Keith Abbott woke up in his garage in Colorado. He always liked being in the garage because it was where he could work. Except now his garage was not his own garage. Ever since he died the garage had become a foreign territory. This didn’t stop him from continuing to like his garage on 1046 Grant Street, but what flummoxed him was that he kept looking for his notebook. He could not find it. Maybe he left it at the bar. He tried to remember what had been his last entry. It might be a clue to where he had left the notebook.
The people who had bought his house were having an argument again. Julie and Roy had a rocky relationship. They had problems at their low-paying jobs and problems with their concerned families. And although their situations evolved from time to time, none of these changes offered a lick of resolution to anything. Listening to Julie and Roy argue more was like trying to suck menthol out of an old cigarette butt in front of a 7-11. There wasn't much point.
Keith decided to take a walk. He wasn’t sure that he was going to stay that afternoon in Longmont. As he walked down Grant Street and turned onto Main Street, he noticed that he’d entered Monterey again. Whenever he was in Monterey, he found himself back in 1973. Considering that his ashes had been scattered in Monterey bay, he wasn’t surprized that he routinely appeared at the door of the bar called Beer Springs in Monterey whenever he went for a walk. This time, though, when he entered the bar, Keith immediately recognized Gertrude Stein. She was sitting in the corner. Keith sat down at the counter next to his buddy Michael Sowl.
“I see Gertrude’s here,” he said.
“You know the funny thing is,” Mike said, “I see her too.”
“Did you ask anyone else if they see her?”
“Ethel said she showed up at ten o’clock.”
The clock on the wall showed that it was now three in the afternoon. Keith thought it was strange that it took him hours to travel from Longmont, Colorado to Monterey, California. He had thought that it would have taken him much less time to cover so much ground now that he was dead. On the otherhand, perhaps it made perfect sense. Getting out of Longmont and getting to anyplace celebrating a reduction in redneck culture had always been time consuming.
“What do you think Gertrude Stein is doing in a place like this?” Mike asked.
“Ethel didn’t say?”
“No.”
“I don’t suppose Gertrude would clarify the situation herself, now would she?” Keith said.
“Asking Gertrude anything might complicate the matter more.” Ethel said, setting down a beer in front of each of them. Ethel knew how to read people.
Keith and Mike each took a sip of their beers.
Ethel leaned forward. “I think it might be because John Steinbeck came in to use the phone,” she said in a whisper.
Keith and Mike immediately set down their beers.
“When was that?” Keith asked.
“Yesterday,” Ethel said.
“Are you sure?” Mike asked. “Which yesterday are we talking about?”
“Listen, if you ask me, I don’t know that eternity will ever be printed on a calendar.” Ethel said.
Michael Sowl turned to Keith Abbott. Over Keith’s left shoulder he could see Gertrude still sitting in the corner with a glass of wine. Mike thought he might be able to see Gertrude a little clearer if he cleaned his glasses. He took them off to wipe them on his oatmeal-coloured sweater. “Did you hear that Gertrude and Ernest Hemmingway found Sherwood Anderson?” he asked as he put his glasses back on. Gertrude had vanished.
“Yeah, I heard about that,” Keith said. “I even wrote about it.”
“Well?” Mike said.
“Well, next time she comes round,” Mike said, “why don’t you ask her to help you find your notebook?”
Keith didn’t say anything. He looked at the corner where Gertrude had been sitting. Then he stared at the television that hadn’t been turned on.
“You’re still looking for it, aren’t you?” Mike said.
“The thing is, Mike,” Keith said slowly, “all my notebooks are gone.”
“That’s sad, man. All of them?”
“Yeah, and my manuscripts.”
“Your manuscripts?” Mike yelled.
“Everything. Gone.”
“If I were you, I’d call Rhino Ritz straight away.”
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