Saturday 15 June 2019

'Impressionism' by Dan Crawley

Thomas drove into the convenience store’s parking lot. He saw Cal sitting on the open tailgate of his old beater Chevy truck, the only vehicle parked there at this late hour. Thomas lifted a hand as he pulled behind the truck, and Cal lifted his in response and with the other flicked an ember down at the asphalt. Both brothers wore beards, patches of grey on their chins.

When Cal climbed in, he said, “I almost got a hold of that door lock knob.” He pulled from his coat pocket what used to be a wire hanger, now a tangle, twisted most likely out of frustration. “Hope the clerk didn’t want this back.”

“When did you lock your keys inside?”

“Earlier tonight.” Cal relaxed against the headrest.

“You should’ve called me sooner.”

Thomas took the frontage road next to the interstate, the quickest way to go.

“I thought I could open the sucker,” said Cal. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”

“Was that a cigarette?” Thomas laughed. “I’m getting high here next to you.”

Cal’s eyes were shut. “That kind of day.” Then he said, “A matter of fact, I brought a baggie over to your place on your birthday last August.”

“I was home,” Thomas said. “Did you knock?”

Cal could be sleeping already. “I suppose you didn’t hear,” he said finally.

“I came over to your place recently,” Thomas said, switching to high beams when the road lost its last street light. A field of dead grass nearby seemed like a murky yellowish pond under the moon. “The door was open, and I could hear laughing. I knocked and called out, but no one appeared.”

“Maybe I wasn’t home,” said Cal.

“Your truck was there.”

“My roommates,” said Cal. “They’re loud.”

Thomas’s car crossed the tracks and turned the next immediate left into the apartment complex. He parked in front of a building near a lifeless flag high on a pole.

“Good thing you’ve got a brother so close,” Thomas said.

“Good thing you picked up,” Cal said, opening his eyes. He still held the bundle of wire. He tossed it onto Thomas’s lap. “You can have my piece of art as a present.”

Cal got out and tapped three times on the roof of Thomas’s car. He took the stairs up to his apartment two at a time. At the top, he stumbled and fell on a knee. He waved at Thomas in a way that could’ve either meant good-bye or get going.

Thomas drove down the narrow street behind the other apartment buildings. Passing the leasing office. The outdoor pool covered with a tarp for winter. He parked in front of a smaller building on the far side of the complex. He climbed up the concrete steps, taking one at a time, leading to his studio apartment. Soon the tiny landing was awash with light from his open doorway, and just that quick became dark once more.

No comments:

Post a Comment

FlashFlood is OPEN for submissions until 27 April 2024!

FlashFlood is OPEN for submissions from 12:01 a.m. BST on Sunday, 21 April to 23:59 BST on Saturday, 27 April 2024. You can read our submi...