All Things Concerning Kings: Part II

A trip to the workshop and a memory.

The hail was painful, the wind cold and seemingly hateful.  With each gust Roland’s unprotected face was pelted, bringing tears to his eyes which almost immediately froze.  He couldn't decide whether to keep his free hand over the coffee cup, or to shield his face from weathers assault.  Hot coffee or a modicum of relief?  Roland decided to keep his hand over the coffee, assuring himself that its warmth would bring a soothing relief from the stinging.

     The walkway was already covered with a thin sheet of ice that was becoming thicker with each passing moment.  The ice had made what should have been a short walk into an arduous journey over the frozen landscape.  Roland chanced a look at his ice encased surroundings, each frosted limb and blade of glass focusing what little light there was into radiant, star shaped bursts.

     "Aggravating, dangerous, but still so beautiful" Roland thought to himself.

     At this point, the workshop was within throwing distance and it was sure to provide the shelter Roland's face was so desperately seeking.  Throwing caution to the wind, he made the last few steps in long, gaping strides to cover the distance.  On the last stepping stone, Roland lost his footing and nearly fell face first into the icy walkway, but threw his hand out and grabbed violently for one of the posts that held the awning over the small 6' x 7' concrete porch connected to the building.  His hand found the support it was looking for and he pulled himself under the awning heavily breathing, but unscathed.  He stood stiff for a moment, collecting himself and catching his breath before realizing he still had the coffee cup in his hand.

     "Not a dropped spilled" he said to himself with a clear sound of triumph in his voice. "Super-human reflexes grant me victory again!"

     Roland turned around and brought the still warm mug to his lips taking a long draw from its contents.  He stood for a while admiring his crystallized home, mesmerized by its shimmer.  It didn't look real to him, having the appearance of something from a poem, ethereal and majestic he thought of it.  He had taken the last sip of his coffee before the wind stirred him from his trance, with that he turned and opened the door to the workshop, stepped through, and shut it tightly behind him.

     Upon first glance, Roland’s workshop looked much like anyone else’s workshop.  There were an assortment of tools scattered here and there, some lying on tables, others hanging from peg boards on the wall.  There were gas cans, oil rags, gallon jugs of anti-freeze, an old Coca-Cola clock (with a picture of Ol' Saint Nick enjoying his favorite beverage) hanging near the ceiling, pieces of scrap wood and the accompanying smells that came with a building that served multiple functions.  In all of its similarities, one thing made Roland’s workshop stand out from all the rest and that was the thick layer of dust blanketing every item within its walls.  It had been months, nearly a year, since Roland had been in the shop, and then only to deposit the salt which he now sought.  Without thought Roland began to wander through the semi-organized clutter, glancing left and right as he went, looking at everything there as though it didn't belong to him.  He walked past the salt multiple times as he ran his fingers through the dust, touching the tools and trying to remember the weight of them in his hands.  Some of them hadn’t been touched, let alone used, since before his wife Carol had passed.  Since that happened, little fix-em up jobs around the house didn't seem important, nor did the ability to change his own tires seem all that significant.  No, there were mechanics and handy-men that made professions out of such things and Roland felt such matters were better off in their capable hands.  Roland felt his days as a handy-man had passed on with his wife.

     His hand stopped when it came to a ratchet that had oil covered 9/16" socket still attached to it.  Roland picked the tool up and the dust fell like snow back to the table on which it lay.  He held it up almost eye level and stared at it with what seemed like compassion.  In his mind, the film began to turn, and in his heart stirred old feelings long forgotten.  He remembered the last time he held this ratchet.  He remembered the day, the hour, the temperature.  He remembered the feeling of the breeze on his face.  A memory so sweet and precious.  On his cheek, a lone tear rolled the length of his face, catching the light as it went.

     A Saturday morning, in the middle of August 1999.  The weather was still warm enough for Roland to wear a sleeveless t-shirt without the fear of wind chill bothering him.  In the distance, a lawn was receiving its weekly mowing and the scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the crisp aroma of azalea bushes, cigar plants, and boxwood hedges.  Roland lay from the waist up under the '98 silver Maxima that belonged to Carol, his legs jutting out and crossed at the ankles.  Beside him lay an assortment of sockets, an oil pan, and a rag to clean the filth from his hands.  This wasn't the first time he'd changed the oil for her, but the plug to the oil reserve escaped his grasp every time.  The lack of a plug didn't bother him; he just lay there with the warmth on his legs and the smell of late summer in his nose.  With his eyes closed, he searched the underside of the car, blindly feeling for the plug that so eluded him yet still enjoying the lazy and comfortable way he set about his task.  On the second pass of blind searching, his fingers hit a bolt that he didn't recall feeling on his first.  Opening only one eye, he saw the elusive plug.

