The Georgian

In the year 1972 there lived a woman named Georgia and Georgia was gorgeous. She was the type of girl who caused car crashes and received free drinks just for walking into a place. She was the prettiest girl in a weird small town in the middle of nowhere and you just knew that she didn’t really belong in a weird small town in the middle of nowhere and you knew that soon she would leave that weird small town in the middle of nowhere. But, unfortunately, Georgia was also stupid. Which is why she had a somewhat passionate affair with a man named Norton Cronisson. Norton, who had slithered his way to being Lieutenant Mayor of the town of Walkinville, had a soft spot for the most beautiful women in Walkinville and chased after them despite not feeling much of anything for them. Georgia was no different but she did stand out in one small way. Her beauty was so inviting and so captivating that he couldn’t help but stare at her as much as he could whenever he was around her. Whenever she ate, whenever she slept, and even whenever she sneezed. He always gazed at her beauty in captivated silence. He loved looking at her so much he decided he should commission a statue in her honor to put in his office so that he could stare at her even when she wasn’t around. So he called the best sculptor in the area, Minnie Parthenos, to make a bust. This, however, was profoundly stupid of him. Minnie Parthenos among her other attributes was set to become Minnie Cronisson in a couple of months blissfully unaware of her fiance’s penchant for having passionate love affairs with the most beautiful women in town. Unaware, that is, until a week and a half into making the statue of Georgia.

Minnie was a good sculptor and a good artist. When she started out, she had decided to do something original for the statue and so she formed it from two mediums: bronze and clay. She figured that this would create a swirly effect and give it an aesthetic appeal suitable for an office.But when she discovered Norton’s infidelity and that that infidelity also included the subject of her art she responded in a way only an artist could: by channeling all her anguish and anger into the bust. She worked feverishly, twisting and curving the two materials into something downright demonic in her studio. She worked for hours at a time and, when she would go home, she felt dizzy with a slight migraine and a quivering knot in her stomach. This effect got worse as time went on and, of course, she decided to channel that into her work as well. Finally, as she was putting the finishing touches to the finish, she sat back, looked at her handiwork, and immediately vomited. She found it impossible to look at. Every glance caused her entire body to lurch as if she were on a spinning yacht in a stormy ocean. Something in the very nature of the bust gave off an aura which caused a deep abiding illness in its observer. It was both unbearable and absolutely perfect. She covered it with a blanket and presented it to her ex-fiance in his office. He mounted it in a corner of his office easily viewable from every angle as Minnie sat on the desk, a feeling of relish and fury churning underneath her cool exterior.”It’s called ‘The Georgian’”

“‘The Georgian?’” he replied.

“Yes.” she said. “In honor of the subject.”

“Oh….” he said and cleared his throat. “I thought you’d be a bit bitter about that.”

“I try not to let my personal feelings get in the way.” She lied. “Especially when a hefty paycheck is involved.”

“Yes… of course” He said as he uncomfortably rummaged through his desk until he producing a crisp piece of paper with a tidy sum printed on it. “I hope this is suitable.”

She grabbed it and looked. “It’ll do.”

“Shall we take a look?” He  went to remove the blanket.

“No!” She shouted. Norton stopped, hand dangling in mid-air. “I think it’s best if we left it on until you reveal it to everyone.”

He considered this and then lowered his hand. “Good thinking. Georgia should be here for it.”

“Of course.” she said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The next day, Norton made a few calls and gathered everybody who could care about such a thing into his office to reveal his ex’s masterpiece. Georgia stood in front, nearest to the thing, while Norton stood to the side of the bust hands grasping the blanket. Even the mayor showed up and sat patiently on the desk. Before things settled down, Minnie made sure to quietly creep out of  the room.

“Everyone!” Norton announced. “May I present: The Georgian!” And, with a flourish, he snapped the blanket off and it, as they say,  was pandemonium.

Georgia reacted first. She gazed long and hard at her own face. A smile blossoming on her lips and the words “It’s so lovely” were about to blossom out of them as well when she suddenly leaned over and puked her lunch straight onto the carpet. An office assistant standing next to her backed away in horror only to get a better look at the statue which sent him to the floor shivering with nausea. Norton himself, after gazing on the thing, ran to the nearest window and splashed half digested jambalaya on the bushes and a very unlucky secretary a floor below. And the mayor, oddly immune to it’s effects due to severe colorblindness merely walked out and into his own office shaking his head and even smirking a little.

A few days later a boxed and covered Georgian left the mayor’s office and then promptly disappeared into the annals of history and legend becoming important only to a select group of people obsessed with the history of Walkinville one of whom was a very cranky landlord who moved to Walkinville years and years later. This was the landlord for the mother of Percy Micheal. And Percy is, of course, who this story is really about.

Percy lived alone but he visited his mother every weekend. He was young with a mop of curly black hair and he possessed facial hair which can only be described as scruff with aspirations. He consistently wore the same thing everyday: a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and a red head band. He didn’t really fit in with any sort of fashion that made it past 1988, but he didn’t care. Percy always did exactly what he felt like, which was probably why his employment experience only consists of various retail establishments and fast food restaurants. And his employment history was why he was walking to his mother’s apartment instead of driving a car.

As he arrived at his mother’s apartment he noticed a sign bolted to her door which, upon closer inspection, read “Eviction Notice” and a lot of words no one without an advanced degree in law or dead languages could ever hope to understand. It was clear, however, that times were about to be rather more dire than before.

“Mom?” he called out as he opened the door.

“Hang on!” Came a call from the depths of the apartment. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

Percy sat down on the couch and pet the cat which he remembered lived under a derelict truck only a week ago. “Did you adopt a stray?” He called back.
“Yeah!” Came the reply. “I don’t have a name for him yet. I think  I’m going to just stick with Cat!”
He shrugged to no one in particular and continued to pet the cat hoping his mother had thought to wash any fleas off it. The cat purred and stuck its butt high in the air.
“Do you want any lunch?” His mother appeared in the living room with a pot of pasta in hand.
“Sure.” he said and followed her to the dining room which was already set for two. She served the two of them and proceeded to slurp her pasta with delight. Percy twirled his pasta absentmindedly.
“Mom?” He asked as she looked up from her slurping. “What’s up with that sign on the door?”
“Oh… that’s old Seriphovski trying to scare me away.”She said the a grimace.
“Why would he do that?”
“Well, I’ve had to hold off on paying the rent for a while.”
“What? Why?”
“Because Phineus absolutely refuses to fix my washer. I’ve wasted hundreds of quarters waiting for him. And I’m tired of that cheap bastard screwing me over. So until he gets it fixed he’s not getting one cent from me.”
“You realize,” Percy said worriedly, “that he really can evict you for that!”
“Fixing the washer is his responsibility!”
“I know! But you can’t just not pay the rent!”
“Of course I can.” She said smugly and continued to slurp up her dinner.
“But mom…” Percy pleaded.
“Don’t you worry. It’s all under control.” She said as she patted his hand. “He’ll break soon enough.”
Percy sighed and cupped his face in his hands. He knew Phineus Seriphovski and he knew that Phineus would sooner set the building on fire before he ever did any duty that befitted a landlord. “Can you at least let me talk to him? Maybe I can get him to be lenient or something.”
“Sure.” She said. “Go right ahead. If you can get him to fix my washer. I’ll gladly give him the rent.”
“Okay.” He said and got up to leave.
“But first you finish your dinner.” She said without even looking up.
“Mom….”
“Finish. Your. Dinner.”
He stood there for a second and then grumpily sat down and finished his dinner.

