Текст книги "Threefold"
Автор книги: Scott Hildreth
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
RAIN
When our life changes for the better, holding on to memories of the bitter portions of our past allow us to remember where it was we came from, and appreciate the progress we’ve made. Without making the comparison, we become off balance, and soon view our current situation as a standard of living. I certainly didn’t dwell on my past, but forgetting it wasn’t an option.
“Stop the car,” I said as I tapped my finger against the window.
Staring straight ahead, with his hands positioned on the steering wheel as ten and two o’clock, Cade sighed, “What’s wrong?”
“Just stop,” I said.
Cade pulled the car to the side of the road. We hadn’t traveled a block since leaving the house. As the car came to a stop, I opened the door and got out. Laying on one of the benches a block east of where we lived, a homeless woman struggled to get comfortable with her position on the bench.
My life had become a fairy tale, and I wanted hers to be the same. I realized there was little I could do to change her life, but providing her with a little help might make a difference in how she viewed her life today. As I walked toward the bench, I considered how a small change in perspective might spark a desire for her to make a permanent change. I realized the probability was small, but I needed to try.
Because I could.
I reached into my pocket and removed my wallet. After sifting through the contents, I removed a $100 bill. As I came closer to the bench, she glanced up. After making eye contact, she quickly turned her head to the side in apparent shame.
“Excuse me,” I whispered.
“I’ll be gone in a minute,” she said as she began to sit up.
I considered telling her my story. How I had come from homelessness to living a life dreams were made of in a matter of months. After my quick consideration, I opted to keep it simple, and just provide her with what little help I could give her. Although I saw homeless people daily in the downtown area, seeing her was different. Maybe it was because she was a woman.
“No, it’s not that. I just wanted to say something,” I said as I knelt down beside the bench, clutching the money in my hand.
“What?” she said as she sat up.
Guessing her age was as difficult as guessing anyone’s age who sat in the weather 24 hours a day and 7 days a week for a lifetime. Her face was covered with wrinkles and sun spots, and her hair was frayed and bleached from the sun. The skin on her hands was thin – almost translucent – and her fingers resembled skin covered bones. Her eyes were green with little spots of brown, and seemed as though they had witnessed the events of several lifetimes. As I studied her eyes, I realized I’d never seen eyes that had shown age, and although hers didn’t reveal her age, they unveiled the experiences of her lifetime.
“Here,” I said as I handed her the folded bill.
“I didn’t ask you for anything,” she said as she focused on me and never so much as glanced at my hand.
“I know you didn’t .We were driving by, and I just decided to stop. Here,” I said as I waved my hand in front of her.
She narrowed her gaze and studied me. As she began to tug against the bottom of her jacket, she responded, “I’m just trying to get a little rest. I’m not looking for a hand out.”
Sounds familiar.
“Three months ago I lived a block west of here. On that bench under the tall building,” I said as I pointed over my shoulder.
“And one day a guy rode up on his Harley and asked me if I liked Mexican food. Now I live with him. But I was homeless for almost 5 years,” I paused and held my hand at arm’s length.
She stared at me and blinked a few times as she reached for my hand.
“Yeah, I know. Hard to believe, huh?” I asked.
Please, take it.
She studied me as she shook her head as she reached for my hand.
“You gave me a hundred dollar bill by mistake,” she said as she glanced down at the bill.
“It wasn’t a mistake. And I’m sorry I can’t afford more,” I said with a smile.
“Get something to eat. And there’s a place one block over,” I said as I pointed over my shoulder toward Douglas Avenue.
“And two blocks west. Get a new pair of panties. When I got a new pair it totally changed how I felt,” I grinned.
“Panties,” she huffed.
“Yeah. Panties. Well, anyway. Have a nice day. My name’s Rain by the way,” I said.
She sat silently and stared as if she had no intention of leaving her bench. Her attitude, appearance, and reluctance to accept my offer reminded me of me. Her age was the only difference I could see between us. After a long silence, I turned and walked away, satisfied I’d done what I intended to do. I grinned at the thought of the progress I had made in such a short time, and gave thanks for everything as I walked toward the car.
“Ashley,” she hollered, “Call me Ashley.”
Without turning around or speaking, I raised my hand in the air and waved. As I reached for the door handle, I inhaled a shallow breath, exhaled, and grinned.
