream she heard her little boy emit would haunt her for the rest of her days.

No one could ever explain to him how such misfortune could come into Frederick’s life.  He grew into a decent, hard-working young man, but all potential for a rewarding career and fulfilling life was gone after the horrific event from his childhood.  He lost more than a promising future.  His parents could no longer bear the sight of him and turned him away, as did his friends and neighbors, and his unpredictable behavior following his injury instilled fear in all he encountered.  He was left to face life and survive alone with his disfigurement.

He learned that he could conceal his frightening appearance if necessary, but the true, and new, Frederick would always show itself at the most inopportune times.  He avoided interacting with anyone to save himself the embarrassment and ridicule that always occurred when his scarf slipped or his gloves were forcefully removed by the ever present bullies that resided in every town.  He ate what he could catch and was usually able to find drinking water in streams as he traveled the back roads searching for somewhere safe where he might possibly settle down.

At first, the ugliness in his appearance and manner would seem to come and go at odd intervals, but one day, after another of his too often restless and nightmarish evenings, when he awoke, the vile markings on his person had remained and continued to the present day.  That’s when he knew he had to resort to covering up his head, face and hands if he were ever able to pass people on the road and not have them chase and persecute him.

His aimless wandering led him ultimately to a charming village in a county whose name he could not pronounce, but that didn’t matter.  The people were kind and gentle and never sat in judgment of the short, yet extremely muscular, man who lived in fear of his deformities being revealed.  Frederick knew he couldn’t take what he needed from these people.  They were non-judgmental and supportive, and one of the storekeepers offered him three meals a day and a small room to call his own at the back of his shop free of charge.  All Frederick would be required to do was sweep the inside of the store and pick up out front after closing.

When time permitted, Frederick cruised the countryside to see if perhaps he could find some transient or lost traveler he could abduct.  He had about given up one afternoon when he came upon a large mansion.  He decided to stake the place out to determine if a break-in would be worth the risk.  No one from town ever spoke of the place or went out that far, so he assumed there was no link to any of them.  He observed that people would arrive there, carrying in suitcases and stay past sunset.  He wondered if the place might be one of those bed and breakfasts he had heard talk about.  When Frederick returned the next morning, he watched for some time, but never saw any of them leave.  Since he had no experience with that type of establishment, he didn’t know their checkout times, but since their stay involved a bed for the night and breakfast, he assumed perhaps their morning meal was provided at sunrise and they were long gone by the time he got back to further observe.

On a couple of occasions however, he had seen a young man out and about on the grounds at daybreak.  At times, he looked to be carrying quite a heavy load and at other times, he drove the vehicle the people had arrive in around to the back of the house.  Frederick thought perhaps there might be another road through the woods that would provide quicker access for the travelers to the highway than the road through town.  Frederick felt for this young man since he could see how slowly and deliberately he moved.  He would, at times, have to drag the large parcels as he was obviously too weak to carry them.  Another man cursed by the Fates, Frederick thought; disabled and ruined for life as am I.  He decided the tourists were fair game, but he knew he would spare the owner any distress.  Frederick knew what it was like to have to live one’s life knowing you would never again be 100%.

This morning, on one of his visits to the house, he saw a large group of people enter the home.  What a stroke of luck.  He knew tonight would be the perfect time to get everything he needed.  He finished his duties at the shop and snuck out the back and made his way to the estate.  He waited in the surrounding woods until all the lights went out and the house appeared to be secured for the night.  Frederick decided to use a small rock to break one of the small downstairs windows, climb in, and make his way upstairs to the sleeping victims.

He gently tapped the window and the glass fell inside with a soft tinkling sound.  He was certain the noise was not loud enough to awaken anyone within.  Only someone with super powers would hear him tonight.  Frederick laughed quietly to himself at such a ridiculous thought as he began to climb through the window into the house.  His smile froze and his giggle caught in his throat when he felt powerful hands grab both his arms, pull him through into the house and push him to the floor.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”  Dominic was livid, his plans for the evening having been disrupted.

Frederick recognized him in the moonlight streaming into the room through the windows as the young man he had seen tending the grounds, only he wasn’t moving slowly now and there was nothing weak about him at all.

“I did not come to do you any harm, good sir.  I am only interested in your guests.”  Frederick hoped this would appease the angry resident, but it seemed only to enrage him further.

“They are mine,” Dominic said harshly.  “Each and every one of them.  You know, I should kill you for interrupting me, but I confine my proclivity to guests of the manor.  I do no harm to the locals or visitors to our town, but you have taken it upon yourself to vandalize my property and try to take that which is not yours.   Speak up, man.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

Frederick was confused.

“Your pro…what?  I’m so sorry, sir, but I wasn’t planning to take anything from here or from them and I am sorry about the window.  I will return and repair it as soon as I am able.  Whatever possessions your guests have are yours to keep.  It’s simply that I hunger, and while I am able to sustain myself on human food for a brief period of time, I have reached a point where my need for actual human flesh overwhelms me.”

