Saturday, July 24, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Day Before the Incident
She was sweet-faced, silver-haired, virtually imperturbable as plump fingers turned the pages of her mystery novel every afternoon on the bus going downtown. The roughnecks would laugh a little too loud and their chicks would howl at most of what they said as if they were dating the world’s top comedians. Occasionally, they disturbed other passengers, but the old doll never seemed to notice.
Leonard silently fumed. He had never been like that as a youth. Sure, he had done some bad things, but never in an ostentatious way. He wondered why the bus driver didn’t stop the bus and throw them off when they got like that. He had to know what to expect. They were daily passengers – a little too old for school, but more than likely not working yet – piking off the parents, no doubt – and Leonard had seen a couple of them boarding through the back door when the bus was crowded, fare-beaters and acting haughty because it was too easy.
One morning, he was sitting beside the woman. He glanced down at her book, and took in the words, “…and then you stole into her room and took advantage of the situation, didn’t you, Mr. Dodd?” before looking away. A Christie or some such, it suited her. She looked the type.
“Do they bother you?” she asked.
“Excuse me.”
“I only ask because you look as if you’re ready to boil over.”
“They’re punks. For two cents, I’d…”
“They’re just kids. We were kids. Could anybody tell you anything when you were that age?”
“I never provoked people just for the sake of trying to amuse my friends.”
“I see.” She went back to reading and didn’t say anything more until the bus had reached her stop. Then, she excused herself to pass Leonard. As she did, she said, “By the way, my name is Martha. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She got off the front and walked westward. She was not too far from the bus when one of the roughnecks stuck his head out the window and called out, “See you tomorrow Martha.”
When Leonard glared at him, the kid said, “Oh sorry, man, I don’t want to step on your toes. She’s a little old for me anyway.”
Leonard said, “Don’t you have any respect for your elders?”
But the kid pointed to his chest where his tee shirt said in capital letters QUESTION AUTHORITY.
“Smart ass,” Leonard said.
The kid laughed. His friends laughed. Their girlfriends laughed.
Leonard had never enjoyed being the butt of a joke. In days gone by that kind of thing would have been enough for him to take some action. He promised himself if he ever came up against this punk while he was alone, he’d make him sorry for laughing.
The kid sealed his fate when Leonard got off the bus on 34th Street and the kid wolf-whistled through the window at him. He did not turn around as the bus continued on its way toward the Village, but he could hear the sounds of laughter drifting away.
The incident did not phase him so much out in the free air. He guessed he should be thankful to the kids for one thing. His response to their activity had caused the old doll to break the ice and start talking to him. He thought she must have been a stunner at one time, and not so very long ago. He was reminded how he himself used to be quite the ladies man and never found it difficult to make small talk. What was it about this dame that unsettled him? He had watched her reading every day for the last month without ever screwing up enough courage to start a conversation. He was losing his touch, no doubt, and he was only fifty-nine.
He figured she might have a couple of years on him, but she kept herself in good shape – the stylish hairdo was silver-white in a way that doesn’t occur naturally, and the way she just let the noise and bother flow past her – he guessed he envied her calm, so lacking in his own character.
The next morning, when he got on the bus, she was sitting in a seat by a window, but someone was already seated next to her. He tipped his hat when she looked up and she smiled.
A few of the kids got on two stops later, but not the wiseguy. He and his girlfriend came onboard three stops further down. It was not intentional, not really, but Leonard’s foot was a little too far out in the aisle, and the big kid tripped over it. His friends laughed as he almost fell. Righting himself, he did look a little foolish. When he screwed up his mouth in annoyance, his friends stopped laughing immediately.
Leonard said, “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Intentional, or not, Leonard had set up the situation. They were now enemies. Rather than taking one of the empty seats in back, the tough stood over him. In any case, the bus was soon crowded and there were no available seats. The tough crooked his leg slightly and pressed his thick knee into Leonard’s bony thigh, who couldn’t move away because the man sitting in the window seat was so huge he was taking up a seat and a half.
When his thigh started to throb, Leonard said, “Do you mind?”
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” said the kid imitating Leonard, “But if you weren’t sitting next to Fatso, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Hey,” said the other man.
“Watch it, kid,” Leonard said, “You’re going a little too far.”
“I’m going to the Village. Where are you going?” the kid said. “Shouldn’t you be in a nursing home?”
“The hell you say. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“My point exactly,” said the kid, “We put the old man in a home as soon as he started getting feeble like you.”
