Mere Glimpses

Sam pulled into the WhatABurger off High Street, finishing off his bowl. He had just gotten a decent amount of O.K. herb. Sitting in his car towards the back of the lot, he was listening to Modest Mouse’s Building Nothing out of Something, and waiting on Mary Catherine to arrive.

Sam had met M.C. at a party of his brother’s the previous weekend. They had been spending quite a bit of time together since then. She was a beautiful sight, with shoulder-length hazelnut hair and just a few hints of almost forgotten highlights. She stands no taller than five feet (Sam adores petiteness) and although her breasts are small, they fit her body perfectly and couldn’t be imaged any other way. She is randomly dotted with beauty marks, which are justly so, for Sam could describe the entirety of her beauty no more than he could fly or dance on water.

After waiting a few songs, Sam decided to grab a smoke out of his car. While letting down the sunroof, he lit one of his Camel Lights and stepped out of the car. It felt really good outside, much warmer and calmer than it had been. The sky was clouded and a soft, warm breeze disturbed nothing.

As Sam leaned against his car taking pulls from his cigarette and enjoying Bukowski by Modest Mouse, he glimpsed at a haggard, road-worn man sitting on the curb between the back of “WhattheFuck” (as M.C. calls it) and the Waffle House next door.

Sam, still enjoying the music and nicotine, wasn’t surprised when he heard a weak shout. “Excuse me?” the worn man seemed to plead for his audience.

Sam knew the man was pleading for a lot more though, anything he could get and not hearing him for the traffic of High Street, trudged toward the haggard individual expecting to give and nothing else. He would feel much different afterward.

Getting a better look at this soiled man, Sam observed him walking with glee and a desperate skip in his step, devouring the pavement between them. He stood there before Sam, layered in coats and owning a beard that covered almost all but the eyes. “Hey there,” Sam murmured behind his Camel. “Hey buddy!” exclaimed the man. “Do yeh think yeh could help me out with a cup of coffee?”

Sam gave him a weak smile and a slight nod of his head while reaching for his wallet. He only had three bucks cash left, he handed all of the crumpled paper to this hard lived man. Noticing also the man’s gaze fell on his cigarette, he produced on more out of his pack and let that go as well.

Sam didn’t think he had ever seen anyone glow with as much happiness as that man radiated. For a moment he envied the man, who was really skipping back to his curb, who had no money, no vehicle, no… responsibility.

Looking over at the man enjoying every wisp of smoke povided from his treasure, Sam felt a pang of invidiousness. How can this man be so happy over so little? He doesn’t have anything! Sam wanted to shout. Or does he have everything? He wondered.

Sam decided he should make use of his delayed company and meet a new soul, one that had obviously seen much on the road of life and state. With this thought, Sam was eager to sit and chat with this interesting specimen of personal freedom, trying a skip of his own he advanced toward the hopes of a good story.

The man, not seeing Sam sauntering over to him, was rather startled when he first saw the tall, lanky build casting its shadow on him from only a few feet away. A panicked look flashed across his dark eyes. Maybe he thought Sam was going to ask for his money back and shatter his small yet sweet victory over the harsh reality of survival or he had gotten what he wanted and didn’t care for formalities.

As Sam approached the wayfaring individual, he saw traces of a road warrior that went unnoticed in their first meeting. The back and palms of his hands were a sullied brown and the bottom of his sneakers were peeling away from the burden their hard lives. Dirt seemed permanently imprinted into the spider web-like wrinkles that exploded from the corners of his eyes, leaving the part of his face not covered in hair checkered with dingy skin and dirt-filled fissures. Unwashed, disheveled curly hair seemed to roll like waves from his forehead to the bottom of his neck.

Sam, hoping he hadn’t started the conversation off on an awkward setting, quickly introduced himself. “Hello again,” he said with what he hoped was a comforting smile.

Confused as to why anyone should be coming up to him for the simple pleasantries of a conversation at this point in his life, the man mumbled some inaudible “atcha-nooga…” and studied his newfound cigarette. Sam, getting the presentiment, reached his hand out, presenting himself by name.

“My name is Sam,” he said, a little louder as to be heard over the city. The man reached his sordid hand towards Sam, their hands enveloped each others for half a second and the man responded, “I’m Rocky” in a voice brimming with the vestige of one who’s seen a lot, but done more.

Feeling more at ease, Sam settled down on the curb a few feet from Rocky and lit another cigarette.

“So where ya from, Rocky?” Sam asked.

“Chatanooga, Tennessee,” replied Rocky with a deep southern accent. “Tryin’ tah get back home,” he continued.

Elated through the sheer possibility of an epic conversation, Sam hurriedly pried for more. “So you got a family in ‘Noogah, huh?”

An eerie look crossed Rocky’s eyes, then he looked away and mumbled something barely audible to Sam’s ears, but it sounded like “only home.”

Sam, hearing the voice, felt his soul shrivle. No matter the inaubility of the voice, the torture and anguish of a sorrow he could not fathom pierced his being better than any stupid ass “Scared Straight” video or Jerry Springer show. How could one live with some much pain? Sam inwardly instegated.

After sitting silently for a minute, each of them still smoking, Sam pulls out another cigarette for Rocky. He accepts, graciously, but not as ecstatic as with the first one. Appreciation turns to disregard with habitualness. Sam, intent on obtaining info of the sorrowful Rocky’s travelings, suddenly burst out with a joy-filled voice:

“Man, I bet you’ve seen a lot of shit!” Feeling most absurd immediately after the words had left his lips, he plugged them up with another cigarette.

Rocky sighed, letting out a deep breath. “Yea, I reckon I have,” he spoke, “I’ve been just about anywhere between the four corners of the U.S.”

“That sounds amazing,” Sam said stupidly.

Accepting the comment with a slight drop of his eyes, Rocky continues, “Yea boy, there’s a lot of evil out there. Not everyone is decent like you, willing to help the needy with needless things.” Continuing after a few drags, Rocky says, “There’s some mean motherfuckers in the world, Sam. The worst I’ve come across yet was in Witchitaw, KS. Nearly got my head blown clean off for not a god damn thing. Who the fuck trys to rob a vagabond and even expects to get anything other than dilapidated shoes and some dirty jackets?!” Sam concurred with the outrageous trickle of the story.

“You have to enjoy what ya got when ya got it. You never know when some fucking psycho is gonna try and take away your existence over some dirty laundry,” Rocky mused. “Take what you can when it’s takeable and enjoy it to the paramount of its possibilities.”

As Rocky was finishing his powerful spurt of cautioning towards erratic human behavior and the joys of living in the now, Mary Catherine pulled up next to Sam’s car across the lot from where they sat.

Sam, thinking of the wisdom Rocky was trying to convey, decided he should start enjoying himself a lot more and with less hassle. Coping with the loss of another cigarette, Sam started towards M.C.

She was wearing the same green top she had on for lunch and she added a cute orange knitted hat. She was the very picture of happiness for Sam at that moment.

Sam, forgetting all about Rocky as soon as he laid eyes on M.C., retained some vital information from the chance meeting. Luxury creates misery, but that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the fuck out of it when you got it.

Enjoy the smokes Rocky, Sam thought walking towards his own current treasure, and hope for the next one.