CHAPTER EIGHT
I didn’t see the landlord or anybody else the rest of the entire night. On the bright side, I got the job at the appliance store the next day. On the bad side, all efforts in providing proof for my side of the story failed and I couldn’t find anything on Arnold. The next day, I went go to the library and used the resources and local pedigrees to find anything with the name Arnold Darson. An apartment building’s schematic had the name Arnold D. on it, but that was the closest I got to discovering him. It wasn’t like Arnold was timid or unheard of. The guy did just about everything in school, which supported my impeccable scenario in which Arnold was doing something for a living and living in a house. There was such an infinitely small chance that Arnold was a bum that I treated it as nonexistent. He was good at so many things that only the worst of luck could’ve kept him from having a self-supportive life. Therefore, he had to have had some records of where he lived or who his relatives were. Arnold was a sports star, a smart person, and attended a middle school in which any of the enrolled students had a spot on the school website. A light bulb came on in my head as that thought process flowed through my brain. I went to one of the computers and went to the Lumpert Middle School website. Once I got to the homepage, I typed my graduating class in search box.
The page read.
Here is the class picture that includes all 313 graduates.
I scrolled down to the third row of kids.
Jeremy Cucci
Bartholomew Darrelson
Arnold Darson
Charles DeLaBrooke
Maria Deltoro
I clicked on the link that came with Arnold’s name and found a page about him.
Arnold was born at the South Riverside Hospital…
“Blah, blah, blah,” I thought. These were my thoughts until I scrolled down to a section labeled, “After School”.
It read:
Know about Arnold Darson’s life after his graduation from Lumpert? Log in or sign up now and post legitimate information.
At that point, it seemed to me that Arnold was impossible to find.
After leaving the neighborhood’s library, I made my way home to get ready for my first day at the appliance store.
Waking up wasn’t easy that morning, but I managed to prevail against the bed that felt like it had human magnet inside. To my surprise, the lawn chair felt nicer than the day before, when it felt like it was merely seconds away from breaking. A little walk at 6:30 in the morning woke me up to a higher degree as a constant gale smacked my skin with a chilled temperature. When I got to the plaza, the parking lot was nearly empty. Even the traffic was fairly low at that time in the morning. I looked up at the sign that read “House Necessities”.
Keys belonging to the building were given to me when I got the job the day before. When I got inside, I saw that none of the electronics were on. I heard two people talking in the back, but their conversation ended when the main doors closed behind me. From the back, I heard someone’s voice call out to me.
“Hello? Anybody there,” the voice called.
“It’s Travis.”
In a few seconds, I saw the manager round one of the corners and pace toward me.
The front door of the establishment led to an electronic section in the front that spanned across the small store’s width. Televisions were in the first two rows. Radios were placed throughout the next two rows. Beyond that was the open furniture section that had sinks, toilets, couches, ottomans, chairs, tables, and sofas. The rows in the front went from left-to-right, but three front-to-back aisles allowed people to quickly get in and out of the building. There were three checkout aisles on the left side of the store from the vantage point of the entrance.
“Who were you talking to?” I asked the manager.
“Nobody.”
“So, you were talking to yourself?”
“No! I wasn’t even talking.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Listen,” he ordered, “go open all of the reclining chairs, and dust the furniture.”
“Alright.”
I went in the back and looked to see what the manger was doing. He was on his phone with somebody. I hastily went to the far back corner of the store. No one was around, but there was a door to which I had the key that went from the store to a hallway. I opened it up and saw the short hallway with blue carpeting tinged brown with filth. There were rips on the carpet and the walls were somewhat yellow. The hallway led to the back exit. Not one person was in the short hallway. In the hallway were the bathrooms, a tall water fountain, a short water fountain, and a solid black door with a 9-digit number pad on the handle. Whoever he was talking to must’ve went outside.
After I finished the tasks, all of the employees were ready for the day of work to begin and it was ten minutes before the store opened.
The day dragged by sluggishly and business was minimal. By the end of the day, I asked everyone if they knew about Arnold. None of them did.