Dominic knew he had a total nutcase on his hands and decided to scare him away by bringing out the big gun.  He decided to tell this poor disillusioned fellow the truth.  He smiled broadly, his now elongated incisors visible.

“My ‘proclivity’ – my natural inclination; it is the desire for human blood.  I drink it to survive, you see.”

Dominic could see the burglar’s eyes opening wide with shock and surprise.

“What I am, you see, is a vampire,” he continued.  “Tourists stay here and I feed on them.  I dispose of their bodies and belongings in the woods over yonder and their vehicles in the swamp that’s at the back of the property.  No one ever comes here looking for any of them, so it works out well for me.  I tend the grounds during the day as I am able to tolerate the sun, but it depletes my energy terribly.

“Since you are not a member of the group currently staying here, I have no wish to harm you and you are free to go.  If you do not fear to return however, I would appreciate the repair and/or replacement of my broken window.  I do have to say though, considering what you spoke of a moment ago, I’m not sure what your problem might be, but there is a wonderful doctor in town I would recommend you see.  Perhaps he would be able to assist you with whatever mental difficulties you might be having.  You do seem to have some issues though; I mean, you have a scarf wrapped completely around your head and face and thick gloves covering your hands.  It is the middle of summer, my poor man.  What on earth happened to you?”

Frederick couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  He decided to reveal his true self to this forgiving stranger, who had shown so much concern for his welfare.  He removed the scarf and gloves and when Dominic saw all the fur, the large fangs and clawed hands, he stepped back in amazement.

“You’re a werewolf?”  Dominic said, not certain how to proceed since he’d never encountered one before.  Then again, he’d never even run across any of his own kind either with the exception of Lenora who had given him the dark gift.  “But the moon is not even full tonight,” he pointed out.

“It doesn’t work that way for me,” Frederick explained.  “In the beginning it did, and I would only turn when it was full, but one night, I became this…this… you know, and when morning came, I remained this frightful beast to this day.  I know I am in your way, good sir, or however I am to properly address you, but could you find it in your heart to let me eat just a couple of your guests?  Flesh from at least two at this point would satisfy me for a good week or two, and then I will be on my way and will trouble you no further.  I love the townspeople as well and could never harm any of them, but since the people here are yours and yours alone to feed on, I will seek another source of nourishment.”

Dominic couldn’t turn this pitiful creature away – he’d been so courteous and respectful, and Dominic did have to admit to himself that lately, while he never went hungry from a physical standpoint, emotionally, he craved conversation and companionship.

“I have a wonderful idea,” Dominic began.  “Why don’t you stay here with me and we will share.  I can do my thing, you can do your thing, and then all we’ll have to dispose of are suitcases and cars.  We already agree the folks in town are off limits, and I’ve got guests booked through next spring.  By the way, my friend, my name is Dominic.”

Dominic extended his hand, and Frederick responded in kind.

“My name is Frederick and I am so grateful for your offer and for your friendship.  I was staying in town and helping to sweep up a store as trade for meals and a bed, but I could move in here and after the shop closes, I could go into town and continue my duties there and then return here for our late evening snack.  What do you say?”

“Our late evening snack?”  Dominic began to laugh.  “I believe you and I are going to get along just fine and become great friends, Frederick.  I know you’re hungry now and to be honest, I’m famished.  We have a buffet of 18 this evening, all laid out and waiting upstairs.  What do you say we start with an appetizer in the first room on the right at the top of the stairs?”

Frederick laughed and followed his new friend up the stairs.  No more scarf, no more gloves and no more fear.  Life was good.

The Disappearance of Arthur - Week 3 of 52round2

“Edward, I need those figures for my 10:00 meeting.  Will you have them prepared on time?”

After dealing with Arthur at least once a day for eleven years, Brandon Clowdine, Sales Manager, had never gotten Arthur’s name right.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Clowdine.”  Arthur began gathering papers on his desk.  “The report will be on your desk by 9:30.”

As he had done each day for eleven years, Arthur tried to set the record straight.

“One other thing, if I may, Mr. Clowdine, sir.  My name is not Edward.  It is Arth…”

When Arthur looked up, he was alone, and he could hear the ding from the hallway outside his cubicle that signaled the elevator’s arrival on their floor.  Clowdine never waits long enough for me to even finish a sentence, he thought.  Why ask me a question when you have no intention of waiting for my answer?  I might as well not even be sitting here when he comes by

Arthur knew there was no point upsetting himself.  Clowdine would never change; in fact, he knew nothing would ever change, so no sense fretting.  Arthur finished his calculations on the weekly report, made a copy for the file, and placed the original on the Sales Manager’s desk.  It wasn’t quite 9:30, but Arthur was ready to have his lunch.  He had fallen asleep during the 6:00 news the night before and had missed dinner.  This morning he had discovered he was out of both cereal and milk.  Arthur didn’t relish the thought of bothering the President of the company with a request for an early lunch, but both secretaries had stepped out of the office.  He knocked on the frame of the President’s open office door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Harcourt.  May I trouble you for a moment?”