Phineus Seriphovski lived a few blocks away. He was not what most would call a pretty man. His wardrobe consisted of  v-necks and sweatpants, usually with some stains of unknown origin; his hair was thin on top, not bald, just disturbingly thin; and on the right side of his face where his cheek met his neck stood a large brown mole which developed it’s own, unique beard of hair which, to probably make up for the hair on his head, was unusually thick and wiry. Percy had been to his house exactly two times before, both times to drop off his mother’s rent when she was unable, His house smelled strangely of yogurt and olives and he knew this not from entering into his house but because the smell wafted out of it and could be detected from half a block away. And to add to all this he was eating a Hot Pocket when he answered the door to Percy’s knocking.
“Percy Micheal.” He said, his face full of ham and cheese. “How can I help you?”
“Hi Mr. Seriphovski,” Percy said. “I was wondering when you might get around to fixing my mom’s washer. It’s been broken for a few weeks and–”
“After rent is paid,” said Phineus. “Then we can talk about washer.”
“Yes, but…”
“Your mother has two” he held up two of his fingers for emphasis and stuck them in Percy’s face. “Two, weeks to pay rent. Or authorities get involved.”
“Yeah… about that.” Percy said, trying to ignore the fingers in his face. “My mom says she’ll pay the rent as soon as the washer gets fixed.”
“Can’t fix washer without rent.”
“I know,” Percy said. “It’s just that the washer went for a long time without being fixed long before she stopped paying for rent. I mean, before she stopped paying for the rent.”
“Yes.” Phineus swallowed and cleared his throat. “Well, washers are expensive. And your mother, she’s the one who broke it.”
“Sometimes washers just break, you know. And she moved in because it was included. And she never–”
“All of this is pointless without rent.”
“Yes, but–”
“Tell your mother to pay rent, then we talk about washer.” Phineus said with finality and raised his form a few inches to drive the point home. To Percy it was about as intimidating as weak gravy. However, Percy was getting desperate.
“Isn’t there anything I can do to get you to fix that washer?” He said, trying not to sound too pathetic.
Phineus chewed his Hot Pocket slowly. “Get me rent.”
“I mean, other than that. I know my mom and I know she’s very set on this washer thing.”
“Then authorities will be called.” And Phineus went to shut the door.
“So there’s nothing I can do?”
Phineus paused and then smiled a little. “The Georgian.”
“What?”
“The Georgian.” he said again. “It’s a statue. Walkinville legend. You get me The Georgian and I’ll fix all washers you want.”
“The Georgian?” Percy asked no one in particular. “What kind of statue is that?”
“It’s a bust.” He tried framing his face with one dirty hand. “Shoulders up.”
“Okay.” Percy said. “I’ll get you your statue. It’s a deal.”
Phineus then just laughed, spritzing cheese and meat into the air. “Yes.” He said between breaths. “It’s a deal. It’s a deal!” And then slammed the door in his face laughing even harder behind the door. He could hear him, slightly muffled, say to himself “‘I’ll get your statue…’ Hahahaha…”
Feeling less than confident but filled with an almost supernatural determination, Percy racked his brain trying to think of how he could ever track down this statue. He thought of all the people he knew and all the people he worked for. Larry’s life was consumed by his burger joint. Star was artistic enough, but she probably wouldn’t know since she’s as dumb as a brick. Then he remembered that he worked at a lamp store which was owned by a woman who made her own lamps. She specialized in owls. It wasn’t exactly a successful business, but it payed well enough. And if anybody knew the art scene in Walkinville it’d be her, Minerva Perthenos.

And yes, that’s right, Percy had no idea how lucky he’d just gotten.

“The Georgian? Of course I know about The Georgian!” said Minnie as she packed up her things to leave the store.
“Really?” Percy couldn’t believe his luck.
“Yes really. I made the thing after all.” She said as she dumped her cash into a bank bag and then dumped that into a safe while Percy leaned against the door to her office in stunned silence. “Yeah, I made it for that bastard Norton years ago. Of course after the disaster he gave it back even though I didn’t really want it. I did end up selling it to Dr. Mapp for his church. God knows what they need it for, no pun intended.”
“Disaster? What kind of disaster can a statue pull?” Percy asked.
“Well as it turns out, that statue makes anybody who looks on it lose his lunch like he was on a tilt-a-whirl.”
“Really?” he said again in almost the same tone of voice as before.
“You got a hearing problem, Percy?” She said as she locked the front door. “I don’t remember you being so stupid when I hired you.”
“Well, it just sounds so… unbelievable.” Percy said as he walked her to her car.
“Well, it is Walkinville after all.”
“That’s true.”
“Listen,” she said. “Just go talk to Dr. Mapp. I’m sure he knows where it is.” She paused, thinking for a while. “But he is on the other side of town.” She fished out another pair of keys from her purse and pressed them into Percy’s hand.
“What’s this?” He asked looking at them.
“You’re going to need some wheels to get there from here at night. Just borrow my Mercury dear.” She nodded at a dusty yellow car down the street. “I don’t use it hardly and it needs to be run once a month anyways.”
“Really?” Percy asked once more and Minnie just sighed.
“I feel sorry for your mother, dear.” She said while getting in her car. “Just bring it back here after you’re done. If I’m not around you can slip the keys in the mail slot.”
“Well… thanks Ms. Parthenos.” Percy said, staring at the keys again.
“No problem, dear. Good luck!” And she drove away.
Percy, still a bit amazed, got in the Mercury and started it up. It choked a bit, like an old man just getting up, but it ran. And so he drove towards Walkinville Baptist. He knew that Dr. Mapp lived right next to it. He just hoped the preacher  didn’t mind getting interrupted at home this late.

