ONE DAY SOON

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

I had a coupon
for some Grey Poupon
but the wind snatched it
and whisked it away
now I spend my day
stopping strangers
and passersby
asking...WHY???

They just shake their heads
and walk away
but one day
soon
they will understand
that what they just saw
was the piteous onset
of the final straw

FAVORS OF THE WIND

With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub 

Here's an encore presentation of one of my previously published-in-print stories. (Originally appeared in the Spring, 1993 edition of Mind In Motion.) I presented it here for the first time back in 2010. You may have read it then. Probably didn't.  If you're like me, you can't remember that far back. So read it again...for the first time! 

Steve glanced into his rearview mirror, convinced that the woman in the white car was following him. She'd first drawn his attention about twenty miles outside of Vegas, where the solemn expanse of the Great Basin begins. Several other northbound vehicles had blown past his Camry, but the woman hung back doggedly, even when he'd deliberately slowed to about 50 to let her go by.

He'd passed up the chance to return to Mexico, choosing to avoid the beaches that would be choked by hordes of fellow students on spring break. It was looking like a good decision. He felt hot--like there was cash out there waiting for him--but after one night on the Strip, something told him Lady Luck would turn up in Reno. Now, with some mysterious female shadowing him, his luck might take another turn.

Coasting through Tonopah, he was struck by the odd layout of the town--a hodge-podge of modern buildings and storefronts, dilapidated shacks, and the rusted hulks of old mining machinery scattered haphazardly about the surrounding hillsides. He spotted a sign that said Billie's Bar and Cafe, and sensed it was time for the showdown. The Camry swerved into Billie's dirt and gravel parking lot and lurched to a halt.

He rushed inside and headed for a booth where he could sit facing the door, rubbing by a wizened cowboy whose boots, ripe with the smell of horse shit, intermingled their rancid perfume with the smoky aroma of burgers being scorched to blackened lumps of charcoal on the grill.

The white car pulled up next to the window. Adrenalin charged through Steve's body. The woman stepped out, revealing her features clearly for the first time. She looked slightly older than him--late twenties maybe--wearing a white top and shorts that set off her smooth olive skin. Entering the cafe, she avoided his gaze and moved to a small far-corner table. He ordered a beer from the waitress, a hard looking gal whose face softened when she said, "What'll it be, hon?"

The woman was playing it cool, he told himself, eyeing her from across the room. Increasingly, he sensed his role changing from that of the prey to the hunter. He would have to cross the desert that lay between them and make his strike.

"The road kills," he said, smiling broadly. Still absorbed in her menu, the woman looked up in mild surprise. "Hi, I'm Steve. I'm the guy you've been...uh, following."

"I beg your pardon, I have not been following you," she said.

"Oh, I didn't really mean following. I just meant--well, you were behind me for a long time, and then, this place..."

She gave him a blank look, smoothing dark pixie hair from her eyes. "How do I know you weren't following me? Just because you were in front--you could be a psychic or something, knowing every move I was going to make in advance."

Feeling suddenly on the defensive, he said, "Coincidence, I guess...mind if I join you?" She made a sweeping one-handed gesture toward the empty chair.

The woman ordered a drink. The waitress sent Steve a knowing wink as she turned and headed back to the bar. He was quiet for a few moments, then said, "Guess I assumed too much."

"Don't worry about it; coincidence is a funny thing," she said, smiling at last. "Did you know that if you toss a coin into the air, there's always a fifty-fifty chance that it will turn up heads or tails...and yet, repeated often enough, at some point it will come up heads maybe twenty or more times in a row."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's a random universe and anything can happen."

"You sound like a physics student."

"No, but I do read a lot." She looked down at her hands. "And it's what I believe as well."

"Still, you can't go wrong playing the percentages," he said. "That's what I figure." Through the window he watched dust and debris from the parking lot, seized by a sudden wind gust, pitching and tossing about in the air.

