Redge

Redge sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window, listened to the sound of the mid-morning traffic, a truck roaring passed, the sound of a girl’s laughter. The sunshine fell on him, illuminated his thin figure, fell on the cracks in the wood and on his legs and shoes, made a yellow rectangle on the floor. He stood and shuffled over to the other part of the room where a make-shift sink and bench-top stood, reached up and lifted a lighter from the ledge and lit the stove, placing an old rusted kettle on the flame, watched it for the few minutes until it sang, steaming at the spout, then put the tea-bag in the mug and poured. He took the mug and walked back into the room where the only chair sat in the middle of the room like a silent witness then sat on it and sipped the tea and looked back out the window. A blue sky staring back. A day like any other.

When he had finished he walked back to the sink and rinsed the cup and put it on the sink, walked across the room, opened and locked the door with a key then turned and took hold of the balustrade and began making his way down the stairs, the age-old wood groaning even underneath his light weight, then walked through the carpeted entrance that stank of stale beer. He walked out onto the pavement, stood and looked around, squinting in the morning light, took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on and started his usual walk to the cafe. By the time he made it, the tiredness had crept up on him and then the waitress caught his eye.

‘And how are you today, Redgy?’

‘Not bad thanks, Carla, you?’

‘I’m Ok. The Lord takes care of me.’

‘Uhuhh.’

She came out from the counter and placed the cup and saucer in front of him then went back behind again. He sipped the hot coffee, looking out at the sidewalk, watched the occasional person walk past. He finished the coffee and looked around then got up and put the money on the counter and left. Kids walking, laughing, not noticing him, a single mother pushing a pram. He walked on, passed the clubs and cafes then came out onto the sidewalk that sat alongside the main road. Trucks roaring past like missiles, spluttering, blaring diesel. By the time he made it back up the hill to his apartment block he was exhausted. He opened the outer door with his key then found his way to the stairs, pulled on the balustrade and made his way up to the top, unlocked the door, closed it then walked into the room.

He sat down on the chair and looked out the window and listened for the traffic then got up and put the kettle on. In a moment it hissed and he poured the tea then sat back down again watching the afternoon sun fading through the window, dimming the room like the final unfurling of a dream. He sat and watched the sky turn peach then liquid blue through the window and listened to the traffic then lay on the bed and slept, the sound of the traffic lulling him into dreams. In his dream he was young again and married and lying in bed pressed up against his wife. He was talking to her and she was responding with her back turned, though he couldn’t make out the words, the smell of her hair like apricots.

When he woke it was into the darkness. It must have been night. How long was he out? He got out of bed, stood and looked out the window, down at the street below. The crowns of kids’ heads lined up along the pavement like coloured flowers, a girl with a white dress on, drenched blonde hair, tattoos on powerful arms, kids with mowhawks, tight black jeans, leather jackets. He left the room, walked back down the stairs into the blackness then stood on the street, the fluorescent light from the night-club sign spilling onto the pavement like liquid, illuminating the faces of the kids waiting to be let into the pub. They looked up at him then looked away and he went and stood behind them, waiting, like them, to be let inside. The line-up went forward and then he walked passed the same security guard that stood on the door every night and walked to the booth by the window where he always sat. A waitress walked up to him, angel’s hair pulled into a pony-tail, away from pixy features.

‘Which one you gonna go for tonight, Redge?’

‘I reckon I’ll go the fish thanks, Chris.’

She turned and walked off and he looked around then back out the window then at the television on the wall. Images of police cars chasing people through neighbourhoods, the usual madness. He looked around at the kids standing around, posturing, drinking beer, wondering if they knew any better, then, the waitress came back with his meal.

‘Thanks, Chris.’

‘Pleasure, darling, anything else?’

‘No, I’ll think I’ll be fine, thanks.’

‘Ok, well, you just let me know.’

She turned and walked off and he ate the food then pushed his plate away and made his way out into the night air, out onto the street. He walked down to the park that stood in the darkness like a resting place for some nameless evil, lit up in patches by street-lamps, where what looked like a tribe were sitting as though sharing some important secret, some contrivance to cause harm. One of them spotted him, his face a map of lines that twisted into a sneer in the gloom.

‘Hey, brother,’ said the man.

Redge stopped and looked at him.

‘Mike.’

‘Redge!’ yelled one of the others. ‘So, how’s King Redge?’

He looked them over and walked up to them, shadows in the darkness, a gang of vampires surviving on cheap alcohol. One of them was passing a cask around, the bag barely visible under the light.

‘Say, Redge, you looking to score?’

He looked at them then walked on, leaving them to their endless argument, came out onto the open strip where the lights shone from the street in the open air as if from a giant circus. He walked down it, passed  faces coming out of the glare, until he came to the same café where he always sat in the evenings after his meal. Every night he would watch her, his prized specimen. She had a body for sin, a perfect mouth and hair, like a movie star, flawless in every way. After a while she looked up, her face beaming into a smile.

‘Redge! How are you?’

Looking at her, he wished that her enthusiasm was founded on something, not some silly joke between them when her boyfriend wasn’t about.

‘Good thanks, Jean.’

‘The usual?’

‘Yeah.’

He watched her make the coffee and then she was walking to the table and placing it in front of him.

‘So, what have you been up to?’

‘Oh, you know, the usual, enjoying my retirement.’

‘Uhuh.’

A moment later her boyfriend showed up, tall and handsome, perfect for her, and he realised what a silly old fool he was. They stood embracing, and, not being able to take any more, he stood and made his way to the door, out into the night that had turned cold. People brushing passed him, one, a woman, nearly knocked him over, then dropped all of her things onto the street. He stopped and recovered himself while she was picking what lay on the ground, apples and oranges, a cake wrapped up in plastic.

‘I’m sorry.’ He said.

She looked up for a moment, not comprehending then smiled.

‘It’s ok, it wasn’t your fault.’

He bent down to help her and then they were standing together and he saw that she was a woman of about middle-age and attractive.

‘My name’s Redge.’

‘It was nice meeting you, Redge, I’m sorry, I have to go.’

She turned and started walking and he watched her until she faded from sight then turned and started making his way back along the street. It had started to rain, penetrating his clothes. He wandered down to the beach and came to the promenade and walked passed couples scurrying to escape the rain then looked out over the water, black on the horizon, washing in on the empty sand. Thundered rolled in in the distance. A sliver of lightning cracked over it, a white forked eyelash, appearing then gone, lighting, for an instant, a chasm of grey and green clouds above the water off into the distance. He looked up at it and kept walking, boats standing in the moors, the wind picking up and starting to wail in his ears.