Lewis Vanguard and a New World

It was nearing the end of April, and the trees blazed shades of red, purple, green and blue. The springs sky couldn’t decide what to do, so it stuck to gray. The nights rainstorm painted the concrete in dew, which rose into the noses of city dwellers.

It was man, newly alone. A boy on the brink of adulthood. Lewis Vanguard walked out of his apartment and greeted the mornings offerings. He noted the blooming nature surrounding him, though it was overshadowed by urbanity. He noted the cars speeding off to work as the morning sun rose over the buildings. This was a man who thought severely.

Upon facing a new day and appreciating it for all its beauty, Lewis walked with his head held high. Incidentally there was much on his mind, having just been broken up with. He couldn’t understand it. It’d been his longest relationship, lasting a year out of the nineteen he’d lived.

He was built tall and thin, with a mop of curly golden hair on his head. To see him on the street was to see an inflatable arm tube man at a car dealership. He noted the stares he received from pedestrians, though he wasn’t much for caring about it.

He stopped in a café to grab coffee. The morning seemed to be a rude reminder of the life he lived just the day before. The shoes on his feet were the same shoes worn by a lover now gone. The coffee that heightened his awareness was the very one she used to get. The eyes that met his no longer seemed optimistic, but cynical.

It was a new day and a new world all at once. He began to walk home. The three flats lining the street looked different. He remembered how he and she would dissect them, pulling them apart from a distance and dreaming of a shared home. The pace at which he walked became slower as the thoughts in his head grew faster.

He unlocked the door of his apartment with a sense of relief, only to find another reminder as he gazed up the staircase. The green walls of the hall now turned monotone, and the stairs turned into too many. He sat at the bottom of them for a while and sipped his coffee.

It was to be a new life. Scary, unnormal and filled with reminders of what once was. Lewis Vanguard finished his coffee and trekked up the stairs.

A Supermarket Checkout Lady Wins the State Lottery

Martha Sweenie is a 46-year-old woman who has a penchant for being miserable. She inhabits the cash register nearest the exit door at a Kansas City grocer called Pick-N-Go. She’s best known for being the tallest in the room. Her clothes are bland and loose fitting. Her shoes are not big enough for her feet. Her hygiene is impeccable, and her nails meet the dollar bills handed to her from strangers in the cleanest way possible. Her hair is cut short and hangs tight to her face, creating a juxtaposition to the bags under her eyes. She does not want to be here.

The light fixtures in Pick-n-go are cold and the store is veiled in white. Each customer is painted in the brightest shade of their flesh. It’s a slow and rainy Monday, and Martha watches one customer who seems displaced. She watches a young woman pushing a monochromatic cart down the canned goods aisle. She is on her phone and laughing. She is young and beautiful. Through looking at the young and the beautiful, Martha meets the old and the misfortunate in her mind. She does not want to be here.

The young woman has three counters to checkout at, but she chooses the furthest counter, which happens to be Martha’s. It’s out of the way. It’s the route less traveled, but the young woman has made her mind up. Upon reaching Martha’s counter, the young woman proceeds to laugh and talk on the phone, while depositing her groceries. Martha stares unashamedly at her, noticing the flawless idiosyncrasies. The woman puts her phone away and begins speaking to Martha, but Martha’s vision blurs and focuses on the horizon. She sees the shrine of soda boxes in the distance, and wonders who the hell would take the time to make a pyramid of soda cans.

“Excuse me miss,” the young woman says, a commanding tone in her voice.

Catapulted back to reality, Martha stares wide eyed at the woman, “Yes…Yes what is it?”

The young woman who held a look of annoyance seconds ago now smiles, “I’ve forgotten just one thing, would you mind if I went and grabbed it?”

“By all means,” Martha says, her voice shaking.

The young woman pivots and scurries away. Martha parts the strands of white hanging over her sullen eyes and sees a green leather wallet on the counter. Protruding out of it is a lottery ticket. She picks her head up and observes the soda pyramid in the distance. Who the hell would take the time? Martha looks back at the lottery ticket, extends her wavering hand and slips the ticket into her deflated pocket. The young woman returns with a bottle of champagne.

“Can I see some ID, please?” Martha says, smiling.

Anne Dunn

Anne Dunn is the sort of person who always has to be busy. Though she’s aware of this fact, she dismisses it. In her mind, there’s too much work to do. There’s another appointment around the corner. The trees, the buildings and the strangers on the street are of no interest to her. Supposing she didn’t have anything to do—well, why even suppose?

