Another Side Of Bobo Dylan
Tiff says she's doing another stab at this month's Wordsmiths' prompt. I love a challenge!
SECOND TO LAST
I STARTED the day in denial. Maybe a tip, maybe a gift. I knew better. As much as people said they’d miss me, I wasn’t anyone’s priority anymore. The fact that I had been spending more time in the last month asking for payments than making deliveries was what you’d call your sure sign. Bet on me, folks; bet on me to lose, fade, and die.
I didn’t mind much. No pension, sure, but I had savings. My old man learned hard: salt it away, as much as possible and still live. So I lived in a second-story walkup. So I almost married once –once—only to find out that she didn’t fancy a guy who didn’t spend money going out. So I owned one suit that I bought for my father’s funeral. Pops woulda been proud of that.
Sallie didn’t mind at all. Sallie’s the horse. The fact that I gotta tell people Sallie’s the horse well, that says it all. Usta be kids would hug her neck just for being a horse. Nowadays they’re all in school when me and Sallie are making the rounds. NO kids know Sallie anymore. That says it all right there.
By the time I got to Greenmore Street, I wasn’t eager to make the rounds. Boss’s orders: make deliveries in the morning, take collections in the afternoon. When it’s hot, when Sallie hates walking. When housewives are home. When snot-nosed kids are there to look at you like you were bumming for handouts.
Used to be I could park the cart on the side of the road while I took up the deliveries. Nowadays they got concrete curbs that the cart wheels don’t like going up on. They hurt Sallie’s hooves when she tries to canter up on them, but she still does, out of habit.
I pull away so she doesn’t grind against the concrete curb. I swing down from the cart, thinking that I’m to be glad my old bones won’t have to do this anymore. I miss it already.
I stroll past Sallie’s nose, thinking she knows there is something odd about me not going back to the cart’s end where the stuff is. I give her head a rub, brushing up against her nose. She chuffs lovingly. She knows nothing.
I make it to the sidewalk before I start losing my nerve. Am I embarrassed to be asking for dough? Couldn’t I just forget it? “Sorry, boss, they just wouldn’t pay.” What’d I have to lose? My job?
As I’m deciding I hear a kid yelling, “Tommy! Throw it here!” And then there’s a screech and a thump, and a smell of burnt rubber in the air. I turn, and there’s a space where the kid used to be, and a car up against the curb across the street.
And I see that Sallie and I are both looking into the same empty space. And I wonder, do I really know how much Sallie knows?
SECOND TO LAST
I STARTED the day in denial. Maybe a tip, maybe a gift. I knew better. As much as people said they’d miss me, I wasn’t anyone’s priority anymore. The fact that I had been spending more time in the last month asking for payments than making deliveries was what you’d call your sure sign. Bet on me, folks; bet on me to lose, fade, and die.
I didn’t mind much. No pension, sure, but I had savings. My old man learned hard: salt it away, as much as possible and still live. So I lived in a second-story walkup. So I almost married once –once—only to find out that she didn’t fancy a guy who didn’t spend money going out. So I owned one suit that I bought for my father’s funeral. Pops woulda been proud of that.
Sallie didn’t mind at all. Sallie’s the horse. The fact that I gotta tell people Sallie’s the horse well, that says it all. Usta be kids would hug her neck just for being a horse. Nowadays they’re all in school when me and Sallie are making the rounds. NO kids know Sallie anymore. That says it all right there.
By the time I got to Greenmore Street, I wasn’t eager to make the rounds. Boss’s orders: make deliveries in the morning, take collections in the afternoon. When it’s hot, when Sallie hates walking. When housewives are home. When snot-nosed kids are there to look at you like you were bumming for handouts.
Used to be I could park the cart on the side of the road while I took up the deliveries. Nowadays they got concrete curbs that the cart wheels don’t like going up on. They hurt Sallie’s hooves when she tries to canter up on them, but she still does, out of habit.
I pull away so she doesn’t grind against the concrete curb. I swing down from the cart, thinking that I’m to be glad my old bones won’t have to do this anymore. I miss it already.
I stroll past Sallie’s nose, thinking she knows there is something odd about me not going back to the cart’s end where the stuff is. I give her head a rub, brushing up against her nose. She chuffs lovingly. She knows nothing.
I make it to the sidewalk before I start losing my nerve. Am I embarrassed to be asking for dough? Couldn’t I just forget it? “Sorry, boss, they just wouldn’t pay.” What’d I have to lose? My job?
As I’m deciding I hear a kid yelling, “Tommy! Throw it here!” And then there’s a screech and a thump, and a smell of burnt rubber in the air. I turn, and there’s a space where the kid used to be, and a car up against the curb across the street.
And I see that Sallie and I are both looking into the same empty space. And I wonder, do I really know how much Sallie knows?
posted by Bobo the Wandering Pallbearer at 2:02 PM
2 Comments:
Here is an interesting character. He's learned lessons from his father and stuck with those lessons at a sacrifice to the rest of his life. His refusal to bend and the complete acceptance to his station in life has cost him a wife, a comfortable place to live and is soon brining his obsolesence. He's ok with that - but then he starts to question it. He starts to wonder if the humilation of becomeing unnecessary and living a humble life has really got him anywhere or anything. This is a MAJOR paradigm shift for him.
Then a kid gets hit by a car and he starts to wonder if maybe the horse knows something more. I got a little lost here. Is he thinking the horse used mind control to have the car hit the kid?
Actually - I think it is the characters complete lack of action about the kid being hit by a car that is really interesting. Instead of rushing to the kids aid he thinks about his horse. This leads me to think this character is out of touch with reality now.
So what does this character want? I think it's to be comfortable with how he has lived. The problem is that he is becoming obsolete and unimportant and this is making him feel humiliated. He starts to question how he lives and works. He is punished for this shift in philosophy by being completely out of touch with reality.
My question is: is he punished because of the way he has lived or for begining to question it? I think it's for the way he has lived.
Joe's hit this head on.
Maybe,as a fix to the last para, the kid doesn't need to get hit in this iteration, Maybe the guy is aloof becaue he's already SEEN the kid get hit. Can that be worked in?
Futility as theme is good. Really good, and I really want this guy to live it in totality.
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