Blue Graffiti by Calahan Skogman

Author:Calahan Skogman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Unnamed Press

36

Outside of Tanglewood, Mr. and Mrs. Simmons, the town jewelers, walk hand and hand toward the entrance. In their sixties and wealthy enough, I can only assume they’ve frequented this place as much as anyone else in town. As I stand there leaning on the back of my car, Mrs. Simmons sees me, stops and lets out a warm, “Heyya, Cash! How are you honey?”

“Good Mrs. Simmons, yeah. You both well?”

“Nothing to complain about!”

“Trying to hang onto summer!” Mr. Simmons chuckles.

“Yeah, aren’t we all?”

“You sure look cleaned up!”

She says cheekily, nearly bouncing in glee.

“Ah well. I don’t know.”

“Be good, son.” Mr. Simmons waves.

“So good to see you Cash.”

“You too. Enjoy.”

“Oh, we will honey.”

They walk in and I think how the entire essence of the American Midwest could be summed up in that simple exchange. Those two were still joyful in love after decades of life, striding toward the only supper club they’d ever need, and so full of kindness they could offer me some, free of charge. This place really is something to behold. I scruff my boots against the loose gravel, gray and ashy. The dust rises and floats off with the wind.

God, I could use a cigarette. I’m so nervous I’m actually shaking a bit. Fuck it. I pull one out, and I light it and breathe. That’s the stuff. I tip my head to the sun. The Simmons sure are the good ones, the real wholesome backbone of towns just like these. And you could say this about Johnston, most everyone had a kindness in passing. I heard that in some places folks would walk by one another on sidewalks and say nothing. Not even a nod. Well, that’s not Johnston.

I search up and over to the other side of the road. There’s a house straight ahead, with a rope swing out front, and a singed orange setting sun up above spraying light all throughout the sky as it departs. Complete serenity. No painter or artist could ever recreate it, though they’ll keep trying, I hope. The town is down a few miles to my right, and I’m fairly certain it’s from there she’ll emerge. God. What a beating heart in my chest. I itch the tip of my nose and purse my lips wet. Is there anything quite like this? I tap my foot on the gravel, a slow rhythmic sound. I take one more drag and then snuff the thing out. Right as the clock somewhere clicks seven, I see Rose pulling up in her jeep.

We’ve all been to the movies, and one thing they get right are those slow-motion moments when the heart stops. It’s really like that, ain’t it? Rose pulls that green Jeep into the lot and turns it off. She sees me through the glass of her window and smiles. The dust settles off the wheels and the muted music behind her doors fades away. She gets out and hits the lockhorn just once. Like a desert mirage, she starts walking

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