It’s becoming tainted. And it’s by Roger’s doing.
This can’t continue. After this trip, Roger isn’t going there for a long while. He’s not even going to think about it. There’s a lot that needs to be done, anyway. He’ll be too busy to even think about Hermit Bridge.
Roger’s food routine has gotten all sorts of messed up. He needs to find new places to get food. That’s a lot of work, work Roger hates doing.
For now, Hermit Bridge.
Just a day or two. That’s it.
Two, tops.
He’s going to need food, though, three meals at most.
A candy bar would really do the trick.
Roger hasn’t seen a candy bar in a dumpster for a long time. That’s one thing people always seem to finish eating. Always. Can’t waste an unhealthy chocolate bar.
He tries to think of places between here and Hermit Bridge where he could get some quick pickups of food. There isn’t much other than to do some residential dumpster diving.
Roger thinks of the last time he went dumpster diving.
His stomach twists and turns like a rag being wrung out.
No diving this time. Roger’s stomach couldn’t handle that. He needs something that won’t get him sick, something that’s free, something that he can get quick.
Roger gets an idea. Not a good one, but a quick and safe one.
There’s that Super Save-Mart. It’s a little out of the way, but there’s time yet.
Ugh, Save-Mart.
Roger’ll have to steal it. He’d never pay for anything that comes from Save-Mart. No fucking way.
Stealing is even borderline. Just being in that door-greeter-hello-at-the-door-to-the-gates-of-hell shithole is bad enough.
Roger’s going to have to steal a hell of a lot of shit to justify even being there.
Ravioli.
Cereal.
Peanuts.
And candy.
Roger has a grocery list.
Chapter 45
Roger got caught.
That fucking two-bit-shit-bastard Chad saw him come in right away. He’ll be getting a promotion to Lt. Captain for his bravery. Roger already imagined the ceremony taking place. Chad would be announced by his superior then walk across the stage, chest puffed out to emphasize his already acquired medals. They would shake hands after the superior officer pinned a yellow smiley badge among all of the others, then salute crowd and the flag. No doubt the whole thing would be televised.
Roger looked around a good few times to be sure the coast was clear when he first walked in, but he just didn’t see that slinky bastard.
That prick must’ve been waiting for him or something. Then he called the cops. Roger dallied. The cops were outside waiting for Roger to walk out, then arrested him.
What a piece of work. Chad’s face just looks like it’s built for sucking dicks. And jesus, the smile he had on his face when the cops pushed Roger’s head down into the backseat of the cop car. It was a hey-look-at-me-and-my-civil-service-vest-filled-with-buttons-of-all-my-upstanding-acts-of-lawfulness-still-piss-the-bed-and-have-a-night-light smile.
That’s just great.
Roger even had two Snickers bars in his pockets.
Chapter 46
“What’s your name?” the mustached, fat cop asks.
“Bum.”
“Bum what?”
“Bum Hump.”
“Don’t mess around, alright? The longer you refuse to cooperate, the longer you are gonna be here.”
Roger imagines spitting on the officer. They’re inside the unit in a waiting room, a holding room.
Check in. There’s no music playing in this room. This is the serious room. This is the room where you contemplate on what you did wrong, how its going to effect the ones closest to you. Yea right.
“Now, what’s your name?”
“Roger.”
“Roger…” the cop drags out, twirling his pen around, annoyed.
“Roger Alfred Kenston.”
“Where you from?”
“Here.”
“What’s your address?”
“Here.”
“Enough with the cute stuff.”
“I don’t have a home, I’m a god damn bum.”
“Gah, well let’s just search your name then.” The cop sits up from his reclining office chair and starts typing on his keyboard for a second.
“Hm…Roger Alfred Kenston, says you live in an apartment building on 24th St. I think that’s the Hollin building. Nice place. How do you afford that place?”
What? That’s not right. “No, I don’t.”
“You’re not Roger then? Don’t get cutesy.” He waves his pen at Roger like it’s a god damn magic wand.
“I am Roger.”
“Well says here that’s where you live.”
That’s not right. Maybe there’s another Roger Alfred Kenston out there. Maybe this is a way out of trouble. Maybe this is a good time to keep the mouth shut and cooperate.
“Yea, that’s me, sorry.” Roger clears his throat and quits slouching.
“Not being cute, are you?”
“No. No cute.”
“Well let’s run your prints just to make sure.”
Damn it.
An hour passes.
“Well, I guess you weren’t lying. Fingerprints says it you.” The cop announces as he walks back into the room, gut first, mustache next.
What? How is that possible? Roger’s lived on the street for as long as he can remember. Cops must really be as dumb as they look.
“Let’s get you booked in then.” he says just after brushing some crumbs off of the front of his blue shirt. Roger can’t help but think they were doughnut crumbs.
