The smell of cut
grass washes over cracked sidewalks. Nobody pays attention as he
passes by, ever. Or they might have once. Sometimes they still did.
Sometimes they fooled you. He had grown up ordinary with ordinary
looks. Normal mousy hair and normal brown eyes. He can't even be
called a nerd, he doesn't fit in with loners - he is that
ordinary. Sometimes he likes words and sometimes he doesn't like
words. Sometimes words are tricks. He never changes them though,
every word on every class paper, every fleeting thought. They are
ordinary and at some point a long time ago he decided that he too
would be ordinary.
When Nathaniel was
younger he had friends, the result of being a nonthreatening spoke in
various wheels. In time, his friends found things that defined them,
that in turn defined other hubs. They moved in orbits and sub-orbits.
He slipped away. Sometimes he listens to insects, the relentless
buzzing of cicadas. The sidewalk smells like warm earth and wet
grass. It is uneven and and houses pass as he walks by. It smells
like an ordinary day. He is walking down the street to the community
college. Sometimes he likes being inside his car but sometimes he
doesn't. He has a backpack. He has entered the words he needs to
enter for his classes. He hasn't changed them. His cellphone predicts
torrential rain, that's okay. He lives in Iowa.
1994 Olds
Cutlass Ciera. V6, chilly air, 189K miles, runs sweet, torn
headliner, burns some oil, needs brakes & tires. Awesome pioneer
cassette/AM/FM. This could be yours for $1400.
An instructor is
droning on. Nat doesn't really know what the instructor is saying but
he will memorize words and apply them to tests and required course
work. He is not sure what he wants to do. His parents once told him
that things would get better. If he were to ever write a story it
would be about an ordinary, unnoticeable life. There wouldn't be any
vampires or hot chicks, there wouldn't be any crime. There wouldn't
be any trees or colors. There wouldn't be any monsters. He thought
about it. There might be trees but definitely not colors. Unless
there was some color after most of the color was taken out.
He is walking
home, he still lives with his parents. The day has turned cloudy and
slatey cold, raindrops begin to fall. He might have to drive
tomorrow. He skirts a community park, edges further onto the carpet
of wet grass. He uses his phone to take pictures of trees, a park
bench, a colorful mural. Other images were captured earlier while he
was walking to school. It was sunnier then and the colors were
brighter, they were deeply saturated. They won't be bright for long.
He sees something on the ground, a fuzzy black caterpillar. He bends
down to get closer, takes a picture. He picks the thing up. It curls
into a ball in the palm of his hand. He read once that some
caterpillars are poisonous. He doesn't think this one is.
Further into the
park, two boys are on their BMX bikes, jumping them up and down in
place, carving quick abbreviated donuts in the ground as the rain
falls. They are laughing about what they are doing.
“Ha ha, look at
that one.”
“No, ha ha, look
at mine!”
“That's so
gross.”
“I know, it's
cool.”
Nat smiles
slightly to himself. He remembers when he played with other kids.
When he was a spoke in their wheels. He turns his attention back to
his fuzzy little friend.
“Hey, what d'you
got in your hand?”
The boys have
arrived on their bikes. They are staring at him and smiling.
Nat smiles too. He
opens his hand and shows them. “It's a fuzzy black caterpillar.”
“Cool.” One of
the kids continues to grin.
“You should put
it back on the ground.” The other kid looks a bit impatient.
Nat looks at the
small creature as it slowly starts to uncurl. “No, not yet.”
“What are you
going to do with it?”
Nat shrugs. “I
dunno.”
“So put it back
on the ground.”
He squints at the
kids, closes his hand gently around the creature and continues on his
way.
The antsy one
calls after him. “You shouldn't be taking living things out of the
park!”
He shakes his head
to himself, continues walking.
The kids are
laughing, they are no longer paying attention to him. They begin
racing their bikes in small circles again, jumping up and down on
them.
“Hey look,
there's some more of them over there. Ha ha!”