A particular September morning is worth supposing, because it was on this day that one Anne Dunn hadn’t a thing to do. She’d graduated from Columbia University three months prior and found the entire summer a bore. It wasn’t that she’d been lazy—Anne? No. Contrarily she’d been moving nonstop.

Upon leaving Columbia she’d landed an entry level position at a PR firm in the middle of Manhattan. What a lovely thing, she thought. She could hear the traffics roar all day while being handed new assignments. What did it matter if these assignments suited an entry level position, it was something to do!

Where were we? Of course, a particular September morning she’d been newly fired. This came as no surprise to Anne, as she was aware she’d be fired eventually, only she dismissed it. Turned out the entry level assignments were menial, leaving her unsatisfied and searching for more.

In her search for more she’d look out the window and into the streets of Manhattan. She’d notice how small the people looked from 51 floors above the street. Her observations and search for more ended at that.

A particular September morning Anne sat up in bed. The clock read 9:01AM. This was normally the time she’d be at work, she thought. This was normally the time breakfast would be eaten, dishes would be cleaned, and clothes would be put on. This stream of thinking was what she so feverishly avoided, and yet here she was subjected to it.

Anne got up from bed and looked out her window. It was a bright day, and the sun gleamed through the trees and into her apartment. She looked down at a man ticketing parked cars. Money, she thought. Rent. What was she going to do about rent!

She scurried to her desk, opened her laptop and began looking for jobs. With a slight tingling at the ends of her fingers, her mood changed entirely. A smile even formed on her face. Rent, she thought.

Emily's Walk

The Lower East Side of New York City had just been acquainted with the humidity of July’s air. The neighborhoods buildings seemed to melt under the sun, and the rain that swept through yesterday left the apartments covered in a layer of dew.

A piercing pull of a metal door rung through the street and out came Emily. The town’s inhabitants were known to be young, vibrant, artistic, poor, reckless, in love and conflicted. Nobody could understand which category Emily fell into. The metal door slammed behind her and she began her descent into the day.

She wore a yellow slip dress that seemed to hover over her body, not able to grasp her. The ballet flats on her feet were black and beat. She walked that morning with no clear purpose but to see the city.

It had been only a month since she moved away from her parents’ house in Indiana. At 19 years old, it was hard to distinguish whether she was a young adult or a junior varsity athlete. She stood nearly six feet tall with orange hair that grazed her exposed collarbone.

She remembered a party she’d been invited to that night. The idea of going provided her with a heightened awareness of the summer’s day. All of a sudden, the people, the buildings and the street became beautiful. All of a sudden, life became exciting.

She didn’t investigate the meaning behind this feeling, but she was glad to be young. She was glad to look in a storefront and see her reflection in the window, the figure looking back, which was filled with youth and dreams.

She began her trek home and a grayness of clouds conjured in the sky, producing a mist over the sullen Lower East Side. A woman passed by strolling her children, and with their passing, Emily’s head turned. She watched the mother disappear with her children into the horizon of the block, and she wondered what made the mother’s day beautiful. She wondered what the mother saw in her own storefront reflection.

Open for Interpretation

Chicago. It was a week after the new year. Fred sat at a table in Carpino’s, an old Italian restaurant on the near north side. He decided to treat himself for making it through the first semester of college. All his friends were away from school, back in their hometowns. Fred did not feel alone, nor lonely, sitting by himself at a small table, cloaked by a red and white checkered mat. The hostess had managed to place him in the middle of the room. He wondered if people thought about his being alone and in the middle. 

 It was Friday night, and older couples had filled the room around him. Breaking bread, pouring bottle after bottle of vino. “Hello sir, how’re you this evening?” A stocky, Italian man said. “Oh I’m fine, just fine thank you,” Fred said.

Under the table his hands began shaking. He’d never been to a restaurant without company. “Can I get you started with something to drink, sir?” He was only 18, not a single facial hair to be seen. “I’ll take a Peroni, please,” Fred said assuredly. “That’s a wonderful choice, sir. May I ask that you show me your ID?” The waiter said. “Most definitely, I sometimes can’t believe it myself.” He was sure that line would work. “Here you are,” Fred handed over his ID. Fake, from Ohio. The waiter struggled to see it clearly, squinting hard to confirm the young man’s authenticity. He handed it back to Fred.

