Colors Act one scene two.

Wednesday, June 2nd, 2010.

He was working semi late that night.

Some time past nine Emit Coors patrolled quietly along the small aisles of the shell gas station just off the northern Arkansaw line.

He was kind of a short kid standing 5'7 at his full height, but his shoulders bulking out seemed to give another inch or two.

Emit was a young man of twenty two years old.

This kid's birthday being three days earlier.

It had been a short lived birthday, however.

His father,(who he was not too fond of) Jhett, had visited.

Along with an aunt or two and a couple of friends.

You know, the usual suspects.

So, it started of pretty decent, as these thing generally do.

Yeah, that wasn't going to last.

It was only an hour or so until his older cousin, Randy King(a ''recovering'' alcoholic) , had had one too many(yeah, "recovering").

The party had ended with dear cousin Randy starting a drunken brawl which Emit was sadly(and inevitablely) pulled into.

To this did he owe the blackened and swollen eye that rested perched above his nose.

But the wound had not been the worst blow.

In the middle of the fray he had knocked his own dad unconscious.

This was not the advised way to heal an already fragile relationship.

He scratched his fuzzy, shaved, red hair thinking indifferently to the incident.

He had never really had a good birthday anyway.

What did one more loser matter, anyhow?

That's just life.

He walked back behind the the white, black spotted counter.

Emit surveyed the small store.

Frito's, Doritos, Oreos, soda, candies and beer all in their assorted places through out the store.

He considered maybe grabbing something while no was around but he shelved the idea his thoughts returning to the original thing that had been troubling him.

A dream.

For three months, three slow, confusing months he had dreamed dreams.

He dreamed of fields and colors.

Monsters and children.

Darkness and war.

But, most of all, he dreamed of the ladder.

The ladder that stretched forth from the earth and into the sky.

It was like the ladder of Jacob.

Twenty four human busts upon it.

They all there sought to kill, exile, or enslave him and... who else was it?

Someone?

No one?

Everyone?

Did HE give a damn?

Not really.

Emit was not like other young man who would jump to be the greatest of champions and advocate to others and or a "people".

He was Emit.

A young guy who was going to get his.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

I mean, he was a nice guy(he liked to think so).

He just wasn't a hero.

Not the type Emit.

You ain't the type.

Yes.

Those had been the words two years ago when he had seen a man robbing a laundry mat in the night hours over in Bald Knob.

And the same words when he seen two boys beating up some kid when he was in his early teens.

You ain't the type.

I ain't the type.

He murmured to himself subconsciously as he often did.

He sat behind the front desk sneaking a few cigarettes from a case and placing his white Under Armour athletics(shoes) upon the counter.

He lit a cig and placed the rest in his flannel shirt pocked.

But, soon moved them to the pocket of his faded, torn jeans.

He didn't want anyone to know he smoked(especially for free).

It was his little secret.

So, he sat there reconsidering his dreams until a thought dawned upon him.

His face hurt.

He had some Ibuprofen packed away safely at his place a few miles back off of Baker Den road and into Hometree.

So his drugs for relief were about six miles away.

Dang.

Out of luck, he guessed.

He yawned wondering when his replacement,(in his words "a chic who hates my guts") Jordan Cullen, would arrive.

"Hates my guts".

He couldn't be more right.

Jordan had been his girlfriend for a total of five months before a series of, er, "miscommunications", had ended that relationship a few weeks back.

He had forgotten their anniversary(five month anniversary?).

And that had been the beginning of the end.

A long, pathetic story short, he had run from her house three weekends ago.

He could still picture it.

Cups and other crap flying over head like a battle zone.

He had run.

Call him a coward if you will but... HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED.

He knew this first hand, it would seem.

A better thing to ponder would have been what made him think it was ever a good idea to date a fellow employee in the first place?

So because of the rise of gas expenses he had been making less money.

He was single and worked with his former girlfriend.

He was already on bad(and now dying) terms with his father.

And now he was alone in the middle of the night at a 24 hour gas station.

It was times like these he was thankful he didn't work for BP.

Yeah.

There's a gig that really sucks.

See.

There's always something good you can find in the middle of bitter experiences.

The bell rang.

In walked a pale, young woman with long, black hair while Emit worked feverishly to hide the cigarette.

Just look at him.

Pathetic.

Jordan Cullen thought with contempt as she eyed Emit like a cat eyeing a mouse.

"Hey."

He said nonchalantly once he felt that his Camel was hidden as he held in the smoke.

Hey?

Hey?!

That is all you have to say to me is "hey"?!

"Hi."

She replied, mimicking his lack of enthusiasm.

He coughed as he stood up.

He walked past her hurriedly.

It seemed her ex was in a hurry.

Could you blame him?

_ _ _ _ _

??

Jordan didn't even turn to look at him.

She sat down behind the desk hearing him exit through the double doors.

She looked to herself in the mirror.

Was she attractive?

She supposed.

She wore a green blouse and faded black jeans.