"In the thirties," she continued, "there was a criminal who survived the electric chair. Sat right up in his coffin. On the same day, there's a guy out strolling on a golf course somewhere, just as carefree as can be. A storm comes up--he's struck by lightning and killed instantly. It's like this great cosmic glitch occurs, and for a while all the percentages are thrown totally out of whack. Then, like a man who's stumbled over a curb and lost his balance, things right themselves again and the world goes on as usual."

He was mesmerized by her words, and for a moment felt lost in the dark wells of her eyes. "I--I'd call that fate--destiny...or maybe a miracle," he said finally.

She smiled wistfully. "Not me. Anyway, that's why I'm off to Reno. Got a job as change girl in a casino at Lake Tahoe. It's a start--and when the universe decides to short-circuit again, I'm thinking it might be a good place to be. Besides, there's something about gamblers I like. Are you a gambler, Steve?"

"That's why I came here."

************

Steve couldn't sleep. He paced restlessly over the short stretch from the bathroom to the front door. His room at the Silver Spur Motel was like most of the cheap places he'd stayed in. There was a dresser, chair, nightstand and lamp with a weak bulb. Over the bed hung a painting of two hunters crouched in a duck blind, shotguns poised, ready to blow anything with wings to smithereens.

She'd said her name was Elena. He liked the sound of it. But now he was kicking himself for not giving her his number in Tucson. He'd let her drive off with a "nice meeting you" and a "really enjoyed our talk." He had started out strong, but somehow lost it down the stretch. True, she was Reno bound, but what were the chances of finding her there?

It was the beer, he decided. How many did he have? Feeling fatigued and groggy from the driving and the alcohol, a place to hole up and rest for the night sounded like the ticket. Then his mind started playing twenty questions, and he was awake again.

He went into the bathroom and confronted himself, scowling, in the mirror. Robotically, he pulled the face of the medicine cabinet back to inspect the shelves inside--the little mystery that no traveler can resist. It was empty. But on the reverse side of the mirror, a predecessor wielding a bright red lipstick had scrawled: This place is totally screwed, but I did get some damn good  screwing done here.

***************

The commotion outside brought him back from the edge of a shallow, dreamless sleep. Still fully dressed, he stumbled to the window, parted the drapes slightly, and tried to make sense of the scene before him.

A fistfight was taking place in the street. A long-haired blond kid of about eighteen was getting the worst of it from some big dude with a beer gut. Curious spectators stood in a semicircle, urging them on. Country music blared from someone's pickup truck. Steve squinted at his watch in the dim light filtering in from the street. It was just past midnight.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. So this is the social whirl in Tonopah on a Saturday night."

At first, he didn't hear the knock. The second time it was louder. He pulled the safety chain and cracked the door.

She looked like a ghost in the moonlight.

"I couldn't sleep with all the racket," Elena said as she stepped inside, cradling a six-pack of beer in one arm and a plastic motel ice bucket in the other. She set them down on the dresser and said, "I like my beer over ice, don't you?"

Steve shook his head in disbelief. "Holy crap. I thought you'd be in Reno by now!"

"I got a few miles out of town and said why push it, you know. Drove back in and found this motel. After I'd checked in I noticed your car sitting outside--now isn't that a coincidence?"

He tried to keep a straight face, certain now that she was playing some kind of game with him. A game that seemed to be going his way.

************

They were each on their second beer--Steve propped up on pillows and Elena sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. The tumult outside had died down, the crowd slowly drifting away, leaving a languid calm to reclaim the night.

"I was thinking about things you told me at the cafe today," he said. "I know you don't believe in them, but it must be some kind of minor miracle that we're sitting here together--the way it's come about."

"Proximity," she said.

"What?"

"Proximity. It sounds obvious, but most people don't really think about it."

Steve took a long swallow of his beer. "I must be missing something."

"Let's say there's someone in a far corner of the world right now who's a perfect match for you or me. Well, it doesn't matter because we're never going to meet that person. We hook up with people who live in our own space. At work, school, the supermarket...or some little joint called Billies."

He watched a small spider move erratically along the opposite wall, a black dot navigating a sea of white. "Proximity...coincidence...kind of takes all the magic out of it."

"It's very freeing, actually," she said, shaking the hair from her eyes, "when you have no more illusions."

