Ceremonial Man

                Walter Jades was a retired man. After working as the pharmacist for a small town in Rhode Island for 25 years, he put in a two week notice, took his life savings and his wife, and bought a small house near the beach and settled down for the second time in his life. He was a ceremonial type of man; he didn’t like to change schedules, go out of his way, or visit the borders of his comfort zone. A nice man Walter was, but a plain one.

                The air seeped through the open windows in his home, leaving a fresh, crisp feeling for the morning. There was no coffee brewing, he had been a healthy man his whole life, and grogginess of getting older wouldn’t change that. The older couple had a Shih Tzu that would roam from the bedroom to the bathroom, to the kitchen to the yard, to the beach to dirty its paws, and then leave tracks in the house for the couple to wake up to.

                “Belinda!” Walter said to the dog in a scolding voice as it leaved its familiar trail from the doggy door over to the mat by the half-open door where Walter finished tying his tennis shoes, getting ready for his morning run. The dog looked up in adornment to Walter as he sighed and stood up, and peered over at the mess Belinda had made. He pondered for a minute, whether he should clean it up then and there, or wait for his wife to wake up and clean it, like she always did. But like the man he was, Walter had a morning ritual, and cleaning up dog tracks wouldn’t change what he had already had in mind.

                The waves met softly with the sand as Walter jogged along the beach to his favorite shop that sold breakfast and breakfast only. The smell of sea made him uneasy, more than most mornings, but he had a plan to go get breakfast before 9, and as always; nothing stopped him in his tracks.

One of the greater pleasantries of retirement was that Walter had nothing on his mind in the mornings, nothing at all. He didn’t need to worry about re-stocking the shelves in the pharmacy, spending most of his work-day alone, or hoping that the difficult, regular customers wouldn’t need a prescription filled. His mornings were fresh, his afternoons pleasant, and his evening’s blissful.

                The bell on the door to the breakfast-only-bakery chimed with his heavy sigh, as Walter walked in patiently, scanning the room with his eyes for other customers, there were none. He smiled at the young college student working the register, she didn’t smile back.

The handmade wooden chair croaked against the floor as he sat down and opened to the political section of the newspaper. As he reached into his windbreaker for his glasses, he felt nothing. He raised a brow and felt around more, nothing. He had forgotten one of the important pieces to the puzzle of his much anticipated morning ritual. Without them he couldn’t read the newspaper, and without the newspaper, he felt less informed about the world that was around him.

                “Damn it…” he muttered under his breath as the waitress brought over his regular, a bagel with cream cheese, and a bottle of expensive orange juice only grown in Rhode Island.

                “Something wrong, Walt?” The waitress smiled with concern at her loyal customer. She straightened up and looked at him with sad eyes, she knew how much he loved having breakfast here, and she was dreading telling him the news of how they’d soon be selling the bakery, because of the economy.

Walter looked up at his favorite waitress and saw concern in her eyes; he debated asking her the same, but was too bothered by forgetting his glasses.

                “No, thanks.”  He said away from her face.

                She nodded in contentment and walked swiftly to the back of the bakery.

                He looked at his breakfast, and then leaned forward and began to eat. By now he would be on the second page of the political section in his newspaper, but instead he chewed his fresh bagel and looked at the ocean outside, calling him to come out, and come home.

                After he took his last sip of orange juice, he sat back in his chair and tried to remember where he forgot his glasses. He thought long and hard, but couldn’t remember. The bell rang again and he turned his head to the door and saw a younger couple walk in, both wearing work-out gear. A tall man in his thirties walked hand in hand with what Walter presumed to be his girlfriend or wife. She had a small frame, similar to Walters’s wife, and had strawberry blond hair. A cheeky smile appeared on both the couple and the young woman working the register. He turned back around and sat comfortably in his chair, and tried to think of something else, but all he could hear was conversation from the couple, talking about how they’re spending a week here for their honeymoon. Walter shook his head in disgust. He hated tourists. If you lived here, then you live here. If you didn’t, then you don’t, he thought to himself.

                He stood up slowly, threw away his trash, and then stood behind the couple, waiting to pay. A couple minutes past and he grew impatient of the idle chatter. He was getting ready to just step in front of them and pay, but the husband turned around and they both met eyes.

                “Babe” he pulled his wife to the side and gestured for Walter to step forward with a smile. He did. And handed a 10 dollar bill to the woman at the cash register.

                “Keep the change.” He said with a smile, the woman still didn’t smile back.

                The air was still fresh as Walter stepped back onto the sand toward his house. He checked his watch, 8:39; it took about 10 minutes to get home, if he jogged fast enough. He refrained from running for a while, and instead just walked, for the first time along the sand, kicking driftwood out of his way and keeping his hands behind his back, with his nose in the air. It was clean. Un polluted, like those bigger cities some hundred miles away. Walter enjoyed this.

                The waves began urging closer and closer to shore, so Walter decided to pick up the pace and start jogging again. The air crunched his windbreaker, and he heaved sighs every few seconds, he felt more worn-out than usual, but kept on running. The sun was starting to really shine its summer light, and he wished he had a pair of sunglasses with him. So instead he put his hand over his eyes, to try and shield some of the light, so he could see where he was stepping.

 

He wondered whether or not his wife Beth would be up or not, and if she was, had she already cleaned the dog tracks, or left them for Walter? He made a silent bet to himself that she was in fact up, but left the mess for him to do himself.

                As he slowed down for a bit, he caught something pass his eye. He turned around while still stepping backwards, eyeing for something he might have seen. He scanned the sand with his eyes but only found driftwood, and shells.

                ‘Must have been driftwood.’ He thought to himself, as he turned around and headed towards home, but something stopped him. He stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes met the water. For a brief amount of minutes, he couldn’t believe what he saw, or if what he saw was even real. As his eyes adjusted and as he slowly stepped closer to the water, unaware that his ankles and socks were soaked and freezing from the water splashes. He leaned forward, gasped and jumped back, what he saw was defiantly true, and he didn’t want to accept that.

                His heart was racing and he leaned forward, resting his hand on his knee and trying to comprehend what was going on. He couldn’t. For the first time in his life, Walter Jades didn’t know what to do next.

                Gushing from the water to the sand, a human arm washed up on shore, and rested in the warm sand, inches from the ceremonial mans soaked feet. 

Reviews

[The Storyteller]

You did a good job painting a picture of a person dependent upon routine. I am assuming his wife some how drowned and that was the final straw to completely destroy his preferred way of life.

[Larry Dyson]

good intro.. nice setting for a story to evolve.. word to consider is --ablutions-..and what were you looking for when you used adornment.. the dog looked up at him in ;;;nice start for a longer story! I like..Laury