He turns around
and looks at them, pounding their tires into the mud. He frowns. This
is why he doesn't like people. At least it's one of the reasons he
doesn't like people. He thinks about the pictures he just took of the
trees and the bench and the caterpillar. He thinks about finding a
safe place for his little friend. He decides he'll wait until he gets
home.
She was once
popular, she talked and laughed loudly, she grew up in a big house
and her parents were busy with important things. Even her mother's
lunches and yoga and creative classes were important things. She had
younger sisters who were also popular, they all went to a large
popular school. Something happened to her and then she wasn't
popular anymore. She and her friends liked to pick targets, sometimes outside
their circle but sometimes within as well. It was more fun that way,
it was delicious and it gave them control. One day it was Sara's turn
to be picked and her friends spread nasty rumors spun from whole
cloth and then she was shunned and there was nothing to be done about
it. Get over it they said. Don't embarrass yourself they said. And
they laughed like mad children and used their social media
applications.
SWF, 19,
totally bored. Not looking for sex. Sick of everything. Not a
spam-bot. I would hate all my friends if I still had any.
Nat is in the den,
the television is on. There are bodies running back and forth across
the screen, the sound of shouting voices, a ball dribbling against
the hardwood floor but none of it loud, the volume is turned low. He
allows himself the pleasure of watching things that are fun. He
frowns. It's not like he's clinically depressed or anything. He has
nothing against speed and excellence. The caterpillar is in a jar
with holes poked through the lid and some grass inside. It's on the
end table next to the couch. He can hear sounds coming from the
kitchen, plates and utensils being set down. He can smell food. He
has nothing against food. It smells like chicken. He hopes there's
chicken and mashed potatoes. He turns off the television. There is no
need to waste electricity.
Del and Laura are
laughing and making small talk in the kitchen, it's cheery and bright
and there's creamy upgraded granite counters and nice appliances but
it's not what you'd call fancy and it's certainly not cold or modern
or antiseptic, it's just a warm, comfortable, nice middle-class
kitchen in a split-level home in a suburban mid-western neighborhood.
They've been married now for over twenty years, they met in high
school, they are still happy and comfortable with each other.
He enters the
kitchen and gets his own plate and fork and knife and a piece of
paper towel and sets his place. His parents are still eating and
chatting. He helps himself to some chicken and mashed potatoes. He
goes to the refrigerator and gets out the milk and pours. He sits
down and begins to eat. His parents chat a few moments longer before
noticing their son's presence. They turn and regard him with warm
affection – his years of determined and steady progression toward
near invisibility have not diminished their love for him at all.
“Hey Nat.” His
dad smiles companionably. “How was school?”
“Hello,
Nathaniel, you always come in so quietly.” She reaches over and
touches his hand.
His mother's
expression always seems both loving and sad when she regards him. It
tugs at Nat but he's never sure how to respond. Usually, he smiles
just a little and eats his food. Tonight however, her expression is
breaking his heart. He never wanted to disappoint his parents. He
loves them. He finishes chewing a piece of chicken. He swallows,
drinks his milk, looks at her.
“Don't look so
sad. School was good. Want to know something weird?”
“What's that,
honey?”
“I brought home
a caterpillar from the park.” He chuckles to let them know that he
understands his own absurdity, that despite his obsession with
normalcy, there is still a sliver of light left.
His mother nearly
melts, his father grins and shakes his head ruefully.
“Why does this
not surprise me?”
Nat laughs, the
first real laugh they have heard from him in a long time. It is
awkward, rusty, but if they could freeze this moment in time, they
would. The moment passes however. Nat goes back to his silent eating,
eyes mainly fixed on his plate. Still, there is a small afterglow at
the table and it will be remembered in time.
Interesting characters, Nat and Sara. Loved the line "He can't even be called a nerd, he doesn't fit in with loners - he is that ordinary." I loved how the first part kinda droned, it really underlined the boring ordinariness of his life. I'm assuming foreshadowing regarding Nat and Sara...
ReplyDeleteThanks Darla. Yes, I'm hoping to add bits and pieces of color as Nat and Sara start to transition, while still keeping a certain base to it. Almost a verse/chorus/bridge kind of thing.
ReplyDelete