Dr. Mapp answered his door rather quickly. The light from inside was warm and inviting and Dr. Mapp was all smiles. “Well, if it isn’t young Mr. Michael. How can I help you this evening?”
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Mapp.” Percy started to say.
“Nonsense. Me and the girls were just having a family game night. You can join us if you want.” Percy looked past the preacher towards the three teenagers giggling at a dinner table in the living room. They were all sneaking looks at his direction.
“Uhhh…”
“Come on in, Percy.” Dr. Mapp gestured him in towards the table. A board game of world domination was laid out on the table. The triplets, Nikki, Naomi, and Nanci, were playing with the dice. Percy always felt a little uncomfortable around them. They were more than a little forthright in their flirtatiousness and they were young enough to make any guy older than eighteen seem suspicious if he flirted back.
“So how can we help you?” Mapp asked.
“Well, Dr. Mapp, I’m… uhhh…” Percy scratched his head trying not to look in the direction of the girls as one of them winked at him. “I’m looking for this statue. The Georgian. Do you happen to have it?”
“The Georgian?” Mapp sat back and scratched his chin. “Hmm…” Percy was certain Mapp couldn’t be ignorant enough not to notice his girls tugging at their clothing behind his back. “I think I know what you’re talking about, and I’m sure I have some info about it upstairs. Why don’t you sit down while I go get it.” He gestured for Percy to take his seat and then went up the stairs as soon as Percy took it.
“Hi Percy.” Nikki said with a smile.
“Hi Naomi.” Percy said back.
“I’m Naomi, you dummy.” said Naomi.
“Did you know we’re on the dance team!” exclaimed Nanci suddenly. “You want me to show you some of our moves?”
“No!” Percy said sterner than he wanted to. “No… that’s fine.”
“Come on, Percy. We’re really good dancers.” Nikki said with yet another wink.
“It’s perfectly okay.” Percy said. “I’m sure you are. I just… I’m just not in a dancing kind of mood.”
“What if we told you where to get your statue?” Naomi said.
“Really, I’m fine. I don’t think I should be danc– wait, what?” Percy stuttered. “You know where the statue is?”
“Of course!” Nanci said. “We’re the ones that got rid of it for him.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” said Naomi. “It was making everybody sick and Daddy didn’t know what was going on…”
“But we did!” said Nanci.
“Yup.” said Nikki. “So we sold it to the Grey Sisters.”
“The who?”
  “The Grey Sisters.” Nikki repeated. “Some old ladies with a Shakespeare troop downtown.”
“Old?” Percy asked.
“Yeah.” Nikki responded. “They’re ancient.” Percy shuddered. He didn’t like old people. “Anyways,” she continued. “We took the statue without Daddy’s permission and sold it to them for some shopping around money. I don’t know what he’s up there looking for, but it’s certainly not anything about The Georgian.”
“So where are these Grey Sisters?” Percy asked.
“We’ll tell you if you dance with us.” Nikki said.
“Yeah! Dance with us!” said Nanci.
“Uhh….” Percy swallowed. He had no idea what these girls had in mind, but he knew he probably shouldn’t do whatever they were asking him to do. “How about if I promise to come back later and dance with you.”
“Not good enough.” Nikki said.
“And,” said Percy. “I’ll promise not to tell your dad how you asked me to buy you cigarettes.”
“We didn’t ask you to buy us cigarettes!” Naomi said. Percy just smiled back at her.
“Fine.” said Nikki. “They live in that old, creepy motel outside of town.”
“I found it!” Dr. Mapp’s voice trailed down the stairs as he came rushing down shortly after it.
“You found it?” Percy asked.
“Well, ” Dr. Mapp said. “Not the statue or anything, but I did find this.” He handed him a baseball hat emblazoned with the title, “United State’s Marines.”
“What’s this?” Percy asked as he took it.
“It’s your Invincibility Cap.”
“Invincibility Cap?”
“Back in your youth group days you used to wear it all the time.” Mapp explained. “You left it  one day and I never had the chance to return it. So here it  is!”
Percy turned it around in his hands trying to remember any time he ever wore a hat, and his memory shrugged its shoulders. But he felt arguing with the ignorance of Dr. Mapp was akin to arguing with a cliff face so he just said “Thank you” and tucked it in his pocket.
“Sorry I couldn’t find anything about this Georgian thing you were looking for.”
“That’s alright Dr. Mapp.”
“Did you want to stay for another game?” He gestured back at the table. All three girls waved at him.
“Uhh… no thanks, Dr. Mapp.” said Percy. “I really should be going.”
“Okay Percy,” he said. “see you on Sunday.”
“Sure thing, Dr. Mapp. And thanks for the hat!” And Percy left as quickly as his feet could take him.

The Grey Sisters were, of course, asleep three hours before Percy would’ve arrived that evening so Percy found himself driving up to a dusty parking lot and then standing in front of an orange motel room door at brunchtime the next day. He knocked hesitantly because for reasons beyond common sense Percy was more than a little frightened of the elderly. The older the worse. For Percy the scariest part of Halloween as a child wasn’t the movies or the costumes or even candy corn. It was the octogenarian neighbors who answered the door and handed him butterscotch. And, to his horror, he found himself in a similar situation suddenly staring at a toothless grin.
“Why hello, young man, how can we help you?” Said a dentally challenged old lady between smacks and slobber.
“Uhhh….” Percy said.
“Who is it?!?” yelled a voice from the darkness within the motel room.
“Shome young man!” The lady in front of Percy screamed back with more than a little spittle escaping her lips.
“Whasshisname?” Another voice yelled back.
“Uhhh….” Percy said.
“You have a name young man?” Said the lady at the door with another terrifying smile.
“Ummmm..” Percy said.
“I think he’sh a mute!” She yelled to the room.
“A mute?!” the room yelled back. “Whass he want?”
“He hashn’t said!”
“Of course he hashn’t said, you dummy!” yelled the room again “He’sh mute!”
“Hmm…” pondered the lady in front of him. “She’sh right, dammit.” She turned back to Percy who was still too frightenedto move. “Do you have a pad of paper or shomething?”
“I..I..I..” Percy absent mindedly rummaged through his pockets. He swallowed and tried to tell her that he wasn’t mute and could speak very well and fluently, but all that came out was “No” and a squeak.
“Well, thish ish gonna be very difficult then caushe I don’t shpeak no hand language.”
“Hash he shaid what he wantsh!?” Came yet another scream from the room.
“No!” The lady at the door yelled back. “He don’t have any paper!” She turned back to Percy and flashed her gums again. “Why don’t you come back inshide and we can find you some paper.”
Percy was too scared to not comply so he was led, against every instinct in his body, into the old ladies’ motel room. The room was less a room and more a suite. It was the size of about three hotel rooms. The old lady at Percy’s arm sat him down at a chair across from a couch with a coffee table in between. On the table sat a basket of apples and on the couch sat two ladies nearly identiticle to the one who invited him in except the one in the middle of the couch was busy devouring an apple with the fervour of a starving horse. Apple mush slid down her chin like soup down the sides of an overboiling pot. The woman who led him in sat in the empty seat left on the couch after finding a piece of paper and pen from near the beds behind him. She slid them in front of him and nodded.
“I’m, um, I’m not really mute.” Percy said with a swallow. “I’m just not very good at talking sometimes.” And, of course, by “sometimes” he meant any time he sat in front of three representations of his irrational phobia.
The lady on the right was gazing at the apple eater with envious eyes. “Quit hogging, Marie! It’sh my turn now.”
Marie finished her swallow of apple and turned to her grinning with a mouthfull of false teeth. “You just wait until I finish this. Patience is a virtue, you know, Maryanne.”
“Oh come on!” Maryanne said with indignity. “Whenever it’sh my turn your whining’sh sho bad the grapesh ferment.”
Marie put down her apple, now just a core, with a sigh and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Fine.” She said and then in a move so disturbing to Percy it would come to haunt his nightmares forever she plucked out her dentures and handed then to Maryanne who accepted them with glee. “Take ‘em.” And then Maryanne proceeded to pop the dentures in her mouth and feverishly consume an apple herself.
“Now” said Marie “Who ish thish, Mae?”
“He never shaid, Marie.” Mae, the one who brought Percy in, said.
“My name is Percy.” said Percy desperately trying not to look at Maryanne and her soon to be gone apple. “And I was wondering if you had any info about The Georgian.”
“The Georgian?” said Marie “What’sh that?”
“It’s a statue.” Percy said. “The Mapp girls said you guys bought it off of their father.”
“Ohh… yeah.” Said Mae. “We bought that yearsh a–”
“We’ve never heard of it.” siad Marie sternly.
“Yepf we hapf!” Said Maryannein between bites of apple.
“No.” Said Marie. “We haven’t. At least not without some sort of pay, we haven’t.”
“Pay?” Percy asked.
“Yes.” she replied. “Pay.”
“Like what?” Percy asked.
“Peachesh!” said Mae, suddenly.
“Peachesh?” both Percy and Marie replied in unison (while Maryanne replied at the same time “Pfeeshsh?”)
“Oh how I love peachesh!” She answered. “Not as good as apples, mind you, but still so delightful.”
“Hmm…” said Marie. “Yes, Peaches and some amount of money will do. Oh, and another statue.”
“Uhh…” said Percy. “Okay. But I only have a few hundred dollars.”
“A few hundred?” said Marie.”That won’t do.”
“It’s all I got!” Percy protested.
“It’ll be a few thoushand at least.” Marie said. “Then we can tell you where it ish.”
“Oh come now, Marie.” Said Mae. “We don’t even own it anymore. It’s worthlessh. It was sho troubleshome. It’s just gathering dusht in an old–”
“We need the money, Mae.” Marie interrupted. “Think of all the applesh we could buy. And peachesh, even!”
“I do love peachesh.” Mae said whimsically.
“Look.” Percy said. “I don’t have thousands of dollars. But I did bring two hundred dollars to buy it with.” He dug the money out of his wallet. It was all the extra cash he had for the next few months.
Marie gave it a pondering look for a while. Then she grabbed the bills. “Okay.” She said. “Thish will buy you the shtatue.”
Percy sighed with relief. “Oh good,” he said. “Do you have it here? I really need it as soon as possible.”
“Oh no.” She said. “It’s not here. That information will cost you extra.”
“Extra?” He asked. “That was all the money I brought.”
“Then you’ll just have to get some more.” She answered. “Apples don’t grow on trees you know.”
“Yes they do!” Percy cried. This was getting ridiculous.
“Regardless. We don’t have an apple tree.” Said Marie. “And shpeaking of,” she gestured toward Maryanne who was finishing her apple. “It’sh my turn now, Maryanne.”
Maryanne, looking a bit dejected, put down her apple core and took out the dentures which gave Percy a mean and rather rash idea. And so, while she was passing them to Mae, Percy quickly grabbed the teeth and backed up against the far wall in a rush. All three ladies stood up in a fury.
“Hey” Marie said. “Thatsh oursh!” And the ladies all started towards him.
Percy lifted his arm as if to throw it into the kitchen. “If you don’t stop now,”he said. “I’m going to throw this as hard as I can against that wall over there.” And he pointed tothe wall beside the kitchen door. They stopped.
“That’ll break them!” cried Maryanne.
“And we can’t eat any fruit without them!” cried Mae.
“Tell me where the Georgian is,” Percy said. “And I’ll give them back.”
Marie edged forward and Percy raised his arm a little higher and he gripped the dentures a little tighter trying not to think about the slobber between his fingers. He gave Marie a meaningful look. She backed down. “Okay okay.” She said. “It’sh at thish old shtorage placshe beshide Larrysh burger shop.”
“Is it locked up?” Percy asked.
“No,”said Maryanne. “We jusht ushe it to shtore our old junk. It’sh pretty much public domain.”
Percy thought on this while the sisters all stared at their precious teeth in anxious anticipation.
“Okay then.” He said. “Thank you for your time. Enjoy the two hundred dollars. Here’s your teeth” And he tossed the dentures on a nearby bed and ran off while the ladies dashed to pick them up. Percy got in his car and drove away as fast as he could.

