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 Monterey bar called Beer Springs 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 other hand, perhaps it made perfect sense. Getting out of Longmont and getting to anywhere 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.”
Blessing was babysitting her little brother.
Their mother was filling in a shift for a sick friend, it was a real emergency this time, at Longs Peak Pub and Taphouse on Main Street.
Emery Noel came over to keep Blessing company. Emery was Mormon. When Blessing's family moved from Boulder to Longmont, Blessing's mother immediately approved of Emery and Blessing’s friendship. Blessing’s mom had been born to a LDS family but stopped going to temple before her daughter entered the world. Blessing was born out of wedlock. However, realizing that she was raising a seventh grader in a new town after the last divorce, Julie demonstrated a decided willingness to flirt a little with her former religion to reinforce some old boundaries. It seemed logical since Julie was determined to do her best with a teenager and she remembered what it was like being a teenager.
As for Emery’s family, the Noels were convinced that Emery was going to convert Blessing to Mormonism. The expected date of conversion was due to happen before both girls graduated high school. Emery and Blessing had just started ninth grade. The Noels anticipated, in four years time, that everything was going to work out fine.
After five-year old Taylor was tucked in bed, Emery and Blessing waited for Mila to arrive. Mila was fifteen and a freshman at Longmont High. Mila had dropped out the previous year to have a baby and was restarting ninth grade. Everyone at the highschool pretty much avoided Mila. Truth be told, Emery had to officially steer clear of Mila at school to dodge potential damage to her own virginal reputation, but Blessing was free to sit with Mila during lunch. The three girls just had to be careful not to be seen at school together.
“She’s driving the Camaro,” Emery’s blond head swiveled from the front window back towards Blessing.
“I’ll let her in the side door,” Blessing said and headed towards the garage to slip out the back side of 1046 Grant Street.
Emery went to the kitchen and grabbed the jug of orange juice she had brought. She was already in the gargage, holding the jug and three plastic cups against her blue sweater, when her friends entered from the side entrance.
“Damn!” Mila said when she saw the orange juice. “Don’t you know that stuff is super unhealthy. My tío has diabetes and that juice is the worst.”
“Yeah, but you know I'm not allowed to have any caffeine,” Emery said. This was her standard excuse for the banned drinks situation. She plopped down on the rug in the garage. The garage had been converted into a bedroom for Blessing.
“Why can’t you just let up a little?” Mila asked, settling down next to her. "A Diet Coke won't kill you."
“I need to keep up appearances until I can get out.” Emery set the juice down. No one touched the juice.
"In case you didn't know, Coke makes caffeine free beverages," Blessing said.
"Four more years." Emery straightened her lips with irritation and pressed them together.
Blessing smoothed her hair back behind her ears. She mostly wore braids, and by the end of the day strands of her frizzy red hair swung over her face. “Guys,” she said, “I think we need to forget about the tarot cards and those crazy-ass Tirzah Pyrestone ideas. I’ve got something better to show you.”
Back when her family lived in Boulder, Blessing had made friends with the neighbor lady. The old woman was reportedly a witch but in reality she was both whacko and an ordained rabbi who was addicted to tarot cards and ranting about the moon. Blessing had learned a bit about the tarot cards from Tirzah Pyrestone and when Blessing met Emery, they had played with the deck a bit. Just for fun. Of course tarot cards were completely off limits and that made it fairly exciting at first. But then nothing happened like the tarot cards predicted. Or what the two girls thought they were reading into the cards. A few weeks before re-starting high school Mila found them in the park, dealing out the cards under a tree during the height of the summer. That sweltering afternoon Mila had slowly pushed the stroller across the grass and casually asked what Blessing and Emery were looking for in life. That’s how they had first all met up.
Mila was not interested in the tarot cards. She just needed a break from being a teenage mother to a super cute baby boy and living in a house full of relatives.
“Where’s John?” Emery asked, flipping the plastic cups onto the carpet for fun.
