Run Home, John Doe Part IV - Red
The lazy summer continued on unabated. This one seemed to have more sun in its young career than the last five or so years. I do enjoy it - there are certain smells which only the summer breeze is allowed to carry, and yet there are few activities which I partake in that normally go along with the season.
Upon attempting to figure out more occasions to increase my time out of doors, I realized that it had been much too long since I last enjoyed swimming in the lake. It was about a half an hour drive from my home, and so I decided that in order to make it worthwhile, I should make a day of it. Since I am accustomed to rising early, there was plenty of time for me to pack up my things and still set foot on the sandy soil by 10 am.
Forgetting that school was no longer in session, I found myself surrounded by the shrill pitch that only innocent children can make.
“No bother,” I thought, “I shall simply confine myself to the less attractive part of the lake and set up residence there.”
While changing into my bathing clothes, it came to me that I had not seen the boy in over a week, and the scene set here seemed to occasion his return. Emerging from the small tent that had been set up for this purpose, I scanned the horizon, but no familiar face met with mine.
With a half-hearted shrug I took the humid air into my lungs, and slowly proceeded into the water. The sun had warmed the lake to a depth fair enough that the water was at first little of a refreshing experience whatsoever. As I waded deeper, however, I was able to enjoy the full splendor that something so simple and basic as a body of water can induce.
It was a rare occurrence when I allowed myself to truly relax. I often did things which people will refer to as “relaxing,” but they normally were not for me. I mean to say that I enjoyed them, but never did I fully allow them to be “relaxing.” Here, however, was one of those rare circumstances where I permitted myself to disappear, placing my existence solely in the hands of the world around me. And it was wonderful.
I had floated out far enough that the children’s shrieks were all but inaudible. The only clear sounds were that of the wind and my breath escaping. It was comforting to know that, although invisible, both existed at this moment. I drifted further out.
Perhaps an hour had passed. Surrounded by water, I had allowed time to remove its clutches from my heart, and thus I had no clear idea what the hour had gotten itself to. The sun out here had a way of making everything pure - there was nothing that it could not touch. With a renewed sense of self, I slowly floated back to shore.
With each inch of the depth of the water receding, the voices increased in clarity and volume. Setting foot on dry land, there was no avoiding them. As the sun had just about reached its apex, it did not take long to dry off. Changing back into my regular clothing, I decided to take the walk into the city. Without the normal sense of purpose on as blinders, the landscape appeared to unfold everything it had to offer onto me.
Strolling the streets and alleys, it did my heart good to see all ages converging in the warmth, forging relationships with each other and their surroundings. Continuing down a few blocks I arrived at one of the many parks built long ago as a counterpoint to the harshness of the original city. It mainly consisted of an untouched grassy area, which this day had been filled up with chairs, and a gentleman speaker on a stage. This peaked my interest and I decided to invest some time in him.
The man was in old dress and appeared to be attempting to sell a product of some sort. The sign behind him said, “RAY CARTWRIGHT - THE MAN WITH THE CURE FOR ALL YOUR ILLS.” After listening a short while, I realized he was selling snake oil as a panacea. Only…only he must be an actor, and this had to be a production…yes, that was it, it was a recreation of the shysters from out West. With this realization, I took a seat in the back row to enjoy the show. I was enthralled - the man was good and it was a pleasure to watch.
“He has got it down pretty well.” I turned to my left and noticed an older lady speaking to me. She continued, “I saw the real thing more than a few times, and this is as close as you will get without having been there.” I nodded in recognition and refocused my attention on the stage.
But again she spoke, “Everyone calls me Red, due to my red hair, and this is my friend Ste-ven.” The way she pronounced it, I knew it must be the boy. He leaned forward from the seat to the left of her, waving to me.
“Hello again…Steven.”
He smiled. “Hello.”
The speaker concluded, “Ladies and Gentlemen I thank you for your time…and your money. I would love to talk to all of you at length over in the Virginia City Saloon, just over yonder. And if by chance any of you kind folks would like to buy me a beer, I certainly would not turn down the hospitality.”
Red acknowledged both of us in turn and said, “Come on, lunch is on me.” With that I followed her and the boy to the western themed saloon across the street.
The table we were seated at had a checkerboard painted onto it. There were no checkers to be seen, however, with the exception of two crimson ones sitting on the side, stacked on each other.
The saloon had a stage show of sorts - jugglers, magicians, dancing girls, that sort of thing - though none of them had the air of authenticity or entertainment value of the gentleman we had just watched.
We enjoyed our meal and drinks with little conversation, the show garnering the majority of our attention. During an intermission we each regained eye contact again, with myself having some difficulty wading through the myriad of similar shades of brown.
Red spoke, “How about a game?” gesturing to the checkerboard.
“But there are no checkers.”
“You just have to look for them.” And with that she pulled out a hidden drawer from her side of the table. With a smile, and knowing eyes, she continued, “See? Now do you want to be black or red?”
“Well, I suppose it would be more fitting if I were black.”