“Beware of Dogs.” Percy read the  sign to himself and then peered at the picture of the two snarling animals underneath it. They looked like a cross between a doberman, a pit bull, and a hellhound. The photographer seemed to have taken the pictures just before his demise because he managed to capture the deadly jaws of… Percy checked the labels underneath the pictures… Stheno and Euryale in perfect pre-devour position.
There was another sign lower down with a grubby bag settled beside it. The sign read, “Gone for the week. Feel free to enter, give dogs treats to calm them down.” Or at least that’s what Percy deciphered it said. The author seemed to think crayon an acceptable medium for  important signs and grammar, of course, was entirely optional. Percy reached into the bag and pulled out the only thing left in it which was a quarter of a milk bone covered in red dirt. He stood thinking for a moment then took a deep breath, hiked up is backpack, adjusted his invincibility cap, and walked through the gate.
The Grey Sisters’ storage bin wasn’t too hard to find as it was clearly marked “Property of the Sisters Grey” in large painted letters above the door. Inside there were hundreds of curtains, props, costumes, and discarded backdrops. The place smelled of old paint and dust. And on a dinged up table, right in the center, was a cloth bag covering what was obviously a bust.
Percy was shaking violently because the dogs hadn’t made an appearance and nearly all of his energy was being expended towards listening to any sound that sounded anything like a soft paw hitting the ground. So Percy had trouble reaching for the bag because he found it impossible to keep his hand still, but, despite the difficulty, he managed to snatch it off and gaze hard at the nearly pristine likeness of beautiful Georgia. And, as if on cue, the mediums began to swirl together and the eyes of the bust bore into his skull, grinding his sense of stability into powder. His stomach decided that now was a good time to turn itself inside out and his vision came to the conclusion that blurry was probably the best way to go. With the last movements he could muster before giving in to the constant waves of nausea, Percy quickly threw the bag back over the statue and shakily sat down on the cold concrete floor of the bin. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to will his body into serenity.
Percy had no idea how much time passed like that, but his eyes suddenly popped open at the sound of a distant crash. Somebody or, worse, some dog had run into the door of another storage bin. The sound was a bit distant, but way too close for comfort.Percy quickly gathered the statue into his backpack and ran off towards his car. Unfortunately, when you have a bronze statue on your back, running isn’t really an option. So Percy staggered unevenly to his car only to see two black shapes appear before his eyes. Two, black, growling shapes. Percy desperately dug into his pocket and found the remnants of the milkbone, which was at this point mostly dust, and tossed it in the general direction of the dogs. It clonked on the head of the one he believed to be Stheno only serving to make her growl even more. Percy backed away cautiously, but with the statue, backing away cautiously meant falling hard on the ground. Percy sat up just in time to see the dogs take advantage and charge towards him. Not knowing what else to do, Percy covered his face with his arms and prepared for the worse. A cacophony of angry barks surrounded him and got closer and closer and closer as Percy prepared for the worse. But, right when he felt the dogs should finally be clamping down on his neck, the barking stopped. Instead he felt both dogs sniffing hard at his hat, nuzzling his head around like a bobblehead doll. When they stopped, Percy opened his eyesto see both dogs sitting calmly, wagging their tails, flapping their toungs with smiles on their faces. Then Percy’s surprised silence was slightly interrupted when Euryale got up and licked his face. Instinctively, Percy smiled and scratched her behind the ears saying, “You’re a good dog.”