Receiving no acknowledgement of his presence, he asked again.

“Sir, might I ask a favor?”

“Hmmm,” the President mumbled, while not looking up from the stack of papers on his desk.

Arthur took that as a cue.

“I’m not really feeling very well today, sir.  I missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning, and was going to ask for an early lunch.  But I’ve since developed a headache and wondered if I might go home.  My work is caught up.  Would that be alright with you, sir?”

“Hmmm,” the President responded again.

Arthur hoped that meant he had permission to take a sick day and was on his way back to his desk to get his coat and briefcase when he heard the President call out from his office.

“Did somebody say something out there?  Is anybody there?  Hmmm…”

No, Arthur thought.  Nobody said anything.  Arthur Schuckel was out there and said something, but he is nobody, so it doesn’t matter.  I may as well not even be here at all.  As Arthur put on his coat and picked up his briefcase, it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps it would be better for everyone if he just disappeared.  It was as if he didn’t even exist anyway, both at the office and at home.  He decided to simply walk away – from everything.

Arthur considered stopping by his rooming house before embarking on his mission to vanish, then decided against it.  He had always paid his rent one month in advance and slid his check under the door of his landlord, Mrs. Brewer.  The next day when he arrived home from work, there would be a receipt for his payment that had been pushed under his door.  He had only seen, and spoken to, her once in eleven years on the day he inquired about the room.  She had been sitting on the steps in front of the building reading a newspaper, and hadn’t looked up even once during their entire conversation.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Arthur had said.  “I understand you have a room for…”

“It’s furnished and the rent is $20.00 a week.  It has its own bathroom with a tub, and there’s a small fridge and a hot plate.  Laudromatic is around the corner.  It’s clean and I expect you to keep it that way.  No drinking and no drugs.  I run a respectable house.  Take Number 3 downstairs.  Door’s open and the key is on the coffee table.”

“Well, that would be wonderful,” Arthur began.  “But, you don’t have to worry.  I don’t drink or take…”

Before Arthur could finish his sentence, Mrs. Brewer folded her newspaper and started to walk to the corner.  Arthur was stunned.  When he had left his parents’ home to find his own place, he thought there would be applications and inquiries to face.  He had obtained a position as head bookkeeper at Harcourt Sales a couple of blocks away, so he wouldn’t even need to take the bus if he lived here.  This couldn’t have worked out better.  He was certain at the time that he would be able to get to know his landlord over time.  She was probably just busy that morning.  He found his room and it was perfect.  It was a place to hang his hat, heat up a can of soup or ravioli, and sleep comfortably.  It was all his.  Alone.

Eleven years later and nothing had changed.  He had never seen his landlord again.  He knew she was there because she cashed his checks, but there were no nights sitting on the steps getting acquainted.  He accepted that nothing ever changed.  He walked past his building without so much as a backward glance.

Arthur was getting hungrier by the minute, so he decided to stop for a sandwich and some coffee at the corner diner.  He could arrange his disappearance just as well on a full stomach as an empty one.  The diner was about half full and Arthur was glad to see the lunch rush hadn’t begun yet.  He would be able to relax, enjoy his meal, and develop a plan for his departure from the life where he felt he was so despised.  Well, that was not exactly the problem.  His very existence wasn’t even acknowledged enough for him to be despised by anyone.  Oddly, being reviled seemed an almost pleasant alternative to Arthur.  If people hated you, it meant they knew you were there.

Arthur found a table and looked through the menu.  He selected a BLT on toast, a bag of chips and an iced tea.  The waitress came to his table, held her order pad, and without looking down at Arthur, tapped the pad with her pencil.  He assumed that was his cue to order, since a ‘good morning’ or ‘what can I get for you today’ would obviously have required too much effort.  She must have been exhausted from dispensing all her pleasantries since Arthur had heard her say those things to the customers at the tables close to his.  Arthur almost asked her why he was not worthy of some common courtesy, but chose to simply place his order.  I supposed I’m lucky she came to my table at all, he thought.

“I would like…,” he began, as his waitress turned and walked toward the kitchen, slipping the pencil and order pad into her pocket.

She picked up the order for the customers at the table next to his.  As she set their food down, she smiled and said she hoped they would enjoy their meal.  She did not return to Arthur’s table, as he had already known she would not.  I must become invisible when people come within three feet of me, he thought.  I need to figure out how to become permanently invisible.  The world would be a much happier place if I wasn’t in it, taking up space.

