6

Sid continued pacing round and round the kitchen table, so Sherri took to counting his laps. At 126 she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Sid gave her half a smile and continued on.
Sherri stopped counting. Ben hadn’t returned from the bathroom. It been far too long without word. Sherri put her head down on the table and closed her eyes. Sid kept on circling.

Minutes turned to hours. Ben had yet to emerge. Sid had yet to stop his pacing. Sherri had fallen asleep on the table, a few strands of hair hung across her mouth and waved in time with her breath. Without J it was like they were all alone. It was as if they no longer knew how to relate to one another, let alone the outside world. J had his imperfections they knew as well as anyone, but to the three in Sid’s apartment he had become father figure, brother, friend, and a host of other roles that only a trained psychologist would be able to hypnotize out of his fellow activists. They needed him. They were worried sick about him.

Ben returned from the bathroom and woke Sherri up with a lick up the side of her face.
“Downboy” she mumbled.
“Gross.” Sid whined which brought Sherri back into conciousness.
“AAGH!” she groaned. Leaping from the chair she chased Ben around the table. Ben used Sid as a human shield. He picked Sid up like a rag doll and set him down in Sherri’s path. Sherri’s only choice was to tickle him. She considered other options of course, but in matters such as these one as to act with speed and effeciency. Her fingers flew like heat-seeking missles to the space in the no man’s land shared by ribs and armpits. Sid giggled wildly and nearly collapsed to the floor. Watching Sid writhe set Ben to laughing heartily, which only egged Sherri on. Ben laughed like he hollered from somewhere deep inside himself. Sid breathlessly begged for Mercy as Ben’s chuckles died down. As quickly as the tickle attack had been launched it was over and all three collapsed onto the floor with a smile. They looked at one another. The smiles slowly fading again to worry.
Ben gallantly offered, “We’re activists. We’ve got to do something.”
Sherri and Sid both nodded and thought silently, “but what?”
**
When J came to, he was again utterly confused by his surroundings. At first he thought he was back at his parents house in Independence, but then he remembered that his room there had been turned into an Arts and Crafts studio which his mother never used. Then he started to wonder if he was in a seedy motel somewhere out on the road. He remembered a Super 8 in New Hampshire that smelled this same way, one part dusty desparation, one part industrial strenghth cleaner, and one part lonely traveler sweat. Was he in New Hampshire? He always liked New Hampshire. The “Live Free or Die” State Motto was one the residents took so seriously. There was a state full of rebels. Everyone one he’d met there stuck to his guns, didn’t mess with his neighbors and fought for what they believed in. They were the Eastern-most-Westerners in the U.S. It was like they were the descendants of the pioneers who were smart enough not to take to the Oregon trail. They had probably laughed at manifest destiny. J bet the New Hampshire-ites had said, “What do I need to manifest destiny fer? I got destiny in my back yard.” What a great state. A state he hadn’t visited for at least 3 years.

A sneeze brought his nasal passages slamming back to Ohio, with the rest of his convulsing body not far behind. “McCormiiiick,” J wailed.

McCormick shuffled in and gave J a glare. “Well enough to holler I see.”
“Call Matty, she’ll be worried.”
McCormick left the room without a word. A few minutes later he returned. “She said she hoped you died.”

J’s eyes grew rather large. He knew they’d had problems recently, but he was pretty sure he’d done nothing that warranted a death wish. Quickly he ran through the list of recent relationship blunders- no dates except to the grocery store, insensitivity in bed, he never stayed over anymore, he never bought flowers, he only called when he wanted something, usually sex, he stood her up when they were supposed to meet her parents, he’d forgotten her birthday, as the list grew longer he started to consider her position, maybe he did deserve to die, or at least free her from the deadweight he had become.

McCormick laughed. “Had you there.” McCormick then had a coughing fit of his own. When he was able to speak again. He cleared the phelgm from his throat and said, “She wasn’t home so I left a message.”

J’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t help but break into a smile. McCormick was such a kidder and he had just contributed to the continued life of one J Jones. J couldn’t forget that.

“You and the Mrs. must not be on great terms the way the wheels were turning in that head of yours.”

“You aren’t kidding there.” he replied. More bubbled inside of him, he wanted to share, he wanted to defend himself to McCormick, or at least lay it on the table, maybe shake some of the guilt loose, but he swallowed the bubble and shrugged it off. “I wonder if I should call Sid,” he changed the subject and then trailed off. J suddenly felt a new wave of tiredness engulf him. Without another word, he laid back down on the bed and pulled the blankets up around his shoulders.

