CHAPTER 17
My skin is . . . gray. Various shades of silvery gray.
Not just my skin, my surroundings are also monochrome. Like I’m some character in a black-and-white film set in, I dunno, the fifties? But it’s all right. I’m okay with it. Feels good, like I’m meant to be here, sitting on the passenger side of a hulking, classic tank of a car barreling down ashen road heading into a bright, but colorless sunset. The seat vibrating under my ass. Rumble and purring in my ears. It’s liberating somehow. I feel… free.
At the wheel, a lean, disheveled young man in worn jeans, a sleeveless undershirt, and black work boots. He’s chattering, enthusiastically bouncing in his seat like he can’t wait to be wherever it is we’re going.
“We know what IT is,” he says, waving an unlit cigarette, “and we know TIME and we know that everything is really FINE.”
I don’t recognize my driver, but I do feel like I’ve had this conversation with him more than once. “Yeah, I heard ya,” I reply. “The royal IT. The mystical, metaphysical IT!” I roll my eyes. “But what is IT exactly?”
My grinning chauffeur turns to me and says, “What we’re searchin’ for, baby.”
I slump in the seat to contemplate the meaning of the mysterious IT as we roll past graytone trees, graytone pastures, graytone world. My thoughts hiding in pitch-black. “Charlene’s never gonna forgive me, is she?”
“The planet is full of beautiful women,” my driver tells me. “In the next town, I betcha there’s fifty sexy ladies itching to get their hands on a brooding fella like yourself.” He winks at me. “You know, to comfort.”
My new friend is a heckuva salesman, but I’m not buying.
“Maybe I found the IT I was looking for,” I argue, “and maybe I let her get away. Or I pushed her aside.”
--Knk-knk-knk--
Northmont University. Halliburton Hall. July, 1984.
--Knk-knk-knk--
Oh.
Crap.
Color.
Color, but not like rich, glorious technicolor. I didn’t wake up in OZ, just my dorm room.
--Knk-knk-knk--
I roll over and see Terry scratching his ass by the door. He opens it, grunts, then slumps back to his bunk.
Akio pokes his head in. “Everybody decent?”
“Yeh.” I sit up in bed. “C’mon in.”
Akio steps inside, flips on the lights. “I brought company.”
Not just any company. Akio brought… Charlene.
She’s standing in the doorway in a black pinafore mini, black Siouxsie Sioux t-shirt, white ankle socks, and black Mary Janes, looking all cute.
I want to turn away, but I can’t help but stare at her cuteness. She’s fucking adorable. Look at her, all pouty, feeling bad, thinking she did something wrong.
She has no idea.
No idea.
No idea I broke our promise.
No idea I let her down.
Wish I could keep it that way. Wish I could jump up from this bed, wrap my arms around her and just kiss her. Leave it at that.
“Charlene,” I begin, a little late, but at least I broke the silence.
“That’s me out of here.” Aiko tips his hat, then turns to face Charlene. “You kids play nice.” He slips out and away, leaving Charlene alone by the open door.
She blinks. “Jack, I…”
Oh no, she’s going to apologize. This is terrible. I’m the bad guy. I’m the bad guy here. I’m the bad guy. Me.
“No.” I lower my head, ashamed. At my feet, the copy of On The Road Whitman gave me. Seeing it there, I feel even worse. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, timidly.
“No, no,” I say. “You have no reason to be sorry. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Terry mutters from under his blanket. “Sorry the fukkin’ door is still open.”
More Beatitude next Friday.
BEATITUDE © Mark Scott Ricketts
Cute, adorable Charlene or a scarey literature professor with a psycho-killer vibe? Seems like a pretty easy choice to me. I hope Jack chooses love...
Terry is turning into a bit of a loveable curmudgeon... 😂