Arthur got up and decided to buy a couple of chocolate bars at the cashier’s counter.  The young girl working the register was texting on her cell phone, shaking her head and giggling.  Arthur picked up two candy bars and asked the girl how much they were.  She, of course, never gave him an answer – not that he expected one.  He placed $2.00 next to the register, put the candy in his pocket and walked out.  He decided to find somewhere to eat his candy and find a way to stop existing.  For real.

After finishing the second chocolate bar, he looked for a trash bin, and hadn’t realized he’d walked so far.  So deep in thought and cloaked in self-pity, he’d paid no attention to the fact that he’d left the center of town and wound up at the rail yard.  There was one freight car on the tracks with the door wide open.  It had ‘WBC – No. 62’ painted on the side.  There was no engine or other cars around, and Arthur noticed there were no guards or conductors either.  He had never ventured this far from town before, and while he didn’t know anything about railroads, he assumed there should be workers on duty around the clock.

He shuddered as he remembered a documentary he had seen recently on the educational channel.  It was the story of three men, and one woman who spent their lives riding the rails.  He had seen how dangerous that lifestyle could be with jumping on and off moving trains.  He had also seen how equally dangerous the people who lived that way could be.  They were very territorial about the cars they lived in and carried weapons to guard their possessions and to protect their very lives.  Arthur wondered if there were any train hoppers hiding in this car, waiting to attack an unsuspecting citizen who only sought a quiet place to think and plan how not to have a future.

Arthur cautiously peeked inside the car and saw only darkness.  Since that car obviously wasn’t hooked up to anything, he doubted it was occupied and climbed in.  The inside was warm and didn’t have any offensive odor as he had imagined.  He walked to one corner and sat down.

“Now, how do I arrange to permanently remove myself from the face of the Earth?”

Arthur could feel his bladder releasing a few drops as he heard rustling from the opposite side of the car.

“Is someone there?”  The voice was deep and Arthur thought the tone indicated anger.  Maybe not anger precisely, but annoyance at least.

Arthur stood up and backed himself into the corner.

“Please don’t kill me,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes.  “I’m nobody.  I’m nothing.  If you look in my direction, you won’t even see me.  No one else ever does.  I’m sure you won’t either.”

The inside of the car was slowly filling with light as the occupant turned the lever on his lantern.  Arthur could see him clearly now.  He was an older man, Arthur guessed in his 60’s, with sparse gray hair, and a bit of gray stubble on his cheeks and chin.  His hands were clean and his overalls and shirt was spotless and there were no holes in his shoes.  He didn’t look to Arthur like the drug-addicted, filthy, mass murderers he believed lived on trains.

“What are you saying, son?” he said, his tone seemingly calmer now.  “Nobody’s going to kill anybody.  I fell asleep at the last stop and hadn’t realized I was in a whole new town.  What is this place called, young fella?”

Arthur felt more at ease.  He wasn’t sure why, but felt comfortable with this stranger.  At least, the man was looking at Arthur and having a conversation with him.  This was new – and nice.

“You’re in the rail yards outside of Bridgeton.  It’s a little town in…”

The man closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

“I know Bridgeton, son.  Truly.  I do.”

The man appeared to be trying to compose himself.  Arthur wondered why the name of his town had obviously upset this man.  He waited for the man to speak.

“So, what’s your name, young man, and why are you taking to the rails?  I know you’re not a regular since hoppers usually don’t wear three-piece suits and carry briefcases.”

He smiled.  Arthur didn’t see the harm in sharing both his identity and his story.  At least when he spoke to this man, he stayed put and listened.

“My name is Arthur and I’m in the process of trying to disappear.”

“Disappear?  Well, that’s quite an ambition.  Mine name’s Jeb, and all I’m trying to do is find a bit of peace.  What are you running away from, Artie?”

Arthur knew it was presumptuous to correct a stranger he’d met in a boxcar on the railroad, but the man was overstepping his boundaries.  Gently, now, Arthur, he thought.  You don’t want to be dismembered over something as minor as a nickname.

“Actually, sir,” he said quietly.  “I mean, Jeb, sir, my name is Arth…”

“Did you rob a bank or shiv your roommate?  Do you really think this lifestyle is for you?  You know, Artie, my boy, there’s some pretty dangerous fellas that ride these rails.”

Arthur decided to drop the name issue.  He wanted to vanish from his present circumstances – not to have his body parts spread along the tracks from here to Atlantic City.

“No, Jeb, of course not.  My only crime is that I exist and I’m obviously excess baggage to the rest of the world.”

Jeb couldn’t believe he was hearing such defeatism and bitterness, especially from one so young.

“My, my, my, Artie.  It’s way too early in the day to be drowning in self-pity and crying in your beer.  At least wait until after noon.”

Arthur was livid.

