Too Many Cooks

Welcome to Boomtown — Chapter 4

Previously

Earl was alone in the examination room longer than he would have liked. Dr. Gall had left him with a bemused look and one raised eyebrow. Earl felt he could hear the doctor’s judgment cascading from his brain down to his frown. “They’re just lumps, lad,” Earl assured him. “I never have had the prettiest of melons.” Dr. Gall merely turned and left.

No matter where on earth you are, if you’re in a medical building, they all have the same feel. Walls that were once white but have since dirtied with age. Tiled floors in discount patterns, stainless steel fixtures. All of it designed to be easily cleaned of the body’s inner workings, to be wiped clear for the next poor animal being wheeled in for a peek under the hood. Earl ran one hand over the cold counter top beside him, another through the thinning hair hiding his lumps from the world, and he sighed.

There was a poster hung on the wall opposite extolling the virtues of hand washing. Another one closer to the door telling anyone who’d listen about the ins and outs of flu season and our individual duties as citizens in the fight against epidemic. Earl pointed at the poster and said, “Flu you, buddy.” His laugh turned quickly into those familiar coughs, the coughs to a wheeze. He was surprised no one came into the room to check on him after the racket he’d made.

Left alone too long with his memories, the sheen of a sterile environment, and the health propaganda, Earl began to take stock of himself. It was something he had started long ago as a means of passing the time without resorting to a nap. It’d came in handy so often on the line at Best-O’s, in the quiet of a third shift break-room when the kids hadn’t let him get his day’s sleep in. He examined his boots first and worked his way up. The sole was going on the right heel. It never failed to wear down more quickly. Mary used to say it was because he always put his right foot first. Seemed she never ran out of those sunny nonsense sayings, even at the end.

The wool on his pants was scuffed shiny and thin at the knees, in back at the bottom of his calves, on the inside of his thighs. He’d only buttoned his right shirt cuff. A thread was dangling dangerously from both buttons of his coat. It hit him that he was going about the world looking the way his cough sounded. He’d let himself unravel since Mary went. The fresh lad who’d sat across from her glowing face in that Scottish pub so long ago had gotten dusty and gray.

“Ah,” he moaned. “Oh.”

Earl ran his hands through his hair again. The lumps seemed warm under palms. He made little circles around their base with his fingertips and closed his eyes. The room smelled like cleaning products and something private. He could hear footsteps in the hallway, the faint hum of far-away conversations. His let his breathing be shallow, little puffs of air that wouldn’t go looking for coughs.

He may have fallen asleep, but he couldn’t be sure. His legs were numb and he had the fuzzy sensation of having lost time when finally he opened his eyes. A noise had suddenly overtaken him. His head was filled with it. A low buzzing, it seemed, from somewhere outside the room. It was constant and oppressive, so that he could feel it against his skin. Earl imagined some horrible emergency surgery, amputations or worse. He didn’t let himself picture what might be worse. “They’d get it cleaned up easy enough,” he thought with a smile. The noise came at him harder and his smile dropped away. He got up and moved to the door, grabbing at the counter the first few steps to steady himself on his useless legs.

The door opened and the floor of his exam room spread out into the hallway, in all directions an unbroken field of linoleum. A room across from him was busy with movement, doctors and nurses and others in civilian clothes moving quickly around a bed. The curtain hadn’t been pulled closed on the observation window to the left of the door. A child was in the bed. Earl couldn’t figure out if it was a boy or girl in the brief glimpses he’d catch between arms and bodies passing across his view. The child’s eyes were closed. The poor thing looked dead already. Earl could just stand there watching, thinking ruefully of advertisements for prime time television programs he’d never watched.

The noise in his head continued to grow steadily louder, the feel of it on his skin more acute. He held his breath and grabbed hold of the door frame. He swallowed hard and concentrated on returning to normal, the way you might fight off nausea. Only seconds later, it seemed, though it could have been minutes—he had for some reason lost his grasp on time since entering the hospital—Earl was on his knees screaming against the noise in his head. The last image he saw before falling forward onto the tile floor was eight white sneakers running toward him from the child’s bed across the hall.

