TIME OF NO REPLY
Copyright 2012 by Carroll Bryant
All rights reserved
This is a short story written by Carroll Absolom Bryant. Re-posting or copying this work on your blog or website without Carroll Bryant's permission is strictly prohibited and subjected to prosecution under law. All rights to this story belong to Carroll Bryant. Any or all pictures posted in accordance with this story has been done so with the permission of those who hold the copyrights to those pictures and or are considered public domain under the Creative Commons attribution laws.
CHAPTER TWO
Remy stands in the front yard. The afternoon sun is sweltering. His arms are dangling on either side. A coon dog is walking the country road before him, his nose to the ground, sniffing for a scent. Remy reasons that he is lost, and trying to find his way back home. How can a hound dog get lost? The creature appears as dyslexic as Remy. They disregard one another to the best of their abilities. The animal could be hungry and searching for food. Its ribs are showing and he takes the appearance of a skeleton wrapped in skin. Why can’t he find something to eat? He is a hound dog after-all.
Joey emerges from her house, same as yesterday. Remy doesn’t bother wasting his time looking. Not yet anyway. He will do this sporadically in an attempt to piss her off. Joey admires being adored. Before long, she settles next to him in observance. Standing there like two towers, they watch the coon dog together. She finds it all too surreal. She processes the image in her frail and demented mind. “I think I will name him Buster.”
A car comes rolling along. It frightens the dog into the surrounding trees. The car pulls into Joey’s driveway. The man behind the wheel honks the horn. She looks in that direction before looking at Remy. There is something noticeably different about him today. He doesn't appear his usual self. She lifts her hand and with the backside of it, rubs his face. The stubble is coarse against her skin. “You need to shave.” She then scampers like a wet portrait towards the parked car.
The man gets out and waits for her. Remy turns to look. Joey bounces into his arms and the two come together, their lips touching. They spin around in a circle with her yellow dress flowing uninterruptedly. She is breaking his heart again. This is her secret joy, and his visible pain. He loves every second of it. His smile is a dead give-away to that. Why are all the well conceived plans so down-right evil?
Joey races around the front of the vehicle to the other side and opens the door. The man does likewise, taking his place behind the wheel. She hesitates while exchanging a confirmed glance with Remy. She sees his content. It’s the best he can offer. She is prompted to do the same. Waving, she slides into the seat and closes the door.
Remy tilts his head as they speed away. He raises his hand to his face. Perhaps she was right. It has been a few days since he used a razor. The coon dog reappears. He continues from where he left off, sniffing his way down the road. “Goodbye, Buster.”
The remainder of the early afternoon will have to be spent in a prism of dull colors. Multiple visions seers through his brain. He can only fathom what it is that Joey is doing to that man while they drive down the road to where-ever their destination might be. This would be a first for Joey - she lives without any destination, period.
Remy is no stranger to her nymphomania despite the fact that he has yet to touch her in the manner that the rest of the world seemingly has. He knows full good and well that Joey isn’t shy about when, where or how to acquire pleasure. When her desires call out, they will be satisfied no matter the cost. She has more than the world can offer to pay for such costs, too. Her riches dwell in the acts of gratification. She is the wealthiest girl in all of the county. And now, with her departure, Remy must find yet another way to fill his time.
Mary Jane Rodgers walks into the front door. She is a friend of Remy’s mother. She is sixty-eight years old. She sparkles with a delightful charm. She is a hairdresser. It’s the second Wednesday of the month, the day she comes to do his mother’s hair. Cecilia doesn’t date anymore, that time has passed. She still enjoys the remembrance of those lost years though.
Remy watches from the couch. He is trying to take a nap. He lies there - barely able to catch a glimpse of Mary Jane in the kitchen while she stands behind the chair Cecilia is sitting on. He is convinced she was angelic in her youth. She must have had many a gentleman caller in her day. This initiated his curiosity. Would they have been lovers had he been born in her time? Would she have been his Joey? He prescribes to the notion that, more to his knowledge and perception, she would have broken his heart as well. He also reasons, the pain of it would have felt the same - immeasurable. Who can know the thoughts of Mary Jane? Where did she come from? Where has she been and who has she seen in her journey through the stars?
Remy cancels anymore considerations to the elderly woman. He resumes that nap, falling back into slumber - one small Joey at a time. Dreams are not the only place he can love her, but they are the only place she will love him in return. Perhaps that’s why he sleeps so much. It’s not that he is lazy, he just doesn’t have anything else to do, or to go. His status as her fool is an accepted ambience of frustration.
Remy is lying on the porch swing, the same manner as the other day. The same as he always does. He is very predictable and consistent. Unlike Joey, who is sitting in the wicker chair only this time, her legs were stretched out on the front railing, wearing a light green dress. She is playing with imaginary visions, just reaching out into the air, trying to catch what did not exist. She is a child seeking refuge from boredom. “What ever happened to Buster?”
It is a new day - a new afternoon, resembling all the ones that came before it. Mother Nature is a deviant bitch. Remy has grown accustomed to her ways though. He is fine with it. He turns to look at Joey. This action did not distract her from her game. He pushes a dagger into her selfish heart. “He died.”
