Chapter 8 #4
Grandy, as though suddenly realizing I was there, turned his head to look up at me. His eyes were nearly white they were so gray. I almost jumped; the color was so startling. It was actually kind of spooky. I’d never seen anyone with eyes so gray.
“I’m fine,” Grandy said. “I just…feel…like thinking…today.”
“Um,” I fiddled with the bottle and cigarettes, “I don’t want anyone to think I stole these.”
“Nah,” Grandy said and went back to staring out at nothing, his fingers scratching at his chest again. “Won’t…nobody think…that.”
“Yeah. Okay.” I stepped back from him. “Um, I’ll tell Jack right when I get home that he needs to come pay you soon. Okay?”
“Oooookay,” Grandy drawled.
Instead of asking Grandy if he was okay again—he’d said he was fine—I turned to leave. Getting away from Grandy, his creepy eyes, and his sauna of a store sounded better than trying to get him to act normal.
“You…ever…think about how…caterpillars turn…into…butterflies?” Grandy’s voice stopped me.
Turning back to look at the man sitting on the cinderblocks, clad only in bib overalls, who was staring out at the world like he was lost, I suddenly felt sorry for him.
He looked a little misplaced, a little frazzled—okay, a lot frazzled—as if he was going through it.
I mean, he didn’t even feel like doing his job he was so perplexed by life.
Obviously, something wasn’t right with him.
Besides, someone who asked a question like that was obviously a little… not right.
He was probably just lonely. And insane.
“Um, no sir,” I said. “I guess not?”
“I just wonder…if they…ever…miss bein’…caterpillars is all.”
I stared at him. He stared out at nothing.
“Maybe when they change into butterflies they forget?” I shrugged.
Neither of us said anything for a few moments. And I was about to turn to leave, but then Grandy’s face lit up with a smile, though he kept staring out at nothing and scratching at his chest.
“Yeah,” he drawled. “Maybe…they…can…forget. I like…that.”
“Yeah.” I nodded slowly, inching backwards. “Um, thanks. I’ll tell Jack to pay you.”
Grandy didn’t answer so much as nod slowly as he continued to stare. So, I took that to mean that our transaction, or lack thereof, was done.
I hate to admit it, but I walked away from Grandy’s a little more quickly than was typical for me.
In fact, it might have actually been fast enough to call a jog.
When another gunshot went off in the distance—somewhere in the direction of the post office, my speed turned into what could have been classified as a full sprint.
In fact, I sprinted down to the corner of the street, hoping to put plenty of space between Grandy’s and me—and Wyatt and his gun.
At the end of the street, my sprint turned back to a jog, and finally, I slowed to a walk.
A glance over my shoulder proved that Grandy had not followed me like some psychopath and Wyatt wasn’t chasing me down with his gun.
Stopping at the corner, I stuffed Jack’s pack of cigarettes into my hip pocket with the twenty I needed to return to him, and started to twist off the cap of my soda.
Seconds later, greenish-yellow deliciousness—if that’s a way to describe something delicious—was sliding down my throat as I held my head back and gulped soda from the green plastic bottle.
I savored the citrus-y soda, both tart and sweet at the same time, letting it roll around in my mouth briefly before swallowing it down.
The back of my nose was tickled by the carbonation and my cheeks sucked in from the tanginess as my salivary glands went into overdrive.
Typically, I’m a Dr. Pepper guy—especially whenever I’ve been in Texas—but there’s something about the crisp, sweet, slightly sour taste of Mountain Dew when it’s hot.
I’d probably be drinking a lot of Mountain Dews while I was in Possibly.
If Jack wouldn’t mind bankrolling my habit, anyway.
As I pulled the mouth of the bottle away from my lips and screwed the green plastic cap back on, a flutter of bright orange fabric off to my right caught my eye.
A soft breeze had blown down the street, slapping at my back and cooling my neck.
When my eyes landed on the orangish-red miniature circus tent on the corner of the next street over, I realized that the wind had made the tent flaps flutter.
The breeze blew softly, yet persistently, and the flaps continued their flutter.
Inside of the tent was dark, seemingly illuminated by a single, weak, source of light.
I could just make out a woman sitting at a table in the center of the tent.
She seemed to be wearing a dress made of heavy, dark fabric.
A shawl was draped around her shoulders, and long tendrils of heavy brown hair hung from her head.
As I stared, not really paying attention to what I was doing—you know, staring at a stranger like I was Grandy the Weirdo—the woman in the tent raised her hand.
She waved a long-fingered hand at me, but it was more like a flutter of her fingers, not a real wave.
Then she smiled—an almost knowing smile, as though we shared a secret.
The last of the Mountain Dew I had been holding in my mouth slid down my throat like a stone as I realized how weird the woman and her tent were.
In her dress and shawl—not to mention all of that hair—sitting in the middle of a canvas tent set out in the sun during summer in Texas, she had to be burning up.
But she looked perfectly content and cool.
The breeze picked up and my shirt tail ruffled around my waist. Somewhere, to my left, I heard a tinkling of… bells?
My head whipped around to look for the source of the noise, but all I saw was woods off to my left.
A dirt pathway led off from the end of the road towards the trees, disappearing into the woods.
The tinkling sound peppered the air as the breeze continued to blow down the street.
When I looked away from the noise coming from the trees, so that I could check out the lady in the tent once more, she was no longer fluttering her fingers at me.
Instead, she seemed to be gesturing towards the woods.
‘Scat. Go check it out.’ her gesture seemed to say as she continued to smile knowingly at me.
My head turned back and forth from the lady and her tent to the grouping of trees.
The breeze continued slapping against my back, a refreshing breath of air that, combined with the slug of Mountain Dew, made me feel downright cool in the summer sun.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to wander over—cautiously, of course—and talk to the lady in the tent, or if I wanted to check on the tinkling noise coming from the woods.