Welcome to Boomtown - Chapter 3

Previously

The bumps had always been there, even when he was an infant. His pa told him it was a sign of special things to come. Thankfully, his hair came in thick as he grew into toddlerhood, so the lumps weren’t obvious unless someone put her hands on his head. That didn’t happen often enough for him to worry about.

Pa told Earl the bumps were like antennae. Each one was tuned into something different; animals, people’s thoughts, the vibe of the universe, etc. Earl thought it was bullshit. He had never been any luckier than anyone without a lumpy head, so what good was it even if he was “tuned in?” None. None at all.

The only experience Earl could remember that remotely resembled luck or clairvoyance or awareness in the slightest occurred when they visited Scotland. He was a teen and the family was walking the fields to nowhere in particular. The fog was just lifting a bit when they saw another little group wandering in the grass.

It looked like a father, a teenage girl, and a boy. They were talking and laughing and Earl was wondering what it would be like to be easy with people like that, even his family. To just walk in a pasture talking and laughing in the morning mist, not a care in the world. It must be amazing.

Then Earl started to feel a rumbling. He heard and felt this low rumble, and turned to look at his pa. Pa and the rest of the family were not reacting at all. It was like they didn’t even feel or hear the rumble that was building until it was nearly deafening. He screamed and the other family looked up, suddenly aware of his presence. They began to run over to Earl because of his screams, and that’s when it happened.

A herd of Highland cattle stampeded by. They came out of nowhere, out of the fog, and thundered over the ground where the girl and her family had been strolling. If not for Earl’s screams, they’d have been trampled. The herd continued into a small village nearby, knocking carts to the ground. Some of the cattle were wounded and subsequently destroyed.

Testing showed the herd suffered from bovine spongiform enchephalopathy. Had the cattle not stampeded, they might have gotten into the food chain as well as killing the little family. Earl put it down to acute hearing, but he became the “boy who stopped the mad cows.” It was a moniker he could have done without.

Mary, her father and brother came to the pub that evening to buy dinner for Earl and his family as a thank you for saving their lives. Earl couldn’t help blushing every time he and Mary made eye contact. They slyly eyed one another with peripheral vision, neither of them forward enough to out and out stare, tempting as it was. The air was crackling. They had no idea their families were even at the table. It was heavenly.

When the dinner was over. Earl and Mary shook hands formally, as did everyone else. They also traded addresses. “I promise I’ll write you!” “Let’s stay in touch!” They said all the things teens have said since time began, whether they met on the beach or at summer camp. But Mary really did write Earl, and that was enough for him. He started saving his coins for a trip to America to visit her.

Mary couldn’t forget the slight Irish lad who saved her life. She had never seen anyone like him. He was so still, even when the rest of the world was spinning with activity. His eyes twinkled so that she swore to herself her Earl must be half leprechaun. Was that possible? She brought a book home from the library on fairies and leprechauns and elves. Ireland was such a magical place. She wished they had been able to see where Earl lived. She wondered if he burned peat in a fireplace in his living room.

Earl told the doctor that the lumps had always been on his head, and they had never caused him any discomfort. Life had far worse trials for him than those stupid lumps. He didn’t tell the doctor about his mad cow sensing skills. He’d made that mistake before. It wasn’t worth changing hospitals again just to avoid a psychiatric evaluation.

Welcome to Boomtown - Chapter 2

Previously

Just as scarecrows were a dying breed as family farms gave way to strip malls and factories loomed vacant as haunting remnants of an era fading into history, Earl sometimes felt himself drifting into oblivion. He too was of a different time and the pallor of his skin was making him look increasingly like a character from an old black & white movie. Jimmy Stewart might have portrayed him, a classic man of honor whose personal code prohibited him from going back on his word.

He checked his watch one more time, hoping to find that the hands had magically reversed course. Hoping didn’t make things so he thought as he pulled the tattered photograph from a pocket of his wallet. As he exhaled a long labored breath, the name Mary sighed from deep within his chest. Deep within his being. He tucked the picture back into its compartment and removed a few bills which he tucked neatly beneath the edge of his coffee cup. 