For whatever reason, after I got into the car, neither Ethan nor Cade mentioned stopping, the woman, or my giving her money. I wondered if they were uncomfortable thinking of my past; acknowledging it now that they felt I had moved beyond it, or just didn’t know what to say. The silence was a pleasant change, and as we drove east, I smiled and gazed out the window. I seemed to see the world through different eyes now, eyes with a much wider view and clearer vision. As we pulled into the parking lot of the theatre, I realized we had made the entire drive without speaking.
“So what did you decide?” Ethan asked as Cade pulled into the parking stall.
I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t remember what all the options were. Let’s decide when we get inside.”
I hadn’t been to a movie theatre since long before I was a teenager. As much as I tried to think of the last movie I had seen, the memory escaped me.
The three of us stood and stared at the long list of movies playing. Of the more than a dozen options, one familiar name stood out. Sheepishly, I mentioned it, and hoped for a favorable response.
“Cinderella?” I asked under my breath.
Ethan pushed his way past Cade and me and leaned onto the ticket counter. “Three for the next showing of Cinderella, please.”
I turned toward Cade, clasped my hands together, and grinned.
“Starts in ten minutes. I’ve gotta piss. Here’s the tickets, you guys better hurry up if you want popcorn or anything,” Ethan said as he handed me the tickets.
After buying an extremely large bucket of popcorn and three drinks, we walked into the theatre together. I sat during the previews and stuffed my mouth as I anxiously watched scenes of upcoming Disney movies.
As Disney’s most recent depiction of an old tale played on the screen, I took in every detail, enjoying the fabulous cinematography, costumes, and landscape. Each glance toward Ethan produced a man who seemed to be very content with the movie. Cade, on the other hand, was as theatrical in his reaction to the movie as the actors themselves.
In the end, Cade and I cried. Ethan didn’t say a word about the tears, only that he thought the movie was great, and he was pleased I chose it.
As we walked away from our seats and into the common area of the theatre, Cade had to use the restroom. After Cade walked away, Ethan turned to me and sighed.
“That’s a pretty deep movie when you think about it,” he said.
“It’s a kid’s movie,” I chuckled.
Ethan shook his head, “A kid movie written by an adult. Cinderella’s mother dies, and tells her to believe in an afterlife – basically requiring that she believe in God. And, she tells her she must be good, and if so, she’ll keep a watchful eye on her from up above. Good, evil, God, and the afterlife, all right there. And I’m not even going to give my two cents on the God thing. Okay. Then what happens?”
I shrugged as I mulled over what he had said.
“Her mother tells her to live modestly, and not ask for much. She promises her mother she will comply with her wish. Her father leaves, and although her bitch stepsisters ask for all kinds of expensive stuff, she doesn’t. She asks for the first branch that hits her dad as he’s riding on his horse. The branch isn’t so much a branch, but a symbol. She’s screaming for her father’s attention. For him to bring her the branch, he’s got to stop, turn around, and go back and snap it off. The entire journey, he’s carrying it with him, knowing he’s saving it for Cinderella. So, he’s thinking of her the entire time. He buys shit for the two greedy stepsisters, but for Cinderella? He’s going to bring her a fucking tree branch. The branch is the connection between all of them – her mother, her father, and her. She adheres to her mother’s request of being modest by asking for nothing of monetary value, only a branch. Then, she plants the twig on her mother’s grave, bringing them all back together as a family – metaphorically speaking,” he paused and raised finger in the air.
“Even with the modesty, there’s a message – keep your promises. And there’s the entire be nice to animals part. Everyone treats her like shit, and what’s she do? She gives her only food to the mice. Oh, and after the ball? When her world goes to absolute fuck? I mean really it’s a time when everyone would be like fuck this shit. But Cinderella? Nope. When her stepmonster and the stepsisters are their most evil, she takes a step back and doesn’t react. Back to the be good request of her mother. She maintains her good over evil approach to life. And then, when she gets the most attention, when they’re all talking about her, and she acts like she doesn’t know she’s the sought after one? She’s back to honoring the mother’s request for maintaining modesty. She was the most modest when any other girl would have been arrogant. In maintaining modesty and asking for little, in the end, she wins. And don’t even get me started about the fucking glass slippers. Purity. Virginity.”
“Wow. That’s amazing,” I breathed.
Ethan shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
Cade stepped out of the bathroom and grinned as he approached us. A few steps away, he turned his palm upward and widened his eyes, taking every inch of me into his view as he did so.
“May I have this dance?” he asked.
“Certainly,’ I said as I did a makeshift curtsy.