A man with a bag on his head served Percy a burger. Larry, although very shy, made the best burgers in town. And, after the storage lot ordeal, Percy felt that fearing for his life earned him a burger break. The back shatteringly heavy statue sat in his pack next to his feet and his hat, which he’ll never leave home without again, sat on his knee. And, much to his delight, the cheeseburgers were extra sloppy today. So he ate happily, looking out the window and watching the girl handcuffed to a tree in the next lot over. The whole lot had been cleared by a huge bulldozer except for that one tree which it was now parked in front of. The driver had obviously gotten confused, or lazy, and simply left for the day. This was all fascinating to Percy, particularly because he found the girl just too pretty not to watch. The girl didn’t look too happy. She wasn’t angry or upset, just sad. She sat in front of her tree with a morose look only punctuated by the rolling clouds, growing ever darker above her. Plink! Percy jumped back as a raindrop hit the window right in front of his face. Plink plink! It looked like it was going to be pretty bad. Plink plink plink plinkplinkplplplpplpppllpl… And, right on cue, the sky opened up. It was raining buckets outside, and Percy couldn’t help but notice that it seemed like the girl outside was crying. She looked up at the sky, exacerbated, and wept great heaving sobs as the rain poured over her like a mean person with a hose.
Percy’s latent sense of chivalry couldn’t take it any longer. The girl was just too pretty and the scene was just too bleak. He got up and asked Larry politely if he had an umbrella.
“Sure thing, but I’m going to need it back,”he said. Percy assured him that he would be back before he knew it, and that he was merely going to the next lot over. And soon Percy was slogging his way over to the lone tree, trying to avoid getting too much red mud on his shoes.
“Hello.” he said to the crying girl as he positioned the umbrella over her while trying not to get too wet himself.
The girl looked up with a start. She seemed surprised to suddenly not be rained on. “Oh” she said, struggling with her handcuffs and finally pulling up her legs to wipe her face off on her knees. Percy kindly knelt down and grabbed some napkins he’d swiped out from his pocket and helped her wipe her face clean and dry. “Thanks.” She said, a little embarrassed.
“No problem.” Percy replied with a smile. “This is quite a pickle you’ve gotten yourself into.” He couldn’t help but grimace at his own words. “Pickle”? Really?
“I didn’t really ask to be here” she said with a whimper. “It’s my father. He handcuffed me here to stop them from clearing out this lot. He considers himself some sort of environmentalist, I guess.”
“But…” asked Percy. “Why didn’t he come out here instead of you? I mean, you obviously don’t want to be here.”
“He said he was too busy doing a direct mail campaign. He said it’s important for some people to sacrifice their time to get the word out about Lot 14 and that, for me, it was my time to sacrifice for the good of lot 14 in a more direct way. He said it would build character, and earn points for him with his environmentalist fan club. They like it when their members’ kids get involved, I think.”
“Wow” said Percy. “That’s… that’s kinda messed up.”
“He’s not all that bad.” she said. “At least he left me the key.”
“So why haven’t you unlocked yourself and left?”
“It’s in my front pocket.”
“Oh.” Percy said as he swallowed nervously.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t mind grabbing it for me, would you?” She hiked up her left hip. “What was your name again?”
“Percy.” Percy replied. “I don’t think we ever introduced ourselves. I’m Percy.”
“Hi Percy.” She said with an amazing smile. “I’m Dre.”
“Dre? Like the doctor?”
“Ha!” She laughed a little. “No! Dre as in Andromeda. Like the space cloud.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you Dre.” He said. They stood looking at each other for one awkward moment before Percy realized he was supposed to be helping her with her handcuffs. “Oh yeah” They said in unison. And Percy carefully fished a small key from her front left pocket. And then he gently unlocked the cuffs behind the tree trunk.
“Thanks.” said Dre as she rubbed her wrists.
“No Problem.” He said. Then he glanced back at Larry’s. “You hungry?”
“Yeah.” She smiled at him again. “Yeah I am.”

“So he just gave it back to you?” Minnie was sizing up the bagged Georgian as she moved it from table to table trying to find the perfect place for it in her lamp shop.
“Yeah,” Percy replied. “Mr. Seriphovski took it happily at first. And he called up the best repairman he knew right away. But two days later he called me desperate to get rid of it. He even payed me my two hundred bucks back just to get rid of it. I guess it took him a while to figure out it was the statue making him sick.”
“Well, I appreciate you giving it back to me.” Minnie said. She finally settled on a covered spot highlighted by a mirror. You couldn’t see it head on, but you could clearly see it in the mirror. Minnie smiled as she removed the bag. “Ahh…the mirror buffers the effect.”
“I figured you were the rightful owner. You made it after all.”
“Well, it reminds me of a bastard, but it also reminds me of his horrified face  on one fateful morning.” She sat down on a wooden chair behind her counter. “So thank you for that.”
“Well it was certainly worth the adventure trying to get it.” He turned around and looked through the window at Dre who was sitting outside staring at the clouds in the sky. “So thank you for that. Oh and here’s your keys.”
He handed her the keys and they said goodbye. He walked out and he and Dre got some ice cream. And while eating and talking with her he felt that something about the day seemed almost mythical.

Sassafras

“What the heck is Sassafras?” Cory’s head became a regular ocean of wrinkles.

“Y’know… sassafras.” Roger desperately tried to defend himself.

“Sassafras?”

“Yeah”

“Okay, let me get this straight: you wanna make the chorus ‘I wanna go fast/ like Jackie Chan and all that sassafras’? What the hell is that supposed to even mean?”

“Shut up.”

“It makes no sense.” Cory couldn’t contain it any longer, he let lose a laugh which only infuriated Roger even further. Cory had always been a real pain. He started this lousy band a while ago, and considered himself a reincarnated John Lennon. He was always the one who wrote the song lyrics and left the rest up to the others in the band. Roger never really liked that, he felt that Cory was getting credit for what the whole band did. Cory even named the band “Cory and The Band.”

Cory’s laughter faded as Roger scowled and looked down at his bass trying to find some sort of hidden chords or something to help his song that didn’t make any sense. His hands hurt from playing all day. He really wanted to stop, and he hated being in this band. He blew some air straight up his face in a futile attempt to blow the hair off his forehead and release his stress at the same time. For some time now, life in this small town had been bugging him. He felt trapped as if he were trudging through life with weights on his legs. If life were a road trip then time in Walkinville was Texas or South Carolina, the state you had to pass through to get to your destination but seemed to go on forever, stretching through an eternity filled with vast fields of boredom and tobacco.

“How about ‘let’s take it slow/ like Eeyore/ slow as the grass grows.’” Cory tried desperately to break the awkward silence that was filling his living room.

“Dude, that sucks just as bad. The song’s about a guy who wants to date a girl who wants to take it slow.”

“Oh yeah… Well how about…”

Roger tuned out Cory as he let loose another string of bad ideas. And instead of listening, he just lowered his head and strummed his bass pretending to pay attention. He looked around Cory’s house in between his “uh huh”s and “Sure that sounds great”s. As usual Roger’s gaze fell on the most outstanding feature, the mountain of mostly empty, slightly crushed, and definitely leaking beer cans near the kitchen. Cory was never one for cleanliness; his living room was filled with his dirty laundry and his dirty dishes. Roger noticed an old Foghat T-shirt sitting on top of an old plate of half eaten spaghetti which was now green, slightly fuzzy, and smelled sickeningly sweetish. Roger averted his gaze quickly and noticed the clock on the wall.

“And Axl Rose doesn’t know how to spell ’cause Slash and his hair switched his guitar for a friggin’ cow bell…” Cory was still going through his song ideas out loud.

“Yo Cory, I’ve gotta go. The game’s going to start here in a little bit.”

“Oh” Cory was too dumb to sound offended. “Okay Rog, well… good luck and knock ‘em dead.” As annoying and disgusting as he was, Cory really was actually a really nice guy.

“Thanks, I’ll catch ya later.”

Roger walked everywhere he went on account that his old Gremlin was at the bottom of the Duck’s Grove Lake due to an unfortunate incident involving a rabbit, a fire cracker, and a ham sandwich with too much mayonnaise on it. Luckily Walkinville was a fairly small town so almost everything was within walking distance, if you didn’t mind walking for a while. But today seemed even gloomier than usual and Roger couldn’t help feeling a little bit resentful towards rabbits and ham sandwiches as the wind bit into his ears.

