Transition a short story

 

TRANSITION

 

JASON SLOUCHES DOWN the sidewalk, roller blades slung over his shoulder. The school bus passes him. His buddies hang out the window, waving and yelling. He should be on the bus but walking home takes longer

When he reaches the field, halfway between the school and his neighborhood, he mounts the fence, settling astride the top rail. The horses are back: a black stallion and the dappled mare. In opposite corners they sample the grass grown long in their absence.

Jason digs into the pocket of his denim jacket for the sugar cubes he always carries in the hopes the animals will be there. The paper wrappings are lint covered and worn from his fingering.

He whistles. The mare raises her head. She comes over, her hooves making a steady clump, clump, clump against the damp earth.

Holding one hand flat, he puts an unwrapped cube on his palm. She nuzzles it. Her long tongue wets his skin.

The stallion looks up. He saunters over to check his chances for a handout. He pushes Jason with his head and is rewarded with a cube. He walks away without looking back.

The mare stays and lets Jason stroke her head, silken hair against her hard skull. He puts his cheek against her long nose, loving the smell of horse flesh still damps from the earlier shower.

 *

Jason’s street has bungalows so close neighbor could almost shake hands out their windows. He ducks between Mrs. Frederick’ brown house and her lilac bushes. Their perfume makes his eyes water. From his purple cage he can survey his own home.

A blue Ford pick-up is in the driveway next to the postage-stamp lawn. Its cab is angled toward the street. The open back is positioned almost at the front door. His Uncle Tony and his father come out each carrying three cartons. The Dole pineapple logo is printed on them in yellow and blue. Some boxes are sealed. The top two are not. The two men wear jeans and white T-Shirts.

“This is the last,” Tony says. “Let’s roll. I promised to get this baby back by four.” He pats the truck’s fender.

His father puts the boxes in the back and disappears into the house. He reappears and glances at his watch.

“That damned kid. Where is he?” He walks to the curb and looks up and down the street but doesn’t spot Jason in his purple cage.

Going back to the front door, his father takes a key from a ring and shoves it through the mail slot.

Jason, as he leans back, scratches his forehead on a lilac branch. He rubs the blood off. Long after the truck is gone, he slips out of his hiding place and into his house.

It’s quiet. More so than usual even when he’s the only one there after school.

The black metal CD bookcase next to the ash-filled fireplace is half empty but not by shelves. The slots are spasmodically filled as in full, full, empty, full, empty, empty. Dire Straights, Guns and Roses – most of the rock is missing. His favorites. Left are his mother’s favorites: John Coltrane, Nina Simone, Betty Carter.

The red Barcalounger where his father sat to watch TV is gone leaving a rug with a matted square. It’s cleaner than the rest of the carpet.

The desk in the corner has open drawers. When he peeks in, he sees only dust. The computer on the desk hasn’t been touched. Taped to the screen is a note in his father’s handwriting:

Jason,

555-783-1140

Call me,

Love, Dad

Jason crumples the note. It bounces off the wall and lands in the wastepaper basket. No one is there to say, “Perfect shot, kid.”

Going into the kitchen, he looks around. Nothing has changed. In the fridge, once filled with good things to eat, he sees wilted lettuce and a carton of milk advertising long children.

He sniffs the milk and gags. He pours if down the drain watching little white clots of liquid disappear.

For a long time, he stands at the kitchen sink. The window looks out on the neighbor’s kitchen. No one is home there, either.

Then he goes back into the living room and plucks his father’s note from the wastepaper basket.

He walks upstairs to his tiny room and lays on his single bed. He waits for his mother to come home.

This is a short story that will be in my anthology The Corporate Virgin: Short Stories and Poems that will be published in early 2023.