Tim III

The smoke wafted out of his dry lips and he inhaled it back through his nostrils. Feeling the tightness in his chest. It was a familiar tightness that he relished. The tobacco tingles washed through him. Loosening his perpetually stiff neck.

The first cigar of the day was his favorite. It felt like the whole day ahead of him was going to be alright, even full of possibilities for an old man like him. In truth, it was the little things he enjoyed. 

The smell of fresh biscuits.

The feel of his fluffy robe on his collar. 

The taste of rain on his tongue.

And of course music. Music allowed him to live. Without it he would have been dead a long time ago. He felt his way to his collection (the most valuable things in his dingy 400 square foot home) after his cereal and ran his fingers over the labels he had made. He used plastic lids notched with a screwdriver to make the braille and taped them to the records. Today he felt like listening to Alice’s World Galaxy.

It was that dreamy feeling that he needed this morning. To be lifted up and taken away. He liked to pretend that God listened to music like this when the world was created. The harps built mountains with their resonations. The horns poured out the oceans from their bells. The strings carried the wind through the trees making them sway to the notes they carried along. And the drums, of course… 

The drums pounded out the living creatures from the mud. The heavy bass beats matched the heartbeat of the whales and elephants. The high hats quickly matched the rhythms of the humming birds and snow white rabbits. Tempos making animals and their temperaments. And somewhere in there, mixed up in the music, was the beats that made us humans. 

Listening through the whole album he didn’t know if he could pinpoint exactly where humans fit into place. He wasn’t naive enough to think it was the crescendo. No, not in this God's green earth; It was all beautiful. To him the only sin he counted, was ever thinking we were outside of it. 

But maybe that was just a blind man talking to himself. Convincing himself he always thought that. Or just reminiscing on the fact that if he could ever see again he wouldn’t take it all for granted. 

He was outside and it was bright out. He could tell from how milky white his vision was. The day was always better than the night. In the day he could see the inky shapes of things. Loosely. But at night. At night he was a true blind man. And some black nights he lost himself between being awake and asleep and whatever was farther than that. Then he would be terrified (but he never told anyone about it). Sometimes he would cry and pray that the sun would come up to remind him the way back. Praying for another day. So that he could hear the music once more.

Currently amongst the music behind him he heard a car door shut in front of him. In the driveway. A heavy door and footsteps approached. He felt for the ash tray and put down his gas station cigar that was also his conductor stick. 

“Comment Sa Vay?” A man’s voice said. 

He cranked his neck, placing his good ear towards him again. 

“Huh?” He asked. “Why are you interrupting me before my breakfast has settled?” 

In a thick cajun accent the man spoke again. “Excuse me suh, I apologize. Are you Mr. Jordan?”

“Who wants to know?” He asked. He had tilted his head up at the disembodied voice. He sounded like a taller man. One who was cool and confident. And one who certainly knew that he was indeed Mr. Jordan.

Oh Zeke you fool. I knew this day would come you stupid boy.

“Shit.” He spoke. Spitting some ash from his lip. He wiped it dry with a shaky hand. “You know I’m Mr. Jordan. Ain't much use lyin’ everyone knows i’m Mr. Jordan up and down this block.” He swished his hand in the air. And felt for his ashtray with the other.

“Let me help.” The man said. He placed an icy hand over Mr. Jordan’s as he held the ash tray and guided the skinny cigar into his hand. “There there.” he said in hushed words.

The simple brush of his hand made him recoil. Mr. Jordan sorted himself out, fixing his robe best he could. He took a simpler tone with the strange man. Doing so was just to ease his tension. It didn’t help. He had been thinking about God but it seemed the devil had visited him this day.

The man stayed standing that close. Casting his shadow over Mr. Jordan's face. Blurring the brightness of the day with his frame. Darkening it. “I’m looking for yuh nephew. He lives here, no?”

Mr. Jordan just shook his head.

