FENWAY
Not that I really care, but I’d like our boys to get a win. This is more about Sam than baseball. Then again, if it weren’t for the Sox winning the series back in 2018, she probably wouldn’t have quit cigarettes. Where is she anyways?
I turn off the car, leaving behind the A/C. I’ll go find our seats. Damn, it’s hot today. On days like these, you can really understand why people do some of the insane things they do. Blood boils, emotions run rampant and people make mistakes. Not today though. Today is a good day.
Singing is heard from the stadium like a swell from the colosseum. If it weren’t so hot, I’d get a beer. Nah, I’ll stick with water.
I become part of the mob. Where the hell is Sam? Maybe she forgot about the game. She’s always so chatty with those girls at the nail place. I’ll send her a message.
Where you at?
The three little dots pop up.
Just got done shopping. There in 20. Mind finding our seats?
Shopping? What does she need to go shopping for?
Yeah sure. See you soon.
Send a heart… and a little smiley face…
Geez the park is packed today. I find our seats behind the plate after fifteen minutes. Of course, we’re right next to some fat guys in Atlanta jerseys. It’s lucky we’re not playing the Yankees. We should be alright. I shuffle down the aisle and sit down in my seat. We’re only playing the Braves. We shouldn’t have a problem.
It’s not like I’ve ever gotten into an actual brawl at Fenway. I don’t do well with physical fighting. Hell, I don’t do well with confrontation in general.
Sam knows this about me, but she doesn’t know the extent of it. Before she moved to the city, I used to get into more trouble than I care to admit to her.
It was 2013 when I graduated high school. That summer, I needed to make a bit of extra money. Living in Boston is expensive. There was a dude named Zero who graduated with me who said he could help me make a bit of extra money. Just a little weed he said, no big deal.
Well, the little bit of weed turned out to be a lotta bit of weed. And then suddenly it wasn’t weed at all. Christ, this city has a problem with cocaine.
The game’s about to start, and the guys next to me look like they’ve already had a couple. This blonde bearded dude turns and grins at me. Kind of a manic look about the dude. He sees my Sox hat. Are we gonna have a problem?
The cop caught me dealing out on the corner of Park Drive and Boylston. I slapped a bag of snow into the palm of some tweaker and turned around to find a badge in my face. He grabbed me by the shoulder, I shook him off and ran down Boylston towards the Garden Society. He was right on my heels the whole way. I was out of breath in the garden. Right near the compost area he caught up and grabbed me again. What could I do? I turned around and with one punch laid a haymaker into the guy’s jaw. He didn’t see it coming. Hell, I didn’t even know I was capable of that.
The end of the first inning and Hernandez has already got us a point. The dudes from Atlanta don’t like that too much. They probably flew out here just for this game. I take a swig from my water and try to ignore their jeers.
The cop’s on the ground, stunned, knocked out maybe. I keep running. I run until I’m out of the garden and at the riverside. Then it hits me. What the hell did I just do? I wretch, and my lunch flies out of me. I’m on the ground, hands and knees, heaving. I throw up again. The dry heaves are attacking. I need air.
“Hernandez, you suck!”
The bearded guy in the Minter jersey calls out and leans forward, sloshing beer onto a little kid in front of him.
“Hey man, why don’t you fuck off?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
The dude turns and puffs out his chest. His buddies are laughing. He has that look I’ve seen in the eyes of too many tweakers.
“What are you gonna do about it?”
Heart pounding. Blood racing. I could lay this guy out. I could also go to jail. It doesn’t matter if he started it. Color is the only thing that matters in these situations. He raises his fist. I see the punch coming from a mile away. Whatever, I’m not giving this guy the satisfaction. Hit me and see what happens.
The strangest thing though, I never feel the punch land. I’m fainting, falling to the ground, staring at the chewing gum stuck under my seat as I hit the concrete. The stadium grows quiet. Then it grows dark.
MERRY-GO-ROUND
I push the rotating door, and immediately I’m back at the summer fair of 2009. The carnies were rude, but the rides were fun. Maple Cotton Candy. That was my favorite. The rides were sticky, but the boy was sweet.
Alex Thompson, white boy from Vermont. He was a nice boy. He’d been a gentleman. Helped me quit cigarettes and start my chewing gum addiction. He held my hand as we got off the merry-go-round. Never tried to take advantage. He was a nice boy.
The door starts rotating. A tall man steps in from outside. He’s wearing sunglasses, and I can’t see his face, but he reminds me of someone. Maybe my first boss, the greedy old curmudgeon. What a shit job that was. That greedy old man had never seen eye to eye with me, but how could he. Black girl growin’ up with a bunch of white people. He pocketed half my paycheck. What could I do about it? Call the police? Hilarious. Absolutely hilarious.
When’d they clean this door anyways? Smudgey, that’s the word. Smudgey smudge smudginess. Smudgey sounds good. Almost as smudgey as the tall man next to me. I can feel him looking at me. His eyes. Five hundred years of hatred built up there. It was a tough time working for that man.
I wonder what that greedy old curmudgeon would say if he saw me now. Made it out of the countryside. Made it through cosmetology school alright. Made it to the point where I don’t have to worry about some stick in the mud pocketing my paycheck. Got some good girls I work with and a sweet fiancé to go home to. Forget that greedy old man.
Darren’s got us seats right behind home plate. Hell, I don’t even know who the Sox are playin’, but I like going with Darren. I like when he yells at the Yankee fans. I hope we’re playing the Yankees.
Free from this door, finally. The air sweeps my hair across my face as I step out into the sunlit street. The city is loud today. It smells like the hot dog I had at the carnival with Alex Thompson. It smells like the rain from my last horseback riding competition when I broke my collar bone. It smells like the smoke from every party I’ve ever been too. I’m a bit disoriented.
“You tower fucks always think you can just get whatever you want!”
A fat man with a heavy Turkish accent is selling gyros. He’s yelling at a scrawny white woman in a suit, waving around a fat cigar as he does. The vendor looks like he might hurt somebody. Time to get to the game.
I’m not sure where Fenway is from Kohls. No more than a couple blocks, I think. I leave the rotating door behind and walk five steps over to the crosswalk. A police officer is directing traffic. Maybe he knows the way to the game.
HOPSCOTCH AND CROSSWALKS
Hopscotch and crosswalks. Maybe he doesn’t know where the game is. Oh well, must start somewhere.
The city is loud today. Step one of the five little white lines. Hopscotch and crosswalks. In first grade, we would play hopscotch with the older girls. We’d jump rope and play hopscotch, hoppin’ from each square to the next. Tallyin’ up the score. During recess, I’d take any excuse to play with the older girls. I fell once and banged up my knee. They sent me home.
Onto the second white line. The city is full of smells. I get a whiff of nail polish from the revolving door miles behind. The Turkish vendor is smoking that fat cigar. I’d ask him for directions, but he’s still yellin’ at the lady in the suit. His cigar makes me want to smoke. But hey, I’m on a roll. I’ll focus on the nail polish instead.
In middle school mom let me have friends over. We’d watch America’s Next Top Model and drink milkshakes while trying to decide who was the prettiest. Truth be told, I never really cared about the contestants. It was the glamorous Tyra Banks that drew me in. Tyra never took no shit.
Third step. White lines. Hopscotch and crosswalks. Daddy left. I always knew he was unfaithful, but they could have at least waited for me to graduate. A girl with a red headband is tying her shoe. The police officer holds up traffic for me. A man on a motorcycle swears at him. He can wait.
He can wait his turn, just like I had to wait for Darren Jones to propose. God, I would’ve said yes on our first date, but he had to drag it out. Not that I minded much. Him dragging it out meant I had more time to explore. I really got to know the man, and maybe that’s what he wanted. Just like Alex Thompson had been a gentleman, I learned that Darren was never the type to treat me wrong. He was just waiting for the right moment to treat me perfectly. A gentleman through and through. Samantha Jones. I think that sounds nice.
