[at-l] ...as it were.

[Felix <AThiker@smithville.net>]

“Well, we’ll just have to wait and see. Won’t we?” she said. The ice
cream cone had melted on her hand. She didn’t notice.
“I didn’t mean anything. I was just sayin’ that I thought he would.” I
explained.  Apparently she was having an entirely different conversation
than the one I was having. I just wished that it hadn’t turned into an
argument without me even knowing why.
“Don’t call me” as the door opened, hitting the bell. It hit the bell as
it closed, too.  I just sat there, staring at my sundae. I had no idea
what had just happened. A pleasant chat over ice cream one second,
became a teary-eyed girl yelling at me the next. I had more or less
forgotten about the others in the shop. I wish they’d forgotten me, too.

I walked past Bauer’s tire store. I loved watching the guy air up tires
on that machine. The way they popped into place always made me jump. He
always had a red rag in his pocket, and grease on his hands. The smell
of rubber, and oil, and cars and stuff…the smell of work. It didn’t seem
to have its lure today. I didn’t even punch the man made of tires.

I watched the oil rainbows in a puddle behind the shop for a while. I
could change the shapes, and colors, by spitting in the puddle.  I was
feeling restless, though.  It was going to take more than contaminated
water to keep my attention today. I had had an argument with a girl.
That has to be more important than industrial waste in an alley.

I was ready to leave when a pick-up truck full of limbs turned into the
alley.  I stepped back to let him pass when he abruptly stopped. He
opened the door and stepped out of the truck. He stepped right into the
puddle of oily water. He looked at his shoes, then at me.

“I don’t know what you’re up to son. But, if you don’t watch what you
say to my daughter, there’s going to be trouble.” Then, poking me in the
chest, he said “Watch your step.” He tried shaking his shoes off as he
got back in the truck, but I don’t think it helped. The inside of the
truck was pretty dirty, too.

I headed to Mrs. Purtlebaugh’s house. I knew she could pick up my
spirits. She’d probably give me a glass of lemonade and tell me about
when she was a girl working at the cord factory. That’s where she met
Mr. Purtlebaugh. She probably had some cookies made, too.  I couldn’t
wait to see the trellis over her gate, and the comfort that waited
inside.

As I opened the gate, the front door opened and Mrs. Purtlebaugh came
out. My initial feelings of relief were quickly dashed.

“What did you say to Peggy!?!”



--
Felix J. McGillicuddy
ME-->GA '98
"Your Move"
http://Felixhikes.tripod.com/




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