His to-do list was quite daunting, but with his excellent time management skills, Braxton was confident that he could handle his full day that lay ahead.
He first had to catch up on his morning cartoons. He had missed the previous two weeks due to the time he spent building and working his lemonade stand - which was his favorite way to spend time.
After hours on end of cartoon-watching, Braxton assumed his self proclaimed position as the Elevator Man for the apartment building. Occasionally, depending on which neighbor was riding the elevator, Braxton would continuously press the buttons to the wrong floor. Or better yet, he would sometimes run his hands over the buttons for all thirteen floors, which obviously irritated the other apartment dwellers.
But they always put up with Braxton's shenanigans as they felt sorry for the poor little fellow. You see, this is Braxton Jr. we're talking about. Braxton Sr., a widowed father, rarely spent anytime in the Wilshire building, as he was always away on "business".
Eleven-year-old Braxton Jr. was left free to roam the building and streets of the deceptively harsh surrounding neighborhood. But Braxton had street smarts. He knew that the folks at Jorri Rae's would take care of him and that there was something odd about the antique store across the street.
Anyhow, after Braxton's elevator adventures, he had pencilled in time to set up his lemonade stand for a while. Despite the either overly watery or overly lemony concoctions of "lemonade" Braxton created, the neighborhood's residents still loved Braxton's lemonade stand. There was just something so lovable about Braxton's quirky demeanor as he enthusiastically marketed his lemonade in his father's business suits that swallowed his skinny little body.
Braxton took to wearing his dad's suits as he aspires to be a business man one day, too. He hopes to work for Country Time lemonade.
There was a little boy in the lobby, sitting at the front desk. He looked about eleven or twelve and he frowned at me as I passed by.
ReplyDelete"You're new, ain't you?" he called after me.
"Yeah."
"I'm gonna need your name. It's my job to keep track of everyone around here."
I smiled at him. "Oh, really."
"Yup." He pulled on the lapels of the over-sized suit he wore. "The name's Chambers. Braxton Chambers Jr."
"Sam Marconi."
He stuck his hand in mine and pumped it up and down.
"Mind if I call you Sammy Macaroni? It sounds nicer."
I shrugged. "Sure."
"That's settled then." Braxton took the pencil from behind his ear and began writing on a piece of paper: the name "Sammy Macaroni" and a little squiggle beside it which was, presumably, a noodle.
"It's a pleasure doing business with you," he said with a wink and a nod.
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ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteDing.
ReplyDeleteThe elevator. Back to reality. I stepped on, dazed.
There was that kid. Chambers? I couldn't remember. I acknowledged him with a grunt as he beamed up at me. He asked what floor. The bottom one. He hit 3.
I got off at three and took the stairs.
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ReplyDeleteLouie took a deep breath and looked around his room. The floor was barely visible, covered with boxes that were stacked to the ceiling. Pulling off his pinstriped pajamas in exchange for his bowling alley uniform, he made his way from his twin bed to the apartment door. He slid the small, silver key into the front pocket of his button-up shirt, along with 5 one dollar bills, topped with a winter coat.
ReplyDeletePreferring the stairs to the elevator, Louie loped out into the harsh weather. Watching each and every step he took, he became engrossed in the angles the broken pavement made on the dirty streets outside his apartment building. Lost in thoughts of the perfect, mathematical patterns, he didn't hear the small plink of that very important, very small key falling out of his pocket as he passed the lonely, dripping wet lemonade cart. Louie's mind is often preoccupied with such thoughts.
On any other day, Louie would have spent his money on a cup of lemonade, but the weather proved otherwise. He wondered fleetingly why the boy wasn't there, and was a bit discouraged. Louie always had a joke up his sleeve, and no one else around here seemed to have a sense of humor. But, as usual, his mind wandered back to the distractions of his surroundings and the fear of being late for work.
I had lunch with Preston today. Well, I was eating. He wanted to talk. But my health matters more to me than words, so I focused on my food rather than him. His voice, a muffled buzzing against my eardrums, was just another reason to ignore him. We finished quickly and I said "thank you" and left. No, wait. I said "Thank you, Preston" and left. He doesn’t like it when I call him Preston. He prefers I use his title.
ReplyDeleteHe apologized as I left.
It was cold and cloudy, but I decided I’d walk home this time. The bus driver wouldn’t miss me now, or ever. He’ll drive his habitual route, permanently ignorant. His job description is “move the masses but stop for no one.” And no one asks if that’s wrong. It just works, so they just work. They’re drones in this big beehive, and one day someone’s going to ask to see the honey and there won’t be any. They can’t produce.
They can only reproduce.
Those busy cars raced by me all the way. They were going places, but so was I. What made me different was that, while all they could see were the other cars, I had time to consider the road they were on.
It was in rough shape.
On the other hand, my sidewalk was covered in mud. But my shoes were dirty from before, and I didn’t have to worry about soiling my socks, because I wasn’t wearing any. So I trudged onward, soon letting my mind fall on other things. Something occurred to me.