“I almost believed you were different,” Arthur began.  “But you’re like all the rest.  If they don’t ignore me, they’re making fun of me, like you are.  People are all the same.  Maybe if I go to the desert, I can finally be done with everyone.  And, by the way, my name is not Artie – it’s Arthur!

“Good for you, Artie.  Is that the first time in your life you raised your voice?  How did it feel?”

Arthur was shocked; the nerve of this man.  Come to think of it though, it felt kind of good.

“Why are you picking on me?  What did I ever do to you?”

“I’m not picking,” Jeb said.  “I’m trying to understand why you’re running away.  You’ve got a backbone.  I just saw you use it.  Tell me son.  Why would you want to disappear?”

Arthur thought, maybe he is trying to help me.  I could take a chance.

“This might be hard for you to understand because I’ll bet you’ve never been ignored in your whole life.  But, people act as if I’m not even there.  At work, I can be in the middle of a sentence and they walk away.  In restaurants when I get ready to order, the waitress walks away.  My landlord has never looked me in the eye and when I first rented the room, she told me which room was to be mine and walked away.  They’ve always walked away all my life.  They all walk away.”

Arthur began to cry.  He pulled some tissues from his briefcase and wiped his eyes.  Jeb wondered yet again why the world could be so hard on some.

“Artie, let me explain something to you about people.  Everyone is looking out for themselves.  Haven’t you realized that yet?  Times are hard, times are always hard, and that’s the only way to get by.  Folks rush through their days and never feel like they have enough time to share any of it with someone else.  Sound familiar?”

Arthur nodded.  This man knows exactly what I go through each and every day.

“Then again, son, half of the problem is you.”

“What?”  Arthur couldn’t believe Jeb had turned on him too.

“All I meant, Artie, is that you just let people walk away from you.  Why don’t you call them back and say ‘hey, I wasn’t finished’ or just follow them and keep talking until you are finished?  That takes effort and caring though, doesn’t it?  It is easier, I guess, to whine that nobody likes you and decide to run away from home, right?”

“Why are you being so mean?”  Arthur began to cry again.

“Listen to me, boy.  You don’t want to run away and disappear.  I made that mistake myself a long time ago.  I walked away from my gal and my life because I thought I wasn’t good enough for her.  When I came to my senses and realized that she really did love me just for me, I tried to go back and make things right, but it was too late.  She’d already found someone else.

“You see, when you give up your place in this world, if you wait too long, somebody else might fill it.  Then you’re left to wander and son, you don’t want to be left to wander.”

Jeb paused for a moment and then began again.

“Do you have a gal, Artie?”

“Not exactly,” Arthur said.  “The front desk secretary, Francine, is a very sweet lady, but I could never ask her out.  She would never want to be seen anywhere with me.”

“There you go again, son,” Jeb said, shaking his head.  “See how you do yourself in?  If she says no, then ask another gal, but don’t give up before you even try.  You need to go back and take your place back in this life.  If people walk away, call them back.  Don’t let someone else take your spot, and make sure you ask that secretary of yours out for a date.  Do it before another fella does and puts her out of reach.  Don’t let it be too late for you too.”

Jeb sat back in his corner and Arthur knew he saw tears in Jeb’s eyes too.

“You know, I will do it, Jeb.  You’re right.  It’s just that I have always been afraid, but no more.  I’ll go back and fill my spot up so good there won’t be room for anyone else to take it away from me.  I’m going home to get a good night’s sleep and start fresh in the morning.  Thank you, Jeb.  Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome, Artie,” Jeb smiled.  “Think of old Jeb when you’re bouncing your grandkids on your knee.”

Arthur walked home and felt like a new person.  Life involved taking chances, and he was no longer afraid to take them.

Arthur woke up and got ready for work.  He wasn’t sure if he still had a job after leaving without notice yesterday, but he was prepared to suffer the consequences, if any.  Regardless of how that matter turned out, he knew he was going to ask Francine out for lunch or maybe even supper.  He had always thought she had the cutest way of pushing her glasses up on her nose.  Jeb had been right; half of his problems were his own fault.  He decided to pay him another visit and bring him something to eat.  He made a sandwich and put it, and two cupcakes, in a bag.  He walked to the train yard, but all the tracks were empty.  He saw a man working on one of the signal lights.

“Excuse me, sir,” Arthur said, making his way through the maze of tracks and equipment.  “I was wondering if you could help me.  There was a freight car here yesterday and it had WBC painted on the side.  Do you know when that one will come back around here?”

The man expected a cruel prank from kids, but from a grown man?

“WBC is nothing to joke about, mister,” the man said angrily.  “Take your sick sense of humor elsewhere.  I’ve got to get ready for today’s run.”

As the man began walking toward a small shack, Arthur almost turned around and continued on his way, but stopped.  ‘Don’t give up before you try – call them back.’

‘Sir, I’m not trying to trouble you.  Perhaps I was mistaken about the logo I saw.  Maybe I saw WBC somewhere else.  Could you please tell me why mentioning that name upset you?  Would you mind?  I can’t really explain why, but it’s very important to me.”