Jordan had felt a more plain look would be better for working alone at gas station at midnight.

She reached over her breast into her blouse and pull her necklace out of her shirt by the silver chain.

It was a locket.

HE had given it to her.

HE had put his picture inside of it.

God how she hated HIM.

She let the trinket roll back and forth over her fingers.

It was a heart.

It reminded her of the first piece of jewelery she had been given.

A small golden heart backed by a larger silver heart set off of the other's center to show two hearts instead of one.

Her mother, Eleanor Cullen, had given it to her before she passed on when she was six.

She could remember the day vividly.

It had been a nice day.

They had gone to the park to camp out while her father was on a business trip(which was her mother's way of covering up his affair).

She had asked her mother what angels looked like.

"Some are big.

Others are small.

But they are all garbed in rainbows of many, many colors.

They're lovely, Jordan."

Her mother had said as she looked fondly on her innocent daughter.

She had never really known her mom.

They looked nothing alike in her pictures(adopted, maybe?).

But the two did share the same condition.

They both had a mild case of OCD.

Luckily for Jordan her's only acted up occasionally.

It was sporadic, mind you.

But not constant.

Today was one of the better days.

On a bad day she may have to count her steps or the letters of every word someone spoke.

Anyway, she opened the locket and saw Emit's picture
smiling up at her from a leaf covered yard.
He looked happy.

A*s.

Three weeks ago had been their five month anniversary(which they'd planned).

Like he'd care.

She had spent two hours cooking dinner for him(which she had offered).

Did he come?

No.

Did he call?

No.

He had just shown up the next morning with a hang over and wanting her to take care of him.

Was she going to?

God no.

She told him to get out, don't come back, and a few other more colorful things that may have been uncalled for.

Yeah.

Right.

"Uncalled" for.

She thought bitterly.

He had it coming.

And then he even had the nerve to call her up the next day and ask what he had done.

"Piss off."

Had been her short, kurt answer to his query.

And she just supposed everything ran down from there.

It was over two days later.

And she couldn't be more happy(yeah, happy).

Even if she was done with that helpless child she still couldn't help but wonder how his face got busted up.

Probably some barroom fight in Hometree or else where.

Why should she care?

I don't.

She thought, seeming to answer the narrator's question.

He didn't matter.

Not anymore.

Jordan was going to find someone different, someone... better.

_ _ _ _ _

??

Emit felt like he was going to burst.

He walked out the exit leaving Jordan to her thoughts(little did Emit know they were of him).

He had swallowed the smoke and now felt a little puke coming on.

Oh, joy.

He coughed violently for a few seconds and then began trying to locate his car.

It was parked on the far side of the parking lot which let out onto highway 251.

He found his black 05 Chevy Tahoe model sitting alone where the parking let out into the road.

He ran his hands over the worn paint.

He had remembered when his father had bought him this car when he had turned seventeen.

That had been a terrible birthday(except for the car, he guessed).

It had been the year of his parent's divorce.

His mother, Marissa, had left for some mechanic, Stewart, who lived down in Clarksdale.

She had just picked up and left.

"I love you, hun."

Had been her words as she walked out the door two days before he turned seventeen.

Bull.

That's all it was.

Complete and utter bull.

He had only seen her a hand full of times since.

She had divorced and married some other man after she had found Stewart in bed with the mail MAN(not a typo).

He thought the name of the man she had married was Richard Merwin, or something like that.

Richard was steel worker and she was pathetic.

She came to see him only when her and dear Rich had a fight.

She'd stay a few days and be gone for months.

She pretended to be nurturing the few days she slept at his place and ate his food.

But it was all an act.

Right?

Maybe.

He guessed.

Maybe deep down she still felt the same about him.

Maybe she even still thought she was being a good mom?

Eh, he didn't know anything about that.

But as whiny as Emit Coors could be he didn't often complain publicly about his estranged relationship with his folks.

He didn't like people thinking they had raised him wrong.

Or that he had emerged from the shambles of some broken home.

No.

They had told him to be honest, patient, thoughtful.

And yatta yatta yatta and blah blah blah.

Most of it had been just words to him he supposed.

Well, maybe it hadn't.

He tried not to lie.

Tried to be patient.

Tried to be thoughtful.

Tried to be yatta yatta yatta and blah blah blah.

He wasn't super man.

He couldn't always get it right.

So Emit had succeeded at times and failed at others.

He guessed(as he climbed into the driver's side of his Tahoe)that this time with Jordan he had been a failure to be such things.

We ain't all perfect.

I'm not Jesus.

And you ain't the type, Hoss.

Everyone of those words had been his excuse to calm and comfort himself.

All of them except the last.

The last sentence had been another voice inside.

One that was fairly clear and he supposed fairly right.

He drove off into the night tabling the thoughts.

Mister Coors never like to think long on such things.

He felt it might lead him somewhere... strange.

And if there was anything he didn't like it was things that were strange.

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[Jackson Lai]

Two very long chapter