“Huh, they say he does.”

“They mistaken.” He replied.

“They might be, but I am not. Not now, not ever.” He grabbed something from his jacket then flicked through it. By the sound of the turning pages it was a small notebook. “Aw. Crappy White Sedan. License plate CBD290.” He paused, shuffling in the gravel it seemed. Mr. Jordan felt the man’s eyes fall back onto him. Felt like they ate him up and held him in his boiling stomach. He couldn’t help but cower, hunch his shoulders a bit, make himself look small.

He spoke again and it was so sudden that it made Mr. Jordans bowels turn. “Is it 29-zero? Or 29-Oh? Like the letter?” The turn in discussion made him stop bracing himself against the chair. “I mean they can’t use both right? It would be too hard for cops to write it down. Too hard for ticketing purposes. And when it comes to stripping taxpayers of their money the governemtn does not fuck around? Right?”

He shrugged in return. Trying to find words. Instead he smiled and nodded meekly.

The man spoke again. “You drive much? You old blind fool?” 

The ashtray was lifted up with only a small clank of the porcelain on the glass table. Then he felt it crash against this head. The impact made him gasp and bite his tongue. Mr. Jordan clutched at his skull and felt the blood roll past his palm. 

“Oh Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed before he was being lifted up and pushed through his front door. The man was strong and wiry and he was pressed inside and onto the floor before he even realized he could fight back. 

“Oh no. No. No. No.” The voice said as it paced around him. Mr. Jordan wiped the blood out of his eye. Trying to stop the stinging it caused. In the dim lighting he saw the blob of the man’s shape remove something from his head and place it on the coat rack. He was back by the entrance. Buying time. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Mr. Jordan tilted his head. Listening. Trying to get his bearings. He heard the cold man stop and toy with the fixture there on the wall. Then heavy footsteps. The sound of fabric swishing coming forward.

Something bounded off his chest. He felt the crack of his sternum where a metal object collided with him, thrown at him. It hit him with a thud and bounced off the tile with a resounding clatter. He coughed and sputtered. Feeling the blood soaking into his robe from the gash on his head and making the floor sticky. His hand went to the metal object and he realized it was his cross he had up for ages on the wall. Jesus’s crucifixion. 

“You want Jesus,” The man said over him. “There you go. Start praying.” He posed differently and stepped forward. His boots clicked across the floor.

“Ezekiel!” The intruder hissed out. “Come out here or your uncle is going to die!”

A hall door creaked open. 

“No!” Mr. Jordan weakly cried out. “Get out of here boy!”

But just like in all things he didn’t listen to him. He heard his door creak open. The steps of the icy man were rapid. He lunged down the hall like a starving wolf. In a quick commotion it sounded like he pressed into Ezekiel's room. Chaos ensued. It was so loud, a mix of wood breaking, hollow thuds, and yelling and cursing he was sure the door was ripped from the hinges. He himself tried to stand. But he needed to take a deep breath to collect himself. 

Pain was throbbing down his neck into his spine. Every breath felt hot like the muscles around his lungs was a furnace and it was trying to smelt the very air he breathed. He tried standing but slipped on the blood around him. It was a lot of blood. It had to be blood. It felt warm and thick. One hand covered his wound on his head and the other balanced on the wall. He guided himself down to Ezekiel's room, finding the door still attached but closed and locked. He pounded against it with a bloody fist. Nothing. He just heard muttering on the other side. 

He tried to speak but just a faint whisper poured out. One word. Lost as soon as he uttered it.

He decided to pray instead.

ROUND ROCK

We stopped to get our bearings. Pulling off of the interstate as the four lanes of traffic zoomed by Chewy and I. I ignored the honking cars and rolled through a patch of weeds by the side of the road. Ahead was more criss crossing highways. Stacking up on top of each other and all around this suburban flat area. 

