North by Northwestern

I just didn’t have those good dreams anymore. The brief ones; sharp, simmering sparks off a hot greased pan. Like where she’s round about 22, rushing home from the telegraph company, bursting through the door on a velvet curtain of summer wind to collapse in my arms. And her cheeks were flushed the color of cranberries. And she’d coo with laughing eyes in her best impression of a Hollywood starlet, “Darling, it’s been forever since I’ve seen your face!” and I’d just laugh and lightly kiss her neck, a smooth column of Hershey’s chocolate. And then we’d dance real slow and I’d wake up in the queen-sized bed that’s much too big for just me.

But those dreams were gone. Had been gone for just about a year then. I couldn’t place why, but I’d start waking up early and empty feeling. I made Sunday her day. Get my good, leather shoes on, a stiff-brimmed hat and grab the mahogany cane — real fine, hand-crafted in Morocco you know — and I was off to St. Rosemary’s to see her. I was on my way that morning, marigolds clenched in my firm palm. The rest of me’s getting wrinkled, and creaky and dusty and just plain old as the tenement I live in, but Lord bless these hands of mine. Rough, but strong and nimble; a woodworker’s hands. I owe that to my Daddy.

So I latched up my door (even though the lock’s broke) and I was off that particular Sunday. I was thinking quietly to myself what was blowing in the breeze outside the windows in the stairwell of my building. I couldn’t tell if it was snow or flower petals out there dancing in the alleyway. Still don’t really know.

Then the squeaking of new sneakers broke my silent meditation in between the 6nd and 5th floors. A corn-silk pig tail appeared at my right elbow, bobbing to that clumsy rhythm of children too riled up to meet the day. What ruckus is this little lady up to? What could be so damn exciting about a Sunday? Enough to knock an old man down the stairs no less, I thought. I hadn’t had my coffee yet. You know how folks can be.

I tried to hide those marigolds in the breast of my coat, but her baby blues caught them off the bat. I knew she’d ask to have one, or poke at them, or just plain take them. She looked like the curious kind, poking her freckled nose into peoples’ business. My business that day, asking me where I was going and all.

“To see someone…” I replied quickly. See, I was hoping she’d get the hint, you know. Run off down the stairs to go play hopscotch or jump rope or whatever these kids do today besides joining gangs. But I saw something just then. And not just a fleeting watery wave of disappoint over her eyes neither — it was a crisp, white triangle of sail. The crowning jewel to a small model boat held roughly under her right arm.

“And where are you off to exactly?” I said, pointing towards boat.

“I built this!” she shouted so loud even my deaf ears could have heard it back on the 7th floor. “There’s a boat race and I’m gonna win it!” Her skinny arms flew into the air with excitement and the silly kid almost dropped the damn boat. She caught it just as we rounded the corner of the 2nd floor. Sunlight crept through a window and hit her eye. She squinted and shot me the toothiest smile I’ve ever seen on a human face.

“That so? How you know for sure?” I baited her. Alright, I was teasing her. But I liked her spirit.

“I tried my hardest! I built this boat from scratch. It took me all month.”

I felt downright rude at that moment. Poor girl wanted it so bad, that win and all. She suddenly looked itchy in her own skin.

“Ah I can see that. Looks like you got yourself a classic Nautilus Sailor model. Good shaping of the hull, strong wooden mast on that beauty.” Had to admit, the girl was a good carver. The proportions were perfect, the headsail painted with a golden trim. She had style. That’s when I made a mistake, you see. I gestured toward the boat the marigolds popped their ruffled burgundy-lined heads.

“What are those for?” She chirped and jumped the last two steps of the 2nd floor. I gave in.

“My wife. I’m going to see her and they’re her favorite. Ladies like flowers, and all. Bet even you do, Captain Ahab.” At this point I just took them out and poked them into my breast pocket for the entire world to see. Clutching like that to my side under my coat was crushing them anyway.

“So — where exactly is this race?”

