Apt. 832
Braxton Chambers
Braxton sat alone on the kitchen floor. The sleeves of the oversized suit he wore engulfed his thin arms and the once crisp creases of the pants slowly unfolded. Sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce, Braxton contemplated his day to come over a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate. (He prefers hot chocolate to coffee.) He had very important matters to attend to this particular Saturday.
His to-do list was quite daunting, but with his excellent time management skills, Braxton was confident that he could handle his full day that lay ahead.
He first had to catch up on his morning cartoons. He had missed the previous two weeks due to the time he spent building and working his lemonade stand - which was his favorite way to spend time.
After hours on end of cartoon-watching, Braxton assumed his self proclaimed position as the Elevator Man for the apartment building. Occasionally, depending on which neighbor was riding the elevator, Braxton would continuously press the buttons to the wrong floor. Or better yet, he would sometimes run his hands over the buttons for all thirteen floors, which obviously irritated the other apartment dwellers.
But they always put up with Braxton's shenanigans as they felt sorry for the poor little fellow. You see, this is Braxton Jr. we're talking about. Braxton Sr., a widowed father, rarely spent anytime in the Wilshire building, as he was always away on "business".
Eleven-year-old Braxton Jr. was left free to roam the building and streets of the deceptively harsh surrounding neighborhood. But Braxton had street smarts. He knew that the folks at Jorri Rae's would take care of him and that there was something odd about the antique store across the street.
Anyhow, after Braxton's elevator adventures, he had pencilled in time to set up his lemonade stand for a while. Despite the either overly watery or overly lemony concoctions of "lemonade" Braxton created, the neighborhood's residents still loved Braxton's lemonade stand. There was just something so lovable about Braxton's quirky demeanor as he enthusiastically marketed his lemonade in his father's business suits that swallowed his skinny little body.
Braxton took to wearing his dad's suits as he aspires to be a business man one day, too. He hopes to work for Country Time lemonade.
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“…rivers of honey pure and clear.” [Qur’an 47:15]
ReplyDeleteI had lunch with Preston today. Well, I was eating. He wanted to talk. But my health matters more to me than words, so I focused on my food rather than him. His voice, a muffled buzzing against my eardrums, was just another reason to ignore him. We finished quickly and I said "thank you" and left. No, wait. I said "Thank you, Preston" and left. He doesn’t like it when I call him Preston. He prefers I use his title.
He apologized as I left.
It was cold and cloudy, but I decided I’d walk home this time. The bus driver wouldn’t miss me now, or ever. He’ll drive his habitual route, permanently ignorant. His job description is “move the masses but stop for no one.” And no one asks if that’s wrong. It just works, so they just work. They’re drones in this big beehive, and one day someone’s going to ask to see the honey and there won’t be any. They can’t produce.
They can only reproduce.
Those busy cars raced by me all the way. They were going places, but so was I. What made me different was that, while all they could see were the other cars, I had time to consider the road they were on.
It was in rough shape.
On the other hand, my sidewalk was covered in mud. But my shoes were dirty from before, and I didn’t have to worry about soiling my socks, because I wasn’t wearing any. So I trudged onward, soon letting my mind fall on other things. Something occurred to me.
I can’t remember what Preston said.
The crown of Wilshire Tower soon came into view over the rooftops of less important structures. That sight of it, the pinnacle of this localized world, the high point sitting over this godforsaken kingdom, reinvigorated my trek. I hurried my stride.
Suddenly the world started spinning.
Losing sight of the building, I panicked. As sleet began raining down on my body, nausea rose in my stomach. I went down on my knees. It didn’t help, and I was sick right there. No one saw it happen. The car windows were rolling up and not coming back down. The beggars were scurrying into their hovels, cursing their hardships. Even that young boy on the corner, who tries every day to seem like a man, was abandoning his darling lemonade stand to get out of this wicked weather. I retched again and the wildest thought came to me.