I always imagined Texas as a desert. Similar to Phoenix. But here there was grass, golden and dry all around. The homes were nestled in groves and tall vegetation. Whether it was flat leveled shrubs or squat looking wiry trees. I guess they knew something we didn’t

I let Chewy out and fed him. He grabbed a ball out from under the passenger side and dropped it by my feet.

“Not now Chewy. We gotta figure out what exactly is going on.” I looked around perplexed. Trying to remember how exactly we got here. “We must have left at first light… And driven for some time.” I slapped the side of my head. “Did I sleep the whole way? How the fuck was I driving? I mean… What the fuck is going on?” I said leaning up against the side of the car.

Chewy looked at me and smiled. 

“We were in New Mexico, do you remember what happened? Last thing I remember was falling asleep outside, under the stars. And that car found us. That man! Mr. Lucien did! Oh god.”

In a hurry I pulled out my handgun from the glove department. I opened the revolver and saw the spent shells. 

“Oh god!” 

I threw it back in the back seat. I wasn’t able to stand the sight of it right now. I pulled out the various state maps I had collected. I didn't have one for texas. But there was New Mexico. I unfolded it and the cars passing by lifted it up and wrinkled it with their tail breeze. 

“What the fuck? We must have took the 380 for at least an hour before even entering Texas.”  

Chewy was sitting in the back seat panting and watching me through the opened trunk. It calmed me that he didn’t seem hysterical. He had accepted that we were in Round Rock now. Round Rock. From the street signs it was outside Austin. That’s like a lot of flat earth we covered while I was unconscious. 

Must have driven 10 hours or something. 

I had heard getting anywhere in Texas is a long boring drive. Maybe it wasn’t very memorable? I had done it and forgotten it. I had forgotten many things in my life. If I was asked ten years from now how my drive from Roswell to Austin was, I wouldn't have remembered the minutia of that drive. Whatever happened just sped up the process. Aging me ten years overnight. Time had a way of slipping between memories. 

But ten hour of driving, gone in a black out. That’s new. 

Was it all the drugs?

Something else? I remember… A light?

“Maybe we should be thankful,” I said, folding up the map poorly and throwing it over my shoulder into the trunk space. I sat on the tailgate. Looking up to the sky. 

“Thanks I guess!” I shouted up at the cloudless canopy. No flying saucer far off. Nothing like that up there. No green lights that I hazily remember. 

Was that sleep deprivation or real?  

“Hey Chewy. Do you feel probed?” I flexed my butt cheeks feeling for a soreness.  My asshole was fine, thank god. Everything else was sore. My scrapes and bruises on my arms and legs, my skinned palms. My head, that still throbbed since my fall. My brain felt like it melted through a sieve. I could still feel the drowsiness behind my eyelids, like a boxer had gone twelve rounds, using my eyes as punching bags. And the cough that I was left with was killer. It hurt my dry mouth every time and blood came from somewhere in my throat. It felt like an infection was ravishing my body. But the thing that hurt worse was my conscience. I had killed a man and that made me feel sick. And it wouldn’t be the last man I killed while away from home.

The wind blew out a paper bag from the trunk. I watched the grease stained bag tumble into traffic and dance amongst the speeding cars. 

“But you ain’t far from home baby.” A voice said behind me. A familiar voice.

I looked and saw Chewy in the back seat now, his paws up and over the back rest. He panted and stared at me like I was the strange thing here. But behind him, there she sat. Clear in the daylight. Still wearing her sleeping shirt. The one with the old school x-men cartoon logo on it. I tried to speak but swallowed some spit and coughed. My eyes watered and I was terrified I’d lose her in the tears. I crawled back through the trunk. Over the spilled clothes and scattered snacks. I pushed away the jewelry box that radiated malice. Kneeling on a bag of kibble and head pushed to the ceiling, I saw her sitting there, smiling ahead, eyes that wouldn't look back. 

Chewy huffed at me and went to lick me, I pulled him close into a tight hug, trying to comfort  myself.