Taking the final swig as his rose from the stool he called out to Luann, “You take care of yourself, beautiful.”

Luann paused from restacking some water glasses behind the counter to give him an over-the-shoulder smile and a wave. “You too sug’.”

Heading outside he flipped the collar on his jacket up to try to stave off the chill that seemed to stalk him. This ever-present ghost would have caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up had any been allowed to take hold there.

The hospital would have been a short walk for him a few years ago but now he opted for the short bus ride, comforting himself in the knowledge that no one walked in Boomtown. It was a city of motion, constantly turning, churning, sometimes crushing the unprepared beneath its wheels. The oppressive dryness of the environment created its own type of brake dust.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the Emergency Room doors before the electronic eye granted him admission. He still recognized the man who returned his gaze, his physical form altered yet familiar. A cold gust rushed out as the doors slid open. Why did they have to make these places so cold? “You trying to freeze me to death,” he jokingly blurted out to the universe or the keeper of the hospital thermostat. Actually he remembered hearing that freezing wasn’t a bad way to go.

Following the yellow line that mapped out the pathway along the tiled floor, he zigzagged around a couple of corners and arrived in the waiting area of the ER. Kavitha looked up from her work at the nurse’s station as her internal radar signaled a distressed soul coming within range.

“You came, as you said you would,” she stated as she picked up a clipboard and started toward Earl, motioning for him to take a seat in one of the hard plastic seats that lined the walls. “Fill this out for me and I’ll be back in a minute. I want to see if Dr. Gall can see you.”

Earl removed his cap and gave a nod in lieu of tipping the hat, before accepting the paperwork from his angel of mercy. She smiled, a bit more on one side of her face than the other, which could have been body language for “You old charmer” or “You poor sick bastard.” Based on their earlier interaction it was safe to assume it was the former.

He sat down, balanced the hat on one knee, and ran his hand over his smoothed waves of silver hair as a comforting gesture before turning to the paperwork. He hated hospitals but he had promised Kavitha he would come. Truth be told, her long black hair tied back in a low-hanging bun reminded him of his daughter-in-law for whom he had always had a fondness. But she and the boy had split up years ago and he had no idea what had become of her.

After returning the clipboard and going through the routine maneuvers of sticking out his tongue, coughing, breathing deeply, and remaining still during the x-ray, for a stream of nurses and residents and technicians, he was left alone in the exam room for a time. He laid back on the table and tried to imagine his beloved Mary standing at his side, holding his hand in a reversal of the reality that had played out between the two of them at a hospital that smelled just like this one.

“I should have gone first, baby,” he said, as the exam door was opening again.

“Let us have a look at zese, shall ve?” The doctor who Earl presumed to be Dr. Gall, was pulling x-rays out of a giant folder as he entered and seemed to be speaking to himself more than Earl. “So vhat is going on here?”

Unsure if his input was required but equally unwilling to be a bystander to his own virtual, preliminary autopsy, Earl chimed in with an uneasy joviality, “My lungs seem to be having a bit of disagreement with me. I think they should breath and they think I should cough.”

“Smoker. Ah, factory. Ya, I see.” The doctor still hadn’t looked directly at Earl but continued to look at the chart and the back-lit images that formed a macabre art installation along the wall. “Zat could cause some impediments.”

Earl let out a few muffled coughs as he tried to steady his breathing for the diagnosis he expected to come next.

“Ya, ze smoking is bad but now let us talk about zose bumps on your head.”

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.”

Buzz - Chapter 5

Previously

Having determined the smell wasn’t anything remotely resembling dinner, Stanley hung back. After a few more steps his roommate collapsed to her knees and let out a loud cry that scared him. His front paws danced beneath him back and forth in a quarter circle maneuver as he tried to figure out how to proceed. The other lady on the ground didn’t bother him. She looked like his roomie sleeping but she was in unfamiliar clothes. He looked at his crumpled friend and nuzzled her arm trying to get her attention. He was concerned. His intense black eyes tried to convey this but she just stared at the body and swayed ever so slightly with each heaving breath.