Today is another one of those days when I think I might be dead. I'm pretty sure time isn't moving, or maybe it's just fluctuating back and forth. All I know is I need some cigarettes and I need some vodka. I think the meat industry can wait.
ReplyDeleteI break the seal on my plastic flask of vodka before I'm even out of the store. I should be a poster child for broken dreams or some shit like that. There is a little kid selling lemonade on the side of the road. Wait, there's a little kid selling lemonade on the side of the road. Why the fuck is a little kid in this part of town selling fucking lemonade on the side of the road? Well I've got vodka, he's got lemonade, let's get this party started. The kid says it's fifty cents but my hands are too cold and my motor functions too degraded to actually grab anything out of my pocket. The kid realizes the futility of his business and tells me to just take the lemonade, I oblige.
I sit around all day, just like every day. My buzz is wearing off and I'm getting a mid-day hangover, just like every day. I know what I'll do to break the monotony, maybe today will be the day I finally die.
Something wakes me up, it's dark, my head is on fucking fire and the compressor to the meat freezer has shut off. The power's out. What's even worse, I'm laying in an ice cold bath tub, I'm surrounded by floating empty beer cans, like all the countless messages sent off in bottles never to be found, never to be heard, to drift alone eternally or sink to an icy grave. I can taste gun metal in my mouth, my gums and teeth hurt from clenching around the barrel of a .45, and I'm perfectly fine, alive and breathing. God damnit.
Well I've stumbled out of the tub, into some dirty clothes and all the way to the fridge. It's completely empty, not a drop of alcohol in this fucking house, just the fumes on my breath. Without thinking I find my way outside.
I think it's pretty late at this point. It's below freezing, there's sleet, and I'm in wet pajamas. Look at me. The power's still out and every store in town is closed. But Jesus Christ, there is silence. My ears and eyes are open and neither can detect a thing. This is beautiful. This is the first time I've found any kind of joy in this town, maybe even in my life for that matter. But all of a sudden I am thrown to the ground. Sharp pain shoots through my body as my moment of clarity shatters into hundreds of pieces. I feel like I was looking into some mirror and it cracked, the crack spread and sprouted like a tree, until the every piece fell to the ground, leaving me god only knows how many years of bad luck. Some dark hooded figure stands over me trembling. He says some shit about the government being after him and disappears into the darkness. I am stone sober; I'm on the cold, wet ground and I am unable to find where I just was. I am pathetic. Out of nowhere I'm in the spotlight. There is some car in front of me shining headlights straight in my face. I now realize that I am in the middle of the road. I step out of the way and a gray minivan slowly pulls past, like the looming side of a freighter while I'm stranded in a life boat. Some thug inside points a gun at me, I close my eyes and pray for my final bang. But when I open my eyes again I am alone. I am left once again to my silent, blind serenity.
I am alone.
AN EXCERPT FROM, "The Badger and the Dragon, or Meeting the Neighbors"
ReplyDelete...Morning Jack, the doorman says as I leave the building. Did I tell him my name?
As I walk down Mercy Road through the cold and the sleet, I try to fold up in on myself. Partly this is to protect my laptop. Partly this is in the hope that no one will look at me. You might be surprised how many people would live in a place like this, and they all seem to want to talk to me.
Even before I entered the apartment building for the first time I was accosted by a man peddling coffee. Once inside, I was stopped by a young boy in a business suit much too big for him. He sized me up, looked me in the eye, and then asked me, Sir would you please sign this here? Merely a formality, he assured me, all Wilshire Tower residents must sign. The paper he showed me was purposefully decorated with a merry collection of crayon squiggles. Sign here, he said, indicating a neon green loop-de-loop. That was when the doorman rescued me.
Today I wasn't interested in meeting more neighbors. However, my luck continued unabated. Taking a glance up from my cold feet I saw that there was a badger in the road...
Jebberwockey
ReplyDeleteWhat an interesting place, that Dungeons & Dragons store. It must have been potion only since I only saw bottles of interestingly colored remedies. As for my keepsake, I purchased the red crested bat. The name read "Bacardi" but I was certain that it was simply a reference to the Crimson Bat guild. If I drink this, my skills at D&D will increase tenfold! Now to head home and try out this bad boy-.........
