Reap

My first short story since junior high school. This was originally written in early July of 2007.

Reap

Another day. Another road. Another sidewalk. Another parking meter. Just another cut-and-paste day. A monotony that would drive others to the brink of insanity. I rather enjoy it. Or perhaps it could be that I am just severely accustomed to it. Walking the same walk. Making the same searches. Looking and nodding at the same faces. I know them all well.

Every day I walk past the people, the trees, the fire hydrants, the various multi-cellular organisms. I notice them all yet I am a nobody to them. They must know I exist yet they ignore my presence. This should be upsetting and I do admit some days it does to a degree. Most of the time however I do not mind. The anonymity is refreshing. I can literally go anywhere I want to and not worry about any negative actions taken on me. I can always get into the most exclusive of clubs. Perhaps it is my swagger that allows me to easily drift past those rather burly bouncers that can carve their name in concrete with nothing more than a finger or two. I have even been aboard Air Force One. Talk about state of the art! So many gadgets and doo-dads and lights that I am sure serve a purpose though I know not what. I have been to balls where Kings have danced, aboard near desolate oil rigs. The bottom of the ocean and even in the Stratosphere! I really get around. It puts a partial smile on my face.

Today I walk to my destination. The sun is rather unforgiving today. Hot enough to fry up some eggs on a car hood. I have seen it done. Rather interesting if you ask me. I walk past the barbershop. Grown men having ad nauseum conversations about various issues and all are relevant in today's society. Just on the other side of the glass sits a chess set. A marble base with alternating white and gray patterns. Atop this base sits the marble combatants rallying together. Attempting to dethrone each others king. On either side of the battle field sits the orchestrators. One side, an older man. In his mid 40's, on the other end is a boy no more than 13. The boy is heavily enthralled in his senpai's tutelage. The boy will lose in eleven moves. Further down there is a man with a heavy West Indian accent. He is shaving a block of ice. To his side rest fluids of different colors and flavors. He uses these to add flavor to the ice. Cherry seems to be his strongest seller.

I draw ever so closer to my destination. The narrow-headed weather man says that this area has hit a high not seen in 72 years. Everyone is trying to beat the heat. Temperatures are nearing 115. The Humidity has helped to increase the heat or rather the effect of the heat. Everyone Is virtually naked. Wearing only enough so that they are not charged with indecent exposure. Because of the high humidity, the perspiration that people create cannot fulfill it's duty and cool the body off. Ice is the number one priority on a day such as this. Me, I simply walk down the street. With my cane in my left hand. Walking with a little increased pace. I was running late but I am almost back on track. Head to toe in a black casual suit. Nothing formal, yet nothing trashy. Just smooth. Others would surely have a heat stroke by now. I know. I've seen it. Me? I am not bothered by this heat. I am rather indifferent to the extremes of temperatures. If I stuck out more people would be gawking at me and a feeling of perplexity would overwhelm them as they attempt to figure out why I would be dressed so.

Finally I reach my destination. The Silver Oak Retirement Home. 168 apartments spread out over five floors. I enter through the automatic sliding doors and head to the elevator and the doors open. I step in. I head to the back and I turn around to lean against the wall and railing. Before the door closes I see the security guard Checking out the door. He did not notice me enter and was trying to ascertain why the doors opened on their own.

The third floor comes. This is where I get off. I take a look at my pocket watch. Toc-tic, toc,tic. It gives me a mild amusement to have a chronometer that functions counter-clockwise. Comes with the job yes but it's still mine. There must be a rolling black out or a brown out. There is light in the building but absolutely no air conditioning. There is one seven-foot tall industrial strength fan blowing down the hallway. In this heat however the breeze offers little solace from summer's onslaught. I walk a ways down the hall and I stop at room 317. The name on the door reads "Robinson" The door is locked but I enter with no problem. I head to the living room and I see an elderly couple doing all they can to beat the heat. Which seems to be almost exponentially harder being that heat rises and they are three flights up. Mrs. Robinson is somehow able to manage. Mr. Robinson however is having a more difficult time at it. He was complaining about the heat and how he could not cool down. for the past few minutes though he says he feels cool. He even ceases in perspiration. He lets out a sigh of relief to finally feel cool.