Step four. Here we go, I’ve never been great with strangers, especially police officers, but this guy looks pleasant enough. Though I can’t see his eyes behind those dark sunglasses. I think of the man in the revolving door. Oh well, must start somewhere.
“Excuse me, officer?”
“Hello miss.” He puffs out his chest. “Something I can help you with?”
The Turkish man is yelling again, and I see the officer looking at him with apprehension. I don’t notice the vendor’s cigar fall from his mouth as he continues yelling, but its smell is still with me.
“Yes sir, I was wondering if you know the way to Fenway from here?”
“Fenway, eh?”
The officer smirks. I see his nametag under his badge. Officer Richardson is his name.
“Gonna watch our boys smash the Braves?”
The Braves, of course! I nod my head.
“Sure thing miss. What you’re gonna want to do is head about five blocks in that direction, then when you reach…”
He points down the street next to the department store I have just exited. As he does so, a fair breeze channels the cigar’s scent to my nasal. I need a smoke. I reach into my bag and remember that I don’t smoke anymore. Officer Richardson’s eye twitches again, and his hand moves to his waist. He turns and glares at me.
“What are you doing?” His left eye twitches. He seems angry.
“Oh, nothing officer.” It’s hard to speak when someone won’t listen.
“Show me your hands!” He removes his weapon from his holster.
Five steps on the crosswalk. Five shots from his weapon. Hopscotch and crosswalks. As I fall to the ground, I wonder if perhaps I should have offered him some chewing gum. I once again smell the nail polish. The city is quiet now.
CHEWING GUM
As Officer Matthew Richardson stood looking down at the corpse of Samantha Wellings, beads of sweat began to drip from his pours as quickly as the blood from the lifeless cadaver in front of him. Moments later, a squad car pulled up behind him and shut off its siren. Lieutenant John Stringer got out of the driver’s seat and walked over to Officer Richardson.
“What happened here?” Stringer asked in his thick Southie accent.
“She tried to kill me, John. The dumb bitch tried to kill me.” Officer Richardson’s left eye was beginning to twitch.
“What do you mean… She tried to… Stand back people!” Stringer waved aside a group of thirsty pedestrians.
“She tried to kill me. There I was, directing traffic, and this girl comes walking over to me. She asks me which way to Fenway Park. So, I tell her, I tell her it’s five blocks that way. That’s when I notice her reaching into her purse. She’s reaching for a gun. I know she is. So, I tell her, ‘Stop what you’re doing right now!’ Of course, she keeps digging into that purse. And she’s smiling at me John, I just know she’s trying to kill me. And she doesn’t listen. So, what choice did I have…”
“You shot her five times, Matt.”
“It was either her or me. I’m telling you John I’m lucky to be alive.”
Stringer walked over to the body of Samantha Wellings and picked her purse off the ground. He reached inside, half expecting to find a weapon. He shook the purse and several bills fell out along with a few crumpled up pieces of paper and one other object. He turned and showed the object to Officer Richardson.
“Chewing gum, Matt.”
INTERNAL AFFAIRS
19 March, 2020
Dear Mrs. Wellings,
I am writing to you today to say that I am very sorry about what happened to your daughter. The circumstances which brought about her death were highly unfortunate, and I would like you to know that I very much regret these events. According to protocol, I will now explain to you the tragic events which brought about this unfortunate happening.
On the seventeenth of March, at precisely 3:45 in the afternoon, I was monitoring traffic at the corner of Park Drive and Boylston Street, when your daughter, Samantha Wellings, approached me and asked for directions to Fenway Park. While I was explaining the way to the ball field, I noticed her reaching into her purse. She had a suspicious look on her face, and when I told her to show me her hands, she refused to respect my authority.
I unsheathed my 9-millimeter Glock pistol and discharged five rounds into Mrs. Wellings’ torso. She was dead before she hit the ground. For this action, I am truly remorseful.
As instructed by internal affairs, I will be attending anger management therapy to try and gain a better control of my actions. I would furthermore like to inform you that I have been suspended with pay from the Boston Police Department for three months in response to my actions. I hope this punishment brings you some consolation.
Again, sorry for what happened to your daughter.
Yours truly,
Officer Matthew Richardson
*****
Officer Richardson placed the letter into the envelope and sealed it with his spit. He stood up from his desk and walked over to Susan, Lieutenant Stringer’s secretary. Susan removed the chewing gum from her mouth and placed it on the edge of a coffee cup when she saw Officer Richardson approaching.
“Got a letter for you, Sue.”
“Put it there… on top of the others.” Susan smiled half-heartedly and averted his gaze.
“Thanks gorgeous. So, what are you doing tonight? You up for a drink over at McNulty’s?”
“Aww shucks Matthew I think I’m busy tonight. Got some spring cleaning to do.”
“You’re always busy.”
“Mmhmm.” Susan brushed her blonde bangs out of her eyes and went back to her computer.
“When’s a good time to take you out Sue.”
“It’s Susan, Matt. I’ve told you a thousand times. Also, aren’t you married?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Oh well, maybe when you sort that out, we can talk about a drink. Until then…”
“Alright alright.”
Matthew walked off through the cubicles, and Susan put her chewing gum back in her mouth. When Matthew reached the end of the room, he turned around halfway, thinking about giving Susan a wink, but she was immersed in her emails. He patted the side of the door frame and felt dried chewing gum on the crease between the wall and the frame. The ceiling of the elevator was also coated in chewing gum, as was the poster on the subway home. Later that night, as he drifted off to sleep, Officer Richardson sank into a mattress made of a squishy, sticky substance, and he dreamed of a world filled with hopscotch and crosswalks.
MRS. MARIANNA’S AMAZING CHEWING GUM BALL
On the way to the vet, Janet and Michael Stanley stopped to observe a poster planted on the bus station outside the Museum of Fine Arts. The poster was very colorful, with a spray-paint style image of a strange orb in the middle and bold circus letters lining the frame. Janet tugged on Michael’s jacket sleeve.
“Ooooh, Mikey look at this.”
“What’s that dear.” Michael adjusted his glasses. “Mrs. Marianna’s Amazing Chewing Gum Ball. Who’s Mrs. Marianna? And what’s so amazing about a ball of chewing gum?”
“I don’t know, but wouldn’t you like to find out?”
“Come on Jan, we’ll be late to pick up Princess.”
“Oh Prinny can wait. I want to see what this chewing gum ball is all about.”
Michael sighed, checked his watch, and let out a groan of consent.
“Alright dear. Where is this chewing gum ball?”
“Just five blocks away. We can be there and still have Princess home for her kibbles.”
The couple walked on past the museum and further down Huntington Avenue. It was a brisk day in Autumn and Janet tugged Michael’s jacket close as he dipped his hat to avert the wind. Eventually they came across a black iron gate guarding an alleyway that was plastered with posters identical to the one they had seen at the bus stop. There was a door several yards down the alleyway, guarded by a large man wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigarette.
“I’m not sure about this Jan, wouldn’t you rather just go look at some paintings?”
“Oh no this is much more… what’s the word… rustic! Yes, rustic Michael!”
“Alright…”
Michael sighed again and the two walked through the gate. The alley was dirty, but it had the old-time city feel to it that Janet described as ‘rustic’. The bouncer in front of the door to the exhibit raised his head just enough to peer at the couple over his tinted spectacles as they approached. He dropped his cigarette into a puddle and stepped on it. It extinguished with a pop and a hiss.
“Hey folks. Here to see the exhibit?”
“Maybe…” Michael raised an eyebrow. “Who is this Marianna anyways? What’s she all about?”
“You’ll have to step inside to find out.” The man grinned.
“I don’t know dear… are you—”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Janet interjected impatiently. “How much to see the exhibit, sir?”
“Twenty bucks for the both of you.”
“Pay the man, Michael.”
Michael rolled his eyes and slapped the man a bill.