“Alright,” handing over the pieces, “there you are then.”
Steven watched intently as Red defeated me one game after another. He appeared to know from the outset that I had no chance against her. The boy then spoke for the first time since we had begun playing, “Gee, you’re just not very good at games, are you?”
For all of the times we had spent together, this was the first occasion I felt anger towards the boy - to be sure, he was correct, but one often finds discord with hearing the blunt truth.
Controlling myself I turned to him, “I certainly have been out of luck lately.” Seeing my calm breached, Red changed the subject - “What is it that you normally do with yourself?”
I was glad for this easy transition, “Oh, I dabble in may things…my main job is with my town, but I enjoy politics, music, writing…actually I have had an editorial printed in a recent paper - would you care to see it?”
“Certainly.”
I produced the paper from my belongings. It was perhaps a demonstration in vanity, but I had not had anyone to show it to, and thus it stayed with me. Watching her face as she read it, the reaction did not appear as I had hoped. It having been Flag Day the other week, the article I penned dealt with the Pledge’s author being a socialist.
She handed the paper back to me, and there was silence as she searched for the desirable reply. With a noticeable shift in body language, she carefully said, “It is well written, but what is the point? Why waste your time on this?” I was taken aback, and attempted to relay my position to her, but the discussion we engaged in went nowhere. With us both slightly upset, the stage show had resumed, and we broke contact once more.
A slapstick comedy team was sending laughter through the entire place, but all I heard was coughing - it was coming from Red. They had been the last act for the lunchtime crowd, and afterwards most patrons began filing out. I looked over at Red, and she appeared much more frail than I had noticed before. Her eyes had a distance to them that had not previously existed. She proposed one more game of checkers, and I took her up on the chance to redeem myself.
When I took her last piece, the boy’s mouth was agape. I was shocked myself. She had beaten me so whole handedly, and now with the tables turned, I had no sense of the satisfaction that I had thought would occur. It was not that she allowed me to defeat her, just that she did not have the strength to beat me once more.
With this hollow victory, we parted ways. I watched them disappear into the recesses of the city as I followed the path back to my automobile. The shrieks of the children coming from the lake were as loud as ever .
On my drive home, the only thing I could do was sing the main song from the show over and over again. It had not had lyrics, but from the sound of it, I figured it originally did.
Ashworth met me as soon as I set foot inside of our home. After feeding him, I felt the exhaustion of the day rush over me. Ambling to my bed, I laid down and listened to the sounds of birds coming in through my window. I fell asleep.
The lazy summer continued on unabated. This one seemed to have more sun in its young career than the last five or so years. I do enjoy it - there are certain smells which only the summer breeze is allowed to carry, and yet there are few activities which I partake in that normally go along with the season.
Upon attempting to figure out more occasions to increase my time out of doors, I realized that it had been much too long since I last enjoyed swimming in the lake. It was about a half an hour drive from my home, and so I decided that in order to make it worthwhile, I should make a day of it. Since I am accustomed to rising early, there was plenty of time for me to pack up my things and still set foot on the sandy soil by 10 am.
____________________________________________________
Forgetting that school was no longer in session, I found myself surrounded by the shrill pitch that only innocent children can make.
“No bother,” I thought, “I shall simply confine myself to the less attractive part of the lake and set up residence there.”
While changing into my bathing clothes, it came to me that I had not seen the boy in over a week, and the scene set here seemed to occasion his return. Emerging from the small tent that had been set up for this purpose, I scanned the horizon, but no familiar face met with mine.
With a half-hearted shrug I took the humid air into my lungs, and slowly proceeded into the water. The sun had warmed the lake to a depth fair enough that the water was at first little of a refreshing experience whatsoever. As I waded deeper, however, I was able to enjoy the full splendor that something so simple and basic as a body of water can induce.
It was a rare occurrence when I allowed myself to truly relax. I often did things which people will refer to as “relaxing,” but they normally were not for me. I mean to say that I enjoyed them, but never did I fully allow them to be “relaxing.” Here, however, was one of those rare circumstances where I permitted myself to disappear, placing my existence solely in the hands of the world around me. And it was wonderful.
I had floated out far enough that the children’s shrieks were all but inaudible. The only clear sounds were that of the wind and my breath escaping. It was comforting to know that, although invisible, both existed at this moment. I drifted further out.
__________________________________________________
Perhaps an hour had passed. Surrounded by water, I had allowed time to remove its clutches from my heart, and thus I had no clear idea what the hour had gotten itself to. The sun out here had a way of making everything pure - there was nothing that it could not touch. With a renewed sense of self, I slowly floated back to shore.
With each inch of the depth of the water receding, the voices increased in clarity and volume. Setting foot on dry land, there was no avoiding them. As the sun had just about reached its apex, it did not take long to dry off. Changing back into my regular clothing, I decided to take the walk into the city. Without the normal sense of purpose on as blinders, the landscape appeared to unfold everything it had to offer onto me.