And, as we danced in the entry of the theatre to the classical music which played softly over the sound system, Ethan rolled his eyes. Try as he might to convince me he was, I knew he wasn’t near the heartless biker Cade joked about. Ethan was Ethan, and he was a much deeper person than most people realized, including Cade.
As Cade and I continued to dance, Ethan stood and smiled as he watched us. Together, the two men complimented each other. Although they were two totally different beings, when merged, they formed one perfect half of our relationship.
When we finally stopped dancing, Cade held my left hand in his. I reached for Ethan’s hand, wondering if he’d accept. As he took my hand in his and the three of us walked out into the parking lot, I felt like I had made a transformation from the homeless woman on the bench to who I was dancing in the theatre.
In many respects, I was Cinderella.
And I was living my happily ever after.
CADE
The day was dreary, rainy, rather cool for mid-summer, but otherwise perfect for shopping. I had decided to wear my desert boots, and although I realized fully I didn’t live in the desert, I still found them useful in the flat asphalt terrain commonly found in Kansas. Early on, after seeing them in an issue of GQ Magazine, I decided not only that I needed a pair, but that I needed them immediately. I adored them so much I chose to save them for special occasions, and this certainly was one. I had mixed emotions regarding allowing them to intentionally get wet, but they looked best with my skinny jeans, and I chose to wear my skinny jeans because Ethan was going with.
And Ethan would never allow anyone to taunt me for wearing them.
Rain wore her orange dress, and Ethan wore his Diesel jeans, lace-up biker boots, and a clean white tee shirt. As he wasn’t riding, he left his jacket in the closet.
“Why can’t we do a mixture?”
“We can’t have them touch each other, but I guess we could do two completely separate dishes.”
“Why can’t they touch, that’s idiotic.”
“Because they’re different. One is corn, and one is flour.”
“An enchilada is a fucking enchilada. Whatever. You always use the flour. For once, I want fucking corn.”
“It’s fine Ethan, I’ll do two separate dishes.”
Rain stood silently, her eyes shifting between Ethan and me as we spoke. Her hair was more beautiful than ever with her new cut, color, and highlights. After her session of nails, massage and facial, we went to Sephora and she bought some makeup and got a free lesson on how to properly apply it. Even though she didn’t regularly wear makeup, she chose to today, and I was grateful she did. A clear definition of beauty, she stood and shook her head at Ethan as he shook the package of corn tortillas before me.
Ethan’s reluctance to come in the first place disappointed me, but now that we were in the middle of the store, I wished I had chosen to wear my Sperry’s and khaki’s, and he would have remained at home. As much as I adored Ethan, there were some things he was simply not designed to do. Grocery shopping was obviously one of them.
“You two are fun to watch.”
Ethan tossed the tortillas into the cart, turned away, and began to meander down the aisle. As I pushed the cart a safe distance behind, Rain surveyed the contents. Nervously, I checked our purchases against the list I had prepared. Without even thinking, I reached over and touched Rain’s shoulder. She reached up and smiled as her hand met mine. Ethan glanced over his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and turned away.
“What’s next?”
“Dairy.”
“I want some cereal.”
“Okay, it’s two aisles over, on aisle 6.”
“Captain fucking crunch. I used to eat that shit by the truckload. I miss it. The one with the little balls in it.”
“Crunchberries.”
“Yeah, crunchberries.”
“I want some cereal too, is that okay?”
“Sure, anything you want. It’s why we all came together. We’re a family.”
Ethan chose the largest box of Captain Crunch on display, and Rain, after scouring the aisle on each side, opted for the Special K with Red Berries. Personally, although I enjoyed cereal, I chose not to eat it because it dirtied one more dish than eating a container of yogurt, and eating yogurt over cereal shaved roughly 40 calories a day from my diet. As we turned the corner toward the dairy cooler, an unfamiliar man who appeared to be strung out on drugs recognized Ethan, and stopped in his tracks. Dressed in a vintage 1980’s Adidas zippered track suit, his hair was brown and stringy, his face gaunt, and he was so thin he looked almost ill.
“Ethan? Ethan Hawthorne?”
“Sorry, I don’t…”
“Terry Becks. T-Bone.”
“Oh. Hey, how’s it going? Shit, I didn’t recognize you.”
“Good. Good. So, uhhm, I’m sorry to interrupt, but do you still, you know, do any hacking?”
Ethan shrugged his shoulders as he glanced nervously up and down the aisle.
“No, not so much. I’ve got a gig at a Harley shop, why?”