The man chuckled and moved aside. The couple stepped over the threshold, through a curtain of purple velvet and into a fantastic spectacle. They were inside a rundown cathedral that had, over the years, been taken over by graffiti artists and vagrants. There were multicolored balloons and party stringers littering the ceiling and various works of art surrounding the walls. The works ranged from oil paintings to paper mâché sculptures to splattered tapestries the likes of which would’ve made Jackson Pollock put down the bottle. Their creators were scattered throughout the area, some talking quietly, while some eyed a woman at the end of the hall with an air of caution. The works lining the walls were undoubtedly beautiful, but the creations were blasted into obscurity by the cathedral’s centerpiece.
A globe, at least twenty feet across in every direction, was hanging from a wrought iron chain in the middle of the building. A young woman was standing on a ladder next to the sphere, smoothing out its bumps and edges with a paint scalpel. Michael and Janet stood, gazing at the globe with astonishment. At first it seemed to be made of paper mâché like many of the other works in the cathedral. Upon a closer inspection, Janet ascertained the thing to be made of…
“Chewing gum!”
“What’s that dear?”
“Chewing gum, that’s what was on the poster. It’s Mrs. Marianna’s Amazing Chewing Gum Ball!”
Michael walked up to the globe with an air of professional scrutiny and saw that his wife was right.
“Please stand back, sir!” The woman on the ladder called over to him.
“Sorry?” Michael took a few steps back and looked around shiftily.
“Dammit.” The woman hopped off the ladder and walked over to him. “Jerry was supposed to leave the rope up.”
She clipped a stanchion onto its loop and took a step back, sizing up the stupefied couple.
“Are you Mrs. Marianna?” Janet asked.
“Me? God no! My name’s Tabitha. I’m an art student at BU. If you want Mrs. Marianna, she’s over there.” Tabitha pointed at the end of the hall. “I should warn you though, she’s in a mood today.”
Tabitha picked up her scalpel and went back to the ladder. The Stanleys walked slowly around the chewing gum globe, wide-eyed and unsure of what exactly they were looking at.
“You two!” A rash voice called out, and the couple turned away from the globe. “Yes, you two with the I graduated from Harvard Law but still choose to drive a Subaru vibe. Come over here!”
The woman looked as old as the cathedral itself. She wore an old bowling hat and satin velvet robes. Her eyes rolled in every direction as though she hadn’t slept in a few hundred years. If all of this wasn’t peculiar enough, a fad wad of chewing gum protruded from her cheek every time she spoke, almost as if in her old age she had grown an extra tongue.
“Are you Mrs. Marianna?” Janet asked again.
“Of course I’m Mrs. Marianna. Who the hell else would I be?” She laughed.
“Right, of course.” Janet attempted a nervous smile.
“But…” Michael cleared his throat. “What is this place? How long have you been hanging out here?”
“Easy there professor. One question at a time.”
Mrs. Marianna took the wad of gum out of her mouth and squished it into a flat pancake between her hands.
“Tabitha!” She called out and Tabitha came running over. “Got another one for you, run it up the ladder and while you’re doing that would you be so kind as to address any questions Mr. and Mrs….”
“Stanley…” Michael told the old woman.
“…any questions Mr. and Mrs. Stanley have for you. As for me, I’ve got more chewing to do!”
Mrs. Marianna cackled wildly and threw what looked like half a pack of chewing gum into her mouth. The Stanleys followed Tabitha back to the orb, and Tabitha climbed up the ladder. At the top, she squished the wad of gum that Mrs. Marianna had given her into the globe and began patting it with her scalpel. She eyed the Stanleys skeptically out of her peripheral vision.
“So, what questions can I help you guys with?”
“Well for starters…” Janet looked around. “What is this place, and is that thing really made entirely out of chewing gum?”
“Hell yeah it is.” Tabitha laughed. “And I should know, I’ve been working here ever since the thing was only soccer-ball sized. As for this building, I couldn’t tell you, I know it used to be owned by the church, but it was abandoned after some scandal in the early 2000’s.”
“But…” Michael shook his head. “What is this thing? Did Mrs. Marianna really chew all this gum?”
“Ha! Damn right she did.” Tabitha scraped at the globe. “I guess it all started a few years back. There was a shooting out on Park Drive. This cop killed a girl…”
“I remember reading about that!” Michael nodded. “Whatever happened to that officer?”
“Hell if I know.” In any case. “Mrs. Marianna was an elementary school teacher when that happened. She had a different name back then, I’m not sure what it was exactly. But that story, it really got to Mrs. Marianna. I’m not sure if you remember, or if they even printed the fine details in the newspaper, but that girl who died, she was totally unarmed when the cop shot her. He thought she was reaching for a weapon, but it turned out she was only going for a pack of…”
“Chewing gum!” Janet shrieked! “I remember that now!”
“Right! Chewing gum! So anyways, that really got to Mrs. Marianna. It’s not often that you hear of such a thing being the catalyst to something so horrible. So, Mrs. Marianna gets to chewing. It must’ve started with just a single piece, then maybe a pack a day. But hey… look where we are now.”
“It’s incredible!”
“It’s something isn’t it…” Tabitha agreed.
Michael looked around at the other artists in the cathedral. It was understandable why they gave Mrs. Marianna such a wide berth. The woman was out of her mind, clearly. He cleared his throat again.
“But Tabitha, why doesn’t Marianna just have some other artists chew for her? With such a giant endeavor, surely she would have an entourage lining up to help.”
“Ahem!” Suddenly Mrs. Marianna was right at Michael’s shoulder, chomping her gum with a ferocity previously unknown in the world of chewing… “Let me ask you this, Mr. Stanley, if others help to build my creation, is it really my creation?”
EN ROUTE FROM LOGAN TO HARTSFIELD-JACKSON
There were several plausible reasons as to why the Braves beat the Red Sox that day, and each one was just as unlikely as the next. It could have been the cloud coverage that cooled down the stadium and gave Kyle Wright a burst of motivation on the mound. It could have been the overwhelming support of Atlanta fans at Fenway Park, or Enrique Hernandez’ sprained ankle at the top of the fourth inning. Robbie Feltch knew better. After the first inning, the Red Sox fan he’d been having a bout with had suddenly passed out. Robbie wasn’t sure what exactly made the man faint. Granted he had been about to punch the guy in the face, but he was sure that wasn’t what made him hit the concrete. There was something about the look in the man’s eyes that made him think differently.
In any case, when the EMTs rushed the man away, Robbie felt a change in the tide, as if the fainting man had been the Red Sox’ number one supporter, and now they had been completely disheartened. The Braves won the game, 3-1, and Robbie left Fenway Park feeling somewhat satisfied, his posse of Georgia born ne’er-do-wells by his side.
“Our boys crushed ’em!” Chester Davies let out a whoop and threw his hat in the air.
“Best game I’ve seen since last year’s preseason.” Scott Felton, the eldest of the group smiled.
“Sure was a good game.” Robbie agreed. “Did you guys see that dude next to me pass out at the end of the first.”
“Yeah, that was nuts.” Chester laughed. “Well, I could use another drink. You guys feel like grabbin’ a cold one? There’s a pub down the road named McNulty’s I’ve had my eye on since we landed.”
“I could use a pint.” Scott nodded his head.
“You guys go on; I’ve got the early flight tomorrow and work on Thursday.”
“You sure Rob?” Chester raised an eyebrow.
“Yup.”
“Alright Scottie boy, looks like it’s just me and you then.”
Robbie said goodnight to his friends and caught a cab to the Holiday Inn where he was staying. In his room that night, he fiddled with his Android, debating on whether to call Susan Parker. He and Susan had dated for several years, but she broke it off the last time he got in a brawl with an Oriole’s fan at Truist Park.
The Braves had won, but Robbie didn’t feel like celebrating. He just wanted to speak to Susan. He eventually passed out, sober as a bird with his phone in his hand.
The next day, Robbie made it to Logan International Airport an hour before his flight was scheduled to depart. TSA patted him down, and one of the agents eyed his beer belly warily, as though he was hiding an AK-47 underneath his flab. “There’s no candy there for you.” He growled, and the guy backed off.