McCormick took the signal and shuffled out of the room and flicked the light switch off . He didn’t have to give J a worried look, he knew the kid would be all right. He figured the boy came from hearty stock. Man; not boy, he supposed J was a man by now, not to be confused with “The Man” of course. McCormick smiled at his own joke. It would be the last smile McCormick had time for that evening.

Darkness had long since claimed Sid’s kitchen. The three worried friends had parted ways with a pledge to hit the streets looking for J in the morning. No sense being out at night they had decided. It turned out to be a wise decision. Cincinnati was rocked with blizzard-like conditions that night. High winds sent bitter cold seeking out the tiniest cracks while blowing blinding snow in everyone’s path, had anyone been out on the streets. The weather reports had only picked up the storm an hour before it hit. McCormick’s filled up like he was serving hotcakes at an all night rock festival. When he wasn’t answering the door, or trying to find a little more space, he was sharing his room with a family of five who couldn’t find anywhere else to turn. He hadn’t shared his room since the blizzard of ‘89. Things were getting a little on the smelly side in the house. If the Fire Marshal hadn’t been trapped in the station he would’ve been none too pleased. McCormick couldn’t really afford another violation of the fire code, but his big heart would’t let him turn away a soul. And the souls kept coming all night. A couple of the regulars fired up the stove and were passing out cups of hot tea as fast as people were pouring through the door. There was hardly room to raise a mug, which worked out ok since they’d run out of mugs and hot tea about half an hour after they started. Hot water and honey served in a bowl quickly became the drink of choice. A few people clamored for food, but there wasn’t much to be had. Dinner had cleared most of the food out, six hours earlier. There wouldn’t be another delivery until at least morning, and judging by the howl of the wind, probably not even then.
As a whole network of people rubbed against each other and vied for any available space J slept. By morning his twin bed would be the resting place of two others, but other than an occassional murmur he was the perfect bedmate. There was no thrashing, no snoring, he wasn’t the proverbial log, he was a log, a murming log lost deep in sleep, a log on the road to recovery while a city around him, a city he’d so often accused of being run by the man, was shut down by one mother of a storm. That’s the thing about Mother, even the Man can’t control her. The Man has a lot of cogs, the Man has a lot of reach, but when Mother Nature decides she wants to shut the Man down, she does it. If J had been awake, he would’ve been eating this storm up. He loved a good snow anyway, but anything that clogged up the gears of the Man, well that’s just icing on his snow-covered ice cream. J slept through it all.

The next morning with the phones out, the streets iced over, the McCormick house full, there was really nothing to do but wait. Christmas was just six days away. Six days and J hadn’t been shopping for anybody yet, not that he wanted to participate in such a mindless consumer driven holiday which caused him untold personal anguish, but last night’s chat with McCormick had taught him one thing, if Matty was going to want him alive he better not screw up Christmas. Some sacrifices are worth making. He drifted back to that first day he spent with Matty in the D.C. coffee shop. Fortunately for him the more confident charming J had made an appearance rather than his father’s J who had cowered in fear of a powerful beautiful woman. Hours passed that morning as J and Matty covered all the minor topics that pose as major ones- politics, education, the law, sports. Finally J got to the one that mattered- did Matty want to go out sometime? She thought back to that timid boy she fuzzily recalled from Sayer, Mayer & Braun, and looked at the less well-dressed, but wholly more confident young man before her. She couldn’t resist.
Matty was in DC for the year, still doing law work, but trying out life in a bigger city. The advantage of DC was that she didn’t have to take the bar exam again. Most places required it, but the district wasn’t one of them. No wonder there are so many lawyers in this town, J had laughed. It may be a political hotbed of activity, but J knew that something in the air wouldn’t allow him to stay. Of course at that time in his life, staying wasn’t in the plan for anyplace. Speeding cars, buses on the way to the next protest, the backs of motorcycles when he was really lucky were his home away from home. And right now his home was nothing more than the next cheap hotel, packed-like sardines room, or tent site. Deep down he knew somewhere was home, J just hadn’t found it yet. He seemed to recall an Americana sign painted in red white and blues in his mother’s home that said, “Home is where the heart is.” J’s heart was in his politics, but politics was no place for a home. Matty and J lasted a year in DC. They saw each other as frequently as they could. Matty wasn’t working banker’s hours, she was working her tail off. And oh, J loved that tail. J was no slouch either. He and his ten roommates took part in weekly protests. They were supporting more organizations, lending their voice to more causes, and pounding the pavement for more rights than even J could keep up with. Still, J managed to hold down a job at a local piano bar, The Bannana Cafe. It catered to a homosexual crowd, but J was an equal opportunity charmer when it came to tips. Which helped immensely when he was trying to afford to take Matty out now and again, especially in a city like Washington D.C. Fortunately for him, Matty wasn’t shy about taking him out. Thank god for the women’s movement J thought with a wink.
“What?” Matty had asked, but J just smiled at her the way new lovers do, the sort of smile that acts as equal parts loving hug, kiss, and mild seduction. Defeated, she just winked and smiled back.
**
Midwestern storms, like good bank robbers do their damage quickly. The storm let up by mid- morning and a warm sun poked through the clouds and started to melting by late afternoon. The streets were still icy, but by now J was tired of reliving his first year with Matty and itching to see her. Or at the very least stop seeing the two guys that had shared a bed with him. Feeling better, he hollered his farewells to McCormick with promises to visit again soon. Maybe next time he wouldn’t even need to be dragged by a stranger. McCormick gave him a thumbs up and offered to join him in a protest march or anything where J might need a shuffling old man. J smiled before he slid down the drive artfully on his backside.