She wore that faraway look again, and spoke as though she were in a dream. "Once I was engaged to be married. His name was Rob. He was older, and everything I wanted. Dashing--that's how I saw him. A few weeks before the wedding, he got a chance to visit a good friend who lived on the South Carolina coast. He'd been there a couple of days when the gale warnings went up. His friend decided to throw a party and ride out the storm. The guy was crazy, but he talked Rob into staying. He convinced some other people to stay in the house with them too. Well, the storm hit with a vengeance. They were pinned down, cut off from the outside world with this monster hurricane trying to do them in. The storm finally blew itself out, but Rob said later that there was a time when they all thought they were going to die--just be swept away and that would be the end of it. The house was severely damaged but intact, and everyone came through it alive, though most of them had accepted Jesus as their savior before it was done."

"Christ." Steve said.

"After he told me all of this, he said that there had been a girl named Lila with them. He said he was sorry...but he'd fallen in love with her. Said it had been this tremendous bonding experience between the two of them. His words left me numb. I was in shock, as if I'd experienced a trauma myself. That's when I learned that destinies can be changed by the favors of the wind. "

Steve held her gaze for a long moment, then she said, "Do you have any protection?"

"No," he said.

Deftly, she removed her blouse, pulling it over her head, disregarding the mess it made of her hair.

His eyes fell upon her breasts, small and firm, the nipples swelling. She slid out of her shorts, then stood before him in the dim lamplight to allow him to take in the entirety of her.

She said, "I don't either, but you look like an man who's good with his hands."

**************

Cold morning light sliced through a narrow break in the drapes. Steve woke and looked around the room. He was alone again. He remembered her lying beside him when he drifted off. Panic overtook him as he dressed and bolted into the glaring sunlight.

Her car was gone.

As he turned to re-enter the room, the white slip of paper tucked under the wiper on his Camry caught his attention. He grabbed the note and hastily unfolded it, detecting the faint, sweet trace of her perfume. The message said: Had to get an early start. Don't know what you want to make of this, if anything. It won't do you much good to try to figure it--or me-out. So just toss a penny into the air and if it turns up heads, tear down that highway and catch up with me before I make Reno. Otherwise, you're on your own. Either way, there's no regrets because it was out of our hands.

He stood there shaking his head, mumbling into his chest. Then he looked away at the pavement stretching before him--first to the left, then to the right. Hell, he thought, a true gambler would take the plunge. He felt lightheaded. Digging inside his jeans' pocket, he cursed. For an instant he thought of taking the car.

Then Steve ran. First to the office. The door was locked. He checked his watch. It was about six-thirty. He sprinted along the road, forcing early morning motorists to swerve into the outer lane. He ran until he reached a diner that appeared to be open. Only after he burst inside did he realize that it was Billie's. About to ask the bleary-eyed young woman at the counter for change, he saw the dish with a hand-lettered sign that read: Give a penny--take a penny. A shiny one on top stood out. He grabbed it, leaving her dumbfounded as he charged back through the door, shouting "thanks" as it slammed shut behind him.

In the parking lot he stood quiet for a moment, feeling the cool solidity of the metal between his fingers. Then, with a spirited thrust, his arm propelled the gleaming bit of copper skyward.

A maverick blast of wind swept in from the north, seizing leaves and dust and twigs, sending them aloft in a frenzied, chaotic maelstrom.

The penny danced in the air.

*************

"How long had you been following me, anyway?" she asked.

"Oh, a few miles," he said. "I thought you were going to run off the road when you finally looked in your mirror and saw it was me." They lay stretched on the bed in a Reno motel room. A colorful print of a harbor scene hung on the opposite wall. As Steve glanced at it he said, "Ever been on a sailboat?"

"Never."

"I have one."

"You're kidding."

"Actually, it was my dad's, but I've kind of laid claim to it lately. It's a little twenty-three foot sloop--pretty cozy for two. Maybe someday I'll talk you into coming down to Mexico with me and we'll take her out."

"Maybe...someday," she said coyly.

