1. WHO NEEDS ME?
– Welcome to Paradise Apartments, grunted the squat landlord with a red bandana and his goatee turning gray, – You are going to stick around, aren’t you, JB?
I held out six hundred in cash. He took it after looking me up and down. We took another quick walk around together and signed a year’s lease, not that I had any real plans for anything beyond a good night’s sleep, a shower, a beer or three, and I wasn’t picky about the order of things, such was the appeal of this newly won freedom. With a quick and sweaty handshake, I shut the door behind him. I scratched my beer belly, pulled up my old black jeans, noticing the zipper had broken again.
Truth or Consequences was a half-dead town with closed store fronts, cheap rent, and the lure of hot springs to ease the long hours on the road. My new apartment ended up being long, narrow, yet bright, it was New Mexico after all, huge open skies, sunshine all year round, and a lack of people to ask anything from me. The two living room windows faced the building next door, and another one opened out onto the parking lot out back where I’d parked the truck. The rooms were small, perhaps twelve by twelve at most, and with five holes in the walls near the TV cable in the corner. Upstairs, some soap opera’s screaming drama of lies and secrets blared out. Fake wood flooring hid the rotten sections underfoot. There was a bathroom in back, or rather a shower stall to be more precise. This shabby ambiance appealed though, the crusty elegance that was this step down in lifestyle. My girlfriend, sorry, my ex, she-who-shall-not-be-named, she would’ve hated it. Therefore, I would love it. Obviously, we didn’t part on good terms, but who ever really does?
Fuck.
Ready to settle in properly, I opened the back of the truck. It was a Toyota, a second generation 4Runner to be precise, a dream vehicle for my fifties, what with its two-inch lift, BFG all-terrain oversized tires, locking diffs, loaded roof-rack full of camping gear, books, and a cat. Odie was a sad looking lost soul I’d found in the dumpster the day before leaving. He stared at me from the back seat, not happy with spending days on the road. Odie, all ten pounds of scruffy ginger fluff and stumpy tail, jumped out the tailgate and ran for the nearest juniper tree. Oh well. So much for his company, good luck fella, claim your freedom, I did. Muttering to myself, I picked up his litter tray, a selection of wet cat food and grain free kibble, and not forgetting fleece blanket that used to be someone’s favorite sweater. I grabbed a six-pack and stuffed it on top of the litter tray, and then walked back up the stairs, carefully stepping over the third step, the loose one. The wobbly one.
I left the door open, whistling a tune by REM, and sat on a green corduroy armchair, picking at a loose thread on my old Wrangler jeans, doing nothing much. The window overlooked the barren trees, all those trees, lots of them, and not much else. Stick season, the landlord called it. Fall. Two cars passed. One siren in the distance. The television upstairs. Yup.
The tiny porch overlooked the town of T or C. It was no Manhattan, but that was the point. And well, the name was just too appropriate. I couldn't resist. She wouldn’t think to look for me here, even when the bank gives her an updated statement. I’d cleaned out our savings account eight days ago and she’d not noticed, trusting me to do the right thing despite it all. I was free now, what with all that money hidden away. Free to stay in a run-down paint-peeling, rickety old Southwestern house with only four apartments around me. Only four! What a concept. It’ll be great. Nothing wrong with a bit of peace and quiet. It’ll be fine. Just me and the cat. Just fine, the two of us. That is if he comes home.
The sky was darkening at ten or so when Odie strode across the barren room and over to the kitchen. Once on the yellowed Formica, he yelled for dinner. Hah, I knew he would, someone needs me. Poor sod.
– Did you want the wet or the dry?
The cat stared me down.
– Jeez, you can’t take a joke either?
With the IPA open in one hand, it was a bit of struggle to get the Blue Freedom Adult pate into a bowl without spilling too much beer. It’ll take practice, and I’ve only been doing this a week now. I’ve got the time now. Lots of time.
My phone rang.
My phone? Where the hell’s the phone? Stuck in the sofa! I jumped up, and grabbed for it, but tripped on one of the strips of wooden flooring, dropping the can of IPA, and the cat screeched, then my knee twisted as I yelled, – Emily?
Wanderlust Journal: We are back in action. Have you checked out the travel stories there recently? Well, I’d wait as we’re about to start publishing some work from travels in Italy by Cindy Hill and Sean Prentiss. (Through Wild Dog Press).
SUBMISSIONS OPEN! We’re taking ideas through the website contact form, just give a sense of what you want to share with our international audience of over 179,000 so far! We focus on personal experiences, approx 1500 words, include a short synopsis and bio please. Thanks, Brianna and Sarah
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