Dilapidated Disposition: Revision

By Mike G. Steciuk

"What do you miss the most?"

It was a game that we've played from the first day we've met. She was allowed to ask me anything, and I had promised to answer honestly. At first, the questions were always simple and innocent, but as time passed, her inquiries began to show more intent. At times, it would appear to me as though her questions revealed more about her, than my answers did of me. In this case, I knew what she wanted to hear, and in all honesty, I could have truthfully told her that I missed her, but too me it seemed like a trivial statement.

We had been apart for a few weeks, with the circumstances blurring. It was the first time that we had gotten together since our break up. Awkwardness crept around each turn as I tried to make peace with her friends. Each eyed me critically, for I have hurt one of their tribe. Secrets shared among friends swarmed in their eyes, like bees defending their hive. As she passed near me, breathless quips made my stomach turn and teeth clench. Refusing to believe that things have grown this sour, I dismissed it as part of the healing process. Eventually, I found myself on her porch step, watching her wave goodbye to the last of her guest and later resting herself a few steps below mine.

A storm had just passed, and residual raindrops speckled our faces. The nearby street was treated with a clear coat of water, reflecting the glow of the resident street lamps. The puddles on the sidewalk mirrored the moon and hypnotized me as I stared at the bright orb. I felt a nudge, which reminded me of the question at hand.

"Milton. I miss seeing him each time I go home." Not the answer she was looking for, but it was true.

Milton was a bum, to say the least; a middle aged black man that sat on the corner of an underpass. Each night I drove home from her house, I would see him relentlessly begging for scraps. Just like everyone else, I rolled up my window and stared at the red light, convinced that I could will it green. His gaze, when caught, had the power to make me regret spending the last of my money on chilly cheese fries, at the local diner. As time had passed, I questioned why I was so afraid of this man, and it was this notion that first led me to open my world to him.

"Milton", he said to me, the night I was bold enough to inquire his name. Backed up traffic rang impatiently as I stood still through the green light and lingered longer at the red. He walked away to impress himself upon those behind me, as I stared at him through my dirt stained side view mirror; awed by his ability to smile and laugh at his circumstances. It made me realize that I was not giving him money out of pity, but rather in return for the cheerful disposition which he shared with me to brighten my nightly commute.

“What's so special about him?” Her eyes were fixed on me, trying to read my expression. Alternately, I stared ahead and let her own words hint at the inner workings of her mind.

“It was his reaction.” Uncertain of my reply, she stared at me curiously. As I composed the remainder of the answer in my mind, a tranquil grin spread across my face, met with an unreserved smile from her. “The first time I rolled my window down, he was thankful for the bills I emptied into his hand. The first time I extended my hand to him, he was overwhelmed by the gesture. He was willing to share this moment that, I don't know how to explain it.”

She tapped on the step she was sitting on, signaling me to join her. Using my lap as a pillow, she stretched herself along the stairs and stared at the sky. Out of habit, I wrapped my arm around her torso and ran my free hand through her rain washed hair. A feeling of familiarity surrounded me, and once again felt as though I was where I should be. Her big blue eyes were now fixed on the few stars that made their presence known through the clouded sky. Afraid to break the silence, I took the time to admire the charm of her modest neighborhood. The houses stared into each other’s windows, and drunken shouts could be heard from across the nearby mile road. Trash and glass littered the neighboring parking lots, and no longer did my ten year old car seem outdated. Exhaust and burnt oil scented the air, and during the day, the busy mile road sang out in a choir of engines and horns. This place was alive, and I loved every minute of it.

“You know it’s probably just an act.” The silence was broken, and a chill crossed my spine. Hairs slowly rose along my arms, until my entire body was enveloped in an urge to shiver and I couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“What makes you say that?” I could imagine the awkward expression on my face which I was unable to suppress. A wave of embarrassment tore through me, as I struggled to justify my novel friendship. “I doubt someone would sit in the cold and rain just to get some spare cash.”

“I suppose. I’m just saying that you could do something better with your money. Don’t worry about it, next question.” She was always concerned with upsetting me, and was quick to change topics. Previously I may have pried further into the discussion, but I enjoyed the comfort of the night and the familiar company. “So, why is it that you have to miss Milton?”