I walk up beside man laying in his recliner and simultaneously pull out my pocket watch. The light's refraction shimmers past Mr. Robinson's eye and he looks at it. He looks at me. He smiles. Mrs. Robinson sees him looking off into space and notices his smile. She asks him, "Lawrence baby, wha-chu smilin' at?" "it's shiny.", he says. Only he never heard his wife. He was initiating conversation with me. Mrs. Robinson follows his eyes and looks past me to the ceiling. There she sees light refracting from something blue outside. She turns back to the television to continue watching Ellen Degeneres. She didn't notice me. She didn't notice my backwards pocket watch shining up her husband's face. She doesn't notice me because it is not her time to notice me. Her husband notices me. His time is near. My pocket chronometer toc-tics counterclockwise because it is counting down. Counting down the time that Mr. Robinson has left. Which is a mere moment or two.

     He looks up at me and gives a warm, appreciative smile. He knows who I am and is not afraid. So many people in time's past attempted to barter with me. Saying they are not ready. To take their husbands and wives instead. There is so much I've yet to do. Or my favorite "The "Friends" series finale starts in two minutes. Take me in an hour" What intrigues me is how some of the most egregious beings beg for more time. They absolutely abhor my presence yet those who have the potential to yield such greatness are often rushing to meet me. Mr. Robinson says to me that he was waiting for me. I smile and asked him if that was a fact? He does that warm smile again and nods. I reach out my hand for him to take and he grabs it. He stands up and says to me that he has tried to lead a good life and that he has been involved in some acts that were not benevolent. He attempts to assure me that most of the time he led a good life. I see the concern in his eyes. No one wants to go to that place where there is a non-stop barbecue and they are the ones being covered in basting sauce.
     I say to him that I know well the path he chose to walk and that it isn't my job to cast judgment. I inform him that regardless of the less than stellar stories about me, I actually do not take souls or extinguish one's flame with a touch. My task is to simply escort individuals to where they need to be. Mr Robinson nods again and states that he knows it is his time but asks for a moment to look over his abode so that he can leave in peace. The timing is going to be rather snug, but I concede to his request. It was reasonable overall. He looks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator and looks at all the goodies in there and that one plate of food his wife made for him that he thought would kill him. She can cook but loved to experiment. Mr. Robinson was usually the guinea which also meant long nights on the porcelain throne, which is where he headed next. He skimmed through his hidden stash of Sports Illustrated swimsuit magazines. He commented to himself on how he would miss them.. The bedroom was next and he stared the photos displaying his genetic legacy. He knows that he will go on. Albeit vicariously be go on he shall.
     Lastly He heads to his wife who is watching Ellen dance her dance. He leans over and whispers things she only hears subconsciously. He hugs her and then grabs her face ever so gently. He kisses her on her lips, imbuing her with all the love and energy he has for her. He heads back to me and I look at her and her face says it all. In her heart of hearts she felt it. The hug. The kiss. It hasn't completely registered in her conscious mind yet but there is a single tear that emanates from her right eye. She touches it and looks at the recliner where her husband's vessel rests. Still smiling even though now hollow. "I am ready now", says Mr. Robinson. "What is it like?" he asks. I reply to him that if differs for each individual. I begin to escort him out of the apartment when the watch makes it's final revolution. Mrs. Robinson climbs into her husbands lap in a fetal-esque manner. She kisses him once on his right jaw line and nestles her head under his and to the right. She is petite and fits rather comfortably there. It shall be another hour or so before she calls the proper authorities.

The two of us egress the apartment and close the door behind us. I escort Mr. Robinson to where he is now needed to be. Afterwards I shall begin to walk past another meter. Down another sidewalk parallel to another road. To head to another person who will need to be escorted to where they need to be.

Written by;

Douglas S.Williams