Strolling the streets and alleys, it did my heart good to see all ages converging in the warmth, forging relationships with each other and their surroundings. Continuing down a few blocks I arrived at one of the many parks built long ago as a counterpoint to the harshness of the original city. It mainly consisted of an untouched grassy area, which this day had been filled up with chairs, and a gentleman speaker on a stage. This peaked my interest and I decided to invest some time in him.
The man was in old dress and appeared to be attempting to sell a product of some sort. The sign behind him said, “RAY CARTWRIGHT - THE MAN WITH THE CURE FOR ALL YOUR ILLS.” After listening a short while, I realized he was selling snake oil as a panacea. Only…only he must be an actor, and this had to be a production…yes, that was it, it was a recreation of the shysters from out West. With this realization, I took a seat in the back row to enjoy the show. I was enthralled - the man was good and it was a pleasure to watch.
“He has got it down pretty well.” I turned to my left and noticed an older lady speaking to me. She continued, “I saw the real thing more than a few times, and this is as close as you will get without having been there.” I nodded in recognition and refocused my attention on the stage.
But again she spoke, “Everyone calls me Red, due to my red hair, and this is my friend Ste-ven.” The way she pronounced it, I knew it must be the boy. He leaned forward from the seat to the left of her, waving to me.
“Hello again…Steven.”
He smiled. “Hello.”
The speaker concluded, “Ladies and Gentlemen I thank you for your time…and your money. I would love to talk to all of you at length over in the Virginia City Saloon, just over yonder. And if by chance any of you kind folks would like to buy me a beer, I certainly would not turn down the hospitality.”
Red acknowledged both of us in turn and said, “Come on, lunch is on me.” With that I followed her and the boy to the western themed saloon across the street.
The table we were seated at had a checkerboard painted onto it. There were no checkers to be seen, however, with the exception of two crimson ones sitting on the side, stacked on each other.
The saloon had a stage show of sorts - jugglers, magicians, dancing girls, that sort of thing - though none of them had the air of authenticity or entertainment value of the gentleman we had just watched.
We enjoyed our meal and drinks with little conversation, the show garnering the majority of our attention. During an intermission we each regained eye contact again, with myself having some difficulty wading through the myriad of similar shades of brown.
Red spoke, “How about a game?” gesturing to the checkerboard.
“But there are no checkers.”
“You just have to look for them.” And with that she pulled out a hidden drawer from her side of the table. With a smile, and knowing eyes, she continued, “See? Now do you want to be black or red?”
“Well, I suppose it would be more fitting if I were black.”
“Alright,” handing over the pieces, “there you are then.”
Steven watched intently as Red defeated me one game after another. He appeared to know from the outset that I had no chance against her. The boy then spoke for the first time since we had begun playing, “Gee, you’re just not very good at games, are you?”
For all of the times we had spent together, this was the first occasion I felt anger towards the boy - to be sure, he was correct, but one often finds discord with hearing the blunt truth.
Controlling myself I turned to him, “I certainly have been out of luck lately.” Seeing my calm breached, Red changed the subject - “What is it that you normally do with yourself?”
I was glad for this easy transition, “Oh, I dabble in may things…my main job is with my town, but I enjoy politics, music, writing…actually I have had an editorial printed in a recent paper - would you care to see it?”
“Certainly.”
I produced the paper from my belongings. It was perhaps a demonstration in vanity, but I had not had anyone to show it to, and thus it stayed with me. Watching her face as she read it, the reaction did not appear as I had hoped. It having been Flag Day the other week, the article I penned dealt with the Pledge’s author being a socialist.
She handed the paper back to me, and there was silence as she searched for the desirable reply. With a noticeable shift in body language, she carefully said, “It is well written, but what is the point? Why waste your time on this?” I was taken aback, and attempted to relay my position to her, but the discussion we engaged in went nowhere. With us both slightly upset, the stage show had resumed, and we broke contact once more.
A slapstick comedy team was sending laughter through the entire place, but all I heard was coughing - it was coming from Red. They had been the last act for the lunchtime crowd, and afterwards most patrons began filing out. I looked over at Red, and she appeared much more frail than I had noticed before. Her eyes had a distance to them that had not previously existed. She proposed one more game of checkers, and I took her up on the chance to redeem myself.
When I took her last piece, the boy’s mouth was agape. I was shocked myself. She had beaten me so whole handedly, and now with the tables turned, I had no sense of the satisfaction that I had thought would occur. It was not that she allowed me to defeat her, just that she did not have the strength to beat me once more.
___________________
With this hollow victory, we parted ways. I watched them disappear into the recesses of the city as I followed the path back to my automobile. The shrieks of the children coming from the lake were as loud as ever .
On my drive home, the only thing I could do was sing the main song from the show over and over again. It had not had lyrics, but from the sound of it, I figured it originally did.
_________________________________________
Ashworth met me as soon as I set foot inside of our home. After feeding him, I felt the exhaustion of the day rush over me. Ambling to my bed, I laid down and listened to the sounds of birds coming in through my window. I fell asleep.
