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Vernon's Walk (Part I)
By The Host
This is the ROUGH DRAFT of the first part of a longer short story that I'm currently working on. I hope to have a rough draft of the entire manuscript complete in the coming days; till then I'm posting this here for feedback. This section is self-contained and could stand on its own -- it is, after all, an event meant only to introduce the protagonist.
Please comment!
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Vernon’s Walk
A fly twitched on the table, rubbing its back leg impatiently against its abdomen, spreading its fragile wings and retracting them, then spreading again, before hobbling over to a coffee-stained newspaper. The creature darted across the obituaries, stopping now to rub its hairy hands together, then to run them across its face. Vernon K. Chowderpuss stared enchanted. He had never seen such a thing of beauty in all his life: the little bug’s eyes bulged like tiny red golf-balls from within its delicate head, peering at the world through fishbowl lenses. Vernon could halt its puny existence with a sudden flick of his thumb, and that fact somehow made it all the more precious. He pierced to the heart of the beast and saw a tender soul inside: but now the fly was spreading its wings, taking to flight, buzzing up in a widening spiral. Vernon’s eyes followed the bug, the people around him receding from view, and an insistent expectation suddenly announced its presence down there – a certain tightening, a buzzing warmth, that old familiar feeling. He smiled and closed his eyes, letting the fly drift away. Hold it – let the anticipation build – his nostrils detected dulcet mocha and a hint of cinnamon – hold it – hold it – and then . . . He sighed as he felt that old familiar feeling spreading outward in his pants. His mind drifted down on a pillow into cotton candy skies and a sublime, lazy joy filled his body, every orifice of it, every pore, right to the overflowing. He felt the familiar warmth trickling down his right leg and onto the floor, a reassuring drip-drip-drip. He had never ever been happier.
He heard a stoppered grunt and popped open one bright eye to see a pretty blonde girl slink up from the table next to his and, slapping her cell phone shut, gather her papers and move a few yards away. No matter. Nothing she could do could possibly bother him now. He shut both his eyes again and settled further back into his pillow, turning his face to be warmed by the sun. It filled him with magnificent satisfaction. Nothing anybody could do could possibly bother him now because he knew something they didn’t. Even that flustered young man with the thick sideburns and the red face, whose hot anger he felt approaching him now, could not possibly bother Vernon.
The young man was saying something but Vernon wasn’t paying any attention. He was happier lying there feeling the sun beat down on him its soft light. He sighed inwardly, profoundly. But then a muffled crashing sound somewhere in the middle distance reminded him of something from years ago, before the sun; something moving fast and tangled with fear.
His eyes shot open. Only a fallen tray and broken crockery. Somebody’s first day. It threw fuel on the young man’s fire.
‘Get out! I told you – Jesus Christ, this is the last time, I swear. This is it. I let you come in here every day, you scare away half my customers, you stink up the place—’
Vernon’s eyes glided slowly down from the ceiling and landed gently on the young man. There was always something bothering this poor fellow, but this time seemed to be worse than usual. The young man’s swamp water eyes flashed as he spoke.
‘I give money to you people whenever I see you on the street. I worked six friggin’ weeks for Students Against Poverty. I even voted Green. But there’s only so much I can take, only so much, I swear; even I have my limits, and you’re pushing them, buddy.’
He spluttered on like that for some time. It was all quite perplexing to Vernon: he failed to see anything that could have possibly bothered the young man so much. Tracework veins embossed his neck as he pointed to the little puddle at Vernon’s feet, and his eyes looked like they were about to burst. Still he went on.
‘You come in here and piss in my shop and that’s it, buddy, you’ve crossed the line, game over, outta here. I’ve got a responsibility to this café, to my customers, to my employers, not to mention Carrington College! I’ve done so much for you people and this is what I get. Jesus fuck, what do you want from me?’
Vernon knew that question well enough. He hardly had to think about the answer. It was hard-wired into his brain.
‘Small coffee, two sugars, no cream. Thank you.’
Someone sniggered. As a shadow fell over the young man’s face, some animal instinct bubbled into Vernon’s brain and he carefully got up out of his seat, turned, and slopped back through his puddle. The young man fumed behind him, though Vernon couldn’t imagine why. He hadn’t done anything that nature didn’t intend. He decided to forget about it: just come back and get another coffee tomorrow, or whenever he could gather together enough quarters. Emerging into the courtyard was like leaving a cave, and though the city was draped over with a thick quilt of clouds, Vernon K. Chowderpuss basked in the balmy glow of his own private sun.
8/18/2005 2:51:32 PM
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