To me, it felt as if Arnold was absent from the world and not one person cared. I walked home, attempting to wrap my mind around how Arnold’s disappearance was possible. If only I could’ve found out what happened to the guy. Once I got back to the apartment, I decided to forget about him all together.
I couldn’t sit on the balcony, for it began to rain. Lightning lit up the city and its high rising buildings. The tallest of the behemoths could not be seen in their full size during the storm. This was because the clouds hung lower than the peaks of the skyscrapers. I took the wet and slippery lawn chair inside to accompany my new couch and the new table with a lamp on it. I paid for the three pieces of furniture with Clement’s money.
I sat on the two-people couch and thought about why I bought it. I should’ve just bought a chair, especially since there weren’t going to be any visitors. I got angry with myself for wasting so much money. I was most furious at the fact that I knew no one was going to occupy the other seat. Then, my conscience reasoned that I could sleep on it. I had no idea why I thought that because I had already promised myself that my first paycheck would go toward a bed. That future bed was destined to go in my small room that overlooked the city to the south. The balcony spanned the whole front side of my apartment, and there was a sliding window door between my bedroom and it. After waking up on my future bed, I planned to get a minute or two of fresh air to wake me up every single day. Who would I be on the balcony with? Who would be with on the couch? That couch had to have some kind of purpose. I would shrug and go to work. All of these improbable possibilities came into my mind. Seriously, I thought, who does this couch serve? The answer was me. There might not be an Arnold, I argued from my cerebral cortex. But there could be other friends in the future. Julio, the landlord, or someone I don’t know yet. The point was that the couch had a purpose other than Arnold. Yet and still, I knew for a fact that he was the reason I bought the couch. He needed a place to sit. I wasn’t going to have him sit on the ground. How disrespectful that would be. Arnold was a good friend, and I would make sure a spot was reserved for him. Tears swelled up in my eyes, but the coarseness of my eyelids coerced the water into its numerous creases. I had the couch, nonetheless, and I wasn’t about to take it back. So, I decided to call it a night and just forget about the couch all together. I would’ve ventured onto the balcony, but the drizzle was quite dross compared to the storm that was occurring shortly before my tiredness arose. I usually enjoy light rain, but I was in the mood for complete silence.
Ten minutes might’ve passed from the time I decided to sleep and when I restarted my thinking. There shouldn’t have been a reason for Arnold to just forget about me. Then I figured Arnold never liked me. What if he was stuck in a position where he felt obligated to be my friend for the duration of grammar school? The problem with that hypothesis was that Arnold would’ve moved long before 8th grade. Not to mention that people who didn’t like me just went ahead and conveyed that to me. None of my ideas fit the scenario I was in. Maybe my improbable exp
lanations should’ve been more optimistic, I thought. It’s not like life is a colossal compilation of misfortune, I continued. Just as I was about to calculate and validate an explanation that wasn’t so cynical, the doorbell rang.
I paused and was as still as the couch I was laying on. It was late in the evening and rainy, so the odds of my doorbell being rung were almost zero. All I heard was the tapping of the light drops onto the balcony. I waited for at least half a minute and then continued my contemplation. Another ring sounded across my empty apartment. The echo of the ring made it hollower each time. Startling, it wasn’t; surprising, it was. At 10 o’clock, I was more suspicious than delighted. I clicked on the intercom that suspended above the living room light switch next to my apartment door and asked, “Who is it?”
Another button had to be pressed to activate the incoming audio from outside, so a person inside could hear the person outside of the apartment building. When I pressed it, gurgling noises bellowed through the living room. This was due to the rainwater seeping into the microphone. The lamp at my table started to flicker and fade away, dimming the room. Finally, I let the drenched visitor into the building. The expense was at an all-time high, and I was almost too scared to open my door to check who came to my apartment. If the person rang the bell twice, it must not have been a mistake. I made a prediction that whoever the person was, I knew him or her. My courage and rationale built up, causing me to finally open my door to get the moment finished. I looked down the front staircase to see who was climbing up the stairs. Thumping footsteps made for an event with a much higher degree of suspense. I could hear the squeaks with every step the person had from rain sticking to their pants. Time felt like it slowed down, something it wouldn’t do if your life depended on it. A wait that seemed like eternity finally ended. With the prelude’s end came a vital answer. Emerging from the fourth story staircase in all black was Benjamin Hollard. He did not run up the steps. Instead, he stomped his foot firmly on each step as he slowly ascended to me. My eyes widened and my mouth was gaping. I tasted my tongue, which was dry due to my parched salivary glands. I swallowed hard and began to speak.
