Jimmy, Super Kid (part forty-two)

With one bag of cookies finished we get back on the trail. Ricky takes the point. Sally and I hang back just in case Ricky starts singing again. Ricky stays quiet but the brush grows thicker and the path narrows. The trees start to cover the creek completely and it’s like we are walking through a green-lit tunnel. Sally lags behind me as she checks out every little opening into the brush and grass; once in a while she finds something to bark at, just one bark and then she moves on.

After almost an hour of walking in silence Ricky stops still in the middle of the path. He makes a couple clicks with his tongue and whispers, “Sally,” he pats the side of his legs with his hand.   Sally knows what he means, comes to his side and sits beside him.

I keep silent and walk up to him looking to see why he has stopped.

Ricky points to a spot on the upper side of the path. At first all I see is a pile of old clothes covered with a short piece of old stained carpet and then I see the feet. Sticking out past the edge of the carpet are two, bare, dirty, gray feet and two skinny gray calves.

“Is he dead?” I whisper to Ricky but in the absolute quiet it sounds like a shout. In response to my whisper the toes wiggle and one of the feet moves.

“Try to be quiet, he’s trying to sleep,” Ricky whispers and starts to walk past the feet.

“Trying is the key word,” the man under the carpet says in a gravelly voice still not ready to start a new day. There is movement under the carpet, “wait, and let me find my pants.” We follow orders and stand in the path while the carpet, the roof of the man’s home moves up and down as he prepares to meet the day. The feet are replaced by a dirty head covered with curly light brown hair. His blue eyes, the only washed part of the man, look us over and seem to approve.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” he explains as he crawls out of his dwelling and buttons his shirt and pants. “What brings you boys to this part of the river?” he asks like we have come for tea. We just stand there. “That’s a fine looking dog you have there,” he slaps the side of his leg a couple of times and Sally goes over to him in order to get her head rubbed. “Fine dog,” Sally gives him a nudge with her head.

Ricky asks the expected question, “you live here?”

“I’m here,” he pretends to pinch his arm, “I’m alive. Sure, I live here. So far I’ve lived every place I have ever been. Make yourselves at home,” he motions with his arm for us to find a place to sit just like my father does when people come to visit. Ricky and I find rocks to sit on. Sally curls up next to the man on the ground. “I’d invite you to breakfast but I haven’t been to the grocery lately and…”

Ricky takes the hint, “we have a few things we could share.”

I add, “it’s time for our lunch,” and pull the backpack off my back.

“You boys are going ta make fine neighbors,” the man says, all of a sudden looking very hungry. “Names,” he pauses for a few seconds like he’s selecting one, “name’s Jack” he doesn’t offer his hand to shake, like he understands he lives beneath a layer of dirt so we just exchange names.

My mother has packed four sandwiches and food for Sally along with several apples and juice boxes, “Peanut Butter and Jelly or Turkey?”

“P and J please,” Jack makes it sound like food from a fancy restaurant in town. “Hard to get a good P and J out here,” he unzips the sandwich bag and takes a huge first bite. “Did the angels send you?”

It sounds a little crazy but I answer like it’s a regular question, “we’re just on a hike to where the creek begins.”

“That’s what they tell people. They, the angels, tell people to walk up the creek and bring lots of P and J’s!” He gives me a grin that does nothing to let me know if he’s serious of not. He takes another huge bite that almost finishes the sandwich so I offer him a turkey sandwich to have at the ready. “Great neighbors,” he says as thanks so I dig out a juice box and apple too and hand them over. He takes care to make a nice neat pile next to him with the juice box on the bottom and the apple on top of the sandwich. “Real pretty up there.”

It takes me a moment to realize he talking about where the creek begins, “we saw it from an airplane.”

“You been up there?” he says in awe. “Are you angels?” he asks without a hint of a joke but Ricky assumes it is and laughs.

“We’re just regular boys!” Ricky explains. “But thanks.”

Jack just nods and looks at the ground like he’s okay with us not being angels but a little disappointed. He looks back up at us and says, “well, you regular boys have made my day.”

Ricky notices the turkey sandwich and apple have disappeared so he digs in this sack for another small bag of cookies and hands them over.

The man looks like he might cry but instead pops a whole cookie into his mouth at once, with his mouth still full of cookie he says something that sounds a little like, “good cookie” and then pops in another one. I figure it’s time for a water bottle and hand one over but he turns it down and after swallowing his cookie says, “only drink pure creek water,” and then he rethinks his action, “not that your water’s not good enough.” We start packing up. “Shame you need to leave so soon,” he says sounding just like my father again. “See you on the way back down?”

We say our good-byes and get back on the trail as Jack crawls back under his carpet to finish his nap.

The trees start to grow taller, the brushes and grass are replaced by pine needles. The creek spills over rocks now and sometimes the path is hard granite instead of dirt.

Jimmy, Super Kid (part twenty-one)

Cars have been adding to the show all day and now there is an endless stream of cars circling the town looking for a place to park. We walk past shops on the shady side of the street, zig zaging back and forth to make our way through the crowd.

“Hey! What’s that fifty-seven doing?” Ricky moves into a jog and I try to keep up with him.

About twenty fifty-seven Chevys line the curb beside the walkway, “Which fifty-seven!” I holler into the crowd of people Ricky has disappeared into. I pick up my pace and start running until I run right into Ricky standing still on the sidewalk watching a Chevy back into an empty spot.

“That one.” He says as he points at the red and white car completing a perfect parallel park.

