Lord Jim Of The FlowerBed Out Front...

Duh... rambling moron here.

     He smoked as if his very life depended on it... sucking the smoke into his lungs in strong, fast draws... spat the smoke into the air and drew again. The litter of butts at his feet suggested he had been there awhile... just standing... staring at the ground surrounded by rhododendrons. Unmoving, except for the draw on the smoke he seemed to be clutching like a life preserver. The hand and cigarette never moved more than 2 inches from his face.      Hours each day I watch him standing in the flower bed. Just smoking. Only moving enough to take a drag or light his next smoke with the last. Every day. Monday thru Sunday. There he is. I used to sit here at my desk and make up stories about him. His life... it's leavings and desires. His home. The possibility that the same ceremony takes place there as well. A floor covered by thousands of spent butts or maybe ashtrays piled with them, spilling them onto coffee tables or a cluttered, ashy desk. But that ended. See I smoke too. After weeks of watching the ritual, I decided to go have a smoke with him... see what the attraction to that particular spot was. Or if it was just a habit like the smoking and done unconsciously.

     I stood behind him that day. I didn't leave the sidewalk by much, just one foot in the flower bed,  for fear of invading what seemed to be his secret garden. He seemed oblivious to my presence, as if mesmerized or deep in thought... A catatonia of smoke and emotion... But by the time I lit my second cigarette I was starting to get impatient, as I so often do.  "Nice weather we've been having lately"... nothing... "I've seen you around here a lot... You work nearby?".... Again no response. I looked at his suit. Charcoal pin... nicely pressed... tailored to fit perfectly... shoes polished to a brilliant shine... except for the spackling of ash on the toe of each... hair nicely trimmed and styled... and if I'm not mistaken I believe he's wearing Giorgio cologne... "Really nice spot here, quiet, not much traffic, very relaxing..."...... again no response..... I was lighting my 3rd cigarette when he glanced at me over his shoulder... for just for a second before he returned his gaze to the ground. What the f**k?! My mind instantly became abuzz with a variety of thoughts and agitations... it's a public area... it's not like I'm trying to hold his hand, bum a smoke, get his life story and ancestry... What the f**k?! How rude! I'm just trying to be nice! I was now looking around the buildings lining the side of the street... Looking from window to window at the faces and people inside... Businesses I had never noticed before... People I had never paid attention to before... Quite a busy little block I noticed... But everyone seemed to walk on the opposite side of the street... Only a few wandered by the flower bed on this side of the street. I looked at my office front. The slate sign with silver lettering. I looked at my window. I could see my desk and computer clearly. I looked to the next window. I could see my assistant, Sabrina, on the phone through her window and talking as she stared at a computer screen... young, blonde, beautiful... "Eureka!" My mind lurched and shrieked. I knew... I finally had it figured... I started to turn back to completely face smoking man again when I realized he was now standing only about a foot away from me and staring at me intently. The stare softened a bit when we made eye contact and he actually smiled. "Got any gum?", he inquired. I was almost flattened by the tones of his voice. The simple fact that he spoke to me at all. "Uh, no, but I have some Cinnamon Altoids". "Cool" he replied. I dug into my pocket and handed him the tin. He opened the tin and removed one... studied it for a second and then popped it into his mouth... "Thanks". He handed the tin back. I noticed that his face was much younger than I had originally noticed from my office window. Unshaven... smoke wrinkles around his mouth... "I'm Jim by the way" he said and extended his hand. I shook it. "Glenn... Good to meet ya". Jim began to walk away. He began to move on to the sidewalk and down the street but after a few paces he stopped and looked at my office window. My mind snickered, "I knew it". He turned and came back... "So what brought you out today... of all the days you've been sitting in that office... What brought you outside today?", Jim asked.

     I thought and couldn't really explain it comfortably. "Well, I thought you were a weirdo and I've been watching you smoke your a*s off out here for weeks so I thought I'd come check you out." No... Doesn't play well with others... So, "I'm really not sure" I replied. He chuckled. Low and soft, and smiling at his feet... "Ok" he said and he turned and began up the street again.  He made it six or seven steps away and turned again... "Be careful out here. Here there be tigers my friend.", and he turned and strode away....

     I sat at my desk the next morning and sure enough, here he came. A fig colored suit today. Jim strode to his spot and lit up. He looked at my window as he took his position, but did not smile or wave. He just stared for several seconds. Then began his ritual again. I did not go outside. I simply watched and worked in spurts. I took a phone call one minute. Just a five minute call, and when I looked back he was gone... What the f**k? That was odd... Completely out of the norm... Completely out of ritual... I immediately rushed outside to the side walk... looking both ways up and down the street. At the other side of the street. I then looked back at the flower bed... The grass well worn where he stood daily. I stepped into the bed and looked at the ground... patchy, worn  grass. Mostly dirt in the spot he stood. I noticed a small card. Like the kind that accompanies flowers or a small trinket gift. Written on the front, in very nice script, was a very simple message... "Thanks. Jim". I looked around again... Nothing. He was no where in sight. I looked back at the card. Stared at it... I was so intent upon the card, that I never heard the footsteps behind me. Never heard the low, rumbling, growl. I never even flinched as the tiger lept and its claws and teeth ripped into my shirt and flesh. The thing I remember most about the day my life ended... is that damn card... "Thanks. Jim"...  and the smell of the rhododendrons... The sudden, abrupt end to confusion and inquiry. Odd how that works... I must have gone smiling.

 

 

DEVIATE

 

Sorry, just mindless ramblings... pay no mind to me...

Reviews

[Lucifer Jones]

I've edited some... hopefully for the better.

[Lucifer Jones]

Sorry, way to many " ... " I have a tendency to write the way I think and speak... it annoys me as well sometimes.