“Well, I’ve got this guy, or I guess it could be a girl, hell who knows, right? Anyway, this piece of fucking shit – excuse my French – this person hacked in to my computer, got word of a delivery, and intercepted it before it arrived at the final destination. It cost me. Well, yeah. It cost me a lot. I’d like to find out who it was. You know, even their IP address. Anything. I was just telling Brad I wished I knew where you were, because you were so stealth and shit. And bam! Here you are.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while. I’m not messing around anymore, sorry.”
“Seriously? I’d pay you. And if I found them, I’m sure my people would pay you really well.”
“Sorry, can’t help ya. Nice seeing ya, though.”
“Know anyone?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
He stood and stared as Ethan turned and walked away. I glanced down at his Run DMC Superstar sneakers as I passed, wondering as I did if he had them since the 1980’s or if he recently purchased them from Ebay or some other internet auction site, and if so, why? They were the only portion of his attire which was presentable and clean.
“Ethan’s a computer hacker?”
“No, he used to be. Shhhh. We’ll talk later.”
“So, you’re cooking enchiladas tonight? Two pans of those fuckers, right?”
“Yes, I’ll make them tonight.”
“Every time we eat Mexican food, I remember the night I came over for the first time.”
“Me too. And every time I see you eat toast…”
“Don’t even say that word. We’ll have to stop and make out. Even the mention of it makes me a mess.”
“Toast, toast, toast, toast and butter, toast and butter. Buttered toast.”
“Will you two quit dicking around and catch up? Where’s the fucking milk and shit?”
“Big cooler on the right.”
Ethan glanced to the right, obviously recognized the dairy cooler, and began walking briskly toward it. I quickly pushed the cart ahead and alongside Ethan. I feared if I wasn’t close to where he was standing, he’d simply grab a carton of milk and toss it in the cart, damaging the container. As he stepped in front of the cooler, I pushed the cart close to the glass door, almost blocking it.
“Here, I’ll get it.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’ll get it.”
“Damn, dude. Jesus, fine. Grab the fucking milk.”
I pushed the cart away from the door and picked a carton without any dents in it. After carefully placing it in the cart, I turned toward Rain and smiled. She smiled in return.
“You wanted a perfect jug of milk, didn’t you?”
“Hey, I asked you a question.”
“Did you say something?”
“I asked if you if you wanted a perfect jug of milk. It’s why you shoved me out of the way and blocked the fucking door, wasn’t it? You didn’t want me grabbing some milk jug that was dicked up and had a fucking dent in it. You wanted to grab the best looking one you could find, you OCD fucker. Right?”
I shrugged my shoulders as I gazed onto the cart, focusing in the general area of the milk carton.
“Whatever, dude. I want some strawberries, then I’m done.”
“I love strawberries.”
I wish I would have thought of strawberries.
For my entire life, my hopes, dreams, and aspirations have been just beyond reach of my consistently indecisive mind. Often wrestling with even simple decisions for all of an eternity, it seemed by the time I realized what it was exactly I yearned for, someone else had beat me to the decision I was all too scared to commit to. A day late and a dollar short, as they say.
I’ve never had the luxury of a multi-functioning or broadly attentive mind. Either my brain or my inability to focus, I’ve never decided which, prevented me from concentrating or even comprehending more than one thing at a time. If someone was talking to me, I heard their voice and focused on the words they were saying.
But not so much of anything else.
If I was busy performing a task, often people complained I wasn’t paying attention when they tried to speak to me. Although I rarely revealed the reason, for me, the answer was simple. My mind was busy performing the task, not listening to idle chatter outside of the realm of my focus.
Rain was beginning to cause me to question this lifelong concern. In her presence, and only when we were alone, I was able to open my mind and see broadly as well as hear, all at the same time. I wondered if it was primarily because I was comfortable around her, and some barrier within my mind was set aside when she was around.
Ethan carefully placed the strawberries into the cart. I gazed down at them for what seemed like an overly long period of time, frustrated that he had come with Rain and I. I was the one who suggested we come together, but as much as I enjoyed Ethan’s company, and as deeply as I wanted everything to work between us all, the frustration continued to build within me. As I thought of what Rain had shared with me about Ethan’s interpretation of the movie we’d seen together, and how much she enjoyed hearing his metaphoric descriptions, I became slightly jealous. I continued to focus on the container of fruit, incapable of doing much else.
I desperately wanted to be the man with the strawberries.
Yet, I stood, staring into the cart, knowing I never would be.