            “Gotcha” Roland said softly to the plug.  In his other hand was the ratchet with the 9/16 socket attached to it and he clumsily brought the socket to the plug.  The socket was a perfect fit for the plug and Roland felt a little silly for dragging out half of his tools to tackle this one simple task and even sillier for thinking it would be a task not so simple.  He loosened the plug without removing it completely to avoid getting a face full of oil and simultaneously moved out from under the car and slid the oil pan under the plug.  As he reached back to loosen the plug the rest of the way he heard someone clear their throat, causing him to glance to his right.  He saw a pair of ankles and bare feet standing a few feet from the car, the left foot tapping incessantly as to insinuate impatience.

            “I’m almost done here and your taping foot is a distraction, so the more you tap the longer it’s going to take” Roland said jokingly to his wife.

            “Your work had better be top notch service” Carol shot back “I don’t want my engine blowing up, or locking up, or whatever kind of ‘up’ happens to engines when the mechanic doesn’t know what he’s doing.”  Roland smiled and slid himself out from under the car.  He stood up, and wiping his hands off on his shirt, gave his wife a sarcastic smile.  She was beautiful; she was always beautiful and would continue to be so long into old age Roland thought.  He knew that Carol had the kind of beauty that people wrote songs and ballads about, the kind of woman that time was very kind to, seeming to grow younger and more radiant rather than older and wrinklier as Roland was becoming.  In her 48 years she had gained the experience and dignity a woman should have, while retaining the youthful appearance of someone half her age.  She stood 5’6” and had a petite frame, her shoulders covered with wavy auburn colored hair that turned a flaxen color in the morning sun.  Her smile was broad and always genuine, showing off her teeth that were perfect save for the one incisor that overlapped the tooth next to it, but even that was an endearing trait. Her legs were slender and toned from the morning jogs she took and her skin was slightly tanned.  The soft features of her face were given life by her brilliant green eyes and her full lips that could be seductive when she wanted them to.  Carol stood in the sunlight, her petite frame clothed in a blue floral pattern sundress, with her arms crossed and her face bearing the same sarcastic smile as Roland.

            “If you’re afraid that my work will be less than satisfactory, I suppose you’ll have to do it yourself” Roland jested.  “The plug is already loose; all you have to do is take it out.”

            “Had I known that the job would be that simple I would have done it myself sir.  Probably would’ve been done in thirty minutes.”

            Roland gave his wife a scoff and gestured to the car and said “Well then please show me how to best accomplish this task to avoid any future disappointment.”  The sarcastic conversation made them both smile and with a nod of her head Carol began walking to the front of the car.

            “Gladly” she said and uncrossed her arms.  A slight breeze caused the hem of her sundress to flutter and she paused for a coy glance at Roland.  “No peaking” she said and with a wink she sat down on the cardboard Roland was using and shimmied under her car.  A moment passed by in silence before Carol finally broke down and asked the question Roland knew was coming.

            “Okay, what am I looking for?”  Roland stifled a chuckle and regained his composure before answering shortly.

            “The oil plug.”

            “Well I know that, but what does it look like?”

            “It has a plug like shape to it.”

            “Quit being difficult!”

            “Alright, alright!  What you’re looking for is something that looks kind of like a roasting pan, but it will have ridges on it.”

            “Okay I see it, now what?”

            “Now run your hand along the upper right hand side of the pan and you should find a bolt.  You know what a bolt is right?”

            “Yes, Roller I know what a bolt is.”  Roller was a nickname she had given him but refused to tell him its origin or meaning, but it made him smile every time.

            “Okay, when you find it the plug should be loose enough to unscrew it with your fingers.”

            “Alright, I found it.”

            “So before you take it out make sure you…”  Roland’s sentence was cut off by a high pitched squeal.

            “Roland!  It won’t stop pouring!”  The combination of his wife’s barely discernable words and the sight of the oil soaking into the cardboard was enough to cause Roland to burst into hysterical laughter.  Carol scrambled out from under the car fuming, or at least Roland assumed she was fuming, the oil made it difficult to tell.  “Roland, this is not funny!” she screamed with the emphasis on funny.  But Roland’s eyes couldn’t stop streaming tears, his face couldn’t turn any shade but red, and he couldn’t stop clutching his stomach because regardless of what his wife said about it, it really was funny.

            “Carol, you’re a genius!  I always thought you were supposed to put something under the oil to catch it, I never knew you were supposed to put yourself!” The clenching and unclenching of her hands and her heavy breathing only made him laugh harder.

