Seven Stories

28 Seven Stories first edit 4/26 2:00 PM

Another beautiful day. Bright and sunny, and warm. I can't remember the last time it rained. It's really a shame we have a pandemic shelter-inside mandate. They can't stop me from going outside.

I checked the weather on my phone. Sixty-three degrees. No jacket needed. I had on one of my long sleeve tee-shirts with a pit bull on the front and that's good enough. I miss my two pit bulls. I would never be allowed to have a pit bull at Van Schoonhoven Square Senior Apartments. They only allow little yappy dogs. After owning a pit bull, you will never own any other breed. Of course, all owners feel that way about their dogs too, I suppose.

I grabbed the usual. Cap, cane, camera. And now a mask. This is crazy. Who would I give a virus to on a walk? I hardly ever pass anyone. But the fine is $1,000, so a mask it is. I suppose it's better this way. The governor knows what he's doing. With the mandates the hospitalization rates for Covid-19 are going down. It's sad, though. I just read on the news that 52,000 Americans have died of this virus. I've never seen anything like this in my lifetime.

As I walked out my apartment door, I slapped my pocket to make sure I had my keys. I did. I knew I did, but I always check anyway. In my golden years, I've become forgetful. Golden years? Who in the heck told you these are golden years? Well, it is a saying, the golden years. Golden years my ass. Let me tell you about getting up every two hours at night to pee, and... OK OK. I get it. Now just be quiet. Walking is my quiet time. My peaceful time. I don't need you correcting me all the while, so just be quiet. Fine. Fine.

I walked down the hall. I better check my mail. I stuck my key in the lock and opened the little door. Nope nothing. Good. No bills.

“Good morning Mr. Gibson.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Schiocetti. How are you on this fine day?”

“I'm just wonderful,” she answered. “Are we going for a walk?”

“We are. Would you like to join me?”

“No, but thank you. I have to watch things here.”

“You have to watch things?” I asked. “Does the apartment complex pay you to stand watch? What do you mean?”

“Oh no, Mr. Gibson, it's nothing like that,” she answered. “When I retired after so many years working, I felt useless. There was no point getting up every morning just to turn on the boob tube and watch mindless TV shows. So I decided that I would stand watch.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I hear you, though. I write and take photographs. Not because I have to, but because I want to. It gives me a purpose. Is it something like that?”

“Yes, exactly, Mr. Gibson,” she answered. “I help the residents if they need help, like bringing in groceries. Or sometimes just helping carry laundry. With this pandemic, I make sure that the UPS and FedEx drivers don't come in any farther than the office. They might spread the virus, don't you know.”

“I know,” I replied. “Good job.”

“I let Richie know if you need a ride.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“How do you know if I'm going for a walk? How do you know if I need a ride?”

“It's my job to know,” said Mrs. Schiocetti with a slight smile.

I stood dumbfounded. I looked at her with a deer-in-the-headlights stare. I didn't know what to say. So I didn't. She caught me off-guard. I turned and walked out the main door.

“Hello Mr. Gibson!”

“Hello Richie,” I said quietly.

“Would you like a lift?” Richie asked.

“Well, I thought I might walk to the village today,” I answered.

“Why? Everything is closed.”

“Yeah, you're right,” I replied. “No point. Swayze Acres?”

“You got it man,” said Richie. “Hop in.”

I got in Richie's jelly bean car.

“What make of car is this, Richie?” I asked.

“It's a Kia Sorento,” answered Richie.

“It's a nice car,” I said. “Fairly easy to get in and out of.”

“Yeah, it is. This one even has a third row seat under the floor in the back. They say I can get eight people in this car.”

“Eight people? In here?” I asked, somewhat surprised.

“Yep. I ain't never done that, but you never know when you need to.”

Richie had the radio on. It was playing country music. Classic country music. I recognized He Stopped Loving Her Today by George Jones. Great song. But a sad song. The guy stopped loving her because he died. That will do it, I guess.

Richie turned onto Lea Avenue in Swayze Acres. He stopped at McFarlane's house.

“Is this good, Mr. Gibson?” asked Richie.

“Yes, this is just fine,” I answered.

I opened the door to the big Oldsmobile and slid out.

“Thanks Richie!” I hollered as he pulled away, tooting his horn twice as he did so.

I walked down Lea Avenue, towards my old house. I really should walk around the Acres more. Davis Drive, Barrett Drive, Terri Avenue, and the rest. It must be force of habit, I guess. McFarlane's house is where the school bus dropped us off, right where Richie drops me off.

Down the street, by Bombard's house, I could see girls jumping rope. Or did we call it playing jump rope? I don't remember. It doesn't matter, I suppose.

I shuffled down Lea. When I got near Chumley's house, there was the damn kid and the darn kid arguing. Just like before.

“It was a stupid shit movie!” yelled the damn kid. “There weren't any Martians in it!”

“No kidding, dumb ass! It was called First Spaceship to Venus! There would be Venusians in it! Not Martians! And don't swear!”

“Shit ain't a swear word!” said the damn kid.

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“BOYS!” I said sternly as I got close. “What is all this about?”

“He says a movie about Venus should have Martians in it!”

“You know what I meant! It didn't have alien monsters in it! Only some kinda mechanical spider puppet thing. I could even see the puppet strings. It was STUPID!” said the damn kid.

“It's a movie!” yelled the darn kid. “Whadaya expect!”

“Now boys, this is nothing to argue over,” I said calmly. “Why do you watch those old science-fiction movies if you don't like them?”

They both turned and looked at me. Staring.

“What do you mean by old?” asked the darn kid. “I just saw it at the drive-in last summer.”

Uh oh. See what you did now? You should just keep your mouth shut, because you confuse people.

“Oh, um, what I meant was old as in an old plot. Not even Shakespeare used his own plots. He followed those that were written long before his time,” I offered.

“Did Shakespeare write about Martians?” asked the damn kid.

“No, no. But the story lines are all the same,” I said. “I read that there are only seven basic story lines, but different twists are used to make them appear different. Let's see, it's been awhile. Let me think, see if I can remember them. Rags to riches, tragedy, comedy, overcoming a monster, a quest, voyage and return, and rebirth. I think that's it.”

Both kids just stared at me.

“Where are the Martians?” asked the damn kid.

“Well, Red Planet Mars would be a quest for knowledge,” I answered.

“What about First Spaceship to Venus?” asked the darn kid.

“That would fall under voyage and return.”

Both boys just stared at me. Too much, I thought? They're what, eight or nine years old?

“What about the Creature From the Black Lagoon?” asked the darn kid.

“Well, naturally, that would be overcoming a monster,” I said. “I actually once lived near where some of that movie was filmed. Silver Springs, in Florida. Beautiful place. The water is crystal clear, fed by underground springs. The water is seventy-two degrees all year round.”

“So we're watching repeats?” asked the damn kid.

“Sort of,” I laughed. “What's old is new again.”

“C'mon, let's go watch TV!” said the damn kid as he ran down the street with the darn kid right behind him.

I think I better get while the getting' is good. I turned and walked back down Lea Avenue. Richie was there with his Old F-85.

“Ride, Mr. Gibson?”

“That would be nice. Thank you Richie.”