Clearly the body had to be addressed or they might not get home for dinner. Stanley dropped his butt onto the cool ground and looked around, trying to sniff his way to an answer. Going on instincts, since that was all dogs really had to work with, Stanley headed in the direction his nose took him. He no longer saw the figure on the ground, he just knew that he had found a spot where he needed to dig and set to his task with a vengeance. After several minutes, he detected a shift in the scents and stopped digging. Looking back he saw his roommate still kneeling on the ground. She sometimes got in this position next to her bed at night before they went to sleep but she wasn’t usually crying when she did that.

Trotting over to her he tugged at her sleeve. She needed to come see what he had accomplished. He had dug a really good hole. Good things were often found in holes although he had once gotten a serious whack on his nose when he dug a hole in the neighbor’s yard. For a long moment she didn’t move, but then her body gave a little and she looked at Stanley, glad to have a momentary distraction from the images in her mind. Those had been her shoes and she had fallen asleep in that very spot, years ago. She’d collapsed from the shock and exhaustion and perhaps a little too much wine with dinner.

Stanley ran back over to the hole and waited expectantly, his tale nearly wagging him off balance. “Come back here,” she said as she approached to scoop him up. “We need to go back to the truck now.” 

But he backed around to the other side of the hole, forcing her to come closer. That’s when she looked down and caught sight of two small objects made visible through Stanley’s efforts. She wanted to turn away but the realization hit her that if she did, the buzzing would find her again. Just as Stanley had scraped away layer after layer of dirt, it was time for her to peel through the onion layers of understanding. The S-O-S wasn’t a plea from the dragonflies that they needed help, it was their way of trying to help her.

As these thoughts flooded into her brain, she started pacing again. Oh no, Stanley thought, remembering his delicate little paws getting stepped on more than once during her recent pacing episodes at home. Stanley ran and hunkered down under the truck. He couldn’t understand what she was doing but he knew it didn’t involve his belly being filled. And she didn’t need him for whatever this was. He blinked his bulgy eyes and watched with his chin on the ground between his front paws.

Twice she stopped pacing to bend down and pick something up. Stanley started to rise. Those looked like sticks, but he suspected if it wasn’t time for dinner it might not be time for play either. He twitched his back end a little and then settled back down to his previous position, noting that the sun was coming down to eye level.

She walked back over to Stanley’s hole and sat down, putting the sticks beside her. Brushing gently at the ground, tears began pouring down her face again. Stanley suspected his water dish could have been filled with all the water his rommie had leaked today. Figuring his paws were safe with her sitting down, he padded over to her and nuzzled his way into the triangle recess of her crossed legs. From the recess in the ground he could see her pick up a shiny object. 

It was smaller than the dragonflies that she had been talking to earlier, the ones who had flown in a big food bowl formation, but it was the same shape. She didn’t talk to this one like she had the others but then this on was in her hand. His Chihuahua to English capabilities were limited, so the words didn’t help him understand. But, he could feel her emotions ride up and down like the bumpy ride they had taken in the truck. Right now she seemed sad so he just perched a proprietary paw on her knee and waited. She continued to rub her fingers over the shiny object, her tears washing away some of the dirt that clung to the intricate patterns on the tiny wings.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, still clutching the metal object. “It was an accident.” Those words sounded familiar to Stanley. He’d heard something like that when he got stepped on. 

Then she brushed some more dirt away from the patch Stanley had started excavating and she removed a second object. This one was round and silverish and had little scratched marks on it. Stanley tilted his head slightly causing the similar disc attached to his collar to jingle slightly. He stretched his neck out to sniff at it but this time she nudged his head away. “That’s not yours, Stanley.” Her voice was muffled and he could hear her snuffling and swallowing hard, trying to force something down.