“He’s with his father tonight,” Mila said. “Tristan picked him up, if that’s what you’re on about.” Mila had a permit to drive but no license. As her father was an auto mechanic, Mila had learned to repair cars. She also learned to drive them before she was twelve years old. “Yeah, so I do take risks but not with Juanito in the car!” Mila rolled her eyes at Emery. “And you, you’re not as innocent as you seem. So lay off.” Mila looked irritably at the dream catcher hanging on the wall.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Blessing brought out a plastic bag from a drawer. “Take a look. My grandma just sent me this. My mom doesn't know about it.” Blessing pulled out three plastic folders. One folder said One Hundred Days Savings Challenge on it. “They’re budget binders. You put your cash in the pockets and save up money.”
Emery stared at the budget binders. She slowly picked up the one that said Five Thousand Saving Challenge. “I could use this,” she said, thinking of how her parents controlled the money she made by depositing everything she earned or was given in a bank account. Of course she was expected to go to Brigham Young University like her siblings but she would rather be dead than attend BYU. Emery didn’t know if her parents would even allow her to use her savings for a different university education. Their names were also on the account, so whatever happened when she turned eighteen, she wasn’t counting on getting the money right away.
“See, if you don't deposit the cash on your card's bank account, you can't spend it,” Blessing said firmly. She looked at her friends. "There's three of them. We could all plan and save up for something."
Mila pulled out a cheap energy drink from her cloth bag. “You know how much Pampers cost?” she asked. “Shit, I can barely afford a McDonald' s hamburger.”
“Yuck,” Emery said.
Mila worked at her dad’s shop and was mainly paid in cash.
“The problem is,” Blessing said, “we need to get paid more than fourteen dollars an hour. We’ll never be able to get a head start in life if we're only allowed to bag fries at Mickey Dee.”
Mila suddenly stretched out her hands and pulled the One Hundred Days Challenge binder towards her. “I’m in,” she said. “Ladies, right now I'm working on a plan to earn over fifty dollars an hour before I graduate highschool.”
“What, with My Fans?” Blessing asked.
“Fuck no.” Mila paused. “Like I need that scandal in my life along with the rest of all the crap going on. Look, we all know we will be earning less than hombres our whole lives, so let’s find a way to really make some money. Let’s figure this game out now.” She looked at her friends. “Tell the truth I can’t wait anymore for pro card-age to come around. I have responsibilities and I am goddamn tired of the run-around bullshit I keep meeting up with and if you ask me, high school is not going to fix any of my problems. It's just a stepping stone. At best.”
Emery leaned forward and whispered, “Me too. I am sooo tired of this bullshit.” Emery only used swear words in a whisper and when it was safe to say them.
Standing in his house, El-Don Mast stared at his bookcase. It wasn’t a large bookcase.
He almost reached for Dan Brown’s The Symbol. He loved that book. But the thing was - the second time he’d read it - he didn’t find it as captivating as the first time. So now he wasn’t so sure what he thought about the book. Maybe he'd like it even less if he read it for a third time. Maybe he needed novelty in his life.
“You need to read an American classic, Dad,” his daughter Flora teased him as they chatted over the phone. “What about Hemingway?”
“Too boring,” El-Don said and chuckled. Although he didn’t know much about literature, he didn’t like it that he didn’t seem to have many cultural references to talk about during social gatherings.
“Just as poetic as Cannery Row,” the music director at church said when mentioning that he’d just finished reading last year’s Booker Prize winner. El-Don didn’t even know if there was a copy of something by Steinway in the house. Maybe Zelda had one in her old room. But he doubted it.
He checked his watch. It was time to leave for Men’s Fellowship. He hoped the traffic on the Diagonal wasn’t too crazy. And that he wouldn’t hit a mountain lion on his way out of town. Last week he had just missed one, thank God. He certainly didn’t want to show up late to church and tell people that he had hit a mountain lion. “What if?’ he thought to himself wryly behind the wheel of his sedan. “What if I had hit one of the mountain lions that Noah needed in order to save God’s creatures on earth?”
