Post by Deleted on Jun 2, 2013 18:59:47 GMT -5
"...what will be, blinded eyes to see."
The sun gently painted the warm green grass a bright gold outside the local ‘Tesoro’ in McLean, Illinois. Inside there were your typical locals; a farmer grabbing coffee, some older guys still meeting in the same spot after all these years, a high school kid or two just moving through for a couple bottles of soda. Derek was behind the counter. He was 29, not particularly attractive or intelligent, but he was a good worker. He had always been told he had good work ethic, not necessarily book smarts. Derek always thought that being a good worker made up for his lack of reasoning and logic—he wasn’t sure it was always an even trade.
But, if he didn’t have anything else in life, he could at least always do as he was told. There was some sense of comfort in that and it came easier to him than most. With Derek, life had no inherent or endless drama. There were no bickering parents or fighting women. There were only the duties of the job and the next paycheck. Days would drift by comfortably within this system. It was calm. Derek was a boat with a purpose, not one drifting endlessly and aimlessly. Even if the purpose was a tad menial to most onlookers, Derek was happy which is more than many can admit.
Derek took a quick look out at the customers, most were sitting and chatting comfortably and blissfully ignorant. Derek pulled out his cell phone and started searching the internet. He spent much of his time doing this. It was a different day, but the script was usually the same. One of the high school guys brought up a couple 20 oz. bottles of soda. Derek began to ring them up. Another tranquil, drifting day.
As the cash register chimed, the outer door opened marked by a resonating bell to sound a new customer’s welcome. Derek finished scanning the soda and looked up briefly to watch a mammoth man cross the store’s threshold. He had long, shoulder-length uncut hair that curled and frizzled at the ends which was only matched by a thick, bushy, dark, untidy and wild beard. His clothes were tattered, thick and dirty. Despite his large frame and heavy boots, he moved quietly and easily glided. He carried his weight well. He was silent. He began to slowly move throughout the aisles, eying and viewing different potential purchases. Derek finished his current transaction and watched the new customer. Derek felt drawn to watching him. He was a polarizing figure. There was an aura about him and he moved so effortlessly.
Harker looked at a few different bags and products. He wasn’t so much hungry, thirsty or craving, he was enjoying viewing colors and sights and sounds. Harker was thinking for the first time in years. His mind was active. He was alive. He had risen and he was awake. Harker grabbed a bag of jerky, opened it and slowly dragged a gnarled piece of dry meat and meticulously bit and chewed. Harker slowly walked toward the counter.
Derek was waiting and watching intently. Harker approached the counter and softly dropped the opened bag of jerky, quietly chewing on the first piece. Derek scanned the jerky. Now that Harker was close, Derek looked up from the scanner to get a more detailed look at the newest customer. Derek initially witnessed some scrawling, violent, scar tissue that spanned the width of Harker’s face—uneven, puffy and gaunt. The pits, scars and noose-like jagged scar on Harker’s neck warranted a second look from Derek. Derek looked more closely, although trying not to seem rude. Derek finally met Harker’s eyes. They were gray, cloudy, cold and explosive with dull murkiness. Derek had never seen eyes quite like them. Derek was now staring, he was being rude. Harker stared right back, blankly and intimidating. He knew Derek was now being rude and he didn’t appreciate it. Derek couldn’t look away. He was lost. The grave inside Harker’s eyes had buried Derek.
After a hypnotizing silence and a few beats between them, Harker leisurely moved his hand to the right. Without breaking eye contact, Harker clutched a newspaper, raised only an inch or two off the counter and moved it to the center space between them and dropped it. The newspaper landed with a stinging ‘thwack.’ Derek’s eyes shook free as he nervously broke back into reality. Harker continued to stare. Derek refused to return his gaze. Derek scanned the paper.
”Three dollars and sixty-nine cents. Uh, I, it’s uh…Six—er—three dollars and six—sixty-nine cents.”
Derek forced a cough. Everyone was staring now. Harker reached into his pocket and dropped a five dollar bill on the counter and switched his gaze to the paper. He took in the date as Derek began to make the change.
Saturday, 6/1/13[/i]
As Derek hurriedly began dropping some change on the counter, Harker ran his thick thumbs through the paper, squinting a bit, reading some of the headlines. Without picking up the change or switching his attention from the paper, Harker fluidly tossed the last bit of jerky into his mouth and crunched the bag in his thick, powerful fist. Harker made his way toward the exit. Derek let out a large exhale.
Just before walking out the door, Harker instantly stopped. Everyone took a breath. Time seemed to stop. Harker clicked his eyes to the bulletin board just by the exit, full of posters for local events and businesses as well as a few larger ones. Harker fixed his gaze on an orange poster in the corner—the banner across the top read ‘CODE RED WRESTLING’ in large bolded slanted letters. His attention pulsed and his adrenaline began to flow. A soft, long, flat trumpet sound rang in Harker’s head. The poster laid out information to a local contact looking for talent, signing tryouts and offering contact information to the large exciting and popular wrestling federation. Throughout Harker’s wrestling career, he had long coveted a spot in Code Red Wrestling—their heavyweight title was most sought after prize in all of wrestling. Code Red Wrestling is wrestling. Now that Harker was awake, he finally had his calling. Harker was coming to Code Red Wrestling. It was where he had always belonged.
Harker turned and looked at Derek who was motionless. Harker surveyed the rest of the customers throughout the store. They all stared. Harker turned his dusty, dirty eyes back to the poster. With a strong, weathered, scarred and determined fist, Harker reached and grabbed the poster—simply crushing it into a ball within his commanding claw and there it remained.
Harker walked out of the ‘Tesoro’ and started walking northeast. Derek watched the broad shoulders and crazy hair through the window until it disappeared behind the bus stop across the street.
Harker would be there before long—the Bronx. Dust and dirt would line his way, ash would lie in his wake.