Silent minutes passed and she started to uncross her legs, forcing Stanley to move off of her legs entirely. He decided it was time to go and visit a nearby tree. While he was off doing his business, she untied and removed one of her shoelaces. She wrapped the string around the two sticks securing them in a cross pattern like the shiny object she wore around her neck. Then she put the small dragonfly back in the hole and started covering it up. 

“I didn’t know what I’d lost until I got home. I was so afraid someone would find out. They wouldn’t understand it was an accident. But I’ve taken really good care of Stanley. I know it doesn’t fix everything but …” and she trailed off into a sob again.

After she’d filled Stanley’s hole back in, she put the hand-crafted wooden cross on the top. Still clutching the other metal disc, she stretched out on the ground next to the impromptu cemetery. The sun was setting, casting long shadows as Stanley trotted back toward his roommate. Again he tilted has head and gave a little perplexed nudge of her foot. This wasn’t where they slept, but clearly she wasn’t ready to go home. Failing to see an other options, Stanley curled up at her feet. He would stand guard, his evening shadow giving him the external impression of a bigger protector.

It remained quiet and still for a long time but a sudden loud crunching sound perked up his ears. Dust blew up into his sensitive nose, causing him to give a little head-shaking sneeze. Stanley quickly sent out an alert with a quick series of yaps. His roommate sat up with a start and found herself blinking as she looked directly into the flashing blue and red lights.

Buzz - Chapter 4

Previously

She sat, frozen in place with her hand on the door handle, until Stanley began to worry. He nudged her arm with his nose, and she suddenly snapped into action. She leaned over and cranked the handle to close the window on the passenger side. Then, she turned to Stanley and said, “I don’t understand what’s happening. I’m scared.”

Stanley didn’t understand, either, but he wasn’t scared of the dragonflies. He was scared for her, and he didn’t know how to help. She was the only human he had ever known, so he had nothing to go on in terms of dealing with her recent odd behaviors. He did know one thing. It was close to dinnertime and they couldn’t stay here. His bowl was not here. His bowl was at home. They had to go home.

Stanley crawled onto her lap. From there, he was able to poke his nose at the keys dangling from the ignition.

“Oh, Stanley, you’re right. We need to leave.” She gave him a hug and moved him back to the passenger seat. Pumping the accelerator, she turned the key in the ignition.

The engine gave a cough and a grumble, then died.

“Damn! I’ve flooded it! Looks like we’re stuck here for a little while, Stan,” she said. She was trying to sound comforting, but it wasn’t working. Even with the windows closed, they could still hear the buzzing.

She tried to think about dragonflies. Her knowledge was slim to non-existent. The only things she could remember were that people liked them because they ate mosquitoes. She also knew that dragonflies were not capable of walking. Other than that, she was blank on dragonflies. She was pretty sure they weren’t known for creating formations that resembled angry eyes, and “her” dragonflies had most definitely done just that.

She could see part of the swarm if she leaned her head against the window. They had moved from their original spot and for one crazy second, she thought, “They’re blocking my exit!”

The buzzing was still intense, but there was something else, a palpable quality to the sound. There was a throbbing pattern to the buzzing. Intrigued, she rolled down the window a few inches in order to hear better. Yes, there was a pattern. It was three quick buzzes, three longer buzzes, then three quick buzzes.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzzzzzzzzz, buzzzzzzzzz, buzzzzzzzzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

There was a familiarity to the throbbing noise, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Stanley whimpered. “Hush, Stanley, I need to pay attention to the dragonflies,” she said. He crept closer and she gave him a few pats on the head. Small comfort, but it was better than nothing.

The buzzing grew louder. It was almost as if the dragonflies were behaving the way some people do when they are not being understood. Rather than re-stating themselves, they just speak louder.

Her eyes widened. That couldn’t be it. Could it? Were the dragonflies sending out an S-O-S? Three short, three long, three short, pause, repeat. It had to be S-O-S! It could be nothing else!

“Stanley, maybe I’ve gone crazy, but I think the dragonflies are asking for help. I’m going out there. You stay here and be a good boy, okay?” Stanley did not think it was one bit “okay,” and he let her know this by burrowing into her lap. She was not leaving him behind; if anything happened, it would be every woman, or dog, for himself, and Stanley knew he had a better chance of surviving in the great outdoors than he did shut in the cab of a truck to starve to death. Stanley, like any good Chihuahua, tended to be a bit dramatic.