He half-skated, half-walked straight to Matty’s, his sky blue eyes dancing all the way there with fond memories of their first year together. The first thing he wanted to do when he arrived was wrap his scarf around the back of her neck and pull her into a passionate kiss. The thought of seeing her excited him like for the first time in months. Near death experiences or possibly sleeping with men will do funny things to a fellow’s feelings about his girl. And as far as J knew, Matty was still his girl. He arrived at her door and gave it three swift knocks and then buzzed the doorbell. No answer came. He waited a moment and then buzzed again. He heard movement and waited expectantly. A fman answered the door. J raced through a catalog of men in his head. Matty’s brothers all had dark hair like hers. He thought back to the New Year’s party last year to see if maybe this was a coworker, but he was coming up empty. J did not know the man in Matty’s door. J gritted his teeth and asked, “Is Matty in?”
“yea. Who’s asking?” the man quizzed him.
Doing his very best to keep his cool, and fighting a level of violence that rarely coursed through his veins, he grunted, “J”.
“J?” he questioned.
“Matty!” J hollered into her house.
Matty appeared in the hall wearing only a T-shirt. One of J’s t-shirts actually. He recognized the slogan. It was one of his homemade creations, “The President is a cantankerous old fool.” It had sounded so much catchier in J’s head. He still had about 300 from his original print run. He’d given away the other fifty. The t-shirt hung down close to her knees, her petite figure wearing an XL more like a dress than a shirt. He could see her collar bone in the too-large neck hole.
J tried to speak. He tried to yell. Most of all he tried not to haul off and rip the intestines out of this guy in front of him. His efforts reduced him to sputtering. He turned to leave and then turned to face Matty, then turned to leave again all the while sputtering vowels. “ieeeooiooiii”
Without looking back in only the most literal sense he walked away from this unbelievable scene and made his way extra-briskly to Sid’s kitchen . He didn’t care if it had snowed. He didn’t care if the power had been out. He was finishing off a carton of Butternut ice cream and he was doing it post-haste. One bite for the whole carton if he could manage it. His mind still reeled at what he had just seen. He still couldn’t find more than vowels to express his disbelief.

Arriving at Sid’s door, he momentarily fumbled with his keys. When he looked down at the three keys he carried it looked to him as if he were a janitor of an enormous school. How would he ever find the right key? In a fit of desperation he slammed his shoulder against the door. Sid had the door open in a flash. Loyal, wonderful Sid saw the look of utter pain in J’s saucer-like eyes and ushered J into the kitchen. He had a slightly melted carton of Butternut in front of him before J could blink. Which worked out well, since a blink would likely have started J crying. Unblinking, J slurped and gulped down bite after bite of Butternut. With his head rested on his non-spoon hand, J had long ago passed the normal three bites to conversation that Sid was used to. After a pint had passed, Sid decided he better phone Ben and Sherrie to let them know that J, while not entirely ok, was at least accounted for.

Ready for 7?