The night grew even darker as thick clouds overwhelmed the moonless sky. The humidity level had increased. Water vapor whirled with the gusts of wind whipping through the city skyscrapers. Roger sat on the sidewalk curb with his legs extended as cars sporadically sped by. He felt clobbered, beyond the breaking point of a tree branch used as a crutch. He put all of his eggs in one basket marked The Hideaway, but all of those eggs had been thrown onto the street and smashed to unsalvageable pieces.
Miles sat next to Roger with a look of defeat covering his dirty face. He was with Roger one hundred percent on his journey, bonded with him by the unwritten code of the street. It was the same relationship as bikers who would give a friendly wave to a passing motorcycle or veterans who would watch each other’s back even on the first meeting. Miles liked Roger not only because he was a fellow drifter, but also because he had a concrete goal in mind. It was a goal that Miles didn’t fully understand, but he admired the way Roger focused his attention on the next obstacle in his path.
Roger had no more energy to continue. A void filled his mind. It was a feeling of sheer nothingness, and he sensed the end was near. He stared with an expressionless face, mouth gaping an inch, at a pothole in the street. He watched the tires of each car as they drove over the hole with their force chipping more and more of the tarred road away and widening the infection. Roger wondered how the insignificant hole would fare against the girth of a fully loaded tractor-trailer. For a bizarre reason, he felt connected to the hole, understanding its pain of constant abuse. Roger wished the hole were bigger so he could lie inside and receive the fate that he had cheated on the bridge.
“I don’t believe that guy at the restaurant,” Miles said in his chipper tone.
Miles picked up a stone and threw it into the hole in a perfect shot. The rock jarred Roger’s fixation on the pothole.
“I mean, we didn’t even see your waiter friend,” Miles replied as he threw another stone.
This time it missed the hole and skipped across the street. “I’m hungry. Wanna get some fast food?”
Miles’ nasally voice struck a chord in Roger’s eardrum. He looked at the man sitting next to him, always tooting his horn. Then it hit him. Roger realized it was this pest who caused his unjust ejection from his mission. While he thought this man would point him to the answer, Roger recognized that he was actually the root of his problem.
“Don’t even get me started with food,” Roger snapped.
“I worked at one of those fast food shops. It was a fried chicken joint. Man, I hated it there. They made me work as a cook. Like I can cook. Ha! I wanted to burn that place down. That’s why I decided fast food wasn’t for me. Yeah, I’m more of a white-collar man, if I do say so myself. Always enjoyed putting on a suit,” Miles jabbered.
“Where’s your suit now? We could’ve used some classiness back there,” Roger said as he glanced at Miles’ soiled clothes and greasy hair.
From his angle, he could see dirt crusted to Miles’ ears from weeks without bathing. Roger looked down at his own clothes. “Look at me. I have no idea what the hell is going on. I’m tired, sick, I have nothing left!”
“Hey, don’t fret my good man. Just be patient. You just need to move around. Get the blood flowing,” Miles explained as he stood up.
Energy filled him as he pushed at Roger’s back. “Come on now,” Miles added, pressing harder.
Roger couldn’t handle it anymore. Miles stayed beyond his welcome; in fact, he was never welcomed!
“No! Get away from me. Who the hell do you think you are? Huh? You have no job. You have no home. You’re a bum, a hobo, a derelict! I have a life, a job…a wife,” Roger exclaimed.
With his words, Roger lunged at Miles and threw his fist toward the pest’s gut. Miles winced as the intended blow to his abdomen connected with his shoulder, knocking him back. Roger wobbled from the momentum. Miles grabbed Roger’s shirt, tearing half of the buttons off the front and exposing his bruised chest. Roger’s muscles rejected his abusive commands as he fell back toward the concrete. He grabbed at Miles to save his fall as his dangling fingers snatched a handful of Miles’ oily hair. Roger’s body bashed the concrete first, followed by Miles. The businessman let out a bellow as the breath blew from his lungs. Miles turned Roger around and kneeled on his back. In the flurry, the picture in Roger’s back pocket flew out and landed on the ground.
Miles focused his attention on the image. He rolled off Roger’s back and grabbed the photograph. Roger began violently coughing as his lungs wheezed for air. The winning victor, Miles, studied the couple staring back at him. He then looked in front of him at the frazzled man panting on the ground—his cut face, his torn clothes, and his bruised appendages. Miles glanced at the man in the picture. He wore a stylish polo shirt and shorts, his hair was parted on the side, and his skin radiated. Miles squinted as he wondered whether the man in the photograph was, in fact, the man now sitting in front of him. There was a slight yet definite resemblance to both men, particularly in the long face and distinct jaw. The man in the photograph had two dimples. Miles looked at the man sitting on the ground and realized he had never seen him grin. Roger combed his hair with his hands as he regained control. It was an instinctive reaction, ingrained in him from always looking his best. Miles widened his eyes as he saw the faint part in Roger’s hair.
“That is the same man,” Miles mouthed.
He wondered how this handsome and seemingly indestructible man went from riches to rags. Then, he asked himself the same question. Miles shifted his eyes to the bright and bubbly woman nuzzled close to Roger’s side. She had a soft look that massaged even the most fatigued eyes. A grin formed on Miles’ face as the woman entranced him.
“Who… Who is this?” Miles stuttered.
Roger calmed down, but his body throbbed even as he sat still. Miles’ words didn’t seem to faze Roger as he didn’t want any more to do with the bum. He was trying to regain strength to run, or at least stumble, far away from him.
Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll get the hint, Roger reasoned.
“Hey, this woman. Who is she?” Miles persisted.
Roger had no interest in amusing the man standing over him, but the mention of the word “woman” did raise his curiosity. Roger kept his head still and moved his eyes toward Miles. He saw that Miles was holding something in his hands. Then, Roger moved his head as Miles turned the image toward him. Roger enlarged his eyes, wondering how Miles had his photograph.