I had no answer for her, and we sat on the wet wooden steps until the wind begin to make our bodies quiver. I walked up the steps and opened the front door. Her warm hands wrapped themselves around my neck as she made promises to stay in touch. Parts of me wanted to believe that it was possible, yet I knew that time would distance us apart. Disappearing into her modest home, she left me to ready myself for the drive back into the suburbs.

The walk too my car was paced, as I indulged in the final moments of the calm night. My keys rattled in my hand as I wrestled my dilapidated wallet out of my pant pocket. I hopped to find a spare dollar, in anticipation for an encounter with Milton, but all that resided inside were a few receipts and an ATM slip, alerting me of the poor state of my bank account. Stale air rushed out of the sedan as I pulled the driver door open. Rolling down the window with one hand, I shoved the keys into the ignition with the other. The engine revved, and shortly electronic music whispered through the speakers. Once in drive, the wheels splashed through deep pot holes, and squealed against the wet ground as the volume darted upward. The streets were empty, much like my mind. The day left me exhausted, and I was glad to be left to my own devise.

The mile road rose above the service drive in front of me. Standing at a traffic light, I secretly hoped that Milton was relieved of his post for the night, once again regretted my decision of spending the rest of my dollars on fries at a local eatery. As I began to move, however, a distinct figure stood at the distance. Milton threw on a big grin and greeted me warmly.

"I have nothing. Today, I'm as poor as you." Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket and extended a slightly worn dollar bill in my direction.

"You’ve always taken care of me, now it’s my turn." His words took my breath away, and I quickly declined the offer. The gesture left me speech less as I witnessed a man, who had no certainty of food, offer money out of his own pocket to a kid from the suburbs, on his way to a warm bed. "Well if there's anything I can do for you. Just ask. Anything... anything at all." He glanced around quickly, as a bolt of lightning tore through the sky. "How about some rain? I have plenty of that.” My smile stretched from ear to ear as I reached out to shake Milton's hand. Spotting a box of mints resting in my center console, he asked if he could trouble me for one. "I’m sure I could use one, it’s been a long day." He popped the mint between his dark lips, and I pretended not to see the light turn green.

"So how have you been?" With no other cars behind me, I decided to push the conversation further. I started slowly, not wanting to commit quite yet to an in depth discussion about the politics of Cuba.

"I'm living." Definitely tired, his graying beard betrayed his otherwise youthful appearance. The distinct odor of cigarette smoke emanated from his jacket, reminding me of conversations with my own father. "Any day I'm out here is a good day. Have to live in the moment. You never know what tomorrow will bring. Look at this." Milton proceeded to open his mouth, displayed an interrupted array of stained teeth. "See this? My own brother shot me, point blank. My own brother, man.” he took a few steps back, followed by a deep breath. "Do you believe in Jesus? Let me tell you, the Lord is looking out after me. All those people that stop, people like you, that's all His doing. That is all the good in the world. If it wasn't for people like you, I wouldn't be here today, man."

Traffic began to approach from the rear, to the stale red light. Before long, the light turned and Milton waved his fair-well. Completing my turn, I turned the music up louder than before. Steadily accelerating, I passed highway traffic before ever reaching the onramp. The lines on the road blurred solid, and I further pondered my direction. Torn between north and south, I distanced myself away from the familiarity of her home. To the north was my private dwelling, where I could redesign my life into some unknown. The south bore a comfort for which I yearned for, and have worked towards. Why would I have to miss Milton? I couldn’t see it any other way. Constantly returning would make moving forward impossible. However, the idea of still missing “Milton”, reminded me of the chain that held me to that place.

I never made it home that night. Instead, I found myself back on the same wet porch steps on which I recently rested. She opened the door, and without a spoken word I stretched myself across her couch. With my head in her lap, mindless commercials flashed across the television screen, hypnotizing me as I enveloped myself in the familiar. It was now her turn to brush her hands through my short cut hair. My eyes fought sleep as my entire body gave in to the comfort and warmth of her presence.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was soft and faded into a whisper.

"I just wanted to be with you."