“Fine, it’s your decision. Come on then, but be careful.” She slowly opened the door and stepped out of the truck with Stanley in her arms. She placed him on the ground and he darted behind her.

The swarm slowly lifted from its place in front of the truck and moved up until it was at eye level.

“What do you want?” she whispered. The S-O-S pattern continued.

“What do you want?” her voice was firmer now. She didn’t think they would harm her.

The swarm moved to her left, heading to a nearby copse of trees. When she didn’t follow, it moved back and rippled, almost as if to motion her to come along. She took a tentative step and the swarm again moved toward the trees. Another step. The swarm moved again. It was obvious she needed to follow.

“What is it, Lassie? Is Timmy in the well?” She couldn’t help herself. This was crazy behavior, so why not act accordingly?

Stanley followed closely at her heels. Suddenly, he thrust his nose into the air. There it was again, that rotten smell he had noticed earlier. It wasn’t the dragonflies; whatever it was, he knew it wasn’t good. The closer they were to the trees, the stronger the smell. She had not noticed it yet, but her nose, like many of her senses, was not as powerful as Stanley’s. He always felt sorry for her; she missed so many delicious smells on their daily walks. He turned his nose back to the smell at hand. It was not the smell of anything he wanted to eat. That much he knew.

The swarm moved to a clump of brush right at the edge of the tree line. With one final resounding “BUZZ!” the swarm broke apart and the dragonflies were nowhere to be seen. She moved closer to the clump and then the smell hit her. Pulling the neck of her shirt up to cover her nose, she moved closer.

There was a shoe. In the shoe was a foot, attached to a leg. The leg disappeared into the bush. She had a strange feeling the rest of the body was there, too.

Buzz - chapter 3

Stanley waited for the familiar lurch of the truck moving but didn’t feel it. All he did feel was his roommate shaking, almost as fast as he was. He risked a tentative peek out the window and saw the park with its expanse of green grass, trees, all the rocks he’d marked as his own. What he didn’t see was an angry circle of dragonflies. He sniffed and smelled something sweet and salty. He followed his nose to his friend’s face and proceeded to lick the water leaking from her eyes.

She still clenched the shifter with one hand, ready to jam the gears in place and race away. With the other she cradled Stanley to her chest as he licked her face. Normally she’d make a show of warding him off. This time she didn’t. She sat frozen, the only movement her eyes darting left and right, scanning the horizon.

The buzzing was gone for now. The only sounds left were her pounding heart and the the old man rumble of the truck’s engine. She loosened her death grip on the shifter and concentrated on her breathing. Stanley finally got his fill of her sweat and tears so she let him go. He hopped to the passenger seat and put his little paws on the door and his head out the window.

“It’s a good thing those dragonflies disappeared, Stanley. I forgot your window was still open.”

Stanley sniffed at the air. If he’d been a classicist, he might have made a joke about Denmark because something sure was rotten in the park. He whimpered and took his paws off the window. He spun circles in his seat, the universal sign for, “let’s get out of here.”

She saw Stanley spinning in his seat. “We sure don’t want to drive all the way home if you need to use the bathroom, do we?” she said in response to the universal sign for, “I’ve got to pee.” She took a few deep breaths and patted Stanley on the head to calm herself more. Then she turned off the truck. It sputtered twice before dying and she thought it was about time for a tuneup. Stanley yipped excitedly as she turned to open her door.

The dragonflies were back.

Buzz - Chapter 1

The buzzing was driving her crazy. It had been days now. Once again, she walked around her small bungalow looking for the source. She turned the fluorescent lights on and off again. She checked that the appliances were still unplugged. Flipped the TV and radio on and off, the lamps, unplugged the cell phone charger. The buzzing continued.