He fell silent for a moment, lost in his thoughts. Maybe someday he would tell her of how he had cheated--letting the penny drop into the dirt back at Billie's, refusing to look at it.

After all, any sailor will tell you it's a low percentage bet when you gamble against the wind.

POOLSIDE PARADISE

Banger felt it was something of a revelation: Fish eyeballs looked the same whether the heads were attached or not.

"I'm gonna find the room," Eddie said. He held onto the briefcase--fat with a quarter million dollars in large bills--and left the other bags for his partner to lug.

Banger lagged behind, distracted again by something the average person might casually disregard. This time it was an aquarium in the office of the Rest E-Z motel in Tucson. Two orange and one silver-hued goldfish traversed the waters, along with a large, menacing lo0king thing that shadowed them from one end of the tank to the other. The little speedsters would pirouette, then swoop high or low, easily clearing out of the monster's way with each lumbering pass. The ugly thing's eyes, soulless and cold, gave him the creeps.

The desk clerk--a squat, balding man in a sleeveless T-shirt--spoke with a foreign accent. "The beeg fish is called an 'Oscar.'"

"I think he's trying to eat the little ones," Banger said.

The man grinned and bit into a huge salami sandwich he'd retrieved from beneath the counter. The room reeked of garlic. "Very perceptive, my friend. Yes, he eat them. I have fifty in there a couple weeks ago, and now look!"

"But he won't catch these...they're too fast. They can outrun him all day long."

"Oh no," said the man. He get them. He get them sure as shit. Leetle fish get distracted for just one second and WHAP! It disappear."

Banger managed a queasy grin, and the clerk set into a fit of laughter. "Beeg fish ALWAYS eat da leetle fish...you cannot escape your fate my friend...you cannot escape your fate!'

He scooped up the bags, whirled and pushed through the door, relieved to get away from the man, whom he figured must be crazy. The clerk's muted laughter followed him down the walkway as he searched for Eddie and the room.

*****

They lay stretched beside the motel pool, the sun a giant pad of butter melting in the blue October sky. Banger said, "Hey, Eddie, where'd you stash the bills?"

"Lodged 'em behind the toilet tank. Don't go wipin' your ass with them."

"Hhaw...that's good, Eddie...that's real good."

A woman entered the enclosure and plopped her towel, book, and lotion onto a chaise lounge at the opposite end of the pool. She removed her shorts and top, revealing a bright yellow bikini beneath. Banger caught his partner's mutt-hungry gaze, a look he'd seen before, back in Jersey.

He didn't want to think about where they'd come from or what they had done. Ripping off the big-time drug dealer they worked for had been Eddie's idea. He'd said it was their one shot. Then they were driving--day and night--and trying to lay low.

The woman dove into the water.

"You think Antonio will come after us, Eddie?"

"Jesus, man--I wish you'd shut up about that. Like I said, there may be some wise guys on the lookout here and there, but they got no idea where we are. Anyways, it's not like he'll be sending the 'A' team, know what I mean? That kinda dinero is a drop in his bucket."

"Yeah....drop in the bucket. We make it to Mexico and we're just two pretty faces in the crowd, huh Eddie."

"Uh, make that ONE pretty face, my man."

The woman emerged from the pool and toweled off, short dark hair sleek behind her ears like the tail fins of a '57 Chevy. The bikini top was the kind that cloys to the skin when wet, allowing a semi-transparent view of what's underneath. She turned toward the men and smiled--the dark, perfect circles of her nipples clearly outlined against the material. Eddie's eyes fixed upon her as he drained the last of his soda. A breeze flirted with the fronds of the surrounding palms. Undulating waves of sunlight danced upon the water. "Ahh," he said, allowing the breath to escape lazily from his lips. "We've got it all right here, man. The sun, the water, and some fine lookin' stuff giving us a show. I could stay here forever in poolside paradise."

Eddie sure seemed to fit in, Banger thought. In swim trunks, with his slim but toned build and wavy hair, he was like a young Frankie Avalon in one of those beach movies.

"Hey Eddie, what do you think...is it better to be BIG....or is it better to be FAST?"