           

            Roland snapped out of his memory when he felt warm tears running the length of his cheeks.  He hadn’t realized he’d been crying or that his nose was running but his cheeks were soaked and his eyes were puffy.  He closed his eyes and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve before taking a deep breath.  The ratchet was still in his hand and he held it tight, much tighter than he’d realized, and stared at it as though waiting for it to speak.  In his mind he heard his wife’s voice again “Roland, this is not funny!” causing him to lay the ratchet down and bring his hands to his face, unable to stop the flow of tears.  He stood there for a moment and tried to catch his breath in between shorts bursts of sobs and burning tears before finally regaining his composure and wiping his face.

            “I miss you so much” he whispered.   “So much.”  Memories were the main reason Roland hardly came to the workshop anymore, especially memories involving his wife.  He came only when necessary and stayed just long enough to get what he was looking for as anything more may stir up what he’d done so well repressing.  His feelings were a mixture of missing the woman he loved so much and an immense pride in knowing that she could’ve had any man, but chose him.  A moment later he’d cried his final tear and took a few deep breaths to calm his heart, his eyes were no longer puffy and his nose had stopped running but the void left by Carol’s passing would always be there.  “The salt” he said to himself “I need to put the salt down.”  The words were distraction enough for him to make his way to the bag of salt and ready himself for the trek back to the house.

 

            It took Roland nearly thirty minutes to get back to his front porch, slowed down by the ice and the need to get the salt down.  Once inside his home again he started another pot of coffee and exchanged his cold wet clothes for dry ones.  With the coffee ready and his body warm again he headed through the den to the stairs leading upstairs to his bedroom in search of bedroom shoes.  Throughout the day, Roland completed the various little tasks he’d set about doing including the laundry, general cleaning and paying the bills.  With the chores done and not much else to do, he felt that he’d earned himself a nap in his chair “There’s no one here to tell me otherwise” he said as he plopped heavily into his chair.  Fully reclined and covered with a light blanket, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of a flashing red light and he remembered the message on the machine. 

            “I suppose I should get my suit ready for tomorrow, Emily always loved the three piece on me” he said to the machine.  But the suit could wait, his eyes were already closing and Roland was already feeling the effects of the chair and the blanket.  No, the suit could wait.  It wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he.

 

            Roland woke a few hours later and could barely feel his toes.  Outside the sun was almost below the skyline and the failing light was having a difficult time filling the den.  Roland shivered and watched his frozen breath as it floated off, his eyes hadn’t fully adjusted but he could tell from the lack of a blinking light on the answering machine that the power had gone out.

            “Well, I guess a journey to the basement for the kerosene heater is next” he said as he got out of the chair.  With a stretch and another shiver he slipped on his bedroom shoes and shuffled towards the door leading to the basement.  On his way he looked to the mantle and again saw his smiling wife.  “Yeah, I know I should’ve left it in the storage closest instead of in the basement.  Don’t judge me.”  Carol didn’t reply. 

Author's Note

The second part of a story and my attempt at honing skills I don't have. Burn it to the ground if you feel the need.

Reviews

[Ethyl Spirits]

"On his cheek, a lone tear rolled the length of his face, catching the light as it went."
"The sarcastic conversation made them both smile"

Those two lines caught my eye in particular, the second especially sets the tone.

Overall, it was a little shy from brilliant, but well above well written.
I loved it honestly. And I wouldn't say that unless I didn't.

The transition between the flash back was fine, and I found it cute(?) I guess that he was crying. Well not "cute", but grr. Anyways, a few things to be noted:
Words like, "the plug" are used repetitively to the point where it's becomes irksome in one of those paragraphs.

But I digress. I enjoyed it and thank you.

And also, aha, I forgot.
The plot was epic :)
And the ending was choice as well

[Ms. Gruye]

Good to see the Captains' back.

Whatever you've been up too you've been working hard at writing. This piece came together nicely, and the pacing was superb. I like that you carved anther moment from Rolands "after life"--the life with out Carol--and slowly unraveled a human life so that we may see the intricate design of your character.

This was indeed showing...no telling anywhere. The result was a high emotional attachment to Roland.

I did notice one area where the word phrasing was a bit awkward:
"Roland lay from the waist up under the '98 silver Maxima that belonged to Carol his legs jutting out and crossed at the ankles."

I think I got lost at the whole "waist up under" part. I think it might be easier to remove some words to read, "Roland lay under Carol's '98 silver Maxima, his legs jutting out and crossed at the ankles."

Oh and one typo:
“I’m almost done here and your taping foot is a distraction," should read tapping, not taping.

thanks for posting this and viva la

[Ethyl Spirits]

Too long. I'll get back to this soon enough :)
Meaning, you've captured my attention, but so has my stomach! aha