I can’t remember what Preston said.
The crown of Wilshire Tower soon came into view over the rooftops of less important structures. That sight of it, the pinnacle of this localized world, the high point sitting over this godforsaken kingdom, reinvigorated my trek. I hurried my stride.
Suddenly the world started spinning.
Losing sight of the building, I panicked. As sleet began raining down on my body, nausea rose in my stomach. I went down on my knees. It didn’t help, and I was sick right there. No one saw it happen. The car windows were rolling up and not coming back down. The beggars were scurrying into their hovels, cursing their hardships. Even that young boy on the corner, who tries every day to seem like a man, was abandoning his darling lemonade stand to get out of this wicked weather. I retched again and the wildest thought came to me.
I don’t have much time left. That’s what Dr. Preston said.
AN EXCERPT FROM, "The Badger and the Dragon, or Meeting the Neighbors"
ReplyDelete...Morning Jack, the doorman says as I leave the building. Did I tell him my name?
As I walk down Mercy Road through the cold and the sleet, I try to fold up in on myself. Partly this is to protect my laptop. Partly this is in the hope that no one will look at me. You might be surprised how many people would live in a place like this, and they all seem to want to talk to me.
Even before I entered the apartment building for the first time I was accosted by a man peddling coffee. Once inside, I was stopped by a young boy in a business suit much too big for him. He sized me up, looked me in the eye, and then asked me, Sir would you please sign this here? Merely a formality, he assured me, all Wilshire Tower residents must sign. The paper he showed me was purposefully decorated with a merry collection of crayon squiggles. Sign here, he said, indicating a neon green loop-de-loop. That was when the doorman rescued me.
Today I wasn't interested in meeting more neighbors. However, my luck continued unabated. Taking a glance up from my cold feet I saw that there was a badger in the road...
Welcome again to the Wilshire PD website. If you couldnt tell by my first post, this website will keep you up to date on local dangers in the town, keep you updated on whats goin on with me, and hopefully make your day a little safer.
ReplyDeleteMy goal to clean up this somewhat dump of a town took a small step today when I was able to apprehend some yahoo selling lemonade on the corner next to the road by the theatre. I apologize for my lack of knowledge of these roads, I swear every time i walk into work in the morning chief tells me about a new road thats popped up. So, back to mr. lemonade. I would suggest that when walking on foot around the Southeast side of town, to avoid buying anything from any street vendors due to the fact that after running some extensive chemical tests on the lemonade found that it had a minor hint of arsenic. So, if you havnt picked up on it yet, don't trust street lemonade anywhere in this town.
So what have we learned today?
* Dont trust lemonade
* Do not buy from street vendors
* You have the best Lieutenant in the city...
* Just kidding
have a safe day guys.
Lt. Rocco Statone
"To Protect and Serve"
281-330-8004
The Third Time
ReplyDeleteI am sitting on the sofa that is covered in fake Indian cashmere. I peer out the window behind me. Droplets of rain slowly slide down the glass in front of my face. They look like tears. I look at my arm, and the rain reflects onto it. My arm is crying. So are my clothes. My face.
Outside, I see a boy standing behind a lemonade stand. The rain sticks hair to his white forehead and makes his already large suit droop even more over his gawky body. Why sell lemonade in the rain? I want to tell him to come inside.
"Kaiya, would you like some breakfast, dear?"
That is Marge. She is one of the kooks I live with. She is tall and thin with grey, frizzy hair. She clearly doesn't recall seeing me sitting in front of her but 20 minutes ago slurping the milk from my cereal bowl. I don't respond.
"Oh, Amber, she still won't talk to me," I hear her "discreetly" whisper to my second guardian. Amber is plump, but rosy. She has straight, grey hair and really yellow feet. "Do you think she speaks English at all?" asks Marge.
"Yes. The agency wouldn't lie. She's just not comfortable yet. It's only been a week. Give her time," says Amber. I guess you could say she's the smart one. "Alright, Kaiya, we're going to work. We'll be back at seven. Be good, darling, and don't you think of leaving the apartment." She kisses me on the forehead and leaves with Marge.
Finally.
As the coast clears, I put on my rain coat and some of Marge's old galoshes. I carefully plop down the apartment's stairs. This is my third time outside. I've counted.
As I head out towards the grey street, I see the lemonade boy. His bright yellow stand illuminates the corner he stands on. He has a litle umbrella over the little, plastic cups of lemonade. I walk towards his stand.
"How much?" I ask.
"Ten cents," he replies. I don't have any money.
"Okay, I'll be right back," I lie.
I turn around quickly and run back to apartment 208. I enter my new home once again. Scared. Who knew the lemonade boy would be so beautiful?
Before she made it out the door, however, she noticed a young boy wearing a rather large businessman's suit intently writing. She planned on sneaking past him, but he looked up from his clipboard as she eased open the front door.
ReplyDelete"Can I help you Ms...?"
Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Alex....but everyone calls me Captain."