"What the hell you talkin' about, man?"

"I mean just in general--in life. Better to be big...or fast."

Eddie reluctantly took his eyes off the woman, who lay on her back, face tilted toward the sun. He cocked his head for a moment as he pondered the question. "Okay," he began. "Take your dinosaurs, for example. They were the biggest, meanest, muthas in the valley, right? So where are they now? Then, you take your lions and cheetahs and shit...they're FAST, man. That's how they've survived all this time, 'cause they can track down their prey and kill it."

Antonio's face--angry and cruel--flashed through Banger's mind, making him shudder.

"No offense, man," Eddie continued. "But take you and me. Uh, what are you--about six-five and two-fifty or so?

"Yeah, about that."

"Right, so you're BIG. But you're kinda slow, if you know what I mean. That's why I gotta be the brains of this operation. No offense."

Suddenly, the woman was standing in front of them, cigarette in hand. "Can I trouble you guys for a light? Eddie scrambled to retrieve a Bic from his duffel bag. "Sure is a nice day, isn't it? Where you fellas from?"

"Connecticut," Eddie said quickly. "We're dealers...uh, ART dealers. I'm Jonathan and this is my business partner...Maurice."

"Pleased to meetcha--I'm LuAnne from Texas. So tell me, how'd ya ever get into something fascinating like that?"

Eddie cleared his throat and reached for one of his own smokes. "Got the inspiration while I was in the army...in Japan. One day I was on liberty and took a tour of the Sakahachi Museum in Tokyo--beautiful place I must say. I was hooked from then on."

Banger, a half step behind, was momentarily confused. But his mind wrested with a dilemma. "What do you think, LuAnne," he interrupted. "Is it better to be big, or better to be fast?"

"Maurice, here, is kind of a philosopher," Eddie said.

She gave Banger a wink. "That depends on what you're talking about. Me, I like to think in terms of having it all--so I would say it's better to be both." She took a long drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke in Eddie's face. "My husband's attending a business conference," she sighed. "He's gone most of the day, leaving me here with nothing much to do...can ya imagine that?"

Eddie jumped to his feet. "Hey Lu, are you hungry? I spotted a little bar and restaurant down the street. We could discuss...uh...modern art or something."

"Well now, that sounds just fine."

Banger rose halfway from his chair, but Eddie stared him down and said, "My associate here has some business of his own to take care of, right?"

"Uh....yeah, right." He watched the two of them leave, wondering how in the hell he got saddled with a name like "Maurice."

*****

A week had passed, and Eddie was making himself scarce, spending most of his time with the attractive dark-haired lady. Killing time, Banger found himself wandering through the grounds of a large cemetery. The vegetation was meticulously mowed and trimmed, suggesting that death provides a sense of order unavailable to the living. Sparrows that bickered irreverently amongst themselves--their noisy disputes spilling from tree to tree--now rained their wrath upon the common enemy below. He looked up just in time to step out of the line of fire. "You crap on heads...and headstones alike!" he said, grinning at his own cleverness. Then, "I ain't so dumb, Eddie. I ain't so dumb."

He walked along, trying to ignore the morbid thoughts that wormed their way into his brain. He ruminated on all the things he might have been: professional wrestler...football star...bouncer in a topless bar. But Eddie had shown him what seemed like an easy way out. Eddie's the brains, he kept telling himself. Eddie's got it all under control.

He knelt beside a small marker and read the inscription:

VERNON ROSE

August 4, 1932--June 9, 1957

A life nipped in the bud

now blooms in God's garden

The man had been close to Banger's age when he died.

*****

He was hungry, and already beginning to feel the rising chill that could take a stranger to the desert night by surprise. Nearing the Rest E-Z parking lot, something stopped him cold in his tracks. It was the two suits walking from their car toward the office. Banger had a bad feeling. A really bad feeling.

When the men disappeared inside, he ran to the room. Again he froze. A Do Not Disturb card hung from the doorknob, along with a hand-scrawled sign: THAT MEANS YOU, MAURICE! He cursed under his breath. For a moment he stood staring at the dull grey paint on the door. In the twilight, everything was becoming a blur.

