By JoHannah Newman
The following short stories were written by Billows Managing Editor, JoHannah Newman, and will be published in this year’s OCHS Literary Magazine….enjoy!
Fumes
The road was empty; no one would dare cross it at this time. A black man in blue denim fumbles with the gas pump for what? There was no car in sight. The sun lifts its eyes to peer over the shadowing tree line. The minimal light was taunting, as if to say “You sure got nerve boy. Can’t hide forever. I’m comin’ for ya.”
In the murky light of dawn, a white man, met the man in blue by the deserted road. The two stood mirroring each other. Their embrace was immediate and intense, as if every wrong they had wrought were forgiven. The first man clutched a plastic jug and hastily filled the red gallon container with gasoline. The two grasped the bottle and pulled it to their lips, so that they almost touched. Together gulping down the burning liquid, the two men at last found peace.
The sun played with the light, sending beams of reflections joyfully frolicking through the air. It was a sultry summer day in a diminutive little town in Tennessee. Roger Holtz stood idly at his post by the single gas station pump, waiting for the morning rush to come driving in. His first customer pulled up in a sleek ebony car and rolled down his window. His dark grey eyes were shadowed by a pair of silver shades.
“Good morning, Roger.” His voice was cool and soft. He spoke with a deep unexplainable richness.
Roger curtly nodded to the man as he opened the gas tank of the car.
“Mornin’ Darren. This car sure is a beaut.”
“You always say that Little R.” Darren smirked at his companion as he climbed out of the stunning vehicle.
Roger bristled at the nickname, but he could never contradict a white man. No one ever seemed to say anything to the man who gingerly closed the door of the black convertible behind him. He casually strolled across the lot and into the ramshackle convenience store behind the gas station.
A new car, this time a pale blue T bird, rolled into the lot, driven by a lovely red head dressed in a pure white sundress. Roger felt his dark hands grow clammy and he became nervous at the sight of the ravishing southern belle Miss Lilliana Soulder. He instantly lowered his innocent grey eyes as she daintily exited the T bird. She practically floated across the asphalt, handed Roger a bill and asked him to “Fill er up luv.”
Roger stood speechless, staring at his pink fingertips where hers had so briefly touched. The word “luv” seemed so precious on her ruby lips.
“You like her” Roger was jolted by the chilling voice of Darren against his ear. He had a tendency to appear almost unnoticed. “I don’t.”
Roger didn’t want to meet his companion’s eyes, whose face nearly perched on his shoulder. He could feel Darren’s breath on his check, which disengaged every feeble barrier Roger had established to protect himself.
“You Don’t?” His voice quivered. His question sounded more like a confirmation.
Darren shook his head slowly; his darkness seemed to push all light away from him. Roger felt fearful at times when Darren’s presence became so foreboding. No one else ever seemed to notice.
Roger shimmied away from Darren’s warm breathe and filled the blue car with gas, taking great care to protect the paint. Lilliana came skipping from the store, and lightly touched his rough shoulder as a thank you. She slid into her car, and Roger watched her flash him her trademark smile as she drove away. All he wanted to do was kiss her, yet he had hardly even spoken a word to her.
Roger moved about the station while Darren sat parked in the corner and waited for his shift to be finished before he drove off in his convertible.
“It’s time to get up Roger.”
Roger stirred from his troubled sleep to find Darren sitting on the edge of his undersized bed in a full suit.
“How’d ye get in?” Roger reluctantly pulled himself up into a sitting position. The clock by his bed read 11:24PM.
“Oh I have my ways.” Darren absentmindedly twisted at his Rolex. “I need to show you something.”
Darren waited patiently as Roger dressed himself in his nicest clothes without further question. They both knew he would follow Darren nearly anywhere.
Roger tripped out of the front seat of Darren’s convertible and landed by the entrance to a lavish casino located a few towns away from his own quaint home. It was known as the local place for those with too much money to get drunk, loose their decency and get dragged home in a stupor. Roger wrinkled his nose at the sight. He had too much moral and not enough cash to spend much time at the place. Darren calmly strode through the bedazzled entrance and waited for Roger to scamper after him.
Darren ordered drinks for them both as Roger gawked at the expenses of the place. The casino was draped in genuine jewels everywhere. Suddenly Roger’s ragtag suit, which had spent a small fortune to obtain for his high school graduation ten years ago, looked as if he had assembled it from old dishrags in comparison. Lilliana sat perched on a blackjack table, watching an attractive assortment of men test their luck with the cards.
Darren touched Roger on the arm to pull him out of his trance, handing him his martini, he leaned towards his ear.
“There she is. Drink that martini and prove me right.”
“Whaddya mean?” Roger couldn’t understand. Darren pushed him forward.
“I mean. Go and talk to her. And prove why men like you can’t be with women like her.”
Still a bit confused, but daring not to disobey Darren, Roger downed the alcohol and walked over to the table. Those around her instantly took up a look of distain at him as he reached the card table. Lilliana smiled but didn’t speak. Roger floundered in an attempt to find something to say, and soon found Darren, his liberator, speaking for him.
“Would the lady care for a drink?” He bowed, and Roger hastened to bow after him.
Roger could think of little to do and smiled as Darren voiced his request. Lilliana was about to respond when several of her cronies pushed forward, blocking her from view. They all murmured about his questionable sanity. Roger couldn’t think of a single thing to do. Darren however heatedly started swinging at the snarky guards blocking Lilliana. The rest became a jumbled mess of fists and confusion. Several of the men took punches at Roger, but never at Darren. Through the bloody punches, Roger saw Darren reach Lilliana and knock her over. Roger felt himself filled with a new strength, and threw the cronies off to tear Darren away from the girl. The fight that ensured seemed to confuse and alarm everyone nearby. Roger tried to fling Darren away from him, but was overcome by his companion’s strength. He finally reached Lilliana and kissed her, his perpetual goal in life, before a new set of hands dragged him away. He watched his vision turn to black as he passed out.
Roger woke up with his arms strapped to a bed. His face was bruised and battered. Women in white skirted around him, as if afraid he would lash out again. When he asked for Darren, they scurried away and whispered urgently in the corner. The day he was intended to be discharged his first visitor entered the room. Dear Darren coolly walked in, but refused to sit.
“That night at the bar shouldn’t have happened.”
Roger acted like a child with his father. He felt as if he had been caught doing something terrible.
“I’m sorry Darren. What happened that night? Those guys walloped me for nothing.” Roger tried to speak through his aching jaws.
“Do you not hear what they say about us? I thought you were smarter.” Darren seemed frustrated, an emotion he had never shown before. Roger thought about what he said and finally reached the grim conclusion. Neither spoke as a doctor nearly walked into Darren and systematically forced Roger to stand, handing him his suit, which had been loosely folded on a chair. As Roger left the hospital, for the first time he was truly alone.
Daylight threatened to breach his world of darkness, but he knew it would never reach him in time. There was nothing more pleasing in that moment to Roger Holtz than the reek of gasoline and the thought of Lilliana’s lips pressed against his ever so briefly. He thought he was seeing things, and knew he was as he watched Darren dejectedly walk up the street like a man that had been broken. He had never taken a step without his trademark swagger, but now Roger knew more.
The friends could share no more words, their sins were above that. Roger gestured toward the gasoline pump and a silent pact was sealed. The two gulped the fiery poison until either could no longer see. It was all over.