“Well, I think it’s north. Or maybe it was west. It’s definitely right. Yeah, I have to turn right and walk a ways. It’s a park. It starts with an M, I think,” she said. Her voice got low at the end and she kind of trailed off. Maybe she was so excited she couldn’t remember. I was like that too sometimes, but just because I was tired so much. I’d got so tired and quiet lately, shuffling around the musky apartment. My woodworking knives all dulled on a top shelf somewhere.

I chuckled at her. Looked at her wrinkled brow kind of sideways as we stepped out onto the street.

“You mean Marine Park, huh? I know the way.”

I was the first one to see the sun begin to fill our front window. The sun nudged me open, peeling my eyelids back. I’m always the first one. Today is Saturday, and most kids my age were asleep. But I wasn’t. I tiptoed through the house. No one else would wake up, I was sure of it. That’s how quiet I am. I slid into my jeans and t-shirt and slithered my feet into my socks. I snatched up my boat, from its hiding place behind my desk. It was the most important thing to remember that day. Sliding across our well-worn wooden floors landed me right in front of the door, without a single sound.

The door creaked ever so slightly, but at this point it didn’t matter any more. SLAM! My point of freedom.

The sun was still rubbing his eyes with the rest of us as I stepped through the threshold. Bleary eyes deceived me and I almost ran right into the man from upstairs. He’s walking down stairs too.

His heavy creaks met my light steps as we begin the descent towards the door. A mountain of stairs lay below us. He was waiting for me to say something. I knew it. But I wasn’t going to do it. No way, no how.

That’s when I noticed the flowers. They were so bright and beautiful in such a dusty stairway. I thought, maybe if I talk to him he’ll offer me one. I love marigolds. Oh, okay.

“Where are you going?”

Wow, that was the first time I had talked that day. My voice was a little rusty.

“To see someone.”

I saw him eye my boat. I had almost forgot that I had it.

“And where are you off to exactly?” He asked, just as raspy as I, but I think his was due to age.

“I built this!” I lifted up my boat so he could see it better eye level.

“There’s a boat race today, and I’m gonna win it!” I blurted out. I know it isn’t nice to boast, but is the old man from upstairs really going to mind? I searched his furrowed brow for an answer, for disapproval. A smile lit up like a candle was behind his eyes and he laughed.

“That so? How you know for sure?”

He looked at me a bit sideways. His eyes slit into little slivers of almonds, like what my dad likes on his oatmeal in the mornings. He got me. I never thought of a justification. How do I know? Well, I tried the hardest. That’s for sure.

“I tried my hardest. I made this boat from scratch. It took me all month.” I tried not to smile. Mom always told me not to act too proud.

We were still taking the stairs step by step. Some of them creaked louder than others, which made me flinch sometimes. I was on edge. The race was so soon. I had been waiting for so long to be standing by the waterside with the sun warm on my back as my boat glided across the calm wake. I wiped my damp palms, one by one on my jeans. The fabric was rough and frayed at the edges.

“Ah, I can see that. Looks like you got yourself a classic Nautilus Sailor Model. Good shaping of the hull, strong wooden mast on that beauty.”

His response shocked me. I didn’t really know how to respond. That’s when I remembered his flowers. I saw them, their deep-hued petals peeking out of his coat pocket. They winked at me as he reached towards my boat. I pointed to them, and he seemed alarmed.

“What are those for?”

“My wife. I’m going to see her and they’re her favorite. Ladies like flowers and all. Bet even you do, Captain Ahab.”

No one had given me flowers before. I’d never performed or competed for anything. Just the science fair at school, and all we got for that was a dumb ribbon. Yeah, I guess I would like flowers, if I ever got some.

That’s when I looked up. I could see that flicker of a candle in his eyes becoming glossed over, like the clear nail polish my mom used to paint my nails with. I liked it because it made them look wet all the time.

“So — where exactly is this race?” he asked me.

“Well, I think it’s north? Or maybe it was west. It’s definitely right. Yeah, I have to turn right and walk a ways. It’s at a park, it starts with an M, I think.”

Geez. I’d gone over it in my head so many times. I found it on the map and everything. With a new fear of getting lost and missing the race, my heart and perhaps my pace quickened. I looked at him now, actually looked at him. His eyes had changed again.

“You mean Marine Park, huh? I know the way.”