What was it about the door? Some kind of force tried to suck him right into it, to absorb him right into the wood. Then, as if jacked into a time warp, he felt small. Now he was the seven year old, standing outside another door. The door to his mother's bedroom. The door he was forbidden to open whenever the "guests" were there. But he HAD opened it. Once.

"What are you doing in there, mama?" he whispered. Surprised when the knob turned in his hand, he stepped cautiously inside. The room was dark and still. Eddie and LuAnne were passed out on the bed, sheets crumpled in disarray. There was an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the bureau, and the smell of booze lingered in the air. LuAnne lay on her stomach--nearly off the edge--her deeply tanned back and one white breast exposed. He crept to her side.

Something was building inside him--a dark, fetid thing. "Mother, you WHORE. You filthy whore!" His eyes searched the room for some kind of blunt instrument. They fell upon a glass vase filled with plastic flowers. He gripped it in one hand and stood over LuAnne, raising the vessel high above his head. In a second it would come crashing down, smashing the back of her skull.

There was a dizzying moment in which his thoughts became jumbled again. He put his other hand out to steady himself against the wall. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Mama," he said softly.

The world had turned topsy-turvy for a moment, but now things were righting themselves. Gaping at the flower vase, he watched it transmute from murder weapon into an object of beauty again. LuAnne's words at the pool jangled around in his head. Something about having it all. He set the vase onto the bureau and scrutinized the clothing and personal effects scattered about. The bathroom door was cracked open a few inches, and the light had been left on, sending a a thin beam running along the floor and up the opposite side wall. It was all the illumination he needed.

He poured the contents of her purse onto the floor. Wallet. Black address book. Cigs. Lighter. Three lipsticks. Tic Tacs. And something metallic in one of the zippered compartments.

The lady was packing heat.

He opened the wallet and removed her driver's license. "LuAnne from Texas" was in reality Cassandra from New York. Banger had never been good at math, but he could put two and two together--yes, he surely could. Those two men were here to finish the job that Cassandra had lost sight of. Antonio didn't like getting ripped off, but he also didn't like it when his operatives failed to follow through.

He left the room with the briefcase full of cash in hand, the woman's purse slung round his neck, Eddie's wallet tucked inside his shirt, and the car keys in his pocket. He was about to close the door when something else caught his eye. Stepping back inside, he grabbed the plastic motel ice bucket from the bureau. He threw everything but the bucket into the front seat of Eddie's Camaro.

The men he'd spotted earlier emerged from the office. One was lanky, the other thickset. "Muscles" tugged at his collar as though his tie were too tight, while "Stretch" hiked up his trousers as if they were too loose. They craned their necks in either direction, then moved slowly together down the walkway, checking room numbers as they went.

Crouching behind the car, Banger wondered who would get the worst of it--Eddie or Cassandra? But he couldn't worry about that now. He crossed the parking lot and ducked into the office. The crazy man was not behind the desk. A television chattered from the adjoining room. He squatted beside the aquarium, and for a moment his heart sank like a paper boat in a storm.

Only TWO goldfish left.

The big Oscar glided ominously back and forth between the borders of its crystalline world. "Too late," Banger said softly. Suddenly, the little silver speedster jetted from behind a plastic coral reef and joined the other two at one corner of the tank, safe for the moment. 'NOW!" Banger said, thrusting the ice bucket into the water.

*****

Out on the freeway, the evening desert air blew cool on his face and the stars winked in through the open window. "I'm your dad now, and I'm gonna take care of you little guys," he said. The ice bucket rested flat on the passenger side floor. "First chance we get, we're stopping to buy you a new home--a BIG fish tank--how about that?"

A blue highway sign pointed the way to Phoenix.

"We'll hole up in the big town for a while. Then, maybe...Montana! Yeah, nobody's gonna be looking for us in Montana!" But even as he said it, Banger knew that Antonio would be picking up the scent. "So right now, we gotta be FAST. We gotta be REAL fast." He jammed the pedal to the metal, and the Camaro's big engine roared .

Four little fishes streaked into the night.