Robbie found his gate and sat in the terminal for a few minutes, sizing up the people around him. There was an old lady a few seats away who looked like she was on her way to a funeral, a chubby kid clawing at his mother for money, and a couple several rows away who seemed like they were lost. The man was carrying several guitars and hula hoops, all of which looked like they belonged his girlfriend, who sat with her legs crossed glaring out the terminal window.
Robbie got a breakfast sandwich from Dunkin’ Donuts and wolfed it down in line as the plane began to board. He looked at his ticket; D9 it said. After stuffing his suitcase in the overhead compartment, he turned to sit down, and found that someone was already sitting in the window seat next to him.
“Dammit.” He muttered under his breath as he sat down.
The man in the window seat was reading a newspaper. He was African American and looked to be only a few years older than Robbie, but in much better shape. He smiled cordially as Robbie took his seat, then went back to his paper.
Robbie had never been a fan of flying. In fact, it was one of the few things in life he would happily admit to being afraid of. Put him in front of a line of UFC fighters and Robbie would likely come out unscathed, but put him in a shaky metal contraption hundreds of miles above the ground… Forget about it.
The plane began moving, and Robbie clenched the arm rest between him and the guy in the seat next to him. The man couldn’t help but notice Robbie’s white knuckles. As the plane took its position on the runway, he folded his paper and smiled.
“Not a frequent flier, huh?”
“Wha—” Robbie’s voice cracked, “What gave it away?”
“No worries.” The man laughed. “It gets easier and easier every time. It helps if you’ve got good company.”
The man held out his hand.
“John Stringer, Boston PD.”
Robbie stared at his hand for a moment.
“Nice to meet you.” He gave Stringer’s hand a brief, but firm shake.
Stringer raised his eyebrows, waiting.
“Err… Robbie’s my name. Robbie Feltch. Atlanta Sanitation Department.”
“Nice to meet you, Robbie. You know, it’s the damndest thing, but something about you seems entirely familiar.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah man… I mean, don’t get me wrong. I know we’ve never met before, but in some way, I feel like we’ve been in this situation before. Trapped in a tube, high above the clouds.”
Robbie gulped.
“That’s some imagination you’ve got.”
The plane was gaining speed on the runway. As it neared the ramp at the end, the nose tilted upwards. The chubby kid from the terminal had started to cry. His mother hushed him as the plane became airborne. A few minutes later, the city streets of Boston looked as tiny as lines on a chalkboard. Robbie felt no release of tension as the plane gained altitude, and Stringer seemed to notice.
“Hell man, I don’t mean to freak you out. I guess I’m just in a bit of a mood today. What with the messy scene from yesterday…”
Robbie stared at the seat in front of him.
“I mean, shit man I’ve seen a lot of messy stuff in my line, but yesterday… I don’t know… yesterday was something different.”
Robbie shifted his head to the side and stared at the aisle, looking for a stewardess. Maybe they had some pretzels or something to take his mind off the flight. Stringer suddenly glared at him.
“I mean, not that you care. And why should you? It’s not as if you knew the girl who died.”
Something about Stringer’s tone struck a note in Robbie’s consciousness. He turned to face the officer, and as he did so he released the armrest between them.
“Someone… died?” He asked in a small, child-like voice.
“Yeah man… Someone died. And I was first on the scene. My god it was messy. Some girl fresh out of cosmetology school… The fucked-up thing is it was an officer in my unit that shot her.”
“That’s… terrible.” Robbie stared.
“Terrible…” Suddenly Stringer’s voice was far away. “Yes… terrible. I mean, damn man she wasn’t even doing anything. Just asking for directions.”
The pressure in the plane’s cabin increased until they reached cruising altitude. Stringer went on with his story, but Robbie was finding it hard to pay attention, what with the hum of the engine and the overall nausea. As a stewardess walked down the aisle, Robbie beckoned her over.
“Excuse me, miss?”
“Yes sir, the stewardess beamed at him. How can I help you today?”
“The pressure in this plane is just awful… just awful. Is there anything you guys might have back there that I could chew on? Some pretzels maybe?”
“I’m sorry sir, since it’s such a short flight, we’re not serving any food today. If you’d like though, I can go ask one of the other flight attendants if they have any chewing gum.”
“Would you?”
“Certainly.”
A few minutes later the stewardess returned, and Robbie’s anxiety levels dropped as they reached Atlanta and descended towards Hartsfield-Jackson airport. Stringer was back at his newspaper, but Robbie felt like he should say something to the man. After all, he’d just poured his heart out to keep him from losing it up in the clouds.
“So… Stringer, you said…” Robbie coughed, and Stringer turned his head. “What brings you to Atlanta… Detective.”
He added the detective as an afterthought, and Stringer smiled at the attempt to be polite.
“Pleasure… If you could call it that. Nah, I grew up here. Went to school at Midtown High. After yesterday, I went up to the major and said, ‘Freamon, enough is enough. I need a day before I lose my sanity.’ I stormed out… Hope I still have a job.” Stringer laughed. “No sir, goin’ home to see my mom. Hopefully she can help set my mind at ease.”
The plane landed, and Robbie bid Stringer farewell. He found his car in the parking garage and started his drive home. He passed Midtown high where Stringer had grown up and smiled. He’d forgotten to mention how he’d gone to North Atlanta High School. Hell, they might’ve played football against one another.
That night Robbie paced back and forth across his bedroom floor, his thumb on his Android, the marker set on Susan Parker’s name. He realized he was still chewing the gum the stewardess had given him. He took the gum out of his mouth and squeezed it into a pancake between his thumb and middle finger. He threw it out and pressed the call button on his phone.
KING PIG
The red bird soared over the plains of Featherly Hills. It soared in a forty-five-degree arc over the wood and glass structure until it was suddenly made to double its speed by some unknown entity. It was speeding toward the ground, and a timid pig, so smug only a moment before, started shaking in horror. The red bird smirked as it crashed into the pig with a satisfying pop, and Jimmy Richardson raised his head from his iPad’s screen to see what his parents were arguing about.
“…damn inflation’s going through the roof.” Jimmy’s father grumbled, looking sideways out the window.
“You and inflation, always with inflation.”
Jimmy saw his mother roll her eyes in the reflection of the passenger seat window. He looked at his father who opened his mouth as though to speak, before thinking better of it. His father’s badge was laying on the armrest between the two squabbling adults. After a moment of silence in which the two continued looking in opposite directions, Jimmy reached forward and grabbed the badge. He stuffed it into the seat pocket in front of him before returning to his game.
The second part of Featherly Hills was gloomier than the first. The fat bird stepped up to the slingshot, ready and willing to go down like a Kamikaze. He flew towards a den of pigs and blazed through a barrel of explosives with little to no damage, before bouncing off the ground and floundering into oblivion.
“Melissa, if no one in this family cares about finances, we won’t be able to afford our lifestyle. I keep telling you… if we just drop these damn counseling sessions…”
“Ooh, don’t you even start. Don’t you even start Matthew. When you stop sleeping around with every secretary that gives you puppy dog eyes, then we can talk about cancelling the sessions.”
“Melissa please, not in front of Jimmy.”
“Oh, he’s playing his game. What does he care, anyway?”
The King Pig sat atop his pirate ship, looking entirely too sure of himself.
“Matthew, can you speed up please, we’re gonna be late for Leanne.”
“And there’s another thing to pay for. If we didn’t have to go to these therapy sessions, we wouldn’t need to pay for Jimmy’s daycare. Hell, we probably wouldn’t even be driving around right now in the first place.”
A fan was located right above the King Pig’s head. A well-placed blue bird should knock him off his throne. Jimmy placed his thumb on the iPad and pulled back the slingshot.
“All the more incentive to stop sleeping around.”
The blue bird sailed towards the fan and split into three as it rained down on the King Pig.
“Melissa…” Jimmy’s father sighed. “You know what, Melissa you’re right. As always, you’re right.”
“As always? Matthew I’m not trying to patronize you, I’m simply saying that no one in your life is responsible for your problems but yourself.”