He was heading towards the baseball field as he was set to pitch for the evening’s came against Defosboro. He was a pretty mediocre player on the team, even if it was just district baseball (a.k.a. minor minor minor league). In truth he hated baseball almost as much as he hated playing in his band. However he wanted escape from the world of Walkinville. The whole town was like a leech slowly sucking the life out of you. So he tried everything to make life interesting by doing activities, from playing music to playing baseball.

The field was filling up when he arrived at the locker room. The coach was chewing on some Red Man and rubbing his five o’clock shadow as Roger passed by.

“Wiggins!” Roger hated the sound of his last name, especially when it echoed through the locker room wearing his coach’s chain-smoker voice. “Change quick, you’re the co-star for today’s pregame show.”

“Pregame show?”

“Yeah, it’s the anniversary thing we do every year. Just get out there. Oh and Wiggins… arrive late again and I’ll rip your throat out.” At that Roger’s coach spat a long stream of brown slime and grumbled out of locker room to yell at a ball boy picking his nose. Roger desperately tried not to look at the puddle of goo or any other stain on the floor as he changed.

When he finally made it out onto the field he was greeted by the familiar smell of dust, popcorn, and sweat. He stepped up onto the pitchers mound and noticed a small bucket of balls out there waiting for him. He was the only one out on the field and he felt a little strange about that. He looked back down at the bucket of balls and wondered what kind of show he was about to participate in, but then he winced as he realized what was coming. The announcer’s voice crackled across the rickety stadium.

“Today, boys and girls we have a special treat for you. As a special treat in honor of the anniversary of our great town’s first ever farmer’s market, Eric the Red, Walkinville’s prized mascot is going to hit the first ball.” Roger saw Eric step out of the bullpen. He was being led by Mary, the town vet, a humble, red-headed ex-hippie. Eric had himself a bat and a baseball cap and a set of diapers with a colorful W on the back. He was the ugliest mongrel of a monkey anybody has ever seen. He was half black and half orange; many thought he might be a cross species breed of chimpanzatang or something. Whatever he was, he was hideous. His fur blended and twirled and he looked like a coffee cake from Hell’s other diner, the one nobody went to.

Eric stepped up to plate and held his bat up high; he had done this many times before, apparently. Roger gripped his ball tightly with his bruised fingers and his vision blurred slightly. Roger’s mind had started to drift. He was thinking about his dad and how he always told Roger that he’d never get anywhere in life. His dad would probably laugh out loud if he saw him pitching to a monkey. He thought about the town and how much he hated his job and his band and this stupid game. Why was he here? What kind of purpose did his life serve?

The monkey in front of him was a black and orange blur. Roger tried not to focus on anything. He stood straight up and got into the pitching position as he thought about how he was supposed to lightly toss the ball to the catcher. A monkey’s reflexes were not up to par and Eric’s doped up attention span was probably worse than ever. The image of his dad came back to him, and Roger, suddenly washed with pessimism, imagined Eric the Red hitting a home run off of one of his pitches and an entire town of Rednecks laughing like the pigs in Animal Farm. A horrible feeling twisted in Roger’s insides and his throat suddenly felt like it was coated with motor oil. Then he smiled slightly, a thought trickled in his brain. What if he struck out the monkey? Or at least he could make him miss a few balls. That might save him some dignity. His dad wouldn’t be laughing then. And, before he could stop himself, he let loose a curve ball, wild and fast, much wilder and faster than Roger had intended. His eyes widened as time slowed and Roger’s focus followed that ball, which was supposed to be headed to the catcher’s mitt. Unfortunately, Eric had become fascinated with the score board to his right at the same time Roger had let his ball go. And, in place of a catcher’s mitt, the ball sailed right into Eric’s swirly orange temple, the entire stadium wincing as the ball bounced toward the sky with a disturbing “Clock!”

The crowd stood up and stared long and hard at the monkey lying lifelessly on the ground. Roger stared too. The stadium was silent except for a dull “thump” as the ball finally hit the ground. Then, as if on cue, every eye in the stadium turned towards Roger. Some filled with confusion, some with genuine pain, and most with a look of utter hatred. Roger looked at his hand as if he could pass the blame there, then, throwing down the mitt, he looked up at the crowd trying his best at an “I’m sorry” face. All it took was one. A plastic cup filled with soda splashed to the ground on his right. Boos echoed through the air as bottles, empty cups, popcorn buckets, and various other pieces of garbage rained down on him. He quickly ran as fast as he could through the garbage hailstorm to the dugout and into the locker room. The coach, who was walking out to witness the show, nearly swallowed his dip when he ran past.

“Where the hell are you going Wiggins!? We’ve got a game to play!”

“Sorry coach…. Gotta go.”

Roger grabbed his stuff as quick as he could then sprinted out of there. He ran until he couldn’t breath any longer, hoping there weren’t any angry mobs behind him. Then he slumped down behind a bush under a bridge near his house. His uniform was covered in mud and beer and sweat and he smelled like a tractor pull. He settled back, still trying to catch his breath, and stared at the cloudy sky. Little rain drops sprinkled onto his face, and he thought about what had just happened. He closed his eyes, and over and over again, as if it were some sort of a joke clip, the image of Eric the Red collapsing to the ground replayed in his head.

It was steadily raining by the time Roger had managed to finally drag himself home, and Roger went to bed; shivering in the dark.

The next day, Roger cautiously got up, showered, and quietly made his way to his girlfriend’s house. He had work that day at the bookstore he part-timed at, but he felt so horrible he wanted to see his girlfriend first. As he walked down the street, he looked behind himself every now and then. He passed by the town’s Newspaper machine to see a hurried headline printed on the front, Eric the Red, Dead by a Baseball to the Head. Roger swallowed hard when he saw his name mentioned several times in bold, angry lettering in the middle of the article. By now, the whole town knew.

His girlfriend’s place was a small brick house covered in Kudzu. He knocked on the screen door, and she answered wearing her PJs.

“Hey Roger, I was just reading the paper.” Roger’s face turned pale.

“You were?”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know…. It’s like a blur. One minute I’m playing bass at Cory’s and the next I’m running for my life…. Can I come in?” She nodded her head and Roger stepped through.

The air smelled of coffee and the kitchen was the most inviting place Roger had ever seen. He sat down at the table in the corner, which was spotlighted by the faint sunlight beaming in from the window beside it. She sat across him; he could see the paper at the end of the table. She was absolutely beautiful at this time in the morning. Her hair was crinkled slightly and she wasn’t wearing any make up, but she didn’t need it.

“This is like a nightmare, Allison.” Roger slipped his hand through his hair and stared down at the table. It was an old and plastic table and was cracking from age. They sat there in silence for a while as Roger pretended to be interested in the table. Allison looked very uncomfortable.

“Listen Roger… I know this is tough, but I have something I have to tell you.” Roger looked up at her and furrowed his face in confusion. She almost looked more upset than he was. “I… I know this is probably the wrong time to say this, but I think we should start seeing other people.” Tears were forming in her eyes.

“You what?”

“I just don’t think this is working out.”

“What? You’re breaking up with me?”

“I understand you’re going through a hard time, but… I… I…I really don’t think we’re working out.”

“This isn’t about that stupid monkey is it?”

“Eric was never stupid” She looked away, “people really loved him.” Roger’s jaw dropped.

“I can’t believe this… a monkey, you’re dumping me over a monkey.”