“What are you doing here? Huh? I’m calling the police on you, the real police, unlike the crooked scum like you that ruins people’s lives. Get out of here, now!”
“Hold on, I have to tell you something,” he calmly uttered, “It’s important.”
I walked toward my phone, but that didn’t cause his speech to be relinquished.
I dialed 9-1-1 just as he told me, “It’s about Arnold.”
“What, you’re full of crap! I can’t believe an irate, vexatious waste of time like you would dare to confront the man he once trifled with to the point of false conviction and- and- try to start a conversation. I told you to leave! I hate you. Go back…to drunkard town. You make me sick.”
“I’m not trying to start a conversation.”
“Get lost,” I said as I slammed the door so hard, the lamp shook and went out.
“You’re lonesome and insolent,” he smirked, “it’s not like you have anything to do.”
I went to the lawn chair to have a breather, but to my surprise, my weight crushed the chair into a multitude of pieces. A few of the pieces scattered and toppled off the balcony. Those pieces then had a gushy impact into the muddy terrain below. I was left on my back with numerous minor scrapes and a sharp steel piece embedded into my right thigh. I looked to see how bad the injury was. I didn’t feel too much pain, but I did feel a sense of something inside of my leg. It felt as if a void of matter was placed into my pelvis. Before I could get up from the slippery balcony, Hollard slammed on the door.
“Let me in!”
“No, I can’t even get to the door.”
“I see,” he said with a high tone of hubris, “Well, then why do you want to know about Arnold?”
I was so shocked that he knew about my recent obsession with Arnold. The Clements incident as well as the sergeant incident must’ve all tied in with that very moment. Nothing up until that point was coincidence. Nothing was a secret, and I was about to get the answer of my life. I yearned for the explanation to Arnold’s disappearance, even though it was about to be coming from the mouth of Hollard. Everything was about to piece together, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to. Hollard wouldn’t be one to tell me that my best friend in history is living safely in some small town far away. This was probably going to be bad news, and I was subconsciously scheming to be obdurate about the explanation I would be given, no matter how plausible. I gulped as I asked some vital questions.
“How do you know about that?”
“You’d mention him all the time,” he patronized.
“Please,” I defended, “I probably mentioned him a couple times in the past ten years.”
“Maybe I pay attention to you after all.”
“No,” I interjected, “you hear what you can use.”
“Whatever you say man, you’re the one looking for him, not me.”
“Why did you come here?”
We were speaking to each other through the closed door that led into my apartment. I was yelling from my balcony, motionless. I was laying atop the metal rods that made up the chair that once rested where I was at. I couldn’t figure out why he came all the way to my apartment. I knew the reason, but there could’ve been a letter. This form of telling me the message was uncalled for. I heard heavy breathing on the other side of the door. It sounded similar to a chuckle, but it had a sinister feeling to it.
“Kid,” he said, still snickering, “if you really want to know. I hate you. I hate you because you’re pathetic, stupid, and”-
“Shut up!” I screamed, “Condescending and arrogant, that’s what you are.”
There was a brief pause in dialogue.
“No,” he argued, “you shut up! You want to find out where he is and you know it.”
“Why does that matter to you?”
“I guess I’m a heartless man,” he giggled from beyond the door.
“I have a different idea,” I grunted as I finally began to conform to a bipedal position, “you’ve got nothing else to do because you have no other purpose.”
“Heh,” he calmly acknowledged, “you didn’t even have a friend back in Pine Grove! You little jerk, telling me I have no life.”
I brushed my body clear of the fine pieces of debris. Some pieces I had to pick from my clothes.