The man decided this fella was probably okay.  From the looks of him, he’s some kind of bookworm who doesn’t get out much.  No harm in telling him about the nasty business, he supposed.

“Sorry to pounce on you like that, son, but I thought everyone knew about the tragedy.  It’s part of this town’s history – the dark part, anyway.  You see, the WBC was a local line.  It was based here and only went through this county and the two to the South of us.  They went out of business more than 50 years ago after that horrible crash.  D&W’s the only train we get through here now.”

“Crash?  More than 50 years ago?  Please, sir, tell me what happened.”  Arthur needed to know, but wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Well, there were problems with the engine and all the inspectors kept letting them all slide.  Apparently, the cost to fix them would have been too high.  In the end, though, the cost wound up being the lives of three people.  The morning train was hauling four cars filled with wood for a project the town was planning – some storefronts, I was told, and the train was on its way back here.  About fifteen miles from here, the tracks used to run on that bridge over the canyon by Hoff’s Bluff.  Halfway across the bridge, the train stalled, the engine started sparking and then exploded.  The entire train, along with all four freight cars, went off that bridge.

“There was supposed to be two men on the run, the conductor and his assistant.  They found their bodies in the wreckage, but they also found the body of another man in what had been car number 62.  Old fella, they say, a hopper they hadn’t known was even in there.  No one knew who he was so they checked missing persons, but came up empty, and no one ever came forward to claim his body.”

“He wasn’t technically missing because his spot wasn’t vacant anymore.  Someone else had filled it up,” Arthur said, tears forming again.

“What was that?” the man said, seeing Arthur wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.  “Didn’t mean to make you misty-eyed there, young fella.  Were you related to any of them?”

“Oh, no,” Arthur said.  “It’s just that I…what I mean is I saw…, I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time.  Thank you for the information.  I hope you have a very nice day.”

The man told Arthur he hoped his day went well too and went back to adjusting the signal light.  Arthur walked back toward town on the way to his job.   Jeb, he thought, Artie here.  Thanks for wandering my way.  I promise you I will stay in my spot and I pray you’ll found another somehow, wherever you are.  God knows you’ve more than earned one.

Justice for Ethel - Week 2 of 52round2

As soon as I opened the door and saw her face, I knew.  There she stood, black eyes and all, crying on my doorstep.

“Come in this house right now, Ethel,” I said, putting my arms around her and pulling her in out of the cold night air.  “That boy has struck you again, hasn’t he?”

Since she had never been able to look me in the eye whenever I inquired as to the source of her ever-present injuries, I knew my assumption was correct that her psychotic nephew was responsible.  Her troubles with that despicable boy began after he had just turned eleven.

Her sister, Claudette, and brother-in-law, Theodore, had never been blessed with children of their own.  Even after 15 years of marriage, they both still longed for a son or daughter they could share their lives with.  Since Theodore had been very successful with his appliance repair business, Claudette had been fortunate enough to be able to remain in the home full-time.  They hoped the fact that they were financially stable, coupled with their reputations as pillars of their community, would assist them with the adoption process.

They both felt, considering their ages, it would be best for all concerned if they brought a child into their home instead of an infant.  To their surprise, two days after submitting their application to the county, they were notified a ten year old boy was available for permanent placement.  His social worker was anxious to situate him since none of their foster families were willing to provide him with even temporary housing for more than a couple of days.  There were rumors of mutilated pets, physical and verbal assaults on other children within the homes and several incidents of arson in the neighborhood when he was in the vicinity.  No clear evidence of his direct involvement was ever produced, but the circumstantial clues pointing to the boy in all cases was so overwhelming, the fear in the various households was palpable.

His name was Bobby, and Claudette and Theodore adored him the moment they were first introduced.  Ethel had mentioned to me that Claudette believed the boy seemed lost – a wandering soul, out of touch with both time and space.  As far as I was concerned, however, it was nothing quite so romantic.  The boy was simply evil, and found great delight in causing pain and suffering to all he crossed paths with.  But, I digress.

The adoption process became finalized within a couple of weeks, with no home inspections or follow-up visits having occurred.  This was highly unusual, but then, this was a highly unusual case.  The child was given the legal name of Dorning and his meager personal possessions were relocated to a spacious room of his own at his new parents’ elegant home.  It didn’t take long for the disturbing incidents to begin again.

The boy was sullen and secretive, and his teachers made it clear to the Dornings that they were afraid to turn their backs on him, even in the classroom.  Within a few short weeks, he was expelled from school for his violent outbursts and his brutal assaults on his fellow students.  His parents believed he was simply misunderstood and needed to have his energy focused in a more positive direction.  They employed a live-in homeschool teacher to help the boy with his lessons and to help him find, and develop, interests in an attempt to modify his behavior.