Chapter 47
Six days Roger has to spend in the jailhouse. Six days with three cellmates. Christ. They’re all young punks in for some dumb shit like joyriding in a car that wasn’t their own or simple assault on a simple-minded man or something like that.
What the hell was that about when Roger got booked in? Roger doesn’t have an apartment. He doesn’t even know Horrin’s building or Hollin’s or whatever the hell it is. Those cops messed up bad. They must have.
But what about the fingerprinting?
Roger looks down at his index finger. It still has ink on it.
That doesn’t make any sense. Roger’s never been to jail. How could they have his prints? Is it possible there’s someone out there with the exact same name and the exact same prints? Someone who lives in this apartment?
Coincidence?
No way. That’s too crazy, too improbable.
Best answer is the cops messed up royally.
That’s good. Roger could use a break. And some free food. If it weren’t for his cellmates, this would be a nice vacation.
Dumb-shit-flash-badge-trough-loving pigs.
Chapter 48
Two more days.
One of Roger’s cellmates had court today. A year and a half in the state prison. Roger overheard what for, distribution of Ecstasy. A kid gets sentenced to that much time in a state prison for just a couple pills.
These days.
Chapter 49
Roger finally gets let out. If he would have had to stay in there any longer he might have had to beat one of those young, loud mouths up. They kept acting like they knew everything there is to know.
“Don’t forget, Mr. Kenston, you’re banned from any Save-Mart for one year. If you show up there again, we’ll have to take you in again, for longer next time.”
Roger just looks at the plain-brain officer.
“You’re free to go now.”
Roger walks off angrily, not mad about coming to jail so much, but mad because they forced him to shower, and they washed his street clothes. He didn’t need to shower and his clothes definitely did not need to be washed. He just did that a month or so ago.
What a waste. That’s what happens when someone gains control, the person or persons with the power gets to
do as they please even if it’s against another person’s will. Think about the death sentence. Think about taxes. Think about war. Think about money. Think about a husband beating his wife.
Power is power only if you abuse it.
Chapter 50
Hermit Bridge.
And a Snicker’s bar. Somehow those popo’s missed the second Snicker’s bar. It’s melted from the drier, but the packaging didn’t break. It looks nothing like the typical manufactured candy bar that you usually get, it looks more like it just came out of a blender.
Good.
It’s time for some quiet. The way they fed Roger back in jail, he won’t need to eat for at least two days. Three meals a day, ugh, that’s easily enough for Roger for three or four days.
God, those idiot cops messed up so bad.
Roger eats part of his candy bar and saves the rest for later. The sun is shining bright. The water trickles through the little rocks in the creek. A slight breeze plays the leaves of the trees.
It’s quiet-nice out here.
Roger’s mind slows down. He’s relaxing. He’s fully recovered from his illness too.
This is good.
An orange and black butterfly flutters around on the other side of the creek. Roger follows with his eyes. The butterfly doesn’t carry on in any one direction. It goes this way and that way and back this way.
Roger watches and becomes enthralled.
It comes closer. And closer.
The butterfly passes right by Roger’s face, then under the bridge and out on the other side. The instant it disappears, Roger’s mind flashes back to the image of the raindrop, to the feeling of the raindrop. A calm excitement resounds.
This is it. This is what Roger’s been looking for. This right here. The feeling of his heart beating, his blood pulsing, his body tingling.
Roger can find other places where there’s food.
Its’ going to be okay.
Roger can live without shampoo from Save-Mart.
It’s going to be alright.
Roger can do this.
He hasn’t lost yet.
It’s going to be just fine.
Chapter 51
Shit.
It’s not okay.
It’s the middle of the night and Roger wakes up to seeing the beams of a flashlight not very far off. It’s coming closer.
Shit.
Roger can’t be found here, not now. He can’t be here when they get here. He can’t have someone else know about this spot.
Hurry, get up and get out.
Roger tries. He can’t move.
He can’t fucking move.
His whole body is tensed up tight.
The light is getting close. Get the hell up, Roger, haul ass.
There’s a squeaking coming from near the light. It’s getting louder. It’s not a constant squeaking, but more periodic, like every two or three seconds. Roger is paralyzed. His whole body seems to be locked like a vault.
Finally the squeaking is about five feet away. Roger can’t see anything but the beams of the flashlight. It’s pitch black night time. The light darts around to the bridge, the creek, then Roger. He tries to close his eyes, but he can’t.
Move, Roger!
GOD DAMN IT!
With a wild flailing jolt Roger sits up.
The light is gone. He looks around everywhere for it.
Roger was dreaming. He was dreaming.
Christ.
Chapter 52
When Roger wakes up the following morning, it’s with another jolt and that dropping feeling of adrenaline in his stomach. He had that weird feeling from the dream carry over into the morning. Like someone was watching him or like someone was thinking about how good this bridge is or something like that. Something bad. His hands are trembling and his chest is knotted.