$^%& it's raining and sleeting!!! Why do the D&D deities hate me so..... I gotta be quick through this rain and sleet! I don't want my limited edition Sean Connery shirt to get too soaked! It's joggin' time, baby!
~3 minutes later~
*pant pant pant* So tired and dehydrated...but almost there....I may as well take advantage of this rain. *Faces head upward and opens mouth wide* "Slrrrp!" Delicious!
~1 minute later~
Whoo! Made it! No need for a towel, Front Desk Guy. I can make it to my room. All that's left is to ride the elevator and I'm set! Maybe I'll take this time to start planning ahead for future days as well. The unpredictability of this weather is no joke. I should stay sheltered for a while longer until I know for sure that it's safe.
*DING*
Ah the elevator has arrived!...Oh great....its Braxton Jr. Tch more like BRATSton. How do I come up with these things?? I'm a comedic genius, that's how fufufu. Hmm? No I wasn't talking about you. I was saying that I was gonna have Bratswurst, erm liverwurst for dinner while watching Aladdin 4: Jafar Might Need Glasses. Ah this is my floor! A pleasure as always. Oh and don't jump too much when the elevator is descending. You'll fall through the floor.
Fortress of Solitude reached....Mission accomplished!
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ReplyDeleteThe Third Time
ReplyDeleteI am sitting on the sofa that is covered in fake Indian cashmere. I peer out the window behind me. Droplets of rain slowly slide down the glass in front of my face. They look like tears. I look at my arm, and the rain reflects onto it. My arm is crying. So are my clothes. My face.
Outside, I see a boy standing behind a lemonade stand. The rain sticks hair to his white forehead and makes his already large suit droop even more over his gawky body. Why sell lemonade in the rain? I want to tell him to come inside.
"Kaiya, would you like some breakfast, dear?"
That is Marge. She is one of the kooks I live with. She is tall and thin with grey, frizzy hair. She clearly doesn't recall seeing me sitting in front of her but 20 minutes ago slurping the milk from my cereal bowl. I don't respond.
"Oh, Amber, she still won't talk to me," I hear her "discreetly" whisper to my second guardian. Amber is plump, but rosy. She has straight, grey hair and really yellow feet. "Do you think she speaks English at all?" asks Marge.
"Yes. The agency wouldn't lie. She's just not comfortable yet. It's only been a week. Give her time," says Amber. I guess you could say she's the smart one. "Alright, Kaiya, we're going to work. We'll be back at seven. Be good, darling, and don't you think of leaving the apartment." She kisses me on the forehead and leaves with Marge.
Finally.
As the coast clears, I put on my rain coat and some of Marge's old galoshes. I carefully plop down the apartment's stairs. This is my third time outside. I've counted.
As I head out towards the grey street, I see the lemonade boy. His bright yellow stand illuminates the corner he stands on. He has a litle umbrella over the little, plastic cups of lemonade. I walk towards his stand.
"How much?" I ask.
"Ten cents," he replies. I don't have any money.
"Okay, I'll be right back," I lie.
I turn around quickly and run back to apartment 208. I enter my new home once again. Scared. Who knew the lemonade boy would be so beautiful?
Welcome again to the Wilshire PD website. If you couldnt tell by my first post, this website will keep you up to date on local dangers in the town, keep you updated on whats goin on with me, and hopefully make your day a little safer.
ReplyDeleteMy goal to clean up this somewhat dump of a town took a small step today when I was able to apprehend some yahoo selling lemonade on the corner next to the road by the theatre. I apologize for my lack of knowledge of these roads, I swear every time i walk into work in the morning chief tells me about a new road thats popped up. So, back to mr. lemonade. I would suggest that when walking on foot around the Southeast side of town, to avoid buying anything from any street vendors due to the fact that after running some extensive chemical tests on the lemonade found that it had a minor hint of arsenic. So, if you havnt picked up on it yet, don't trust street lemonade anywhere in this town.