“Feeble? Why you punk,” Leonard said. He raised himself with some difficulty and backhanded the kid across his jaw, forgetting that he was wearing a signet ring, and regretting his action immediately. The kid’s face was knocked sideways. He lost his grip on the overhead bar and fell into the people behind him. Through the gap, Leonard saw Martha looking at him. She was not smiling. Before the kid was on his feet again, the bruise was already in evidence.
The driver called out, “What the hell, is going on back there?”
“You’re dead,” the kid said to Leonard. “You’re dead, old man.”
The driver pulled the bus to a stop, and coming back through the passengers, he soon discovered the source of the ruckus. He was a big man and said, “Kid, you’d better get off here and take another bus.”
The kid didn’t argue with him, but as he exited, he said with a smirk, “You should’ve warned your boyfriend not to mess with us, Martha.”
That was too much and Leonard started towards the exit also, but he felt a tugging on his jacket. It was Martha and she was shaking her head. He looked at the kids getting off and he looked back at her. Several options were crossing his mind. The other passengers were staring at him. He was not even thinking of the next day.
Leonard silently fumed. He had never been like that as a youth. Sure, he had done some bad things, but never in an ostentatious way. He wondered why the bus driver didn’t stop the bus and throw them off when they got like that. He had to know what to expect. They were daily passengers – a little too old for school, but more than likely not working yet – piking off the parents, no doubt – and Leonard had seen a couple of them boarding through the back door when the bus was crowded, fare-beaters and acting haughty because it was too easy.
One morning, he was sitting beside the woman. He glanced down at her book, and took in the words, “…and then you stole into her room and took advantage of the situation, didn’t you, Mr. Dodd?” before looking away. A Christie or some such, it suited her. She looked the type.
“Do they bother you?” she asked.
“Excuse me.”
“I only ask because you look as if you’re ready to boil over.”
“They’re punks. For two cents, I’d…”
“They’re just kids. We were kids. Could anybody tell you anything when you were that age?”
“I never provoked people just for the sake of trying to amuse my friends.”
“I see.” She went back to reading and didn’t say anything more until the bus had reached her stop. Then, she excused herself to pass Leonard. As she did, she said, “By the way, my name is Martha. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She got off the front and walked westward. She was not too far from the bus when one of the roughnecks stuck his head out the window and called out, “See you tomorrow Martha.”
When Leonard glared at him, the kid said, “Oh sorry, man, I don’t want to step on your toes. She’s a little old for me anyway.”
Leonard said, “Don’t you have any respect for your elders?”
But the kid pointed to his chest where his tee shirt said in capital letters QUESTION AUTHORITY.
“Smart ass,” Leonard said.
The kid laughed. His friends laughed. Their girlfriends laughed.
Leonard had never enjoyed being the butt of a joke. In days gone by that kind of thing would have been enough for him to take some action. He promised himself if he ever came up against this punk while he was alone, he’d make him sorry for laughing.
The kid sealed his fate when Leonard got off the bus on 34th Street and the kid wolf-whistled through the window at him. He did not turn around as the bus continued on its way toward the Village, but he could hear the sounds of laughter drifting away.
The incident did not phase him so much out in the free air. He guessed he should be thankful to the kids for one thing. His response to their activity had caused the old doll to break the ice and start talking to him. He thought she must have been a stunner at one time, and not so very long ago. He was reminded how he himself used to be quite the ladies man and never found it difficult to make small talk. What was it about this dame that unsettled him? He had watched her reading every day for the last month without ever screwing up enough courage to start a conversation. He was losing his touch, no doubt, and he was only fifty-nine.
He figured she might have a couple of years on him, but she kept herself in good shape – the stylish hairdo was silver-white in a way that doesn’t occur naturally, and the way she just let the noise and bother flow past her – he guessed he envied her calm, so lacking in his own character.
The next morning, when he got on the bus, she was sitting in a seat by a window, but someone was already seated next to her. He tipped his hat when she looked up and she smiled.
A few of the kids got on two stops later, but not the wiseguy. He and his girlfriend came onboard three stops further down. It was not intentional, not really, but Leonard’s foot was a little too far out in the aisle, and the big kid tripped over it. His friends laughed as he almost fell. Righting himself, he did look a little foolish. When he screwed up his mouth in annoyance, his friends stopped laughing immediately.
Leonard said, “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Intentional, or not, Leonard had set up the situation. They were now enemies. Rather than taking one of the empty seats in back, the tough stood over him. In any case, the bus was soon crowded and there were no available seats. The tough crooked his leg slightly and pressed his thick knee into Leonard’s bony thigh, who couldn’t move away because the man sitting in the window seat was so huge he was taking up a seat and a half.