The young woman, Charmaine, hired to assist Bobby to find himself, moved in on a Monday.  Five days later, she was dead, supposedly from a fall that resulted in her striking her head on a coffee table.  The autopsy supported that account as told by the child.  She was always such a clumsy one, Bobby had said.  No one else had ever witnessed Charmaine constantly tripping over her own feet, but who would be so uncaring as to question the veracity of a little boy, who was most likely traumatized by the whole affair.  I wish to God someone had.

Theodore was the next to die.  Bobby was with him, helping to change a flat tire on the family car.  The jack slipped, the boy had reported, and the car fell on him.  Why the man had been underneath the vehicle while putting on a new tire was never questioned.

Claudette and Bobby were comfortably provided for following Theodore’s death.  His assets went to his widow, with the provision that in the event of her death, all would be held in trust for the boy until his 18^th birthday.  Provision had also been made for his care in the event his parents expired while he was still a minor.  Their will strongly recommended Claudette’s sister, Ethel, become the boy’s guardian and executor of his trust.  When Claudette was found dead in her bed on Bobby’s 11^th birthday, apparently from an overdose of sleeping pills dissolved in her nightly cup of cocoa, her passing was attributed to depression over her husband’s untimely demise.  No one suspected anything amiss, even though it appeared she had committed suicide knowing the child she adored would find her cold and stiff that morning.  This is the point in time where Ethel came into the picture.

Ethel and I had been friends since Kindergarten.  We were inseparable all through school and served as maid of honor at each other’s wedding.  Both our husbands had been killed in separate car accidents by drunk drivers – an odd coincidence that only served to further cement our friendship and parallel lives.  We lived on the same street, served on the same committees, and watched over each other’s lives in general; that is, until that boy came to live with her, and Ethel became a prisoner in her own home.  He was only 11, but tall and very muscular for his age.  He was an intimidating presence, and I knew Ethel feared him.  Still, she felt obligated to provide for him and set up her assets in trust for the boy in case something should happen to her.

Ethel and I didn’t see much of each other after he arrived.  She resigned from her committees, fundraisers and our book club.  Her story was that her nephew needed her full attention, but it was common knowledge in our small town that she was embarrassed by all the bruises visible on her person.  It became more and more difficult to explain why she would be wearing gloves, sweaters, and scarves in the middle of our hot and humid summers.  It was easier for her to simply remain hidden behind closed doors.  Bobby, however, was constantly out and about.  He did not attend any school since being expelled from the county’s system.  Ethel’s rationale was that he had abandonment issues and learned best in a home setting.  She was never contacted for any follow-up on his progress.  It was easier to let it slide.  Right.  Easier.  But, for whom?

I knew he wasn’t doing his studies since he was rarely home.  I would see him at the grocer buying cat food and bananas, and then later at the department store picking out clothes, toys and other personal items for himself and charging it all to Ethel’s accounts.  On the rare occasions when Ethel would be out picking up her mail at the end of her driveway, she always looked so pale and weak.  Since Ethel had never had a pet and was allergic to cats, I couldn’t help wondering if all that cat food and bananas was all that evil boy would permit her to eat.

Years passed with more of the same, and the boy grew both in stature and strength, as well as in capability to inflict suffering.  Beloved pets from the neighborhood either disappeared completely or were discovered horribly mutilated.  Children would cross the street on their way to and from school to avoid walking by Ethel’s house.  They informed their parents they had been warned by the big boy who lived there that there would be dire consequences if they came within as much as fifty feet of his front door.  They didn’t know what dire consequences were, but their parents certainly were familiar with the term.  None of the families ever filed a complaint with the police though.  They just let it slide.

Fast forward to this evening when Ethel rang my doorbell.  After I got her settled on the couch, I brought her some tea and a sandwich.  She looked like she hadn’t eaten in a week.

“If you don’t want to admit that he abuses you, I won’t press you,” I said.  “But, something has to be done, and soon.  You’re not well, you are one giant bruise, and the bigger he gets, the harder he hits.  Talk to me, dear friend.  Please.”

“He will be 18 years old tomorrow,” she said, wiping her tears with a tissue and wincing from the pain as she dabbed the bruises on her face.  “He wants his parents’ money all turned over to him first thing.  He’s going to take me to the bank to sign it over.  It’s just a formality because the money is his now, but he insists I make it official and relinquish my position as executor.  I suggested perhaps beginning with an allowance rather than acquiring all that cash in one lump sum, and that’s when he…I mean, that’s when I…oh, I can’t anymore, Lizbeth.  That’s when he punched me.  I’ll sign it over, I don’t care anymore.  Maybe if he gets his money, he will leave.  Do you think he might leave, Lizbeth?  I’m sorry to bother you with all this, but I’m so upset.  He’s out somewhere and I just needed to talk to you.”

