Shift Pt. 2
Telly Elsewhere was dressed to the nines; a tight, soft blue, heavily modified
t-shirt; jeans taut, weathered to near white; classic Chucks, black, simple,
yet understood. His hair was a quarrel between northern and southern Ireland,
with war where their borders met (being that the back was a mess of shortness,
while the front was a well kept, nicely pressed, swoop from left to right
and a great battle for land where they mixed). This front-most hair stopped
politely at his eyebrows that sat on said brow, hanging ever-so-over slightly
inset forget-me-nots, which were accented even more by his unusually and not
usually tanned skin–it is the season, however.
Slender as ever, Telly walked casually down Garfield Avenue, his hands forced
into his I’m-not-meant-for-hands pockets. His head moved from left to
right as he scanned the scene of his afternoon adventure. Trees were of the
brightest green they would be; oppositely, the grass was the shade of an African
plain, dying and hoping that soon the sky would become morose and let loose
its gloom. The pavement distorted in the heat and the tar streets were scarred
with tire tracks. Telly checked his watch and quickly hastened his step, for
to be late would be a serious offense–most certainly.
Telly hopped up the small excuse for a step and buzzed apartment 497. A little
staticky voice answered his electronic “are you there?”.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, it’s me,” Telly robotically answered.
“Be down,” retorted the voice.
Telly stepped back from the voice box and took a seat on the step–a
step most assuredly insulted by its description. He plucked grass blades from
between the sidewalk cracks, watched passing autos, listened to phone conversations
that emanated from screens locked into wooden frames and after much meandering–finally–the
door behind him opened. A very becoming girl stood languidly in front of Telly.
“Fuck, Stella, I’ve been down here for like twenty minutes,”
Telly said with a hint of edge.
Stella, whom was obviously preparing her face for their outing, simply shrugged.
And she was definitely prepared; her hair–nighttime black–long
in front of the ears (stretched of course), stood on end in the back; eyes
lined with thick, shiny-blue pencil, with spider legs growing from the lid;
northward, a violently bright, pink t-shirt (modified in accordance to Stella’s
wants by seamster extraordinaire Telly) wrapped around a flat stomach and
almost an equally flat chest; southward, a pair of denim jeans, buckled around
the waste by a white, studded belt, cuffed up to the shin so as to show her
Saucony sneakers with naked feet inside. Telly moved in to kiss Stella ever
so gently on the cheek.
“Don’t Tell,” Stella snapped, “I’ve just finished
my makeup.”
He moved to put his arm around her.
“It’s hot,” Stella complained as she shoved Telly away.
He reached for her hand.
“Fuck Tell! Just lay off!”
Telly mockingly put out his elbow and motioned a sort of rubbing towards her–“Frankenstein,”
he laughed to himself. Stella wandered and wobbled like she was on junk–which
she was–towards Lyndale Avenue.
“Hurry the hell up Telly I’m dying!” Stella bellowed.
Telly opened the door to the Red Dragon and let Stella enter first. As she
walked by, Stella drug her finger across his sinewy stomach and stared him
straight in the eyes. Before his synapses could react his lady friend had
disappeared into the crimson glow of the bar. The Red Dragon was like a smoke
filled dark room; if natural light were to fall upon the patrons they would
surely fog and be destroyed. All the wood was a dark mahogany further contributing
to the dank atmosphere. The only break in red drab was the light cast down
by the bar. Telly noticed the bartender was motioning for him to come-hither,
but in the haze of the room he couldn’t quite make out his features.
Regardless, he caved to the beckoning finger of this blurred tenderer.
“‘Sup Tell,” greeted the blurry man.
“Oh, hey Augur Truth (his real name was Arthur Truth, but you can see
why his nickname is so much better), couldn’t see you in this dungeon,”
Telly somewhat shouted as he reached for his cigarettes.
“Yeah, I saw Stella run in here so I figured that was you still holding
the door.”
Telly quickly shot back, “That was a kind assumption.”
The two gentlemen shared an uncomfortable, staring, silence. Augur resumed
his paid duties and reached for a glass from behind the bar. He quickly flipped
a bottle of scotch, pouring its contents into a martini shaker, followed by
rosso, and from the tiniest bottle in the bar, a drop of Angostura. Augur
then shook and strained the mix into a lowball glass.
He sarcastically proclaimed, “The martini’s mortal enemy!”
“Thanks, I’ll need this soon.” He wibble-wobbled the glass.
Augur laughed and walked towards a calling, somewhat called, call girl at
the other end of the bar. Telly turned his attention to finding his accompanying
compatriot. Stella was standing in the back of the bar looming over the frightened
juke box (probably thinking about putting on The Clash or Iggy Pop just to
seem hip). She was flanked on each side by two scene kids, Atom and Trip.
Atom was playfully trying to push buttons on the sound machine as Stella poked
his side to get him to stop. Trip, on the other hand, was just blatantly and
simply checking her out, top to bottom. Telly knew these kids weren’t
a threat, but the way she just ran to them upon entrance always made him question
her true intentions for wanting to come to this bar constantly. His own insecurities
he always thought. He knew he would bring her home, not those goons. Telly
turned back to his Robert Royford and took Rob’s remnants to the neck.
He lit his cigarette that he forgot was hanging from his mouth and breathed
in deeply.
“Going to be a fucking long night,” he mumbled to his rolling
exhalation.
“Closing time! Time to get the hell out!” Augur blared over the
crowd of drunks.
Telly, belly full of scotch, sitting at the end of a booth on a pulled up
chair which was filled by Stella, Atom, Trip and some unknown, reached for
Stella’s arm. She pulled her appendage back like the neck of a very
hungry hippo and shot Telly a eat-shit kind of look.
“Look, the bar’s closing. Let’s not cause a scene. I don’t
want to be kicked out by Augur again,” Telly pleaded.
Stella waved her hand violently in the air and slurred, “Fuck Augur,
that guys a pussy. He won’t do shit.” She slammed her hand back
down on the table. “Besides Trip says people are going to his house
and I thought I’d cut out with them.”
Telly’s blood pump sunk and heat filled his cheeks. He ran his fingers
through southern Ireland and took in a great breath. “Every night,”
was all he could think, “the same god damn thing. This is what she says
every night, verbatim.” He looked back up to see Trip whisper something
into Stella’s gaping lobe. Telly stood up and pushed his chair in calmly.
“I’m going to head home Stell. If you want to continue this exchange
of whispers with Shakespeare (a nickname Trip hated as a result of the Minneapolis
band Trip Shakespeare) I’ll leave you be. Have a good time. I’ll
be at my place hoping to see you at some point. I’ll leave the door
unlocked.”
With that, Telly turned and walked out the door. Stella mockingly reenacted
his goodbye and gave him the finger. The table burst into laughter. Outside,
Telly checked his watch and hurriedly walked–for to be late would a
serious offense.
* * *
“Malta, send me back again,” Telly laughed.
“Shit Tell, I didn’t build this chronal time adjuster just so
you could haunt an ex-girlfriend. How many nights in a row are you going to
ruin her attempts to go out?” Malta objected.
“As many times as she ruined mine,” Telly stated matter-of-factly.
Malta lowered and shook his shorn head and adjusted the dials of his chronal
time adjuster. Telly waved and smiled as he began to shift, out of sight.