ON OUR WAY

The big old moon died. All the trees had turned out their green. People came for the fall spectacle, but the color had long since passed, and they had gone away. The branches were naked, now, stripped for cold. A chronic wind cursed the town. A sad sun struck the morning bell, void of permanence. It fell before it rose and an empty light filled in everywhere.

Charlie Clemons, a ripened man in the late years of his life, sat at a table facing the bedroom. The light entered the second floor apartment through the window above his bed. It jumped along the floor and settled smoothly on his hands. He dealt out a game of solitaire from a deck of cards, shuffled with vigor three times over. His wife, Gloria, had come from the bedroom, showered and freshly powdered, with water falling from her hair. The drops hit the floor and slapped against the wood.

She snuck up behind Thomas, who sat tired, almost sleeping on his chest and kissed him lightly on his forehead. “You feel awfully warm, dear, ” she walked to the sink and filled a pot of faucet water for tea. The stove fired like a blank round and finally lit a hissing blue. Charlie had finished his game and smiled at her. He had spent the past fifteens years, each morning, trying to beat his record of fifty-three seconds. She reached over near the sink and snatched the cup that stored his teeth. Under a stream of cold water she rinsed the teeth and placed them, on a napkin, in front of him. It always took a few tries to get the damn things in his mouth.

“Ah, there we go,” as he tried to fit them in just right his face tightened and made crooked shapes. “Thomas, let me have some of that,” pointing to a glass of water. He gargled a sip to make sure they were snug. “I bet you wish I lost these,” Charlie said.

“Wouldn’t have to hear you go on and on all the time,” Thomas said.

“You’d miss it. Tell him—,” he said. Charlie walked over to his desk and turned on a box radio that was leaning on the wall behind the desk. A heavy wood chair was pushed beneath the desk. Although it was messy, it was manageable, and had noticeable use. There was an old Smith & Corona, a rusty soup can full of black pens and sharpened pencils, a matchbook, two perfect pink erasers, abandoned paper clips, bent push pins, and all his lucky pennies arranged neatly on the space not occupied by the radio.

“I’m not sayin’ a thing,” she said. “Can’t have a woman getting in the way of men.” The water began to slap on the inside of the steel pot, getting ready to whistle. She brought three mugs to the table. As the water left the pot, it left a trail of steam in the air. “Sweetie you really don’t look good. All the color is almost out of you,” she said. “You make sure to drink that up.”

“She’s right boy. Look at them toes of yours,” Charlie said. He came back to his seat and pushed it back a bit so that his legs were stretched beneath the kitchen table.

“Huh?” Thomas said as he swept dirt on the floor into piles under his feet.

“Your toes, kid—they’re curling,”

“What about my toes?” He said.

“They’re curling.” He said.

“So?” He said.

“Rub some lotion on ‘em.” He said.

“What?” He said.

“Any old fella’ would have told you the same thing.” He said.

“Hell, man.” He said.

“I’m just sayin’, kid. You gotta know these things.” He said.

“Here, make him happy,” handing Thomas a bottle of lotion. “But please, please stop all this talk so early in the morning.” She said.

“Make sure you get it all up between the toes,” he said. “How ‘bout some breakfast?” Charlie said.

“Excuse me?” She said.

““Darling, would you mind making us some breakfast?” He said.

“It will be ready soon.” She said.

“Don’t worry about me. I better get going,” Thomas said. “I’ve got things to take care of today.” He got up from his seat, kissed Gloria goodbye and walked out the door. They could hear him on the stairs. The door slammed and he went off down the street.

“I worry about that boy,” she said. The eggs were finished cooking. She carried the plates in one arm and set them on the table. The light had moved off the table and met on the ceiling, complete and absolute. In the light, her eyes were a strange and dangerous green.

“Yeah, he’s a piece of work. No one is ever going to set him straight. “ He said.

“That’s what they said about you.” She said.

“He doesn’t have a woman like you. “ He said.

“He could.“ She said.

“Not like this.” He said.

“You do.” She said.

“They’re ain’t many people like you and me anymore.” He said.

“Somewhere.“ She said.

“Maybe.“ He said.

“I sure do hope so.” She said, kissing him.

“What time is it?” He asked.

“Almost nine.” She said.

“I better get going. “ He said.

“Me too.“ She said.