Fiction, Chapter 1

26 February 2010
Will (fiction)

Standing in front of the stained porcelain sink, Will pushed his thumbnail against the small chip in the rim of the ceramic cup one, two, three times, absent-mindedly. He rinsed it again and set it in the drainboard to his left, dried his hands, and leaned forward over the sink.

It was the first week in March. The garden wasn’t much to look at, but Will looked west out his kitchen window at it anyway. The muddy patch sprouted only wire tomato baskets, three of them, rusting, listing, looking almost obscene in their optimism, like a forgotten ornament in a discarded Christmas tree browning in a brush pile, waiting to be burned. A responsible gardener would have put the wire cages in storage for winter, of course, and he'd meant to, but hadn't gotten around to it - he would have had to clean out some space in the garage, and to make room in the garage he would have had to have put stuff from the previous tenants in the attic, or pitch it, but he didn't have a truck, and to ask to borrow one of the plentiful trucks around here would have solicited offers to help, and social entanglement, and scrutiny. So there the tomato cages rested. And rusted. "Something else for people in town to notice," he thought. But he loved the garden. And overseeing life, you could say, was part of his job, and he took it seriously – he took that part seriously – so he made a mental note to stop in at the mower shop downtown and ask to reserve a rototiller. The earth would have to dry out eventually, and eventually he’d have to till it. And plant it. If he didn’t, that was something else that people in town would notice for sure. Or worse, notice and till the garden for him when he was out. If he didn't put in a garden they'd think him profligate, or lazy; he might be but he wasn't going to put those traits on display. He loved the garden and would get it tilled and planted as soon as Mrs. Waggoner did. Before then would be unseemly, and unwise - unseemly because people would think he had too much time on his hands, and unwise because he would probably lose it to frost. And he did love the garden, and would hate to lose all that life.

It was now thirteen past seven, according to the timepiece by the door, and Will knew he needed to get to work, “to open shop,” as he liked to call it. He took two breaths, the second deeply, disengaged from his musings, pulled his shoulders back, stood up straight, put on his glasses from where they lay on the counter, next to the sink, mustered some enthusiasm, or serenity, or resignation – did it matter which? – and went to the hall closet to get his coat.

Dawn had broken but it was still a grey, misty morning as he stepped out onto the back stoop. His eyes were pulled to the horizon, out past Route 17 a mile away. Beyond the line of still-naked soft maples along the rill he could see the top two-thirds of the grain elevator, and he looked past it, up the sloping ground, up to the crest of Muller’s Hill.

“It’s so beautiful here,” he said aloud, again, as he often had since he’d first been transferred to Pine Grove and laid eyes on the place. And he’d meant it, every time. People in town, especially, sure didn’t think so, or maybe they just couldn’t say it since they were from here and it would be unseemly, somehow, but he thought it was one of the most beautiful places he’d been. Here on the top step of his back stoop, standing on the worn black rubber mat left by the previous tenant, in full view of the parking lot, wasn't the time or place; he’d take in god’s creation later. He couldn't be late, the show didn't start without him, and he saw the three cars’ occupants waiting for him, steam and exhaust spitting out of them all. Will touched the black button of the door knob of the aluminum storm door with his right thumb, flush, and took the plunge down the stairs and across the small yard, past the playground, across the squelching, fecund yard on the cracking concrete sidewalk and up the new concrete steps.

The boys had already prepped and gone through their routines, and were dressed and waiting for him, idly and half asleep. “Morning, guys,” Will said. It had been nearly a year since this part of his job held any real interest, but he felt clearheaded this morning, and now that he was in he donned his work gear and was ready to start the day. Will nodded to the boys, saying “Ready when you are.”

.