Squirrels
Between the apartment complexes, the cathedral’s spires pierced the brooding sky. The forecast predicted a clear day, but the pillars of dark clouds augured a different outcome. “Figures.” Sam looked away from the ill weather omen.
Why care?
The black bank of cloud looked more prophetic the closer he got. What kind of whirlwind of chaos was he in for upon his return? His co-workers were going to kill him. Not at first, but shift by shift, they’d devise a way to strangle him. The idea of returning pushed his shoulders down. They’ll think I’m lying if I tell them everything that’s happened.
Maybe a truck will hit me this time, he thought as he crossed the street. Nothing serious, but enough for people to feel bad. That way, everything cancels out. He sighed as he reached the other side in one piece. I can always use the dying dog card. Why return? His dog was sick after all. He hadn’t heard from his sister; what if she’d gotten worse?
What kind of person stays at work if their dog is dying? I can’t go back. They’ll understand.
The road was busy. Cars rushed by in confused, blurred streaks, and their horns blared at the intersection before him. Sam’s heart skipped, and his palms trembled. I didn’t do anything this time. Just keep walking.
Charged voices cracked in the heavy air. Ahead, the road connected to the original side street where he’d started this horrible morning, but between the two streets was a park. He spun on his heels and walked off the concrete onto the short grass. The trees offered a muted reprieve from the storm that brewed overhead. Stone walkways scored the park and forced anyone who walked through it to meander along their lethargic curves and admire the mighty sycamores. Of course, some trailblazers, briefcases in hand, scampered across the open green like squirrels, blind to the journey and fixated on the destination.
The calming force of nature swept across Sam like the hand of a loved one.
Why didn’t I major in biology or conservation? Or anything useful? I wouldn’t be rich, but I’d be happy. His jaw clenched, then clicked. “Fuck me,” He muttered. Everything was a disaster. His job, the day, his life. It all pressed in around him like the gullet of a timeless creature of darkness, eager to swallow him whole. Worst of all was the image of his poor little dog suffering without him. As he walked, a carousel of mistakes and failures spun past his vision. He shut his eyes, but still they twisted by him like rats in a dark alley.
A text jolted him out from the shroud of abusive introspection. It was from his sister. He bit his lip as his heart paused.
“Your pup is eating and keeping it down! She’s drinking too! I’ll stay until your shift is done, no need to rush. Let’s get curry or something after.”
A wave of relief eroded the anxiety that had calcified his joints. Thank you, God. He jumped in place, then started off at a jog. The world teemed with beauty all around him. His shift would be over soon enough, and he’d be on his way! A thick collusion rolled across the sky as distant thunder tumbled in the clouds.
Shit.
What would he say to his coworkers now? A sick dog was his free ticket out. Sam rubbed his forehead as he followed the path.
“Hey!” A man on a nearby bench lifted his head as Sam passed. His beard was patchy, and his nose looked like a beaver had gnawed at it. His clothes were no better. Unkempt and wrinkled, they hung from him like coats on a rack.
“Sorry, I can’t stop—” Sam paused and looked around. Birds chirped in the trees, and squirrels buried caches of nuts under their trunks. What was he rushing for? Because he wanted to be chewed out? What was done was done; did it matter how late he was?
“Never mind.” Sam turned. “How can I help you?”
“You got a cigarette?”
“Afraid not.”
“Ah,” the man waved his hand, “I’ve been saving, but don’t have enough. I really need one.”
Sam nodded in agreement, though he’d never smoked.
“No one has cigarettes anymore. No one. I’m tired of it. I need a smoke.” The rich sorrow in his broken voice pulled at Sam like a strong wind. He stepped closer.
“They’re bad for your lungs.” Of course, he knows that; he’s not a kid.
“That’s bullshit.” He poked his thumb through a hole in his sleeve. “My granny smoked every day and lived to ninety-four. It wasn’t cigarettes that put her in the ground, either.”
Sam shrugged. His own grandmother smoked too before quitting after her grandchildren were born. She lived for another twenty years. “I guess there are exceptions.”
“That’s right.” He leaned against the bench. “She was always the exception. She gave me my first cigarette when I was twelve. Everyone smoked then. This part of town was all factories, too. Girls always turned tricks on that corner. Even in the dead of winter. They’d be freezing their asses off to get by. I didn’t pay for anything, mind you, but I could’ve.” He sat up and took a stern interest in his surroundings. “This park was a lumberyard.”
“Ironic.” Sam surveyed the tall trees that now dotted the ground.
“It was a huge operation! I was the foreman. Worked there for fifteen years until a new kid I brought on didn’t secure a log right, and the damned thing fell and snapped my legs. But no one cared back then. Nah, they went about business as usual, while I was stuck in the hospital. Well, soon enough, they ran out of trees, so the joke’s on them. Now they’ve gone and planted new ones. Oh!” His eyes gleamed as he looked at Sam. “That’s funny!” He chuckled, then returned to the past.
