Lets see how this works... (Adam Smith - Part 1)

Original post date: Thursday, May 01, 2008


Lets see how this works...

The moon was peeking through the trees leaving shadows of reaching fingers, outstretched trying to find the fear in all of us. Adam was walking down the side of the road and trying to tell when a car was coming by the light from the headlights bouncing off of the reflectors on his shoes before it was close enough to cast a definitive shadow. The damp evening carried the sound of the engines to him before his light show started. His JanSport backpack was thrown over his shoulder, the fray from the tattered strap tickling his neck, his hand constantly swatting at the imaginary bug. Head hung low and left thumb out he had been passed by six times in the past five minutes, two Ford trucks, one Chevy, and three sedans, none of which he could make out the model, but all Dodges, he had been counting. He heard the Jake Brake before the running lights crested the hill and new he would finally get a ride.

"Truckers always give rides" he said, laughing because he was talking out loud to himself. What was that saying - talking to yourself is the first sign of senility? He turned around to walk backwards, tilted up his hat so his face could be seen, and raised up his right arm thumb held high.

"They never stop close do they?" he said, laughing again. He had to jog to get to the rumbling engine. The yellows and purples and blues from the running lights illuminated the step as he grabbed the chrome handle and opened the door.

"Where you headed this late hour, young man?"
"Home I guess." He hated being called young, it would help later in life but when you are twenty five and look sixteen it gets old.
"And where would home be?"
"Just on the Westside of town, if you're getting on I-10 you pass right by my street."
"Looks like I am dropping you off at your street. My name is Walter Higginbotham, but you can call me Walt."
"I'm Adam Smith, it's nice to meet you Walt."
"Climb on in, make yourself comfy, I'll get you home in a jiffy."

The cab reeked of fast food, and Adam could see the remnants of probably the past weeks worth of meals. Breakfast McDonald's wrappers, lunch from Chick-fil-a, and dinners from Arby's all crumbled up at his feet. He had seen worse but, he still kept his bag on his lap instead of setting it on the floor.

"Nice hat. I love Calvin and Hobbes; it's a damn shame that man stopped writing that comic. Calvin reminded me of my son when he was a kid. Man they grow up so fast, I know it's a cliché but it's true what can I say."

He almost forgot about it, did he take the hat? Why did he feel the need to take the hat? He took it off and looked at it, red brim, and black cap with a little blonde headed boy in black shorts and a red and black striped shirt. His expression was one of childish mischief.

"Yeah this is one of my favorites; my best friend gave it to me a long time ago."

He put it back on for the second time as if it had been the thousandth. He grabbed the seat belt and strapped himself into a vehicle with a man that only knew his name and his face. Staring out the window he saw what he has seen every night for the past four years, he was either walking or had hitched a ride, but the scenery has never changed. On his left, the Peninsular bug man flashing and turning and spraying the scared bug. On his right was the W.W. Gay mechanical contractors, "Who doesn't giggle at that sign," he thought, "Who's last name is Gay? Why wouldn't you change it?" Neighborhood lights, random streets, every night he sees the same thing and the conversations are always the same. Weather, it's always weather, he never seems to be in the cars long enough to break through to more interesting conversation. So he sits there and listens and nods and says how it is hot or cold or too wet or too dry. Every night it is the same.

Except this night, this guy, Walt, asked him about his hat. Why did he have this hat on? He couldn't remember.

"This is me." Adam said.

Walt pulled a knob, his flashers went on and he started to slow down. Adam could feel and hear the tires go over the ridges on the side of the road, put there to wake up the drivers that were starting to drift. As he hopped out he told himself he was going to look up how they cut those things into the asphalt.

"G'night Walt, it was nice meeting you, thanks for the ride."
"Not a problem son, get home safe, and be careful."

Adam turned and hopped the metal railing stepping into the tall grass. His pants damp from the knees down. He patted his backpack and tossed it back over his shoulder. He stepped on the stones in the ditch so his shoes didn't get wet, walked up to a fence and squeezed through where he cut out one link. Mr. Polk had is television on too loud again, he could hear it as he passed by the window. Was that Jimmy or Conan, all he could hear was studio laughter? He spun the clothes line as he walked past it, Mrs. Polk had left her unmentionables out to dry over night again. He crossed the street and walked up his front steps. His door had two locks with two different keys. Adam reached in his right pocket and pulled out the key for the top lock. Slid it in and saw in his mind the mechanism working, matching up with the bumps on his key allowing the lock to turn. He put that key back in his right pocket and pulled out the key for the lower lock from his left. He always kept the keys in their respective pockets, it was easier to remember which went to which lock.

He turned the handle, thought about how he needed to lubricate the door, like he has for the past four years, turned around and locked it and walked upstairs. He had to duck once he got to the top step; he only hit his head once on the ceiling but, once was enough. He wasn't tall but apparently whoever designed the house was really short. He turned and walked up the second flight of stairs that led to the converted attic. Stepping up the stairs the purple carpet turned into hardwood floors as he reached the top.

Unzipping his bag he pulled out the Ziploc, a two gallon bag with a red and white zipper on it. He took of the hat and flung it into the corner. "Why did I take the hat?" He had never taken any other trophy, but tonight he had taken that stupid hat. There was a low hum as the freezer compressor kicked on, he turned and walked toward it. He looked at the Ziploc; the blood had already started to congeal. He opened the freezer and added to his collection, five rights, this would be the third left hand and the first with a wedding band, he has been counting.