A Quarter Life

Spared

The roads were united, somehow.

Mike could still see the Cadillac. The Cadillac stopped in front of him.

The lady rolled down the window. He could directly look at her.

She was, okay. Eyes, red, yet hard on anything. Face, not covered in artificiality much, naturally glowing, naturally ravishing.

Her lips? Maybe they could write a novel of their own. He maybe hadn’t seen anyone like her, ever before.

She looked at him. He could see the symphony of her, in releasing the puff, it was smooth.

She asked, 'Hello there, need any help?'

Mike was confused, 'Yeah, could use some. My fuel duct is broken, I need to fix that. Do you have anything.'

She laughed, 'Well, god gave you only the looks, eh?'

He knew what she was about to say. He knew, the fuel duct couldn’t be fixed on road. It was to be taken to a mechanic.

He gave a nervous look, 'I don’t know what you are saying, ma'am.'

She laughed, 'Okay, let me help you with easy words. I offer you to tow your car, until you see any motel or mechanic.'

He smiled, 'Well, that will be very kind of you.'

So, he was again, on the road. He attached his car with the Cadillac.

He went on to sit on the back seat. She laughed, 'Are you being serious?'

He grinned, 'No ma'am, I am being comfortable. And I think you will be, also.'

She looked at him, again. He couldn’t understand. Did he say something wrong? He wouldn’t know. She stared in his eyes, 'I think, I am more comfortable to have a man sitting beside me than to have a man sitting behind me who can stare at me, stealthily.’

He didn’t get half of it. But he could say, she wasn’t comfortable with anyone sitting behind.

He opened the front door, and sat inside. The car had a sweet smell. He couldn’t say how sweet. Was it the car? Or was it her?

Cadillac started to hit the road. He could see the sunflowers fade away, very soon. But the barren side, it was barren, still.

She was smooth behind the wheel, he could say that. The ashes of her cigarette was falling, the falling was soothing. He looked at the barren field, the breeze was fantastic, yet dead.

She cleared her throat, 'Are you born mute, or acting like one?'

He frowned, 'I beg your pardon ma'am, but I think you know that I am not mute.'

She laughed, 'You don’t always have to go for literal meaning you know.'

He laughed, 'Then I should again beg your pardon.'

They both laughed. He looked at her. Her smile, it was really something else. Did it mean anything? He didn’t know.

The breeze was worth praising. She asked, 'So, what's your name?'

He replied, 'It’s Michael Ronald, ma'am.'

She smiled, 'Michael? Ah, seductive name, I must say. I'm Bethanica, you can call me Betty.'

He laughed, 'It’s a delightful name, but I'll stick with ma'am.'

She laughed more, 'You know, sometimes it seems fake to me. Your looks, your gestures, they never match.'

He said, 'Well, that's my fault. You know ma'am, I am not good with people. I was never.'

She nodded, 'Oh darling, I can feel you. All you need is a scintillating spark, to shine up your youth.'

She passed him the pack of cigarettes. She asked, 'Or are you even in denial with this constant happiness.'

He put out a cigarette and lit it up, 'Well, I would be, but you know, no one denies smoke in melancholy.'

They both laughed. The roads were quite narrow, but enough to move freely.

His hair could feel the breeze. And him? Was he feeling himself?

“The night went away, in a quite traumatized way. I couldn’t sleep. How could I? I had a rifle on my back head, held by some goddamn Japanese, I could have been dead by a glimpse, how could I sleep peacefully, thinking all that?

I saw Reeve, he was sleeping, rather snoring. He had no worry, whatsoever. He could gulp his Bourbon down while seeing the world in a doomsday.

I looked at the ceiling. The white paint was looking at him, always. I wanted to paint on that. What could he paint?

I went out. There were so much charcoal on the ground. I took some, collected the finest.

I came back to his room. The wall next to his bed was white, whiter than ever. I took a piece. I drew lines, curvy lines, curvy edges, some shades.

I drew till he got tired. I fell asleep drawing.

I woke up. It was quite dawn.

I couldn’t remember anything particularly. I saw Reeve, trying his shoelace.

I said yawning, 'Hey man, what time is it?'

He laughed, 'Time to say goodbye, maybe. The allotment list has come.'

It made me sad, somehow. It was quite depressing. Who knew where I was allotted, where Reeve was allotted?

Reeve laughed at me, 'Fella, you wanna leave your crime print here? What the actual masterpiece hell did you draw?'

He showed me the wall. I was surprised, and s**t scared. I didn’t recall drawing this. It was that guy, the guy with pus.

I ran into the bathroom, sweating heavily. How could I draw that, in my own, actual sense? It couldn’t be possible.

When I got to the ground, there was a chaos. Some were there with their luggage, ready to go, ready to be trained in another ground. Some were happy to leave, some were sad to leave this loving ground. Me? I knew nothing. I didn’t know I should be sad or not.

Reeve took me to his car. He drove me to Brooklyn. I asked, 'Where the hell are we going?'

He said, 'Remember what I told you yesterday?'

I remembered. It was for the culprit.

He parked the car, and got out. I got out, to be surprised again. There was Ruth, standing in a corner. They hugged each other, I was left alone, left untold.

Ruth said, 'I am sorry again for last night.'

Reeve laughed, 'Don’t be. Nobody gives a f**k to a charade of hatred.'

I was confused, 'What the hell is this? And what the hell was that last night?'

Ruth said, 'That was staged. Reeve told me about culprit. The hatred act was just to move the attention from the real culprit.'

I didn’t understand, 'But why?'

Reeve said slowly, 'Why question, while you can find out?'

They walked slowly, towards a lane. I followed them. They took a narrow lane, the lane looked disgusting.

They reached the other side of the building, there was a tent there. A small, worn out one. They waited near it. A guy came out of the tent. He came out and washed his face, with water. That was when he noticed us, and I noticed him. It was Noah.

Ruth went to Noah and slapped him very hard, 'You motherfucker, you motherfucking traitor.'

Reeve was standing still. Noah was enduring all beating, silently.

Ruth shouted, 'You should have been in jail. In execution, to be true.'

Noah was afraid. He was afraid to be executed.

Ruth continued, 'Reeve, you shouldn’t have taken the blame. You took blame for a bastard, who never learned to be grateful, to be truthful.'

Reeve shouted, 'Ruth, enough. Let's go back. We never knew no Noah. Never.'

We went back, I could see Reeve crying while coming back. God spared one Noah once, from the flood. Reeve did too, from blood.

There was a good news, I was allotted in somewhere near Brooklyn. Reeve was allotted, in the same camp. We were together again.

Ruth was allotted somewhere in DC, I didn’t know. The worst news? War was going bad.”