A direct hit! The King Pig sailed off his throne with a bruised eye and a crooked crown. He fell from his platform, down towards the bayou where one well-placed red bird would no doubt take him out of commission for good.
“Yeah yeah,” Jimmy’s father brushed off his wife’s words as easily as an umpire sweeps off the plate, “How much time do we have?”
“None! I told you, we’re late for daycare already!”
“Whatever, I need to stop for gas. Where’s the nearest station?”
Jimmy’s mother had gone back to looking out the window. In the immense heat, a man was spraying off the outside of his bodega with a hose next to the light where the Richardson’s squad car idled. A small pool of water had started to build up next to the bodega, and in its reflection Jimmy’s mother noticed a poster detailing a large ball of chewing gum.
“Melissa? Mel? Where’s the nearest station.”
His wife continued to ignore him, so Jimmy’s father made a split-second decision and decided to take a left onto Boylston Street.
The red bird was all lined up.
“Alright good, there’s the Sunoco up here on the left. Mel, hand me my badge please. I don’t like letting these people see me out of uniform.”
Jimmy’s mother continued gazing out at the cluttered street. A river ran through the city up near the gas station.
“Mel!”
“What?!”
“The badge Mel, the badge!”
“I don’t know where your stupid badge is!”
“I put it on the armrest! Don’t you see it?”
Jimmy’s mother checked the armrest and the creases between the seats.
“Nope!” She raised her eyebrows. “Nothing there, Matthew.”
“Ahh fuck it.”
“Hey! Not in front of Jimmy!”
In the final plain of Featherly Hills, the red bird soared again. It flew with perfect grace and with a lack of virtual gravity. The King Pig sat, mouth wide open, and terrified to the point of insanity. Upon impact, the pig shot into the air and bounced against the base of a platform. It bounced again, and then rolled into a river, where it floated until falling off the edge of a waterfall.
As the Richardsons pulled into the gas station parking lot, Jimmy’s mother looked back at Jimmy and smiled faintly. Jimmy clicked the power button on his iPad. He removed his father’s badge from the seat pocket in front of him and replaced it with the iPad. He then shoved the badge forward into the air between his mother and father, waving it around so they both could see it.
“Here you go dad. I found your badge.”
DOWN THE TOWER… INTO THE VOID
The weekend was wide open, and for whatever reason, I ended up climbing the Bunker Hill Monument. The morning started as a run but ended as a hike. It was something to occupy my mind, something aside from baseball and chewing gum. At a quarter to eleven in the morning, several tourists gathered around the base, taking photos next to the statue of William Prescott and debating on whether to climb the 294 steps to the top of the tower. They were all dressed in heavy winter coats, scarves, and boots. Invisible to them, I took a deep breath and started my ascent.
It was freezing in the tower, and my sweat immediately began to dissipate even though the climb was just as strenuous as my run to the monument. Some odd twenty steps up, I heard the plink of metal against stone, and a few seconds later a quarter bounced down the spiral staircase towards me. It landed at my feet, and I picked it up. A few steps later, I heard the patter of feet and saw the cloud of someone’s frozen breath. A teenager came into view. He was holding hands with a redheaded girl in a Christmas sweater, and he raised his eyebrows when I offered him the coin. He told me to keep it, and I said, ‘thank you’. But really, what the hell did I need a quarter for? I placed it on the sill of the next stone window I came across.
A few lingering sightseers passed me at step 270 or so, and I made it to the top at eleven o’ clock. My eyes adjusted to the light flooding in from the four windows as I looked around the area. It seemed that I was alone. I went over to a window and looked down at the icy square and the busy streets of Boston. As I leaned out, my hand found its way to the old canon next to the window.
“Do not fire until you see the whites of their eyes.”
I jumped and looked around for the source of the bizarre statement. A young girl, no older than nine was sitting on the grate in the middle of the room. She had long brown bangs that were tucked out of her face with a red headband. She smiled up at me as I collected myself.
“S-sorry?” I managed to say.
“Do not fire until you see the whites of their eyes.” She said again. “It’s what William Prescott said to the patriots just before the Battle of Bunker Hill. It wasn’t an original statement though. Some Swedish king said it in the sixteen hundreds. Prescott just copied it to motivate the patriots.”
“Oh… wow. That’s interesting.” I said, somewhat lamely to the girl, who continued beaming up at me.
“Yes, yes, it is.” She agreed, standing up. “So, I’m wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, as you can clearly see, I’m not a very tall person. I’m wondering if you could lift me up so I can see the view from the window.”
I stared down at the girl, somewhat amused by her direct nature.
“Where are your parents, kid?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. So, what do you say? Raise me to the window and I’ll tell you another fun fact about Bunker Hill.”
“Alright.” I laughed.
I clasped my hands together to make a stage, and the girl stepped up to the window’s edge.
“Wow, some view.”
“It really is.” I agreed, also looking down.
“I bet if one of those tourists jumped from up here with their big puffy coats they would just bounce right back up.”
“Ha, probably. So, let’s hear another Bunker Hill fact.”
“Oh, I don’t actually know very much about Bunker Hill. I just said that to give you some incentive.”
“Oh.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“I suppose it did.” I laughed again.
“I can tell you another fact about the war though.”
“Alright, shoot.”
“Alright. So, you know how Paul Revere was super famous for warning the colonial army that the British were coming?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
“Well, something few people know is that Paul Revere was later captured by British soldiers, and he totally gave up the patriots. He told the British exactly where their army was. So, all in all, not that courageous of a dude.”
“I guess not.”
“Yeah. You can let me down now.”
I lowered the girl back down to the stone floor, and she went back over to the grate in the middle of the room. She stared at the grate, down the tower, into the void. Something about her made me feel strange. It wasn’t an uneasy feeling, but strange, like I’d met the kid before.
“What’s your name?” I asked and she glanced up.
She took a moment before answering, clearly trying to decide on the right words.
“I think it’s time for me to be on my way.”
She walked over to the stairs and began hoping down two at a time, her legs locked together in a skiing position.
“Hey!” I called after. “Who are you?!”
“You know who I am, Darren, but it’s time for me to go!”
She vanished down the tower, and I walked over to the grate in middle where she had been looking down. A crisp breeze drifted up through the grate and for a moment I could smell the familiar scent of nail polish. Just for a moment, after which the breeze flew out the window and out of my mind.
SOME LIGHT IN THIS WORLD
The Beatles play from the back room as I send Cam to break down some boxes. It’s one from their acid days with the trippy effects and orchestration. The store is almost empty. There’s only one customer in the Hostess aisle trying to decide between a Twinkie and a Snowball. My beard’s getting long. It scratches my chest as I scrub the gristle off the hot dog roller.
At a quarter past nine, Sarah runs into the store out of breath. I forget where she said she was going. I think she was running some errand for the Sunoco boss I’ve never met. I feel the camera’s eye on me as I ring up the Hostess guy. He went with the Twinkies. How original. He asks for a pack of Newports. Cake and menthol cigarettes, a healthy part of any nutritious breakfast. He glares at me while I ring him up, this dude with the Skull Candy t-shirt.
It’s been over two years since I lost Sam. Two years in and out of therapy… In and out of jobs… In and out of flashbacks to the day it all went down. The guy with the Skull Candy t-shirt leaves the store as the Beatles finish their tune and a chipper voice sounds through the radio in the back room.
Good morning, Boston! I’m DJ Jet and you’re listening to Soulful Sounds of the Seventies. It looks like a hot day ahead of us here in the heart of Massachusetts and I mean hot. We’re looking at temperatures up in the high nineties with zero chance of rain, so put on your sunblock or find somewhere with air conditioning because…
I glance back at our busted A/C unit, barely pulling its weight as it coughs up dust from the storeroom. DJ Jet drones on about how it’s a great day to go swimming, but I can’t think of a single good place in the city to go for a swim except maybe the pool at the BU gym. In fact, every fake positive witticism the guy says only reminds me of how shitty our country really is right now.