So what have we learned today?
* Dont trust lemonade
* Do not buy from street vendors
* You have the best Lieutenant in the city...
* Just kidding
have a safe day guys.
Lt. Rocco Statone
"To Protect and Serve"
281-330-8004
Before she made it out the door, however, she noticed a young boy wearing a rather large businessman's suit intently writing. She planned on sneaking past him, but he looked up from his clipboard as she eased open the front door.
ReplyDelete"Can I help you Ms...?"
Her voice cracked as she spoke, "Alex....but everyone calls me Captain."
She inwardly scolded herself for letting that one slip. She was supposed to be starting a new life here, not trying to relive her old one.
"Alright, Captain." He smiled exposing a missing tooth. "Where are you going?"
"...I was going to get something to eat."
"You should go to Jorri Rae's. Just go left until you reach the end of the street, then take another left and it's on your right. They have really good waffles." He smiled again then went back to scribbling on his clipboard.
Preferring the stairs to the elevator, Louie loped out into the harsh weather. Watching each and every step he took, he became engrossed in the angles the broken pavement made on the dirty streets outside his apartment building. Lost in thoughts of the perfect, mathematical patterns, he didn't hear the small plink of that very important, very small key falling out of his pocket as he passed the lonely, dripping wet lemonade cart. Louie's mind is often preoccupied with such thoughts.
ReplyDeleteOn any other day, Louie would have spent his money on a cup of lemonade, but the weather proved otherwise. He wondered fleetingly why the boy wasn't there, and was a bit discouraged. Louie always had a joke up his sleeve, and no one else around here seemed to have a sense of humor. But, as usual, his mind wandered back to the distractions of his surroundings and the fear of being late for work.
Ding.
ReplyDeleteThe elevator. Back to reality. I stepped on, dazed.
There was that kid. Chambers? I couldn't remember. I acknowledged him with a grunt as he beamed up at me. He asked what floor. The bottom one. He hit 3.
I got off at three and took the stairs.
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ReplyDeletean excerpt from Storming:
ReplyDeleteI walk down the now muddy alleyway, not about to make the mistake of walking by the soup kitchen again. Even though the preacher wouldn't be out on the corner in this weather, there is no reason to risk it. I passed the remnants of little Braxton's lemonade stand; a few styrofoam cups littered the ground nearby. Normally I would buy a glass of his overpriced lemonade, but of course, the kid was nowhere to be found in this whether.
There was a little boy in the lobby, sitting at the front desk. He looked about eleven or twelve and he frowned at me as I passed by.
ReplyDelete"You're new, ain't you?" he called after me.
"Yeah."
"I'm gonna need your name. It's my job to keep track of everyone around here."
I smiled at him. "Oh, really."
"Yup." He pulled on the lapels of the over-sized suit he wore. "The name's Chambers. Braxton Chambers Jr."
"Sam Marconi."
He stuck his hand in mine and pumped it up and down.
"Mind if I call you Sammy Macaroni? It sounds nicer."
I shrugged. "Sure."
"That's settled then." Braxton took the pencil from behind his ear and began writing on a piece of paper: the name "Sammy Macaroni" and a little squiggle beside it which was, presumably, a noodle.
"It's a pleasure doing business with you," he said with a wink and a nod.
Every time it started to rain, Altan would go back to Wilshire Tower and drag his cart up five flights of stairs to his apartment (little Braxton, standing guard in front of the elevator, informed Altan that the elevator was broken). After the third time he'd made this trek, Altan's knees were began to throb and his back started to ache.
ReplyDeleteA few floors down, that damn little kid (Brayton? Satan? She never listened when he told her) stood by the elevator doors. He always asked her questions about her life; she was always silent. She rushed past this doorway, hoping he wouldn't catch a glimpse of her scurrying past, and headed for the street to poach her daily pack of gum.
ReplyDelete