Stanley was concerned. He may be a Chihuahua, but he knew when his roommate was not acting normally. Sure, he got his food on time, and the water bowl was full. They still sat in the yard together in the morning and evening as always. But the pacing! She paced and paced and kept touching things over and over. Things that had always been there. Things that smelled dead, as they always had. Things that should be ignored.

He tried to pace with her but her stops, starts, and turns had become so unpredictable that she had stepped on him more than once. So Stanley sat on the arm of the couch from where he could see her most of the time. They still slept in bed together, but fitfully. If she didn’t get a grip soon, he was going to be sick with exhaustion again.

She decided they should go for a drive together. Maybe there would be no buzzing in the truck. Plus she owed Stanley some fun because lately she was so distracted she kept stepping on him. He wasn’t a youngster anymore, and if she kept this up she was afraid she might really hurt him, like break a bone or something. Poor little guy. She knew he kept his bulgy eyes on her. He always knew when something wasn’t right, even if he didn’t know what it was. He was, after all, just a dog.

The truck started right up on the first try. That was a bit of a surprise, because she couldn’t remember the last time they had driven somewhere. She needed groceries and to run errands like a normal person, but she just couldn’t concentrate because of the buzzing. Stanley jumped into her arms as soon as she asked, “Ride?” He was shaking and wriggling with excitement. This was a good decision.

As they drove along the river, she rolled down the windows and left the radio off. It was quiet. There was just the wind and Stanley’s panting, no buzzing. The truck could probably use a muffler check, but it was almost a relief to hear a rumble that made sense. It was the truck, she knew it was the truck, and she relaxed a bit. They stopped at the peninsula park and trotted across the grass to see if the water was high as it often was this time of year. Stanley peed on every rock they passed. They were both content for the moment.

The water was low, revealing the nasty mud bottom that smelled like old river algae. Stanley wanted to sniff it but it was gross and she was afraid he would fall in, so she picked him up. That was when the buzzing started again. Tears welled in her eyes and she turned to take Stanley back to the truck. Then she saw the dragonflies. 

The Girl at the Bus Stop - Chapter 6

Previously.

He feels the usual fluttering in his chest. It always starts as the bus approaches the roundabout near the hospital. Her stop is just after that - the one opposite the hospital’s main entrance. She feels it too. They only have a few minutes left together before going their separate ways. But only for a time.

They sit silently, holding hands, remembering the first time they touched just a few months ago. He occasionally reaches out to gently brush the hair from her eyes and is rewarded by her sweet, calming gaze.

She dresses a little less casually these days. He still looks professional but has introduced a bit more colour to his wardrobe. Neither of them made a conscious decision to do this. It just happened and they appear to fit together better as a result. Even her bag and his briefcase look like part of a set.

As the bus pulls in they rest their foreheads against the other, the tips of their noses touching. They seem to stop breathing for a moment then laugh quietly, enjoying the feel of the other’s breath on their lips. In that brief moment the rest of the world disappears.

The bus is running ahead of schedule, as it usually is at this time of day, so the driver leaves it idling and flicks through a tabloid while standing by the doors, smoking a cigarette. This gives them a few more precious minutes together on their seat at the back of the bus.

They like to sit as far back in the bus as possible. It gives them the illusion of having more time with each other. There was one morning, not long after they’d first met, when they’d had to sit apart. The next day, and every day after that, they started getting up early and walking three stops further than they needed to, to be certain of sitting side by side in one of the back seats.

There have been a few times when they’ve thought of getting on a random bus, just to see where it would take them. One day they will. The thought makes them feel a nervous excitement.

The driver retakes his seat and turns to look at them, giving a whistle to let them know he’s preparing to pull out. They kiss and then she makes her way quickly down the bus, winking cheekily at the disapproving white-haired widow who is always seated a few rows ahead of them. She skips out the door and sits at her usual place at the bus stop. Neither of them think about the day ahead. The lectures, the note-taking. The meetings, the analysing of figures. They think only of each other. As the bus finally restarts its journey into the city centre he looks back and returns her wave and smile. He keeps looking until the bus rounds the corner and she is out of sight. He always looks back.