Welcome to Boomtown - chapter 1
Earl fits the cap to his head, the soft worn flannel molding itself to each of the 27 phrenological constants in his life. He spins on the balls of his feet and gives the brim a quick tug as he sizes up the view in the hall mirror. Twinkling eyes. One crooked picket in his sly white smile. One straight, fresh Newport tucked behind his left ear. All floating above long, loose limbs and a lean body. He’s a dapper scarecrow who could be 35 or could be 70 (he’s closer to 70).
“Sure looking fine today, Mr. Earl. Any special plans?”
Earl gazes at the mirror expectantly, eyebrows cocked and ears pricked. When it doesn’t respond Earl provides his own answer, “A walk, I ‘spect. Then a nice quiet breakfast.” He chuckles to himself as he does every morning and heads out the door.
The sky is tinged red like a desert sunset and Earl’s feet leave dusty tracks in the patina of dust on the sidewalk. He turns his eye to the distant foothills where heavy machinery rumbles and groans and khaki tendrils snake against the verdant cover, fresh-cut roads like kudzu in Boomtown’s ever-expanding frontier. Wisps of smoke curl off the smoldering tip of the cigarette dangling from his lip.
He stamps out his smoke in front of Millie’s Diner, adding another sooty chapter to the journal he’s been keeping on the sidewalk these past few months. Settling at the counter, he pops a mint and doffs his hat as Luann splashes coffee into his cup. She puts the hot pot on the scarred Formica and gets pad and pencil ready. “What’ll it be, Earl? The usual?”
Earl winks; his whole face crinkles with the effort. “I think I’ll have me a bowl of grits and some bacon and a whole mess of scrambled eggs. I might just go hikin’ later.” Luann smiles despite herself and writes down Earl’s usual order of plain rye toast.
He coughs, soft as a whisper at first; soon booming coughs are rattling his whole body. Kavitha looks up from her paper and oatmeal and sees a gaunt old man clutching the counter as he’s wracked with a fit. She sees it all too often in the ER: too much dust and detritus in the air in Boomtown; not enough rain to clear the air and wash the streets. She folds her paper and takes a last sip of her tea before walking over to check on Earl.
“Would you be alright, sir? Could I be of assistance?” Crisp, polite, impeccable bedside manner nurtured over two decades and three continents. Kavitha places one comforting hand on Earl’s back and brushes the back of his hand with the other. The gentle touch acts as a balm, releasing the iron fist clutching his chest. He turns to look at his savior and sees two Brazil nuts swimming behind thick, chunky glasses. She asks again if he’s alright and Earl nods slowly.
“Sometimes it starts and I just can’t get a handle on it. Been that way a long time.”
Kavitha gently grips his wrist, giving comfort as she quietly checks his pulse. “I see.”
Earl should be excused the occasional paroxysm. In forty-three years at the Best-Os plant in Dearborn, working his way from floor sweep to shift manager, he inhaled more than his share of brake dust. Everyone did. But that plant gave him everything: he met his wife on the line; they paid for their home together and vacations on the lake and school for the kids with their comfortable salaries; and of course, there was the generous pension plan that made it possible to retire to Boomtown. If only.
It was quick, anyway. The mesothelioma that took Mary was diagnosed in April and she was gone by October. The kids blamed Earl, and couldn’t forgive him selling the house and rushing off to Boomtown. They hadn’t spoken to him since the funeral.
Having exhausted the clinical possibilities of lunch counter diagnostics, Kavitha asks Earl to come to the hospital where she can examine him properly. He is reluctant but agrees to meet her later.
“Very well. I would see you in an hour, sir.” Her English, precise but alien, is filled with vows of an uncertain future. To Earl, mindful of the nowness of this place, they sound both hopeful and hopeless. He tries to put her at ease with a promise, “I will see you in an hour.”