 “I’ll be right back, sir.” The waiter scurried off to the next table, and Fred found himself with a new confidence. He rolled up the sleeves on his green cashmere sweater his father had bought him for Christmas. Fred knew very little about clothes, but he knew what he didn’t like. He had no jewelry or watches, just a few items he deemed essential. He noticed a lot of guys his age wore big watches and other jewelry, but he didn’t like the bulkiness of it all. He didn’t like the way it felt on his skin.

“Your Peroni, sir,” the waiter placed the tall shimmering glass in front of Fred. The beer nearly poured down off the rim of the glass. “Thank you very much,” Fred said. “Any food tonight, sir?” The waiter asked. “I haven’t decided just yet, I’ll let you know, is that OK?” The sentence commanding yet passive, Fred thought. “Oh, and what was your name again?” Fred asked. “Antonio, sir,” the waiter said. “Nice to know you, Antonio,” Fred said with a smile. “Nice meeting you, sir,” Antonio walked away, leaving Fred alone with a beer and table of one. 

He took a sip of the beer and began thinking of the night. Endless opportunities were possible in the city on a Friday night. His foot started tapping to the sound of Sinatra. He quickly stopped as he noticed it. He didn’t want to look childlike in a room full of adults. As Fred continued sipping on the Peroni, he noticed an older woman walk through the front door. Placed in the middle of the room, her gaze shot towards Fred by default. She had shiny black hair, cut slightly above her shoulders. A hazel trench coat was unbuttoned while she exchanged laughs with the hostess. Under the coat was a satin black button up shirt, tucked into a pair of straight legged denim. Her eyes directed towards Fred once again, as his were elsewhere.

“Sit anywhere you’d like, Kendall,” the hostess said. “I think the bar will suffice, thank you,” she said. As Fred was handed his second beer, his eyes met hers. She walked slowly and certain across the room, then sat at the bar. Fred wondered why she’d looked at him. He wondered if she was here on a date. She was much older than Fred. Her back faced him, only a few feet away. “Miss Kendall!” The bartender nearly shouted out. Fred looked toward the bar, trying to catch a glimpse of the conversation. “So I’m back again,” Kendall said. They were the only words Fred heard, besides getting her name. 

His second Peroni went down faster than the last. Antonio came back. “Can I get you another, sir?” he said. “Yes, but could I do a gin and tonic this time?” Fred said. “Of course, sir.” Antonio headed behind the bar and began talking with the bartender. Fred never had a gin and tonic, but he thought it’d make him appear older. The bartender, Kendall and Antonio looked over at Fred, which he noticed in the corner of his eye. “Who is that boy?” Kendall said. “We’ve never seen him before Miss Kendall,” the bartender said. She looked back at Fred, who stared forward. “Seems young. What’s he drinking?” Kendall said. “Peroni, Miss. Vito, is that gin and tonic ready?” Antonio said. Before Vito could say yes, Kendall told Antonio to bring Fred another Peroni, on her tab. 

“Your gin and tonic, sir,” Antonio placed the glass on the table, then followed it with a Peroni. “Oh, Antonio, I just wanted the gin and tonic,” Fred said. “Of course, sir, the young lady at the bar has requested I give this to you. It’s on her tab,” Antonio said. Fred felt blood rush to his face. “Well, thank you Antonio,” he said. “Of course, sir, thank Miss Kendall,” Antonio said. Fred sat in shock. He looked towards the bar, where Kendall’s back still faced him. Within minutes he’d finished the Peroni. His foot tapped again, this time to Dean Martin. As he sipped the gin and tonic, his tapping leg crossed the other, and he began thinking of ways to thank Kendall. He was terrified, both of her age and her beauty. She was unlike any girl he’d known at school. Fred had never seen such level of grace. 

As he contemplated, Kendall sneaked a look at him. The Peroni she’d got him now long finished. “Another martini Vito, please,” Kendall said. She knew he was outside any realm of familiarity. For although he was attractive, surely an older woman had not pursued him before. She held a conviction. 

A seat next to Kendall opened, and this did not go unnoticed by Fred. He called to Antonio and asked that he be moved to the bar. Antonio obliged, then picked up Fred’s empty drinks from the table. Fred didn’t know if it were nerves, or the gin, that made his legs that of a newborn giraffe, but he carried on towards the bar. Her shoulders were broad, and he liked how the light struck the satin of her shirt. As he approached, he cleared his throat in an unobtrusive way. “Hi,” Fred said, pulling the chair out. Kendall’s lips pursed and her head swiveled slowly at Fred. “Vito, two Peroni’s, please.”