She turned back at him, suddenly angry. “See, that’s exactly why we can’t date anymore. When will you realize that there’s more to this world than you?”

“When will I…” Roger stammered, his voice filled with unbelief. “When will you realize that your boyfriend is more important than a friggin’ chimpanzee or whatever it is?”

“That ‘whatever it is’ just so happens to be a beloved and sacred part of this community. Something a slacker, big-headed jerk like you would never understand!”

“Oh. Well, somebody should tell this community that its beloved and sacred monkey was an ugly, wiry, confused retard that drooled on itself and crapped itself every day. It had no idea where it was on that field! Hell, it probably put its head out in front of that ball on purpose just to end the misery of its pathetic life!” Roger’s words echoed through the kitchen. At this point both he and Allison were standing and she was still fighting back tears, but now it was going very badly. Slowly, one by one, they escaped from her eyes as the silence took over the room. The tears cooled Roger’s anger and replaced it with a welling guilt. “Geez… I’m sorry Allison; I just don’t understand why this, this animal means so much to everyone.”

“That animal saved my life once!”

“It what?” Confusion’s one of those strange emotions that can drown out everything else.

“I was… I was thinking about killing myself when I was fifteen and I had the bottle of pills in my hands. And I was walking down the street thinking about where to do it, when I saw him staring at me through the window of the vet’s house. He just gave me this look, and I knew that I didn’t want to do it.”

“Wow…. That’s… well, that’s about the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, he was probably crapping in his diapers when you happened to look at him.” Sometimes Roger can actually stun himself with the things he says and as soon as the words left his mouth he knew he shouldn’t have thought them,let alone utter them aloud. He looked up at Allison’s eyes with a faint hope that he had just imagined himself saying it. But her face was turned away again. “I…I…I didn’t mean that. I’m a horrible person… I’m so sorry Allison. I…”

“I think you should go.”

“Allison. Please…”

“I really think you should just go.”

“Allison…” She was silent. He sighed, “It’s just a monkey.” Exasperated, he got up and headed toward the door. But in the doorway he changed his mind and turned towards Allison again. She was looking at him with even more anger than before. He tried say something, but she suddenly rushed toward him and pushed him out onto the street. Then slammed the door. He thought about lying there for a bit, but then remembered he had a job to go to so he staggered to his feet and walked away, looking back behind him to see her peeking out the window at him. As soon as she spotted him looking she hurriedly closed the drapes. He then headed back into town towards the bookstore.

He arrived late. He had taken the scenic route and he had had a lot of thinking to do. He was trying to figure out Allison, and, since she was female and he male, that wasn’t the easiest of tasks. This wasn’t the first time they’d broken up, and she seemed to always be the one who did the breaking. He sighed, and rubbed his forehead as he stared at the dusty old sign that displayed the name, “Martha’s Used Books” in peeling paint. He had no idea why it was called that. His boss, the owner, was named Star. She was a moody brunette who didn’t really believe in showers, decaf coffee, goodness, or hope. Roger was the gopher boy at the bookstore and made meager amounts of money that was just enough to stay alive and perhaps save up for college or maybe a toaster, which is all he could afford with the savings. Star hated his guts, at least Roger thought so, and she always gave him the mind-numbingly tedious jobs. He was always stacking and stacking and stacking paperbacks. Then he was ordering them and restacking them again until Star came by and told him all what he did wrong in the vaguest of ways and made him do it over again with only a few mumbled and amorphous, yet strict, guidelines to go by. And he was almost always working in the Romance section. Roger had fantasies about one day walking up to Fabio, hitting him the face with a shovel, and stealing the gorgeous girl he always seemed to be holding in some place that always seemed to be windy. His feet dragged like lead. The last steps to the store always felt like miles, and roger always thought it was his feet telling him how much he hated this place. He figured it was probably best if he didn’t mention “the incident” at all while at work. He stepped into the store to the familiar sound of a bell ringing.

“Can I help you?” Roger’s boss had her back turned; she was never the best at customer service.

“Hey Star.”

“Oh… it’s you.” She said that last word as if she were trying to lick out a bad taste from the roof of her mouth. Star’s face, which had once sported a fake smile, immediately faded into a more comfortable sneer.

“Sorry, I’m late.” Star’s sneer suddenly twitched into a temporary smile before fading back into a sneer again.

“Yeah…” She said, “About that: Well, I don’t think this can work. You see, you’ve been late before and I can’t have all my workers being late all the time.”

“What do you mean? You don’t have any other workers?”

“Regardless, this just isn’t working. You’re fired, Roger.” The words stabbed him in the chest. He hated this job, but, for some reason, it had always been faithful. It was an unpleasantness that stayed in one’s life like a bad odor in the attic that was disgusting at first but soon enough expected and eventually it became a reminder that told you that this was your attic in your home.

“I can’t believe this!” Roger really couldn’t. This had to be more than mere tardiness. He was late all the time.

“Believe it, buster.” Roger stared at her as if she were the stupidest person in the world. The look on her face gave it away.

“He’s only a monkey!”

“You better get out before I call Pete over here.” This wasn’t a real threat to Roger who was friends with Pete, the town sheriff, but under the present circumstances he’d hate to see how any Walkinville police officer would treat him.

“Okay! Fine!” Roger slammed the door as he stormed out, and the bell gave off a loud, unnatural clang.

Roger fumed as he stomped around town with no destination in mind. He wondered from building to building without realizing where he was going. When he finally looked up, he realized he was in the old neighborhood towards the center of town. With a sigh of relief he finally knew he had someplace to go. He needed a friend, even if that friend was a little bit of an idiot.

There was only one word, really, to describe the exterior of Cory’s house and that was old. It was supposed to be white, but the paint was peeling so much and the house was covered in so much dirt, it ended up looking more brown than anything. And today tt had never looked more inviting. Roger knocked on the door, hoping that Cory would answer. Time always goes slowest and ambient noises are always loudest when you’re waiting for someone at the door.

“Oh. Roger… Hey.”

“Yo Cory.”

“Hey Rog… ummm… I don’t know how to say this, but…”

Roger let out a big sigh. “Let me guess: I’m outta the band.”

“No offense man, but we’ll never get a gig in this county if you play bass for us.”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Roger lied.

“Sorry, man. I hope things work out.” Cory shut the door before Roger could say anything. Roger stood there for a minute, he couldn’t think of anything else to do but blink. After what seemed like a long while, Roger turned and walked slowly away. He could hear someone playing bass very badly inside as he walked away. It was only the afternoon and Cory had already found a replacement.

Roger walked all day long, avoiding people whenever he could. Everywhere he went he got a look of contempt. By evening the entire town became deserted. Roger figured there must be a high school football game or something similar happening.

He strolled into a diner, the only place he could find that was open. The place had the diner smell which was a combination of apple pie, fried eggs, and cigarettes. The owner sat behind the counter counting money out of the register. He was the only person there. His name was Bill and he had always been decent to Roger, even if Roger had been dating his daughter. Bill looked up and gave Roger an alarmingly wicked smile.

“So I hear you talked to my daughter this morning.” Oh.

“Yeah. We’re no more.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Bill said with an almost negative amount of sincerity. “Can I get you anything?” Roger strangely felt like Bill was almost thanking him.

Roger was actually quite hungry, but hated eating Bill’s food. “Just something to drink.”