Hollard scoffed, “You had no friends. Your job was tenuous, and so were your co-workers. That’s why you left. If you can’t make it in a small town, I’m stunned that you face the daunting city with such courage. You’ll fail here too.”
I could’ve only taken so much of his hurtful talking. The main reason I lashed back was so I wouldn’t have to find out what happened to Arnold. This was my chance to take it as “He’s gone forever, somewhere far away, and I must continue”. I went for the telephone inside my apartment and pressed the “Talk” button. The dial tone initiated just before Hollard’s penetrating scream.
“Hey,” he bellowed, “what are you doing? Hey!”
The police dispatcher responded, “Station 6, what’s your emergency?”
“Come to 4219 North Chesterton Street. There’s a”-
Hollard was always a guy I associated with schemes and cons. He knew what you wanted, but you couldn’t put your finger on what his goal was. It’s when he destroyed you that you discovered that his ultimate purpose the entire time was to terminate you. I was in the middle of my situational yelp when Hollard found out what I wanted. I was attempting to beat around the bush for good. I learned my lesson about keeping things in the past, but it was too late. Hollard knew what I wanted, and he was ready to obliterate.
“He died.”
Hollard’s voice rang throughout the apartment with immense intensity simply because I knew he was telling the truth. I was not crying, for I wasn’t in a state of complete devastation. I was not yet convinced of his statement. Unfortunately, Hollard t
hought ahead and probably knew I’d controvert his sentence unless shown the facts. As if my world was falling apart, I heard a noise from underneath the door. Crunching and scrunching crackled into my ears, ripping them apart, for I knew it was the sound of proof I was hearing. The sound echoed as if I was in a spherical cave. Before long, a newspaper appeared from the door slip. I swiftly crawled to the paper dated from almost 10 years prior to that night and I looked at the headlines which read:
PORT SALMON MOURNS FOR THE MOST RECENT FOOTRACE WINNER
The article read:
“The Port Salmon footrace has had many exponentially athletic individuals compete in it. Many people from town remember when a newlywed couple intentionally tied for first place, or when Dave Hartsman set the province’s stable record of all-time. At exactly 2 hours and 39 minutes and 57 seconds, the record stood. Until recently…”
Police sirens and screeching tires woke up the neighborhood. Nagging old men and curious neighbors muttered comments about the crimes and murders in the area as the sound grew louder and louder. I was going to continue my reading of the article concerning the man who won the race, the man who was once my friend, the man who had been dead for almost a third of my life. The only question, which I knew was one that would be without answer, was Arnold’s thoughts. Who was he thinking about when he died? I wonder if I crossed his mind at least once or twice during those post-school years. Maybe he thought of the basketball game during the race. I wasn’t about to dwindle on the subject like I had been doing for all the previous years, but I couldn’t have anyway, for Hollard summarized the article since he knew the situation was going to explode due to all of the tension.
“The police, eh?” Hollard squeaked. “Yeah, after 2 hours, 38 minutes, and…”
He loudly swished saliva through his mouth as he tried to remember the exact details.
“…33 seconds of endurance, Arnold crossed the finish line at Blake Boulevard and Williams Boulevard and he collapsed. He told people that his body was lagging behind and that his health was still draining after a few minutes. Water and supplements were given to him as well as an oxygen tank, but he told everybody that his body felt as if it was made of a health juice, and that it was pouring out. Arnold passed on his way to Southwest Hospital. Everyone knew about it the whole time. Betty knew, but she also knew that you were nothing without him. So, to keep you from cracking up, she went and begged every person aware of you and the incident not to say a single word. You might think that rigging your life to such a degree would be difficult, but it actually wasn’t. In only twenty minutes, she went through eight people and that’s all we needed. She’s kept you content, and she’s kept you happy. But now, I’ve come to tell you that she’s not trustworthy, your friend is dead, and I’m kind of happy you get to suffer now. Everyone else has to deal with these kinds of things, and it’s about time reality caught up to your weak spirit.”
“I’m going to kill you!”