There was the whole Roe vs. Wade verdict last week, drawing us further back towards the dark ages than we have been in a century, and who am I supposed to talk to about the school shooting yesterday? Christ, I haven’t heard a word about it since Biden’s half-witted address. I can tell it’s on people’s minds though; a nod or a frown in the right direction when they think no one’s looking.
Cam pops his head out of the storeroom as I ring up a woman with a pack of chewing gum.
“Hey Darren, I finished with those boxes. Want me to take over so you can have a break?”
“Nah man you’re good. If you’re looking for something else to do, I think I saw Sarah just run into the office. Maybe she can show you how to take inventory or something.”
Cam’s a nice kid. A little bit street-weathered, but hey, so am I. Sarah hired him a few days ago to help pick up the slack since our last cashier ran out. I see his drive. It’s the same sense of hustle that drove me when I was his age: No bullshit. When we’re at work, we’re here to work.
There’s a bit of a line of customers building up. I hear the doorbell ring and look up to see a guy with a backwards hat and a gold chain. He vanishes behind the slushy machine as I ring up one of our regulars.
The same old crew of maintenance guys have been coming in here ever since I started. Every day they order the same stuff; coffee for the old guy, Nutrigrain bars for the war veteran, and gummy bears to pair with the young guy’s can of Arizona. Their orders are always the same, but their conversations are always something to listen to.
Basically, the regulars have three topics to choose from when it comes to sharing stories. Cars, women, and guns. Today, the topic seems to have fallen on guns. I wonder for a second if they’ve heard the news from yesterday, but no, this is just another day to brag. I overhear them at the coffee counter.
“I tell you what though,” I think the old guy’s name is Bruce, “if you forget you’re using buckshot, you’re looking at a hole in your foot, at the very least.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me.” The young guy laughs. “Last time I was out in Salem with my cousin Kenny, he almost made that very mistake. That’s why I’d rather just carry a pistol. It’s less confusing.”
The war vet chews slowly on his Nutrigrain bar, seemingly oblivious to his compatriots’ ramblings.
“True,” Bruce grunts, “Not quite as fun though.”
I’m fixing a sales discrepancy when the guy with the gold chain staggers up to the register. I look up slowly, aware that guys with gold chains usually don’t like you looking at them. The dude throws down a bag of Sun Chips and asks me for a pack of American Spirits. Something in his voice makes me do a doubletake as he asks for the smokes. Our eyes connect for a brief second. I know who he is.
The guy’s name is Zero. We went to high school together, graduated in the same class. He’s the reason I almost served a life sentence. I wonder if he remembers who I am… if he remembers that I used to deal for him.
“Hear you go man.” I throw the smokes on the counter and eye him precariously. “That’ll be 13.98.”
“Sheeit.” Zero says in the same washed over Mexican accent that I remember. “Since when did cigarettes get so expensive, man?”
“Haha. Right.”
Zero picks up his stuff and looks at me for a second. For a moment, I think he recognizes me, but as quickly as he turns, the thought leaves my mind. He has no idea who I am. Maybe it’s the beard.
Cam is in the backroom again. Sarah must have sent him back to do an inventory count. I know in a minute we’re about to get the midday lunch rush.
“Yo! Cam!”
“Yeah man?” Cam pokes his goofy bald head out of the storeroom again.
“You mind taking over the register for a minute? I need a smoke man.”
“Yeah sure, you got it.”
Stepping outside to the muggy street, I light a Camel and look around at the city. Our Sunoco is in a nice little nook, somewhat out of the way of the busy mainstream. It’s close to the river. I suppose that’s one reason I like it here.
After the lunch rush, the store goes dead again for an hour or two. I’ve been here since eight and I’m about ready to close my shift. Cam still has a few hours to go.
I’m counting the singles in my register when I hear the door chime. A girl walks in. She’s gorgeous… brown hair… paint-covered overalls. Without even looking around the store, she makes a b-line right towards me. Geez, this can’t be good.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
She looks stern, like she’s on a mission or something.
“Listen, I was putting gas in my tank when the nozzle from the machine out there just went haywire and started spraying all over the place.”
It usually smells like gas in here, but she’s right, the scent is stronger than usual.
“Oh… So sorry about that. Let me just ask my boy Cam here to help…”
“I’m not asking Cam, I’m asking you. Listen, I don’t have time to explain my life story to you, but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Right…”
“Right. Soo, if you could come help me out at the pump, I’ll be on my way.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
“Ayooo Cam!” I shout back. “Need you on register.”
Cam appears from the storeroom and hops on the register, and I follow the girl out to her Jeep at the pump.
“As you can see…”
“Yeah…” I finish her sentence. “It’s everywhere.”
It’s a quick fix. The nut at the end of the nozzle is loose, and the woman’s car is dripping in gasoline. I tighten up the bolt with my hands and offer to reimburse her for the trouble.
“That won’t be necessary.” She says. “I’m in a hurry. But hey, I work right around the corner maybe you can make it up to me with a drink?”
“Drink? Uh…” I stammer. “I mean, of course, yeah of course! Let’s grab a drink sometime!”
“Great!” She smiles and digs something out of her purse. “My name’s Tabitha. Here’s how you can reach me.”
She hands me her card and hops into her Jeep. I look down at the card and see that she’s a student at BU, same as me. I smile as she drives off, thinking about how the day seemed completely hopeless until she showed up. I walk back inside the store and clear my throat.
“Cam, you’re good to go help Sarah again.”
“Sweet.”
Standing guard behind the register, I let my mind drift for the rest of my shift. I know it won’t be long until I’m back at my apartment, studying for my economics exam. I try to keep my thoughts away from all the negativity on the news. There’s still some light in this world. I clock out. I’m about to leave the store for the day when I see a squad car pull up.
A CLOUD OF CRIMSON
The graduates of Jerimiah Burke High School threw their caps in the air. A cloud of crimson hovered above the crowd, and Darren Jones grinned wider than the rest. He was ready to leave the cloud behind and conquer the world.
He stood next to a girl named Miranda Caldwell. On his other side a large boy named Topher had his tongue sticking out. Darren would learn years later that Miranda Caldwell had become a senator for the state of Massachusetts. She would marry a boy she met in Harvard and would drive a Subaru until the day she died. Topher would die of a freak heart attack many years earlier.
Darren was seven years old when he unwrapped the baseball bat under the Christmas tree.
“What you got there, little man?” His father had said.
“Awesome!” Darren swung the half-sized Louisville Slugger around the living room.
“Woah, easy man.” His father laughed. “Looks like we got ourselves a regular Joe DiMaggio in the family.”
Up the aisle from Darren was a boy named Alexander Alvarez, otherwise known as Zero. After the ceremony, Darren would see Zero at a block party on MLK Blvd. He would confide in Zero that he was strapped for cash, and Zero would offer him a job for the summer, selling hash and blow on the corner of Park Drive and Boylston Street. Darren would last only two weeks before his altercation with a Boston narcotics agent. He would ditch his stash at the Garden Society, and he wouldn’t see Zero again for several years. By that time, he would be unrecognizable to the boy named Alexander Alvarez, otherwise known as Zero.
Darren played shortstop for his little league team.
“Knock it out of the park champ.” Coach Avellino said to him.
Darren knocked it out of the park. He carried his team all throughout elementary school, then middle school, and finally high school. Junior year, he fractured his humerus sliding into third base, and that was it. That was the end of his baseball career. He mom told him to double down on his studies. He graduated without the scholarship he had worked so hard to achieve. But he graduated, nonetheless.
Principal Schaeffer stood staring at the cloud of crimson hats, frowning slightly. In his opinion, most of these kids were never getting out of the city. Some would achieve minimal amounts of middle-class success, gaining employment as teachers or policeman, but most already belonged to the streets. It was the same every year, and the cloud of crimson blocked out the sun.
A few rows behind Darren stood a boy named Michael Stanley. Michael Stanley had made the honor roll every year, and he now had his sights set on MIT. Michael would become a world-renowned spinal surgeon and would marry a woman named Janet Pinkerton. Janet would take his last name when they married.