She inwardly scolded herself for letting that one slip. She was supposed to be starting a new life here, not trying to relive her old one.
"Alright, Captain." He smiled exposing a missing tooth. "Where are you going?"
"...I was going to get something to eat."
"You should go to Jorri Rae's. Just go left until you reach the end of the street, then take another left and it's on your right. They have really good waffles." He smiled again then went back to scribbling on his clipboard.
Murray sat on his torn arm chair, looking out of the sole window of his apartment. He could tell that today would be a bad one; the silence was beginning to make him anxious already. The gray icy mixture that covered Mercy Road and its surrounding area made everything look more depressing than usual.
ReplyDeletePulling a gray sweatshirt over his head, Murray stepped into the hallway and almost tripped over a little kid who was being swallowed up by an over-sized suit.
He is always alone. Dangerous in this place..
Murray took the stairs. He figured if he exercised he could smoke more. Murray stepped outside and lit a cigarette to combat the cold air.
A girl walking ahead of him caught his eye. She was dirty, but sort of pretty. He decided to follow her. As she slithered down the sidewalk, Murray became captivated by her dark hair and bulky jacket.
He smelled a sharp odor. Alcohol.
Murray turned into the liquor store and found a small bottle of SeaGram Gin. He fumbled for the four crumpled dollar bills that were hiding deep in his pocket.
...I walk down the now muddy alleyway, not about to make the mistake of walking by the soup kitchen again. Even though the preacher wouldn't be out on the corner in this weather, there is no reason to risk it. I passed the remnants of little Braxton's lemonade stand; a few styrofoam cups littered the ground nearby. Normally I would buy a glass of his overpriced lemonade, but of course, the kid was nowhere to be found in this whether...
ReplyDeleteEvery time it started to rain, Altan would go back to Wilshire Tower and drag his cart up five flights of stairs to his apartment (little Braxton, standing guard in front of the elevator, informed Altan that the elevator was broken). After the third time he'd made this trek, Altan's knees were began to throb and his back started to ache.
ReplyDeleteA few floors down, that damn little kid (Brayton? Satan? She never listened when he told her) stood by the elevator doors. He always asked her questions about her life; she was always silent. She rushed past this doorway, hoping he wouldn't catch a glimpse of her scurrying past, and headed for the street to poach her daily pack of gum.
ReplyDeleteA Visit From...
ReplyDeleteJack woke up--or at least, he thought he woke up. He could never tell whether he was waking up or just regaining consciousness after one of Marv's episodes. He was in his bed. That was a good sign. No blood on his hands. That's a relief. To Jack's intense discomfort he realized he was lying in a pool of his own sweat. This, however, was nothing for him to panic about; it was simply a side effect of his medication. Other side effects included, nausea, vomiting, drowsiness, body aches, seizures, and suicidal tendencies. But no schizophrenia. At least there's that. The thought of taking another one of those Pills made his stomach turn--or maybe those were the Pills themselves. He took the cylindrical orange bottle out of his pocket and set it down on the Table.
"Perhaps I should try to get out..." He thought.
To his dismay, when the elevator arrived on Jack's floor, it was occupied by a child. Jack enjoyed his solitary elevator rides. Being confined to the 6x8 steel box as it lurched up and down the floors of Wilshire Tower made him feel somehow calm. This time when the doors slid open, there was a child starring up at him. His eyes were blank and Jack found them very unsettling. He stepped into the elevator and tried to avoid the child's gaze at all costs. He wasn't sure why he was so disturbed by the child. Perhaps it was because he was jealous. The child was so innocent, so fresh and carefree. He saw the world with untainted eyes. Jack wanted that innocence. He wanted those eyes. Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain in his leg. The child had kicked him! He looked down with disbelief.
"You're a bad man!" Braxton Chambers said.
Just then the elevator lurched to a stop on the ground floor and the doors opened up. Before Jack could reprimand him, Braxton bolted into the lobby and out the front door. At first Jack was in shock, but after a while his mind began to grasp what had just happened. Maybe the boy saw his true form, saw his essence, saw what he had done. After all, he was a bad man. He had done terrible things. But how could the child possibly know about that? Either way, Jack was spooked, and this coupled with the nasty sleet he could see pouring down outside the front doors, made Jack decide that his time would be better spent in his empty apartment with a glass of scotch.
He poured his glass of scotch, sat down in the only chair he had in his modest apartment--and just at that moment everything went dark. He flipped the light switch near his door to make sure the darkness wasn't just in his own mind. Sure enough he wasn't crazy, well at least in this very small aspect of life. He fumbled around in his jacket pocket for the gold embroidered zippo that he kept there and used it to light the candles he kept on the Table next to his pictures. As the apartment was lit up by the soft orange glow of the candles, Jack turned around to face a reminder that he was, in fact, very crazy. There, standing in the corner of his apartment was a tall dark-furred rabbit, about the size of a man. His face was covered in a dark shadow. It always was.
"Hiya, Jacky."
"Hello, Marv."