Tagged: fat man

Scarlet Ribbons 0

 

Scarlet Ribbons

Pixabay

The trip required three bus changes, a slight wait, and the chance of no seat. He just wanted to forget work on the humming bus ride home. Before noon, someone clogged the sixth floor toilets. The backup sent water over the walkway as he returned to lunch. After a shower of piss water, Robert Lotz needed a seat.

The bus lurched to the stop letting out a whoosh from its brakes. Second stop on Robert’s trip. He waited behind a college girl in a running suit, a boy wearing eye shadow, and a shopping cart pulled by a hunched-over woman. In college, he organized each weekend frat party dressed in modern pop.  Tonight, he was the old man at the end of the line with four kids, two dogs, and a wife who saw him more as a burden than the wild guy she married. Waiting to board, he read the newspaper folded to the business section. The economy needed this market to come out of its flats. He pushed up a pair of bifocals as the hunched woman struggled to lift the shopping cart.

He reached to help. The woman turned, gave him a look of contempt, and smacked his hand back. She pulled the cart into the step again. Unable to lift the cart, she turned and gave him a look of “what are you waiting for.” He picked up the cart and raised it on the bus.

He dropped three quarters in the meter, turned inside, and shook his head. Just as he predicted; no seats. Robert walked over to the straphangers, propped his briefcase between his feet, and folded the newspaper under his armpit. The bus jumped forward and he grabbed a hanger. With his hanging hand he pushed up his glasses. Another night of standing unbalanced. He stood opposite of where the shopping cart woman had managed to wedge between an angry fat man and the skinny track girl. She shoved to position further into the seat, the fat man nudged back, and the reaction slid the college girl off the seat. Catching herself, she grabbed a hanger just as the bus turned onto the highway.

The driver made a fast pace over the rolling hills. The girl, the fat man, and the shopping cart woman all left the bus. Robert sat down three stops from home and scrunched up his toes seeking freedom. He set the newspaper down beside him and watched out the window. The highway gave way to a street lined with elm trees, white cupboard houses, and Halloween decorations. He hit the buzzer and the driver stopped two houses from home.

Children dressed as villans, superheros, princesses, and ghosts jumped on the sidewalk or scurried across the grass. They popped up beside him or in his path in spurts excited by the night of tricks and treats. He marched through the costumes pausing and pitching from side to side. With his dance, he managed to miss most of their twists, turns, and orbits. A crowd of kids blocked his porch scampering for the treats laid out by his oldest daughter Cindy. She ignored him as she dropped small candies into each bag. He cleared the horde of small monsters into the house. (more…)



A Visitor Awaits 0

 

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Pixabay

Bolsón de Mapimí, Chihuahuan Desert, Old Mexico

The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper. – Eden Phillpotts

The desert wind blew warm and dry across his face layering grit on his chapped lips. He dropped the square bottle to his mouth and let the agave drip down his chin. The cold air bit into his bones. He wrenched the long robe tighter around him.

“What’s that?” he shouted out as he spun into the wind. He cocked his head to the left listening for a voice. The bottle sloshed at his side.

“Un visitante?”

He laughed a high cackle and spun around with his arms outstretched as if to collect all the stars in the sky. The bottle swung up in the air and a stream of Mescal sprayed out into the wind raining down on him. The drops bounced off his nose and forehead. He looked up and watched a drop grow larger and land in his eye. He wiped his face and shook his hair. He shouted at the stars.

“There are no visitors here. Nobody dares come into this hell-forsaken sand trap.”

He laughed before listening again. There was nothing but the wind blowing past the field of creosote and ocotillo. The wind rubbed the plants together forming a low hum.

“No me diga?”

The man cocked a confused look toward the sky. He took a step and stumbled forward to his knees. The bottle dug into the sand. He listened to the wind.

“You don’t say.”

(more…)