Baseball was out of the question for Darren, but his cap flew with all the rest. Years later he would continue his academic career at Boston University. While on a date with a girl named Michelle Rockwell, Darren would hold the subway door for a girl named Samantha Wellings. Darren would try to ignore Samantha, but she would write her number on the back of a pack of chewing gum and slip it into Darren’s hand when Michelle wasn’t looking. Darren would break it off with Michelle a week later, and six months later he would propose to Samantha on an island in the middle of Echo Lake, two miles from the house in Vermont where Samantha had grown up.
The caps cast a shadow over the crowd, but if one viewed the sight from above, they would see a glimmering crimson entity, formless until viewed with scrutiny. Samantha would die by the hands of a man who took an oath to protect her, and Darren would struggle to make sense of the world as her death affected more than he knew. He would go for long runs, he would take up cigarettes, he would work various odd jobs and he would forget about the crimson cloud until one day, by chance perhaps, he would stumble upon the man who murdered the person he loved the most.
THE BUSTED PUMP
The squad car pulled up to the pump as I left my shift. I lit a cigarette as I watched the cop position the Crown Vic at the same pump where I had met the girl named Tabitha earlier that day. He glared at me as he got out of the car and pulled the pump from its holster. I ashed my cigarette and decided to let him be. Gazing down at the river, I was walking towards my own car when he called to me.
“Hey, hey you!”
I turned around. It looked as though the pump was malfunctioning again. The cop’s khakis were coated in gasoline. It was all I could do to keep from laughing as I walked over to him.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
“Do you work here?” The cop asked angrily, his badge glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
“Yeah. I just got off, but I can help you if you’d like.”
“Thanks.” He smiled and I felt my stomach squirm. “My wife and I are late for appointment, and I would rather not show up drenched in gasoline.”
“I hear you.” I nodded courteously and looked at the cruiser. I could just make out the silhouette of a woman through the tinted windows. “This pump’s been busted all day. So, what can I do to help?”
“Well, this might sound strange, but can I buy your pants?” The cop was sizing me up. “It looks like we’re about the same size. I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”
“Are you serious?” I could see that he was. “Listen man… officer… If you really need some pants, maybe your wife can take your cruiser and go get you some, and you can wait here until she gets back.”
“Are you kidding? Trust my cruiser with that bitch?”
“Excuse me?”
“Listen kid, you clearly don’t know my wife.”
“You’re right… I don’t.”
I was liking the guy less and less the more he talked. There was something rotten about him. Maybe he was the kid who got picked on in middle school, and now that he had the smallest amount of power, he was out to tear down anyone who stood in his way, even remotely. He stood smiling at me, covered in gasoline, and for a moment I imagined taking out my Zippo and dropping the open flame in the puddle he was standing in.
“So,” he said, “how about it pal? A hundred bucks for those Levi’s. It’s a good deal.”
“I don’t know man… I just don’t know. Maybe I could run to Kohl’s for you. Do you know the way to Kohl’s?”
“Ha!” He laughed maniacally. “I actually do. Crazy you should say Kohl’s.”
“Why’s that?”
“Oh no reason.” He kept smiling. “It’s just the last time I was anywhere near that store… oh never mind.”
His face went blank as he stared down at the gas dripping from the nozzle, still in his hand.
“Alright… anyways as I was saying, I can’t help…”
“…I shot some girl.”
He whispered as he looked up, a dark shadow filling his complexion. He seemed to have been waiting to say those words for a long time. A thousand sirens sounded through the city.
“What did you just say?”
“Yeah man,” he wiped his hands on his shirt, smearing gas all over, “that girl was thicker than a pack of chewing gum, if you catch my drift. Ha! Chewing gum. Crazy thing… that’s what she was reaching for. I told my lieutenant that I thought she was reaching for a weapon, but honestly, I was just having a bad day. Probably would’ve shot her even if she was reaching to give me a million dollars. So yeah, long story short, I know where Kohl’s is.. it’s… hey… buddy… what’re you…”
ECHO LAKE
Sam sprinted forward and dove into the water. The small square box was tucked safely in the zipped pocket of my swim trunks. A middle-aged woman reading a book gave me a funny look as I stood up and started to run, too caught up in the moment to pay her any mind. Sam was treading water several yards off the shore. I caught up to her and splashed water in her face.
“You’re the worst.” I laughed.
“You love it.” She splashed me back. “Race you to the island.”
The island was about a hundred yards away. Sam was a much better swimmer than me. She had the benefit of having grown up in the country. The only swimming I’d done as a kid was at the community pool or at the Jersey shore when we went on vacation. Sam reached the island first. She stood up on the rocky beach and swung her long brown hair around like a ceiling fan. By the time I reached the island she was lounging on the beach, soaking up the sun. I flopped down next to her and looked over. To my surprise, a tear had materialized in the corner of her eye.
“Sam? Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing.” She wiped the tear away and attempted a smile. “It’s just being back here… So many memories, ya know?”
“I can’t say that I do.” I said seriously. “Growing up in Boston, I never really felt any attachment to the place. Probably ‘cause it’s such a maze. It’s always changing…”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “It’s just funny. I used to swim out to this island all the time when I was a kid. I know it’s changed, but not me. Every rock, every tree, every fish… it’s all the same.”
“Maybe we can change something.”
I grabbed a sharp rock off the ground and walked over to a dead tree, drying out on the beach. On the exposed wood I carved ‘S+D’ so deep I thought that it would likely remain lodged there for an eternity.
“There ya go,” I walked back over to Sam and sat down, “Now we can live on this island forever.”
She smiled sadly.
“Darren?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“It’s something bad.”
“I don’t care.”
“Alright, but you have to promise not to judge. I’ve only ever told this to my mom, and she looked at me like I oughtta spend some time in a psych ward.”
“I would never judge you. C’mon, what’s up?”
“Alright… Well, did I ever tell you that I used to work as a nanny? Like, before I moved out to Boston and met you and all that.”
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
“Well, I did. It was a summer gig for me in high school, a way to keep my mom off my back.”
I looked at her, and she looked down, a sad look in her eye, and I could tell that her mind was years in the past. She picked up a smooth pebble and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. She sighed, then took a deep breath.
“So, I was a nanny for this rich family that lived up the road from here. They owned a farmhouse with a bunch of land, but they didn’t have any animals or anything. I always thought that was kind of strange. The parents were never home, or at least that’s what it seemed like. I’m pretty sure they were both lawyers. But they had this daughter, this little girl who always wore a red headband to keep her bangs out of her eyes, the girl I was hired to watch.”
Sam looked up at a crow flying overhead. The crow let out a sharp squawk. Sam smiled slightly, and then continued her story.
“So, this girl, the one I was hired to watch, she can’t have been older than nine or ten. She was a smart kid, knew all sorts of random facts about American history and whatnot… Honestly, she didn’t even really act like a kid at all. She reminded me of one of my old schoolteachers or something. The first few times I went over to watch her, nothing strange happened. She was the best-behaved kid I ever watched… But…”
“But what? “I was listening intently now.
“But… she was curious, Darren. Too curious. She wanted to explore everything. Sometimes, we would play hide and seek, and she would just vanish for hours on end. Then I’d find her out in the barn, swinging from ropes and high beams, laughing her little ass off.”
Sam smiled widely, and I could picture the barn, all crammed full of unused animal equipment, chicken wire, apple cider presses, secrets of an age lost to memory.
“So, what happened?”
Sam’s smile disappeared as though she’d suddenly forgotten she knew how.
“Chewing gum…” Sam whispered.
“Sorry?”
“Chewing gum.” She said again. “One day the kid wanted a pack of chewing gum. She told me she’d always wanted to try it, but her parents wouldn’t let her have candy. ‘Well, that’s hardly fair’, I said. I’d be damned if I was gonna let this kid reach adolescence without ever trying chewing gum. So, there’s this store down the road from her house. I think it’s still there actually. I told the girl I’d go and get her a pack, and that she should be on her best behavior while I was gone. She was super excited. I could see it in her eyes. So, I got to the store and got a pack of Wrigley’s. I was back in less than half an hour Darren I swear. But then… When I got back to the farmhouse… The girl had vanished again.”
