February 12, 2024
Greetings from ever after,
Edgar shifted the bag of empties to his other shoulder and stepped further into the long grass, leaned down and lifted up what he thought was a bottle. He held it up, let the daylight wink on it, a little surprised.
It was a shoe, a woman’s shoe. He squinted in the light, holding it by the small heel. It couldn’t be a very comfortable thing. He glanced around in the grass, thinking the mate would be nearby but there was nothing but the usual litter. He couldn’t imagine it having any value, but he put it in the bag, felt it settle, clink against the cans and bottles there.
He walked along a path in the grass, a foot from the busy road, paused at the bus stop, marked mostly by cigarette butts and empty Taco Bell wrappers. He scanned the dirt around the bus sign, looking for coins, disappointed by a bottle cap and a rusty washer.
He turned on the side street, thinking he would cut through the neighborhood and get to where the highway exit ramp was. He knew better than to linger, knew how he must look to anyone looking out the windows. Ragged, dusty, hair a tangled knot, his hands and face grimy from sleeping outside. He would be happier away from these streets, closer to where the woods came to the train tracks. Where paths led away to the next place.
There was no sidewalk, so he walked along the curb. The frame houses, each competing to be more desperate than the next, shouldered one another and crowded the street. Token patches of khaki grass filled the narrow space between. Rusting cars rested on cracked driveways.
He’d walked a block then slowed, feeling as though someone was watching him, and glanced at the house there. The place had aged badly, the clapboards curling in rebellion, the paint a pale memory. An eavestrough rested in the bushes. The wooden steps had no risers, and he could see an old plastic chair under the porch. A young woman was sitting on the top step.
“Mornin’,” she said.
Edgar stopped and nodded slightly. “Mornin’.”
The woman was wearing a ball cap with the Tiger’s logo on it, pulled down against the sun. She wore tattered denim jeans and a hoodie sweatshirt with a large pink heart on it.
“Nice morning to be out,” he said. The woman nodded.
“Waitin’ on a fella,” she said, shrugging, as if she had to explain.
Edgar heard in her voice that she had already given up waiting. His mind worked this over a little, thinking there might be an odd job or something here.
“Fella doing some work, or what?” he asked.
“Nah, just a fella. Thought he’d been here by now.” Shrugged again.
Edgar sighed and made to move on. “Not good to be late. Been waiting long?”
“Like a month. Mebbe a little more.”
Edgar laughed before he could catch himself, and covered his mouth, and the woman laughed too.
“I know. It’s pathetic,” she said. “But I’d rather wait out here than go inside and face that.” She waved at the house.
“Kids?”
“No, just chores. It never ends, which is hilarious because the house is so small …” words failed her. She smiled, but Edgar saw it was as worn as the paint on the clapboard.
He looked at her now, the laugh between them giving him permission. Her eyes were in the shadow of the cap, but he could see they were a bright green. Her hair was pulled back behind her ears, chestnut draped over one shoulder. When she smiled her nose wriggled to one side, as if she were about to sneeze.
“I’m getting a coffee,” she said, “You want?”
Edgar was surprised but covered quickly, as if it were ordinary for people to offer him things this way, and said yes. She was already at the front door by then. She was gone just long enough for him to look at the pile of mail where she’d been sitting. Hearts on envelopes, a flyer with coupons, a Consumer’s bill.
She came back down the creaking steps with two mismatched mugs, held one out to him. He nodded his thanks.
“I’m Edgar,” he said.
“Cindy.” She sat down with a heavy sigh. “Honestly just going in that kitchen is enough to wreck me,” she said, shaking her head. She looked down at the tattered steps. “My deal with the family is I clean and cook, and that covers my rent. But there’s days I’d rather be homeless.” She sipped her coffee and looked out into the yard, and he saw she had tears in her eyes.
Edgar thought for a moment, and said: “ ‘…and there was a new voice, which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do, determined to save the only life that you could save.’”
She looked at him, her coffee forgotten. “What,.. did you say?”
“It’s a poem I saw once,” said Edgar.
She swallowed, he could hear it. “Who are you?”
“Told you,” he said, suddenly aware of the two of them. “Edgar.”
“That’s not what I meant,…” she said, still looking at him, an interest he hadn’t seen in a decade. “I mean, how is it you are here?”
Edgar felt himself blushing. “I’m just passing through, on my way.”
“Huh,” she said, still looking astonished. Then she nodded at the bag: “What you got there?”
He jiggled the canvas at his feet. “My things. Cans mostly. Some bottles.” He bent and reached in, rustled amidst the clinking edges and found what he wanted. He straightened and drew out the shoe he’d found, and held it out. “And this.”
He saw it change her. She dropped the cup and coffee splashed on the dried pine planks.
“Where did you get this? Is it from him…?”
“I found it on the side of the road. Just the one,” he said.
“That’s mine,” she said softly, “Or it was going to be mine.” She held her hand out and he placed it in her palm. She held it up to the light, as he had, and smiled at the sunlight glinting in the creases and edges. In the tiny reflection, there was something else, brighter.
She loosened the laces on her sneakers and heeled them off. She stretched the right foot out and placed the clear shoe on her foot and slipped into it.
“Perfect,” she said. “Damn, I wish I’d painted my toes.”
Edgar smiled.
“The fella, the one that was late. He was bringing you this?” he asked, jutting his chin at the crystal slipper.
She nodded, a crooked smile, and looked down at her foot. “What a dope. He wasn’t from here, must’ve got lost.”
Edgar said nothing but looked around as if the man might suddenly appear.
“Just as well,” she said, snorting a little. “I never, really never-ever, would have been happy in these shoes.” Although she was still admiring her right foot.
Edgar shifted, felt the broken soles in his own shoes, and took some comfort in the familiar shape. He looked at her for a moment and said: “You happy in those shoes?” he said, pointing at the sneakers, “happy with …this?” He glanced at the house.
She looked up at him, and shook her head, a sad smile. “No. But, it’s life. What’r you gonna do?”
He waited. “Well, one thing you won’t do is wait on a fella’s never coming.”
Now she laughed, her face changed, the light back in her eyes.
He took a deep breath, leaned over and picked up his canvas bag, the things inside muttering their tin comments. He looked at her, had no reason to say anything more, but did anyway.
“Got a small bag?” he asked. “Put your stuff in?”
She held his eyes for a moment, trying to see if she understood him. She spoke from some new place.
“Yes.”
Edgar thought for a moment. It wasn’t a hard choice for him, would be for her. But her choice.
“It’s not my road, but it’s wide enough for two, if you want to go,” he said.
She did want to.
And the Fairy in the glint of light let out her breath and smiled and went on to the next place.
Hope this finds you charmed,
David
Copyright © 2024 David Smith
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