Of course the idea was rather silly and El-Don smiled at the thought. On the other hand, he mused to himself, there sure were a lot of mountain lions in Colorado. Perhaps one less mountain lion wasn’t a bad thing. Ever since Halloween he had had a strange feeling. Maybe it had to do with the mountain lion stalking the trick-or-treaters behind Main Street. Luckily Mr. Noel, the Chief of Police, had been out with another police car to help keep the area illuminated.
After Men’s Fellowship ended, El-Don exchanged a few words about the election with his friend Withers.
“What do you think the next four years will be like?” El-Don asked. Withers usually had a succinct way of looking at things.
“Oh you know, Trump will keep everyone busy talking about those cabinet appointments. That old smoke and mirror routine. Get ‘em riled up about nothing in particular and then pull the rug out on something more vital when they aren’t looking.” Withers shook his head. He had lost most of his hair in the last twenty years. Withers looked at his friend. "It might not be good and it may not be bad," he added diplomatically.
El-Don hadn’t changed much over the years. He still had that wild patch of hair springing out of the pores on his scalp. Still, Withers thought to himself while looking at his old friend, the church congregation was decidedly geriatric. They needed to get some new blood in the place, like a wagon load of fresh faced Mennonites from South America.
“We need to reach out, El-Don,” Withers said, “invite some people for a coffee and a donut. Times are hard. Make people understand there is a place for them here with Jesus, an eternally youthful and faithful friend who can solve everyone's problems.”
"Amen," El-Don automatically said.
The fellowship meeting had been sparsely attended. Besides Withers and El-Don, only Everett and Bob-Joe had made it and Lolly was supposed to bring the bear claws. What happend to Lolly? El-Don had been looking forward to the bear claws. His wife Teary was a health nut and never allowed bear claws in the house. Unlike the other guys, El-Don hadn’t developed diabetes yet.
Behind the wheel, El-Don decided to stop by Voodoo Donuts on his return trip to Longmont and get himself a “Grape Ape” donut. Smiling to himself, El-Don fantasized about picking up some Mary Jane and then buying three “Grape Apes” to take care of the munchies. Then he shook himself. What was he thinking? He hadn’t gotten high since 1982 and that had been a big mistake.
Back in Longmont El-Don parked in the empty parking lot across the street from McCarthy’s Pub. Facing the dive bar, El-Don reached into the bag and pulled out his “Grape Ape”. He was about to take a bite when a yellow Camaro pulled up and parked next to his car. El-Don shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He just wanted to eat his donut in peace and make sure his wife never found out about it. He checked that his car doors were locked. Then he looked up and for a split second he thought he saw a shadowy figure walk out of the pub wall right where the “rthy” was painted on the sign that covered the lower part of the building wall. El-Don blinked, holding up his “Grape Ape”.
Maybe, he thought, the shadow was from a passing mountain lion. But the apparition had quickly disappeared, so he couldn’t be sure. El-Don heard the door of the Camaro open and the driver stepped out, walking a few steps towards McCarthy’s Pub. The driver was short and wearing baggy clothes with a Colorado Rockies baseball cap turned sideways.
The driver pivoted and walked towards El-Don’s car. El-Don heard knuckles rapping on his car window. Still salivating and holding his “Grape Ape”, he cracked open the window.
“Hey, you see that?”
Up close, El-Don could tell that the driver was a young woman. She was a little chunky under the baggy clothes but her face was well made up. He sqirmed uneasily behind the wheel.
“The ghost,” she prompted. Her blue eyes flashed at him.
“No,” El-Don said. “I didn’t see anything.”
“You tripping? 'Cuz I'm not tripping,” the woman said and took a step back to peer at El-Don. “Hmmmm,” she said, “I see you got yourself a Grape Ape.”
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