“That’s mine. Give it back!” Roger barked.
“Who is she?”
“It’s a picture of me and my wife.”
Miles turned the picture back around. “Wow, she is beautiful. When was this taken?” he asked sincerely.
“Last year. I can still remember it,” Roger said as he scooted toward a nearby trashcan.
He scrunched his brow as he used all of his energy to stand, trying to regain the only concrete item of the love of his life. Struggling, Roger fell back down to the pavement as his own body mocked him.
“Where is she now? What the hell happened, eh?” Miles curiously asked.
Roger lowered his head in confusion.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I think I was involved in that car crash last night,” he explained.
“You think? Damn! You gotta get some help.”
Miles suddenly felt overwhelmed with sympathy for his partner on the street. While he wished he had a better life, a life that didn’t include sleeping on the street, it was all that he had known for years; it was a life he at least understood. But the man in front of him was very different. On the outside Roger appeared just like him, a wanderer without a clear purpose; however, the photograph he held between his fingers painted a much different picture.
“I can’t get help. I already messed that up. It’s a long story, but let’s just say the law is after me. But I don’t even care. I just want to find my wife. I need her… She—”
“Well, I think I found her,” Miles sai
d as he gave the picture back to Roger.
“Come on, I’m tired of your shit!” Roger yelled.
“No, she’s famous!”
What’s he talking about? Roger asked himself, figuring the pest had finally lost it.
Roger attempted to reposition his head, but the bones in his neck screamed. It was as if he had lost control over his body. He wondered if even another dose of medicine from the glass bottle would invigorate his body.
Roger finally mustered enough strength to look up at Miles. The drifter had his hand extended with his finger pointing at something across the street. Roger took a deep breath, knowing he had to move his head again to whatever object that had absorbed Miles. He figured it was something innocuous, an attractive woman swaying down the street or a streetwalker prowling for clients.
As Roger’s eyes finally focused, he saw the flashing lights of several big screen televisions inside a home rental store.
What was Miles pointing at? Roger thought.
He didn’t see anyone standing outside and the store itself was dark. On the television was an image of a woman in the corner of the screen with a newscaster addressing the camera. Roger squinted to see the woman, but as he strained, her picture filled the entire screen of the television.
The image on the big screen was that of a woman aged gracefully to thirty-six years. It was black and white, obviously a DMV-type photograph, but the woman depicted could catch any man’s attention, regardless of color space. It was Lois Belkin, and her image was glowing on screen like a radiating flare shot into the sky.
Roger lifted his eyelids. He was speechless, motionless, emotionless. He couldn’t believe the sight. It took a moment to register in his brain, but Roger finally realized the key to his daunting journey was just four lanes away. A jolt of electricity flowed through his body, bringing new life to his soul. It was as if he were in a new body, with his mind completely focused on the screen across the street.
Roger jumped up and darted across the busy road.
“Hey!” Miles yelled, completely blinded by Roger’s burst of vigor.
A car slammed on its brakes, screeching to a halt as Roger hustled across the lanes, hurdling the pothole that had once fixated him. Another truck slowed and blared its horn, but none of the street’s activity could stop Roger.
He reached the glass window and kneeled down on the sidewalk. Tears flowed down his cheek as the image of his wife glimmered off his watery eyes. Roger raised his hand to the glass and outlined her image with his fingers. Her smile, her dark, flowing hair, her supple skin, mesmerized Roger. He felt her presence surround him in the digital data swirling through the airwaves. The television captured the digital signal, which reflective mirrors from the projection television beamed to Roger’s eyes.
Closed captioning flowed across the screen: “Police are asking for help with identifying any loved ones of Lois Belkin, age 36. She is recovering at Southern General Hospital from last night’s horrific accident on Pleasant Place Bridge…”
The words “Southern General Hospital” caught Roger’s attention as he blinked his eyes, regaining composure. Abruptly, he felt water drip onto his already soaked cheeks. Roger assumed it was his tears, but then he felt more drops hit the top of his forehead. He knew it couldn’t have been tears. Suddenly, a flash of lightning overwhelmed the sky, followed by a burst of thunder.
Traffic had increased as Miles attempted to join Roger across the street. A truck whizzed by, sending the drifter back. The rain picked up as water pelted Miles’ face. He saw a window of opportunity as he ran across the street, but then a sedan slammed on its brakes. Miles stopped. The car halted inches from his bones.
“Yo, can’t you see I’m walking here!” Miles screamed as he banged on the hood of the sedan.
He continued toward Roger. Water began to pour down the store window, which distorted the television. Miles stopped behind Roger and looked in awe of her glow. Then, just like that, the striking image of Lois vanished on the screen.
“Hey, man. What did it say? Where is she?” Miles asked.
The rain had completely soaked through Roger’s hair and clothes. His whole body couldn’t escape the sky’s tears. Another blast of thunder echoed through Roger, as he felt renewed and reborn. He turned in the direction of Southern General Hospital.
“That way, the hospital,” Roger mouthed to Miles.
He was now a man on his ultimate mission, finally enlightened to the most important piece in his broken puzzle. Even with all of the missteps along the way, it was all worth it now. Roger figured he would not have seen the answer to his question had it not been for the spectacle at The Hideaway. While he had taken a step backward, he was now given the opportunity to take a leap forward toward the side of his awaiting wife.
Miles looked at Roger in astonishment. He could feel the energy ooze from him. Miles followed Roger’s gaze as they stood in the cleansing rain.
Roger licked his lips. The rainwater tasted salty. He took a deep breath and whispered, “I’m coming.”
Chapter 19
Clouded Rainbow Page 18