She was here. Sitting there looking forward. She was just watching the cars drive by with a certain solace that you bring to bird watching. Her auburn hair tied up in a loose bun. Her shirt sleeve short on her arm revealing her vibrant flowers tattooed across crisscrossing vines. 

“Honey?” I asked. “That you?”

“Had to come see my boy,” She said sadly, still looking forward. 

I went out to touch her with a shaky hand. To touch her shoulder and pull her back to face me.

“Stop sugar,” She paused and breathed a small sigh. Delicate like her. “I… I don’t want you to see me like this.”

I stopped.

“What? Why?” I tried to straighten my nonsense thoughts in order but they were wild like beasts. “What’s going on? Am I losing my mind? I saw you die.”

“Lots of people lose their minds I think. Lose them slowly or all at once.” She pondered a moment. “I hope you find it again. Maybe you left it in that desert grove. With all the hippies...” She laughed, her crows feet flashing next to her temples. Just a moment. It was exactly how she was in life. I could have lived in a moment like that. How vibrant her smile made her. How I would like to kiss each line that showed, naming each one and writing it down to hold them close forever. You miss the strangest things. 

She spoke more and chills rose on my nape. “But a mind only makes a part of a soul. A smaller part than most think.” 

“I. I. I.” I couldn’t think what to say. All the things I swore I'd tell her, given one more chance, but I couldn’t find them. So instead I said, “I love you. But are you real?”

She laughed a hearty, earthy laugh. Her laugh. One so unexpected it almost exploded out violently. How I adored that laugh whenever it shook me. It was so raw and real like her.

“You lost 8 and a half hours on your drive. Vanished.” She stated. “I think you are a bit detached from time baby. Maybe you found me in your wanderings. Maybe you pulled me from a time before I... you know.”

Died. Yeah, I hadn’t forgotten. More-so right now than ever before. 

“Or.” She continued. “You said you saw me die right? And died, I did. Not unfortunately I’ll add. I was pretty good at it. Perhaps because I had lots of fun while I was living. You’re one of the reasons for that baby.” 

I knew she would say a thing like that. It wasn’t fair for ME though. That was the point. But as I thought that, she paused, pulling up her left arm. To reach back it seemed, to caress. But instead she clenched her fist and bounced it on her leg. “The love we had. How we shared such a thing. Well. A little thing like dying isn’t going to get in the way of that.”

I giggled and sniffed my runny nose. I wiped my eyes and rubbed it on the seat cover. 

“I think you’re right,” I said. 

“And I can’t talk you out of what you’re doing?” She asked.

“No, ma’m,” I steadied myself. “No way Jose.”

“Then you’re gonna need more bullets sugar. There’s a place up the road.” She nodded ahead. 

“I’ll do that right away.”

“Can I?” She paused thinking. “Can I touch your cheek?” She lifted her hand. “You have to close your eyes though. No peeking”

“I’d do anything.” 

“Alright. Close them.” 

I did, squeezing my eyelids tight. I heard her move and gently with wet finger tips touch my left cheek. I was smiling like a buffoon but stopped when she reached me. It surprised me how cold she was. How alien. It shocked me and I pulled back, opening my eyes just a little. And I’ll hate myself forever for doing so. Through my eyelashes I could tell her face was pale and bloodied. The red still poured out of her nose like a trickling stream. Her eyes were bloodshot and blown from the trauma. Her fingertips vanished from my skin. 

Chewy leapt up and covered my nose and mouth with his own wet one. 

I groaned and spat and wiped him away pushing him back down. 

She was gone. The passenger door still closed. 

Vanished like those hours I was desperately trying to find. But I stopped caring about that. I only cared about her now. How I scared her away. I rubbed my cheek where she touched and found fresh blood come free. I held it in my palm for some time, held it close to my heart. 

She said I was lost in time for some reason? 

If that made me closer to her again, I'd take it… of course I’d take it.