Suddenly, she ceases her goofing around. Her smile transforms into numbness. Her enthusiastic demeanor settles into a more withdrawal state. She drops her arms to hang over the side of the arm-rests of the wicker chair. She sighs exhaustingly. “Serves him right for walking along the side of the road like that.” She closes her eyes tightly before reopening them. In a moment of situational clarity, she succumbs to her own mortality. “We’re all bio-degradable.”
She just can not sit still. Seductively, she rises to her feet and dances softly to the porch stairs. She stretches around the post closest to Remy, placing her arms on the railing and then, her chin. She believes he said that about Buster to hurt her and cause her some distress. She loved that dog. It was her turn to hurt him. “I’m pregnant.”
Remy pays her no mind. This infuriates her. However, she keeps that buried feeling from exposing itself. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a rabbit hop into the yard. She slowly returns to an upright position and takes careful and cautious movements towards the animal when it metaphorically stops to smell the roses. It soon senses her presence nearing, and by the time she jumps like a prowling jaguar, he shoots in the opposite direction and is gone in the blink of an eye. Her laughter, at his fear, pours out hysterically. “Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids.”
Joey approaches from the side of the railing where Remy is still laying. She grabs the wooden dividers as if they were prison bars on a jail cell, to demonstrate she was incarcerated. She is contrite for scaring the rabbit. Her self inflicted punishment is fleeting. She inserts her arms in between them and reaches out to try and push the swing. She gets a high from the mere thought of disturbing his peace. Her small stature prevents this attempt. She folds her arms around the dividers in frustration. “You need to find a girlfriend.”
Time has told him that she’s a rare find. A much troubled cure for his much troubled mind. And time has told him not to ask for more. Perhaps someday his ocean will find its shore. Where Joey is concerned, there are no shores. Only empty storms of fate.
Joey emerges from her house, same as yesterday. Remy doesn’t bother wasting his time looking. Not yet anyway. He will do this sporadically in an attempt to piss her off. Joey admires being adored. Before long, she settles next to him in observance. Standing there like two towers, they watch the coon dog together. She finds it all too surreal. She processes the image in her frail and demented mind. “I think I will name him Buster.”
A car comes rolling along. It frightens the dog into the surrounding trees. The car pulls into Joey’s driveway. The man behind the wheel honks the horn. She looks in that direction before looking at Remy. There is something noticeably different about him today. He doesn't appear his usual self. She lifts her hand and with the backside of it, rubs his face. The stubble is coarse against her skin. “You need to shave.” She then scampers like a wet portrait towards the parked car.
Joey races around the front of the vehicle to the other side and opens the door. The man does likewise, taking his place behind the wheel. She hesitates while exchanging a confirmed glance with Remy. She sees his content. It’s the best he can offer. She is prompted to do the same. Waving, she slides into the seat and closes the door.
Remy tilts his head as they speed away. He raises his hand to his face. Perhaps she was right. It has been a few days since he used a razor. The coon dog reappears. He continues from where he left off, sniffing his way down the road. “Goodbye, Buster.”
The remainder of the early afternoon will have to be spent in a prism of dull colors. Multiple visions seers through his brain. He can only fathom what it is that Joey is doing to that man while they drive down the road to where-ever their destination might be. This would be a first for Joey - she lives without any destination, period.
Remy is no stranger to her nymphomania despite the fact that he has yet to touch her in the manner that the rest of the world seemingly has. He knows full good and well that Joey isn’t shy about when, where or how to acquire pleasure. When her desires call out, they will be satisfied no matter the cost. She has more than the world can offer to pay for such costs, too. Her riches dwell in the acts of gratification. She is the wealthiest girl in all of the county. And now, with her departure, Remy must find yet another way to fill his time.
Mary Jane Rodgers walks into the front door. She is a friend of Remy’s mother. She is sixty-eight years old. She sparkles with a delightful charm. She is a hairdresser. It’s the second Wednesday of the month, the day she comes to do his mother’s hair. Cecilia doesn’t date anymore, that time has passed. She still enjoys the remembrance of those lost years though.
Remy watches from the couch. He is trying to take a nap. He lies there - barely able to catch a glimpse of Mary Jane in the kitchen while she stands behind the chair Cecilia is sitting on. He is convinced she was angelic in her youth. She must have had many a gentleman caller in her day. This initiated his curiosity. Would they have been lovers had he been born in her time? Would she have been his Joey? He prescribes to the notion that, more to his knowledge and perception, she would have broken his heart as well. He also reasons, the pain of it would have felt the same - immeasurable. Who can know the thoughts of Mary Jane? Where did she come from? Where has she been and who has she seen in her journey through the stars?
Remy cancels anymore considerations to the elderly woman. He resumes that nap, falling back into slumber - one small Joey at a time. Dreams are not the only place he can love her, but they are the only place she will love him in return. Perhaps that’s why he sleeps so much. It’s not that he is lazy, he just doesn’t have anything else to do, or to go. His status as her fool is an accepted ambience of frustration.