“Those buildings there—that was a chemical plant before. Fertilizer, I think; always smelled like shit. And that spot?” He gestured at the spires above the canopy. “That was a church before it became a café. The worst part? No one’s got a cigarette. I’ve been sitting here for hours and nothing.”
“I work at that café.” Sam’s shoulders slumped. “That’s where I’m supposed to be.”
“No kidding, I’ve been. The coffee was disgusting.”
“Did a guy with weird sideburns make it?”
The man’s eyes flashed again. “Yes!”
“Figures,” Sam smiled sheepishly. “He’s gone now. I guarantee the coffee is better.”
“Ah, coffee is too expensive anyways.”
He’s got me there.
The man pointed through the park at the long line of derelict homes. “My wife is in there. She’s got a new boyfriend, and they haven’t come out in two days. I think she’s okay, but I worry. She knows I know, but pretends they’re just friends.” The man’s face tightened. “You married?”
Sam shook his head.
“Good.” The man’s chin hit his chest. “Good. My wife doesn’t understand me. I’m a simple guy!” He pointed at Sam. “You know how it is. I don’t need much!”
“Sure. You just want a cigarette.”
A sharp smirk split the man’s face. “You get it; oh, this guy gets it!”
Sam smiled too. Maybe I do get it.
“After my accident, they said the yard would pay the medical bills. Well, guess what, they didn’t. They closed up shop three months later and left me in a bed.” He rubbed his knees. “It was her perfume. That’s how I knew she had other men in the house. She’d lather that shit on heavy, then turn the radio up real loud so I couldn’t hear nothing from where I was, stuck in bed with two broken legs.
“I’m sorry, that’s horrible.” Sam shifted his feet. Why can’t I think of better words? A squirrel seethed as it chased another in circles around a sycamore trunk.
“As soon as I could stand, she left. I couldn’t get a job, not on crutches, so I moved in with a buddy of mine.”
Sam’s heart flinched. “She just left you?” At least my relationship wasn’t this bad. The man’s battered face twitched.
“I didn’t do anything, never bothered her. Minded my own business, and everything. But that doesn’t matter.
“My buddy—he’d gambled on and off—I’ve not been addicted to anything, but they say it’s like a sickness. His wife and kids moved east, and he was in a top-floor studio. Needed help with rent. Luckily, I was getting disability then—” He knocked his fist against his thigh. “Get yourself a limp; it will change your life.”
Sam nodded, unsure what else would be appropriate.
“My friend suggested I move in.”
“That was nice of him.”
The man shook his head. “He was broke. He never checked in when I was stuck in bed. But as soon as I got those checks, he showed up. The spot wasn’t bad, though. The stairs were a bitch. I’d stop and have a smoke or two between each flight. Most expensive commute I’ve ever had.
“Well, turned out my friend was cheating me. A few months in, he tells me that the landlord raised the rent. I said, ‘No problem.’ Gave him what he asked for. He comes to me a week later and says he’d been mistaken; it was more than he’d thought. ‘No worries; here it is.’ Guess that’s my problem: I give and give and mind my own business—once I found out he’d gambled my share of the rent, I lost it.
“I cracked a metal pipe on his head. Then, after he slipped on his own blood, I put him in a headlock. I told him, ‘I could kill you right now.’ I tightened my arms around his neck. ‘Is that what you want?’ I said. ‘Want me to kill you?’” A tear rolled down the man’s cheek. Sam stood frozen in place.
What do I do if he says he killed this guy? Sam swallowed as another tear rippled across the man’s rough skin.
“I—I had my arms around his neck. I could feel his throat speaking, but I didn’t care what he said; it didn’t matter. I leaned in and told him, ‘We’re like brothers. I’d never fuck over a brother.’ And I let him go. You’d have thought he’d lost his bones the way he fell on the floor. I grabbed his wallet and left. Never saw him again.
Sam let out a repressed breath.
“I don’t ask for much. But people take from me. I’d quietly sit on the couch after working my ass off for us. But that wasn’t what she needed. I was too focused on getting by, saving for the bad times; I didn’t know it would last forever. Maybe I just didn’t say enough to her.
“She wants a divorce. But I won’t. That’s all I have. I can’t give that up, too. So, I sit here in front of their house. That way, whenever she sees me, she’ll remember she can’t take everything.”
Sam stayed still as a drop of rain soaked into his apron. The cathedral bell, the only part that remained unchanged after the building’s renovation, chimed solemnly.
“Shoot.” The weight of Sam’s absence crashed over him. “I can’t stay.”
“Do what you want.”
“Listen,” Sam said, “if you stop by the café, I’ll get you a coffee on the house. It’s the least I can do.”
“I’d much rather have a cigarette.”
“Coffee is better for you.”
The man shrugged. “If I can’t get a cigarette, maybe I’ll come in.”
Sam nodded, then turned away. He walked along the road where he’d met the little boy, then, at last, he reached the final street. The gothic facade loomed beneath blackened clouds as he approached.
Time to face the music.
Editor: Shannon Hensley