When his thigh started to throb, Leonard said, “Do you mind?”
“Jesus, I’m sorry,” said the kid imitating Leonard, “But if you weren’t sitting next to Fatso, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Hey,” said the other man.
“Watch it, kid,” Leonard said, “You’re going a little too far.”
“I’m going to the Village. Where are you going?” the kid said. “Shouldn’t you be in a nursing home?”
“The hell you say. I’m old enough to be your father.”
“My point exactly,” said the kid, “We put the old man in a home as soon as he started getting feeble like you.”
“Feeble? Why you punk,” Leonard said. He raised himself with some difficulty and backhanded the kid across his jaw, forgetting that he was wearing a signet ring, and regretting his action immediately. The kid’s face was knocked sideways. He lost his grip on the overhead bar and fell into the people behind him. Through the gap, Leonard saw Martha looking at him. She was not smiling. Before the kid was on his feet again, the bruise was already in evidence.
The driver called out, “What the hell, is going on back there?”
“You’re dead,” the kid said to Leonard. “You’re dead, old man.”
The driver pulled the bus to a stop, and coming back through the passengers, he soon discovered the source of the ruckus. He was a big man and said, “Kid, you’d better get off here and take another bus.”
The kid didn’t argue with him, but as he exited, he said with a smirk, “You should’ve warned your boyfriend not to mess with us, Martha.”
That was too much and Leonard started towards the exit also, but he felt a tugging on his jacket. It was Martha and she was shaking her head. He looked at the kids getting off and he looked back at her. Several options were crossing his mind. The other passengers were staring at him. He was not even thinking of the next day.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
These Shoes (I Dare You Challenge)
This week Jo Prescott’s I Dare You challenge at her site JM Prescott - A Reader's World came in the form of clothing..."Clothing can set the scene as certainly as a wedding dress, predict plot like a ski mask and laytex gloves, or reveal character like chaps and spurs."
Herewith, my response to the challenge:
Herewith, my response to the challenge:
These Shoes
These shoes have walked all over London. They have traversed Bermuda and the Bahamas. They have climbed to the caldera in the Azores and stood atop Gibraltar. They have walked all through the worst parts of Lisbon until they made my feet ache, and some of the best parts of Hamburg, where again my feet were hurting at day’s end. In Barcelona, they walked a good part of las Ramblas. They have stood on the tarmac at the little airport a short distance from the edge of the Pyrenees and taken me through olive groves and parks where flamingoes danced and balanced on one leg. They, these shoes, not the flamingoes, helped me walk all around Las Vegas to take in everything there was to see and do for free, and because my feet were sore, I credit them with keeping me from losing more than $40.US in those oh-so prevalent slots. I did pick up another pair in Denver, but they’re really the same shoes, and at the end of the month they will take me back to Costa Rica.
These shoes have walked the decks of many ships and the aisles of dozens of airplanes. They have gotten me to airports early and to church late. They have guided me through shopping malls and into cinemas and across the streets of New York City against the light. They have walked me from the Battery to Harlem, from Sutton Place to the Chelsea Piers, from somewhere to no place. These shoes have walked me from childhood to my maturity.
These shoes are my guide. They are brogues. They are sandals, boots and loafers. I have walked a mile in another man’s moccasins and returned home in these shoes. They wait under my bed to greet me in the morning and take me to new places and the same old places. They can get there without a map. They have marked the mileage and taken into account my weariness. These shoes will never fail me. They are ruby slippers and if I click the heels together three times and wish solemnly for something, well, you know where that will get me. I have not yet been to Kansas, but I understand we all wind up there one day.
I have never drunk champagne from a woman’s shoe nor has any drunk from mine but the possibility is not ruled out.
Every so often, I remove these shoes and flex my toes on a sandy beach or swim in a pool or bathe, but for more hours of the day than I have them off, I have them on. The natural condition of my feet, it would seem, is to be inside these shoes. Sometimes I wonder why we have made the earth so hard and dangerous a place to walk barefoot that these shoes are more a necessity than a whim.
I am attached to these shoes, and have contributed to the fortunes amassed by men like Thom McAn and Mr. Florsheim, if there was such a person, and if there was, he must have been very attached to his shoes. Why else dedicate his life to providing them for so many others. He had not much work convincing people they needed their shoes. Everybody takes this for granted here in the first and second worlds. We are working on those in the third world, getting them to see the necessity of shoes.
Someday, everybody in the world will admit how much they are attached to shoes. Then, we will work on hats.
© Michael D. Brown 2010
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