He needs to leave right now. His paranoia is getting worse. He’s leaving and not coming back, not for a long time.
He won’t.
He can’t.
Let the wind blow away the taint Roger has brought to Hermit Bridge. Let it heal itself naturally. Let it be quiet with no interruptions. Let it go back to the way it was when he first found it.
Roger needs to forget about Hermit Bridge for the time being. He has a lot to do to keep him busy, so it shouldn’t be too hard.
One last drink from the stream, then it’s time to go.
All of this walking to and from Hermit Bridge has greatly increased the wear on Roger’s shoes. They are getting pretty rugged, even for a guy like Roger. It’s nearly to the point where Roger would be better off without them.
He needs new shoes. He needs boots. Not store new, just new to Roger.
The problem with needing boots is that Roger has no clue where to find them. He got lucky when he found this pair in the dumpster. They are two sizes too big, not that anyone could tell with the given condition they are in.
It’s like flaps of rubber, frayed shoestrings and chopped tongue held together by the hairs of Roger’s feet. He’s worn them long enough for something like fusing to have happened.
No socks.
No way.
Blisters are the closest thing to socks that Roger has ever had. He doesn’t even have those anymore.
Roger needs boots. The only place he’s seen any sort of boots is at the low end thrift store where he sometimes goes to get free stale, old bread.
He’ll go there. He’ll check for boots and get some bread.
Stealing from there should be much easier. There’s no cameras, so he’ll just try a pair on and walk out. It’s not like the eighty year old woman working the till is going to see him. And even if she did, what could she do? Push her Life-Alert button? Boomerang her dentures at him?
Boots are a necessity in order to carry out the plans. He needs to find new places to get food and it’s pretty likely that they are pretty far away.
Hiking boots. He’s going to need hiking boots, sturdy boots.
Roger has plans.
Chapter 53
Roger found the perfect pair of boots. They’re like some sort of weird hybrid combination of tennis shoes and hiking boots. Light, sturdy and only slightly used. And they fit.
Roger got two whole loaves of bread too. One of the loaves has garlic butter smeared through the middle of it.
Travelling rations.
It’s about time Roger got to moving along. He’s been in this area for too long now, long enough to get too comfortable and habitual in his ways. It’s time to start over.
Now, where to start. He’s been thinking quite a bit about some of the possibilities.
First off, Roger does not want to abandon the river, so his plans must include something near the riverbanks, something within half a days walking distance at most.
Secondly, in case of an emergency, Roger does not want to be too far from the spots he already has, or the spots he has left, anyway.
No thanks to Maynard.
Or cops.
Or shit-brain bums.
Or zoot-suit-pacifier pansies.
Lastly, he does not want to recognize or have anyone recognize him in this new place.
Those are the rules of Roger’s plans.
This leaves about only one good place left to try. The river where Roger has lived for a long while runs north and south. It doesn’t continue going north forever, though. It ends up curving straight east.
That’s where Roger is headed. East.
Roger’s never really been east.
But the river is there.
And he doesn’t know anyone from the eastern side of the city.
No one knows him, either.
That’s why this plan is going to work.
It will.
It has to.
Chapter 54
Roger reaches the bend of the river where it starts heading eastward at somewhere around noon. He left mid morning.
Today is Tuesday.
The only reason Roger knows this is because of jail.
Because that punk kid who got a year and a half of prison time wouldn’t shut up about when his court date was.
March 20th.
March 20th.
Friday, March 20.
That makes today Tuesday.
Tuesday the 24th.
Roger hasn’t known the exact date in quite a while. He doesn’t care and will forget again soon. Time is just another shitty-imaginary-try-to-control-the-uncontrollable-give-meaning-to-a-meaningless-life attempt at understanding the world. The universe, for that matter.
Clock by clock.
Work for eight hours a day, make nine dollars an hour, seventy bucks. Buy three meals, twenty bucks.
Seventy minus twenty.
Fifty bucks.
Buy beer and rent a porno because of the lonely sadness, twenty more.
Thirty bucks.
That’s over half of a day’s pay gone already.
Rent.
Utilities.
Car payment.
Gas.
Set backs.
Go aheads.
Set backs.
Go aheads.
A game. A god damn game. Everyone loses in the end.
Past the bend of the river Roger sees a few college kids canoeing down the river. No shirts, but cowboy hats. Three guys, and the two girls are in skimpy swimsuits.
This isn’t a good sign. A bad omen.
Go to college.
Set back.
Set back.
Set back.
Learn about useless shit like graphic design, apparel merchandising, politics, religion, whatever.
Learn how to become a better loser.
Christ.
Just let go.
Chapter 55
Roger gets to the heart of the eastern side sometime in the early afternoon. There’s a huge park in the middle of where Roger is. Part of the river runs through the northern side of the park.
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