“Never be sorry for coming to me.  I’m here for you now, and always will be.  You can’t help him, no one ever could.  Give him what he wants and there won’t be anything to keep him here any longer.”

“Thank you, dearest.  I’ll be alright now.  That’s true.  He will have no reason to stay.  I have an appointment with my lawyer set up for next week to change my will too.  I’m not going to leave him a cent.  All my money is going to the library fund.  I know I’ve let this go on too long and it’s time to stop being afraid.  Thank you again, my friend.  I should be going now before he gets home.  No sense looking for trouble on this last night.”

As I walked Ethel to the door, a terrible thought popped into my head.

“You didn’t tell Bobby you were going to write him out of your will next week, did you?”  I had to ask.

“Oh, no, of course not,” she tried to smile.  “I called Sid when Bobby was out of the house.  He’s out of town this week on business, but his secretary told me she could type up a new will for me and have him look it over when he returns.  Then, I could come in and just sign it next week.”

Good.  No sense looking for trouble indeed.

Ethel was dead the next day by lunchtime – another hit-the-head-on-a-coffee-table accident.  Considering Ethel’s age, no autopsy was performed, although it was my understanding that was the law.  The doctor felt it best, however, to simply let it slide since older folks get clumsy at times.  Clara, her attorney’s secretary and friend, although not a close one, attended Ethel’s funeral and made certain that everyone in attendance knew that she was the last person to speak to Ethel before she died.  To clarify, she didn’t actually speak directly to Ethel, but to her answering machine.  It seems she had left a message that the rewrite of Ethel’s will, removing her nephew, would be ready sooner than originally anticipated since the attorney had returned a few days early from his business trip.  She stated that she often wondered if poor Ethel had been lying dead on her living room floor as her message was being left, but that wasn’t the case.  I knew for a fact that Ethel’s fate was sealed not when the message was left, but when it had been heard.

Within a month, Bobby had it all:  His parents’ money, Ethel’s house, and the cash from the life insurance her husband had left her.  He spent and partied and spent and partied some more.  Ethel’s front yard was littered with beer bottles and newspapers tossed there by the delivery boy and never retrieved.  It made my heart ache to see what he had done to my friend’s home that she had taken so much pride in.

Before he trashed the entire place, I took it upon myself to gather a few trinkets Ethel had promised to me years before.  From a financial perspective, they were worthless, but priceless in the friendship department.  She had wanted me to have her cheerleading sweater from high school, her two pom-poms, an award certificate for most improved handwriting she had received in second grade, and several other personal treasures.

We had given each other keys to our respective houses, as friends do who watch over each other are prone to do.  I went over early one morning and let myself in.  If I had rung the bell, that nasty boy wouldn’t have admitted me, so I decided to avoid any unnecessary confrontations.  He had partied heavily with some thugs from the next county the night before, so I knew he would be out cold, as they say.  I can be quiet as a mouse, as most of us elders can, and I entered unnoticed and made my way up the three stories to the attic.

When I opened the door, the air was so thick, it was suffocating.  I opened the large window at the far end to air it out a bit so I could search for the promised items in relative comfort.  Ethel had her attic fully carpeted when she and Jack had bought the house, so it was easy to move around and not disturb anyone on the levels below.  I found the box with my name written on the front on a shelf, but darned if it didn’t slip out of my hands and fall down with a loud thud, the carpeted floor notwithstanding.  As I moved it next to the open window to get a better view of the contents, I heard stomping on the stairs.  Oh my, I thought.  I hope I didn’t wake the young man of the house.  Apparently I had though, because the door was flung open and in Bobby came, cursing all the way.

“What are you doing in here, you old bitch?  How’d you get in anyway?  I’ll get you for sneaking around in my house!”

He charged at me and I stepped away from the window.  I decided to give him a few minutes to calm down and then make an attempt to reason with him.  He lost his footing a few feet from the window when he tripped over that section of carpet that had come loose and bunched up.  Years ago, when Ethel was showing me how she had arranged her attic, I had slipped on that part of the rug too.  She had said she planned to get that tacked down someday.  I guess she forgot.  Before I could grab for him, he fell right out of that window and landed on the neighbor’s cement driveway face down.  It made quite the mess, don’t you know.  I attributed the distance in the air he’d achieved to the fact that he’d had a running start.

The Sheriff, the doctor and I were the only ones in attendance at his funeral.  I arranged for a nice ceremony, for Ethel’s sake.  She had such a good heart, she would have wanted him to have a respectable and dignified burial.  The Sheriff remarked how odd the circumstances of his death were in that he didn’t fall straight down.  I, of course, piped in with what a clumsy fellow he’s been all his life, since he was a boy – always tripping, always falling down.  I said that one certainly could not expect a routine outcome when someone with that affliction was involved.  He agreed with me, as did the doctor, and as was our way, we all decided to simply let it slide.  Oh yeah.