There was a moment of silence in which Sam threw the pebble she was holding into the water.
“So, she was just hiding from you, right? Just playing a game?”
“Yeah, but Darren, she usually wouldn’t mess with me like that. It took me ages to find her, and when I finally did, she was… She was…”
“Where was she Sam?”
“She was on the roof of the damn barn! She was standing up on the slanted steel roof, holding the weathervane with the rooster on it. She was swinging around in circles, laughing her little ass off.”
“How’d she get up there?”
“Damned if I know. But Darren, that’s not even the worst part… The worst part is… She fell…”
“Oh my god…”
“Yeah… She fell… And that barn was tall. I’m talking thirty-five, forty feet high.”
“What’d you do?”
“I screamed of course. I sprinted over to her, but I was miles away. There was no way I could’ve saved her, but…”
“But what?”
“Alright, well, this is the part I leave out for my therapist, but Darren, you promised not to judge.”
“I know… I won’t.”
Sam took a moment, then she said quietly.
“She bounced.”
I blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The girl… she… she just bounced. She should’ve been dead when she hit the ground, but she bounced, and then she bounced again… And then she just stood up like it was nothing. When I asked her if she was ok, she just answered, ‘Of course, why wouldn’t I be?’”
“But… maybe the ground was just super soft, or maybe she had a bungie cord or… something.” I said lamely.
“She should’ve been dead.” Sam stared at the ground. “She should’ve been dead. The weird thing is, even though its years later and I’ve moved hundreds of miles away, sometimes I see the girl, in a crowded street or at the nail salon. It’s like she’s there, watching over me or something…”
Sam kept staring at the ground for a moment, lost in thought. After a minute, she shook her head a smiled. She looked me in the eyes.
“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you Darren?”
She picked up another rock and launched it into the water, this time with a perfect sidearm throw. The rock skipped four times and then sank. I pulled the box out of my zipper pocket and stood up. I walked in front of Sam and took a knee.
“Sam?”
“Yeah? Oh my god…”
“Will you marry me?”
The ring glinted in the sun, and Sam’s smile was brighter than I’d seen in a long time. I could see all her unpleasant memories vanish as the sunlight cleared all thoughts of chewing gum. Her smile was enough to save a life.
“Yes, of course I will.”
THE GIRL WITH THE RED HEADBAND
“What are you doing Darren?”
Darren froze, as did the world around him. The girl with the red headband was climbing on top of the Crown Vic, donning the same playful smile she had worn at the Bunker Hill Monument. Darren glanced up at her, his fist raised in the air, then back at the arrogant police officer in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” Darren asked the girl.
“A better question, I think would be, what are you doing here? Fists raised, ready to declare all-out war on the Boston PD. What are you doing Darren? You know you’re not getting out of this one scot-free.”
“He has to pay.”
“Of course, he does. But I think we both know that he will. Hell, he already is.”
“He killed her.”
“I know.”
“I need to do something about it.”
The girl hopped down from the cruiser and walked over between Darren and the officer.
“Have you ever heard of Mrs. Marianna’s Amazing Ball of Chewing Gum?”
“Mrs. Mari— who?”
“You should really check it out sometime. Hell, Officer Richardson here could do with a visit himself.”
“This guy belongs in prison.”
“He’s already there. Listen Darren, you like to talk to your therapist about how losing Sam was the worst day of your life. Imagine never having met her in the first place. Officer Matthew Richardson here, he’s never had a Sam. The closest he’s ever come to loving anything as much as himself was the day he got his badge, and any respect he obtained from that was lost the day he gunned her down.”
“It’s not enough.”
“The man wakes up every day, and do you know what he sees?…do you?”
“What?”
“Chewing gum, Darren. And not the fresh, colorful, just out of the pack kind either. Oh no sir. What Matthew Richardson sees is the chewing gum that was stuck under your seat at Fenway the day Samantha died. He sees the gruel-ish wad that oozes from Mrs. Marianna’s mouth after forcing herself to fit in three packs at a time. He sees a mattress, soft and welcoming, that turns cold and hard the more he tries to rest on it. Matthew Richardson has been in prison all his life. The tragic thing is that he doesn’t seem to realize it.”
“So maybe he deserves a wakeup call.”
“Maybe he does.” The girl with the headband nodded. “But you’ll only be doing him a favor, and yourself a disservice. Would you trade one prison for another?”
Darren sighed, and looked at Officer Richardson, frozen in place with one eyebrow raised.
“What do you think I should do?”
“That’s up to you. But, before you do anything, I think you should know that there’s a kid in the back of this Crown Vic.” She patted the squad car. “He doesn’t deserve to see his father humiliated any more than he already has. He doesn’t deserve anything that’s about to happen.”
Darren looked at the girl, who was tracing shapes in the pool of gas at the cop’s feet.
“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Darren asked.
“Leaving? Fuck yeah, I’m leaving. This is insane Darren, everything about this… insane.”
“You always leave…”
“Well, I might be compelled to stay a bit longer. But you have to make the right decision.”
The right decision… Darren contemplated the meaning of these words. A plane floated in obscurity hundreds of miles above his head. A colorful poster was frozen in the breeze several feet away. Through it all, Darren thought he could hear the cheers from Fenway Park. He could see the contorted features of the man in front of him. He could smell the gasoline, but also the nail polish.
“Hopscotch and crosswalks.”
The girl climbed back on top of the Crown Vic to get a good view.
COUNTING THE MIRACLES
As Darren contemplated the right thing to do, a cloud of crimson drifted over the Sunoco, threatening a downpour of acid rain to compliment the pool of gas surrounding the cop and the convenience store clerk. Darren stood, frozen, his right fist hovering behind his head as the man in front of him crouched in terror. He looked for the girl with the red headband, but she had disappeared from her perch atop the Crown Vic. There was no one else around.
In the car, Melissa Richardson waited for her husband. She glanced at the clerk through the tinted window of the Crown Vic. In the back seat, her son also watched the man with his fist raised. He couldn’t see his father, who was crouching, shielding his face with his own raised hands.
Darren saw the man’s gun in its holster and his badge, pinned lopsided to his chest. He looked at the puddle on the ground and lost track of the ways he could eradicate the murderer from the face of the planet.
It had been almost ten years since his altercation with the narcotics agent at the Garden Society. He had surprised himself then with how capable he was of violence. He could do it again. He could fight for Sam.
Their names were carved into the tree on the island at Echo Lake. ‘Maybe we can change something.” He had said. Sam had even smiled for a moment after he left the mark on the wood.
The first drop of rain fell, and Darren stood still, staring down at the man. With every drop that fell, he imagined his fists pummeling into the man’s loathsome body. As the rain fell harder, he felt the spirit of Samantha Wellings channeling through his frustrated mind, and suddenly he stopped counting the punches, and started counting the miracles.
A thousand miles away, a man named Robbie Feltch was getting off a shift at the Atlanta Sanitation Department. After meeting the Lieutenant on a flight home from Boston, Robbie had worked up the courage to ask out Susan Parker. Darren of course had no knowledge of this rekindled flame, but the hum of a jet engine mixed with the patter of rain that encaged him and his victim.
A few blocks away, A giant ball of chewing gum had reached its maximum capacity. It filled up the cathedral hall with a radius 40 feet in all directions. Mrs. Marianna smiled as she walked slowly from her chair and packed one last piece onto her creation.
The girl called Tabitha had already left for the day. She had decided to go and surprise the boy she had just met working at a gas station down the road. Maybe he’d like to grab that cup of coffee earlier than planned.
Darren blinked as the rain continued to fall. ‘Maybe we can change something.’ He muttered so only the cop could hear him. Darren lowered his fist, turned around and began walking towards whatever it was that he had just changed.