The text blurs under Lewis’s stare. American History usually interests him but today, he couldn’t focus on anything. The teacher was rambling on about two old guys in a duel with a pistol stand-off. What should have been thrilling and engaging was rather boring to this 15-year-old, sophomore.
“It started as a simple political rivalry that ended in total tragedy on July 11, 1804…”
Lewis zones out once again. With his pointer finger, he traces Mr. Hamilton’s profile that’s printed on the page.
Tracing around.
And around until the pad of the fingertip goes numb.
“Hamilton finally passed away the following day on the 12th due to the gunshot wound.” A deafening ring echoed throughout the room. Students stand abruptly from their desks. “Finish reading the chapter and don’t forget the writing prompt on the last page!” The Teacher yells over the ruckus. The silence brings Lewis back to reality and he slams the textbook closed. A folded piece of notebook paper, flitters to the ground. He retrieves the folded note to read the text: meet me at the spot
_______
Denis turns the final page on the children’s book.
“And the tree was happy,” she says with a sad smile.
The clapping and cheering brings the attention back to the children sitting around her. Their glowing faces provide a sliver of joy on this gloomy fall day in Gold Springs. She grins and claps back in response, “so what did we learn from this week’s reading?”
Eager little hands wave in the air. A fiery redhead in the back row jumps up in excitement, “oh pick me, Mrs. Terrell! Pick me!”
“Henry, your energy is infectious but you know the rules. ‘Keep the round upon the ground.’ So please, sit down.”
With an exaggerated harumph, he falls back to the ground and raises his hand.
“Thank you, Henry. Now, will you please tell us what we learned from this week’s book?”
Inhaling deeply, he responds, “to give everything to people we love. Like my mommy and daddy.”
“And what would you give to your mommy and daddy?” Denis asks.
Henry places his hand under the chubby chin, as if deep in thought. A comical gesture from such a young child that Denis muffles a laugh. “Well, I give them hugs and kisses every day.”
“That’s very true. You love your parents so much that you would give anything and everything to them, right?” The children nod in unison.
“Just like the tree, would you give everything away to those you love the most?”
In response, there was less nodding and more fidgeting from the little audience.
She’s losing their attention, time to wrap things up. Soon they will start pinching and hitting one another. “And with that children, remember it’s better to give than to receive. Love is all that matters.” She sighs deeply while little heads bob up and down. “Now children, thank you for joining me today.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Terrell!” They yell in response.
One by one, the parents gather up their children until Denis is eventually sitting alone. She re-opens the book to the title page and runs her fingers over the handwritten script:
To D,
Remember love is all that matters
With love, Mom & Dad
_______
Edmund wipes the spit off his face.
With a chuckle, he says, “not today BillBo. You know if you spit on a cop, you go to detox.”
“Fuck you pig,” BillBo slurs.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ve done this tango once before. It’s not a crime to be drunk, but it is a crime to walk around town peeing on the public streets.”
BillBo laughs and slurs again, “fuck you pig.”
“You know the drill man, place your hands behind your back and intertwine the fingers. Also, do you have any weapons, drugs, or anything that could harm me inside your pants or pockets?”
Instead of the predicted response from the drunk transient, BillBo bends over and barfs all over the cement floor.
“Real glad I stepped behind you before that happened,” Edmund says.
Another eruption of vomit escapes the meager man’s mouth.
In transporting Edmund’s regular customer to detox -- for the fifth time that month -- his phone vibrates with a text from his loving wife, Denis. He types the code and smiles at the screen.
_______
Penny pulls the steamy tea bag from the chipped blue ceramic mug. A hot vanilla chai tea with a dash of creamer is a perfect “pick-me-up” for this dreary afternoon.
With the mug in one hand and the local newspaper in the other hand, she walks towards the bay window to sip and read. The house creaks with every step. The Victorian house is over a hundred years old and matches the charming personality of the Colorado mountain town. With all original interior still intact, the bright yellow exterior and sky blue trim compliments the quaintness. However, the exterior is deceiving. If only the walls could talk, oh the stories they could share.
The crinkle of newspaper fills the empty silence as Penny lays it out on the breakfast table. Over her spectacles, she reads the local news and keeps a wary eye on the strangers walking on the sidewalk.
With the mug just inches from her mouth, she carefully blows on the steam ready to partake. “Hmm that’s the good stuff,” she says to the empty room after the first sip. On chilly fall days, she might (but most definitely does) add a shot (or two) of whiskey to her afternoon concoction.
“I am too damn old to give a rat’s ass,” she once told her son, Edmund.
After her late husband died at a young age, she learned to care less and to live more. Of course her eldest son, the respected police officer, strongly discourages this behavior. But if this 35-year retired grade school teacher wants to spike her afternoon tea, well hell she plans to do so.
“Oh looks like Jolene finally kicked the can,” another sip. “It’s about damn time for the town whore to die.” A wicked laugh echoes off the walls as if a second laugh joins in Penny’s delight.
_______
Clyde awakens from a drunken slumber in the late evening. The smell of urine, sweat, and disdain fills his nostrils. He’s unsure of the origin of the stench. It’s either from him or the neighborly friends who live under the bridge known as Rainbow Tents. The irony is not lost on the name for the transient community that thrives in a colorful array of tents located under the city bridge.
Only a temporary resident of the community, Clyde visits the Big Yellow tent when he has no other place to crash.
However, last night's binger had him in such a daze that he never made it inside the tent. Instead, crashed right outside of it.
“Damn, what happened last night?” Clyde mumbled. As he sat up, an empty vodka bottle rolled off his chest. “That’s what happened,” he says to no one in particular. With a disappointing shake to the bottle, he accepts that it is completely empty and contemplates the next plan of action.
For a brief moment, he considers visiting his childhood home but a better option just presented itself to Clyde.