“Coming right up.” Bill left and went into the kitchen. Roger looked over to the soda fountain on his right and wondered why Bill was in the kitchen. A little while later he heard the faint sound of phlegm being cleared from a throat. Roger’s stomach turned, he decided he wasn’t thirsty after all. And he left just as Bill arrived with a cup full of soda.

“Where’re you going?” Bill asked, as innocent as a deer

“I just remembered I needed to go home.”

“Okay. Don’t forgot your…”

Bill’s voice faded away as Roger exited the diner onto the street. A little light headed from hunger he wondered around again looking for any other place which might be open. Before he knew it, he was walking out of town. Then he saw cars start to drive by. First one, then another, then another. All with blinking lights; Roger figured the game must be over, but he couldn’t figure out the blinking lights. He tried to stay away from the street so nobody would notice who he was. He kept walking and cars kept passing until he finally came up to the town cemetery. Apparently it was a funeral, not a football game everybody had gone to. Roger didn’t have to guess who was buried that day. But he rolled his eyes imagining the pomp and circumstance put on for that little creature.

Roger walked up to the freshly laid grave and read the headstone, “Here lies Eric the Red: Playing baseball in heaven and forever living with us in spirit.” Looking at the grave all his disdain faded away. He was mad at the people, not poor Eric. He knelt down next to the headstone, a regular cornucopia of emotions. He felt absolutely lousy. He could see that same haunting image again, Eric slowly slamming onto the dirt, lifeless and alone. Roger closed his eyes. “Why’d you have to go and lean forward? I didn’t mean to hit you…” He sighed. “How could one little animal ruin my life?” Roger then sat down, right beside the headstone. He looked up at the sky again, it was dark and swirly. It strangely reminded him of Eric, and anger suddenly shot through him again like a bolt of lightning. He knew he was actually angry at the townspeople, but Eric was closest to him. “Dang it, you stupid monkey! You died on purpose didn’t you? Just to ruin me. What did I ever do to you?”

“I don’t think I ruined your life.” A soft voice rang out like the smell of flowers on the breeze. Roger looked around and, with a shock, he saw Eric the Red staring down at him from a tree beside his own grave. He was glowing faintly and a pair of wings appeared to be strapped to his back, not attached, but held onto his back by bright red straps.

“Did… you just say something?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I did.”

“You can’t have. You’re a monkey and you’re dead. If you just said something that would make you a…” Roger looked at the ground and tried shaking his head back to normality.

“A talking dead monkey.”

“I was going to say a ghost.”

“I prefer to think of myself as an angel now. Do you like my wings?” Roger looked at the “wings.” They didn’t seem to be made out of feathers, but some sort of brown fur and they wobbled around as Eric moved.

“Well…. They do seem kind of…”

“Fake? Yeah, monkeys don’t make the best angels, but He said I could have these. I like ‘em.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but could I ask you what you’re doing here?”

“Well… I don’t know really. I was asked to come so I came. I’d actually rather be up there.” He looked upward smiling a toothy monkey smile, “but nobody argues with the Big Guy.”

“Oh….”

“Sorry, that’s not much of an answer.”

“No. It’s not that. I’m just pretty sure you’ve got to be a figment of my imagination. Something brought on by hunger and despair.”

“Well, I’m not that.”

“Unfortunately, Eric. There’s not much you can do to prove otherwise, I think.”

The monkey tried to respond but then stopped and nodded and thought for a bit and a moment of awkward silence fell on the two of them. Roger smiled to himself. It seems that awkward moments of silences can happen when you talk to anyone. 1

That’s when Eric brightened up suddenly, “I know how I can prove myself to you!”

“How?”

“I can answer your first question!”

“My first question?”

“Yeah… about whether or not I did it on purpose.”

“Oh…. Well, I don’t know how that’s going to—”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“What?”

“It was just my time to go. I didn’t really do it on purpose. But even if it was an accident, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. But don’t worry. I know all that.”

“You say that, but I know deep down you really blame yourself.”

“No actually, I’m okay with it. But this still doesn’t prove that you’re real”

“Oh”

“If it’s any consolation you did brighten my day. It’s not everyday one gets to talk to a talking dead monkey, and it sort of makes me feel special even if it does mean I’m really crazy.” At this Eric smiled that big toothy grin again.

“I guess I could do something for you.”

“Like what?”

“A miracle. Not a big one, of course (I’m just a monkey after all). But a little one will still be amazing enough.”

“Okay. What do you have in mind? Turn water into wine?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. Is there anything you want?”

“Well, it’d take a miracle for me to get back with Allison.”

“Not really. She’s already forgiven you. So it’d be easier than you think. I could bring her here if you’d like.”

“Okay.”

“All right then. She’s on her way. I guess I’ll go now.”

“You’re leaving?” Roger said this with a surprising amount of remorse.

“Oh yeah. I hate this place. This town can be so… stifiling sometimes.” And with that he gave Roger a sort of half wave and flew off into nothingness.

Roger felt a little dumbstruck. He didn’t know if he was crazy or so hungry he was hallucinating. Regardless he got up to sit on the slightly more comfortable stone bench a little farther away to think things out.

Then Roger heard a familiar voice say, “Oh good.” behind him. He turned to see Allison walking up. “I’d hoped to see you here.”

She looked as beautiful as ever, highlighted by the soft moonlight and pink glow from the town behind them. She smiled and Roger swore that her smile made the breeze blow. He hesitated before saying anything. “So… are we still broken up this time?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. You really were rather insensitive.”

“I guess I was.” He paused, then he finally let go. “Allison, I’m a huge jerk. I shouldn’t have said those things. Even if everybody overreacted to Eric’s death”

“Hey! We really loved that little guy! And you… well… not everybody likes you.”

“No kidding. Your dad really brightened up when I told him the news.” Allison, thankfully, laughed a little at that. “On the bright side, I did get to make my peace with him. Eric, that is. He was a rather nice monkey, if a bit on the ugly side.”

“I always thought he was cute.”

“He looked better with wings.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Sorry…I mean… umm… Well, I guess he could be considered cute, in a sort of ugly way.”

Allison closed her eyes. “It’s not something worth fighting over.”

“Or breaking up over.”

She smiled and the breeze blew again, and she ran her fingers through her hair. She looked into his eyes. Her eyes were such a startling blue. Roger was always surprised by them, as if he should’ve noticed them before, even though he’s noticed them thousands of times before. “We’re not broken up. You know I can never stay split up with you. Even when you act like an insensitive prick.”

This time he smiled, right at her. He felt like kissing her, but didn’t because a graveyard is a very weird place to make out in. So all he did was look back into her eyes for a while until she turned and blushed and made the wind blow again.

“You wanna go somewhere? You know, just to hang out.” It was the best thing Roger’d heard all day.

“Yeah, lets.”

“Do you mind if it’s somewhere out of town? This town can be really stifling sometimes.” He laughed out loud at that. She looked a little puzzled but took it as a yes and they both got up and left.

Welcome to Walkinville

Walkinville is an unusual town. On the outside it’s your typical southern town. It’s bigger than a small town like Mayberry, but not quite big enough to be called anything else. It’s in the middle of a cluster of other towns and it’s an hour away from the city. It’s rural, suburban, and quite cozy. On any given day you’d see minivans driving around next pickup trucks or children playing in the yards in all brick neighborhoods or good ole boys hanging out in the grocery store parking lot or, even, a pack of druids out for a stroll.

Anything can happen in Walkinville. It’s the kind of place that invents its own reality.