Time is molasses.
It is a new day - a new afternoon, resembling all the ones that came before it. Mother Nature is a deviant bitch. Remy has grown accustomed to her ways though. He is fine with it. He turns to look at Joey. This action did not distract her from her game. He pushes a dagger into her selfish heart. “He died.”
Suddenly, she ceases her goofing around. Her smile transforms into numbness. Her enthusiastic demeanor settles into a more withdrawal state. She drops her arms to hang over the side of the arm-rests of the wicker chair. She sighs exhaustingly. “Serves him right for walking along the side of the road like that.” She closes her eyes tightly before reopening them. In a moment of situational clarity, she succumbs to her own mortality. “We’re all bio-degradable.”
She just can not sit still. Seductively, she rises to her feet and dances softly to the porch stairs. She stretches around the post closest to Remy, placing her arms on the railing and then, her chin. She believes he said that about Buster to hurt her and cause her some distress. She loved that dog. It was her turn to hurt him. “I’m pregnant.”
Remy pays her no mind. This infuriates her. However, she keeps that buried feeling from exposing itself. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a rabbit hop into the yard. She slowly returns to an upright position and takes careful and cautious movements towards the animal when it metaphorically stops to smell the roses. It soon senses her presence nearing, and by the time she jumps like a prowling jaguar, he shoots in the opposite direction and is gone in the blink of an eye. Her laughter, at his fear, pours out hysterically. “Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids.”
Joey approaches from the side of the railing where Remy is still laying. She grabs the wooden dividers as if they were prison bars on a jail cell, to demonstrate she was incarcerated. She is contrite for scaring the rabbit. Her self inflicted punishment is fleeting. She inserts her arms in between them and reaches out to try and push the swing. She gets a high from the mere thought of disturbing his peace. Her small stature prevents this attempt. She folds her arms around the dividers in frustration. “You need to find a girlfriend.”
Time has told him that she’s a rare find. A much troubled cure for his much troubled mind. And time has told him not to ask for more. Perhaps someday his ocean will find its shore. Where Joey is concerned, there are no shores. Only empty storms of fate.
The hours quickly pass.
Remy slides his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and stares down at his shabby - lace-up shoes. Is he daring himself to do the same? Or, is he conceding to his destructive self-image?
Joey sees this and smiles, clearly pleased with her power. He is such a dreary sight. A loner - all alone with his discrepancies. She is his only reason for breathing. She knows this, which is why she sat with him on the school bus when they were just children trying to find an answer to anything that mattered while the rest of the kids kept their distance from him. He was a plague. They may have never found those answers, then again, they have long forgotten the questions they asked in the first place and now, it just doesn’t seem to matter.
He was always the same. She was always different. Her mood changes as often as the colors of her many, many dresses. Popularity has its merits. And she was always, and will probably always be popular to the rest of humanity. Where-as Remy is a ghost. Nobody knew who he was. Not even the boy who sat behind him in grade school. He continues to be forgotten.
Her junior year of high school was the first when he was no longer able to ride with her on the bus. She missed it horribly. Almost more than he did. It did help some that he was there in the morning on his swing when she left. And there when her day of learning was complete. She often times wondered if he really graduated at all. He didn’t go to his graduation ceremony if he did. She considered, on occasion, to question him about it, but the topic never did come up in conversation. And she really didn’t care.
Time has told him that she came with the dawn. She is a soul with no footprint, a rose with no thorn. Her tears, they tell him, there’s really no way of ending her troubles with things he could say. And time will tell him to stay by her side. To keep on trying until there’s no more to hide. Will he ever leave the ways that are making him be what he really doesn’t want to be?
His thoughts are always rambling.
She likes to show-off her intelligence when he least expected it. To her, it left more of an impact. Her goal was to ensure it would keep him up all night thinking about it. Her scheme works like a charm. She is brilliant to the point of idiocy.
Remy is about as sharp witted as a dull knife. It is not in his DNA to try and pretend who he is. He makes no attempt to change what God created. He simply enjoys standing off in the corner of the stage to watch her flaunt about and be happy. She is the star. His eyes are the camera. His mind, the producer. He is making a movie in which all of his fanatical, irrational dreams would come true, even if she hadn’t a clue. But she did. Oh, yes, she knows exactly how his mind behaves. Don’t let her transparency sneak by – she is a crafty sort.
He is standing on his porch looking down at her while she stands on the ground looking up at him. It is a clear night. It is calm. It is the perfect setting for which to feed himself to death with her natural attractiveness.
The moon plays sparingly on her face. It glows unto itself. He can see why others would believe in a more Devine purpose when he loses himself in her eyes. They are intoxicating. This is the first time he ever wished he owned a car. So he could take her on a midnight drive somewhere - where the rainbow never ends.She is perceptive, gifted even. She has a way of reading him like a Shakespearean play. For once, she wants to give him hope. Gracing him with another smile, she does that very thing. “I’m not really pregnant.”
Show me the way to blue.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.