I ran to the door and opened it to find Hollard fleeing at a running speed. Before he could gain much ground, I grabbed the back of neck. He turned around to rip my hand from his neck. Since his two hands were occupied with my left hand, I didn’t hesitate to punch him in the face with my right fist. That was the moment where chaos made life feel as if it was surreal, euphoric, and imaginative on so many levels. I didn’t feel like anything was out of the ordinary, as if I was watching a movie. The only flaw to that simile was that I thought through and pictured what I would do to Hollard a mere half-second just before it would really transpire. While I was punching him in the face, which was only once at the moment, people began to come out of their apartments and into the hallway to see what was going on.
“A cruel man like you wastes their time ruining someone else’s life;” I screamed.
“You are the one with no life,” I continued.
A man from across the hallway started to open his door. Before he could break up the fight, which I was then losing, I huddled in defense as Hollard was punching me in the stomach. He then grabbed for some handcuffs in his back pocket. Just as the neighbor ran around the side of Hollard to push us away from each other, I dodged the push from the neighbor and tackled Hollard. We then flew halfway to the next floor without touching a single stair on the journey with the exception of my left ankle clipping one of the stairs, which probably broke it. There was a platform which we were on even though it wasn’t one of the stories. With Hollard as my cushion, I didn’t feel much impact pain although I felt my internal organs swish around as if my body fell apart on the inside. As I got off of his medium-sized body, he was groaning and aching. He still had enough strength to get up as quick as me even though he landed on his right arm, which was probably broken in several spots. It was a smart idea for him to turn like that, so his spine wouldn’t have been the point of impact. He might’ve saved himself from being paralyzed. Finally, just as I was about to rest, the police barged into the building and I was taken into custody for assaulting a police officer. I was en route to Station 6, the very place that failed me twice when I needed their help.
That was the last time I saw the miserable guy. I couldn’t believe anything without meaning could exist in the form of a person. Maybe after that night, he decided that love was the way to go. For all I knew, he could’ve had a change of mentality and actually loved people other than himself. I would never know how Hollard turned out, but I didn’t want to find out either. I never wanted to see him again. Not after he sent me the news of my life. He revealed the façade that was my life in Pine Grove after my parent’s deaths. I was a punk and I complained to everyone I knew. Pine Grove was not the right place to do such a thing since everyone there was drunk and focused on their own lives even if it involved nothing but alcohol. I was the wrong person to live in such a town that was as wrong as me. The only explanation for my debacle was that the Pine Grove segment of my life was rigged. It didn’t sustain anything, for I was still in jail in Port Salmon, where I wanted to have a new life. Instead, my old life morphed into my new life at Port Salmon to finish what it started and I paid for it. I was the only one to blame for all of the years wasted. Regardless of Clements’ decision to rig the world around me, I could’ve dropped the past and continued on like most normal people do when tragedy befalls them. I made the mistake to chase for something that I was never going to find due to Clements’ illusion.
Aside from my flaws, Hollard thought he could’ve just stepped on me any time he wanted to. Even though I didn’t want anything to do with him from that point on, I was glad that I got to let the tension release. I wasn’t right for doing so, but Hollard deserved that since the moment he met me. Trying to hide from him in Pine Grove wasn’t worth all of the trouble and pain. Lashing out was simply letting go all of the wasted time. The only positive thing I saw from the situation while I was in jail was that I didn’t have to plan a visit to my friend’s house in the future. Other than that, I thought, everything was permanently ruined as far as Port Salmon. It was so unsettling when I finally found about what happened to Arnold. But I couldn’t have moved on from there. There was someone worse in my eyes than Hollard at that point. That person was someone who would cover up the truth from me and still expect a reputation of trustworthiness.
In jail, I was reminded of the town I escaped from a couple days before. My life seemed to chase me down, attack me, and put me back into the misery that was its past. Once again, I had to restart my life from another place. Without any interference from the atrocious people of Pine Grove, I thought that my new life would be better. But my plans to see my “betrayer” once out of jail would prove to be a moment in my life even more pivotal than the disclosure of Arnold’s unfortunate death. I planned to find out how I wasn’t able find out about such an important event like Arnold’s death.
Making Life Worth While Page 10