And then I understand, “Your dad left?” Ricky just looks at the no longer empty spot. I watch the steady stream of cars looking for a parking spot just for a second, “he just pulled out,” I discern. “He cannot be far away.” Before I get the words out Ricky is running along the curb. The cars on the road are just barely moving at a walking speed so as we run we pass car after car none of which are anything like Ricky’s dad’s Honda N360. We run all the way to the first corner and past at least fifteen cars without having to think about anything but finding the car. At the corner Ricky keeps running straight ahead so I make the only turn, which is to the left. I scan every space large enough for the small car while I run past another thirty cars. I look to the left up the next cross street. The main road runs to the beach and makes a left turn, runs along the beach for a block and then makes another left turn so when I look to the right I see Ricky already making the left turn and running toward me. He slows his run as he gets close but keeps scanning from side to side.

“We couldn’t have missed him and he couldn’t have come this far,” Ricky states the conclusion I have already come to.

“There’s no way anyone drove past that prime parking place,” I say, supporting Ricky’s statement.

“And there’s no fast get-a-way,” Ricky says pointing to cars passing that we had passed while we ran. We walk together up the street to the next corner and then turn to the left and head back to where Ricky’s dad’s car was parked.

Hills

Dry stalks of golden grass on domes piled upon domes, hills that become mountains in the distance.  On a path created by cattle on their daily walk.  The path winds for no reasons I can see, reasons only cattle conceive.  The cattle are not here now.  Their water trough may have been moved.  They may have been moved on to their higher calling.  Squirrels, lizards, foxes and coyotes are here but they try their best to avoid contact with the clumsy human walking the hard eighteen inches of dirt path.  Mice run from snakes but they are out of my sight and hearing.  

I walk on my shadow.  The sun rests above my head centered in the dome of cloudless blue,  a pale washed out blue that gives no definition to the word humidity.  Sweat forms freely, dries quickly and effectively preforms its task of cooling.  I pause and take a long, thirsty, drink from a plastic bottle that has been bouncing and swinging from a string tied from the bottle to a belt loop of my shorts.  I do a complete turn and survey the land on each side and behind me, the rolling foothills are unmarred by houses, or wires, or even towers.  Taken from my pocket my flip phone shows only a small dot of a bar and proclaims it is worthless as a communication device but does give me the time of day, twelve noon.  I sit in the middle of the path, knees bent, legs crossed.  My straw hat almost shades my complete body, just my knees risk overexposure.  Waiting, at first, and then no longer waiting, just sitting.  My breath slows.   My thoughts fade.  The world becomes still.

Toby

“Six O Six.”

“Is that your dog?”

“I have no dog.”

“So that’s not your dog?”

“No. They do not allow dogs in here.”

“I thought maybe it was one of those comfort dogs.”

“There is no dog.”

“But they do allow those comfort dogs.”

“I hope not, people eat in here.”

“I’ve seen them in here. They have a cover that says comfort dog right on it.”

“But you see a dog now and there is no dog.”

“I quit seeing it when you told me.”

“Sorry, what kind of dog was it?”

“Could you buy me a cup of coffee?”

“Sally!” Sally stopped topping off cups and came to my table.

“You being bothered?” she asks as she fills my half full cup.

“Could you bring this gentleman a cup of your finest, and an order of toast?” Sally doesn’t look like she wants to but she gives me a paid for smile and walks toward the kitchen. I motion toward the bench seat of the booth across the table from me.

“I didn’t know her name was Sally,” the tall, aggressively thin man said as he curled his legs under the table. “Know what she calls me?” he waits for my reply.

I swallow my sip of coffee, “What?”

“Get the hell out,” he said with a laugh covered with a dirty hand. He waited for me to get the joke. “That’s what she calls me,” he adds, just in case I didn’t get it.             Sally shows up with the coffee, toast, a bowl of creamers and a basket of sugars, “here you go sweetie,” she says in full waitress mode.

“You come in here often?” I ask as the wisp of a stick man starts opening sugar bags three at a time.

“Just cold mornings, nothin’ like a hot cup of coffee,” he starts dumping premeasured plastic containers of creamer into the cup. He has to drink a little to make more room.

“Have you ever tasted coffee?” I ask as the dilution continues. He starts to point to the cup in front of him before he gets my joke. Showing he’s the most courteous person at this table he covers his mouth with his hand and gives my attempt at humor a quick laugh and snort.

He dunks a half slice of toasted bread and pushes it into his mouth. While he starts to chew he says, “My thanks,” a bit of bread tries to escape his mouth along with a dribble of sugar milk and coffee. He stuffs the bread back into his mouth, the dribble cleans a path down his chin and neck.

“You’re hungry,” I wave down Sally and she comes to our table because that’s what she’s paid to do. She waits with her pad and pencil. “One of those breakfast specials.”

“How would you like your eggs?” she asks making sure to only look at me.

“How would you like your eggs?” I pause, “I don’t know your name?”

“Over easy,” he answers.

“And how do you want your eggs?”

He does the hand over face laugh and looses most of a mouthful of toast; he’s really catching onto my sense of humor. Sally is long gone by the time he recovers and gets the mass of dough stuffed back into his mouth. “They call me Toby,” he says while still grinning, amid the chewed slime I can see several of his teeth still cling to his gums. He wipes his right hand on his dirt-encrusted pants and reaches across the table.

I shake his hand and say, “they call me Jack.” I pick up a napkin, wipe my hand and make a note to not get that hand anywhere near my face. Sally puts a breakfast special in front of Toby. As Toby dives into his meal, almost literally, I realize our conversation has ended. I stand and attempt a good-bye but Toby is lost in eggs stirred into hash browns. As I pay Sally for her dedication I look back and see Toby empty a Ketchup bottle onto his plate and stir it into his breakfast mixture. He sees me looking and waves good-bye with the upturned bottle leaving a line of ketchup across the table and onto the floor. I hand Sally her tip. Sally looks at me like I’m some kind of joke. I dig out another five.