Week 51: Terrence O'Malley- Little Squirrel In The Big City Part V
Terrence descended the long way down into the subway tunnel like a condemned man marching to the gallows. His resolve cracked just a bit more with each step taking him further from the bright light and safety of the New York day. Suddenly this honor bound mission of friendship seemed more ludicrous than ever before, and for the first time since leaving St Louis he seriously considered jumping ship.
Why not? Just chuck the package in the nearest garbage bin and leave this whole God-awful mess far behind me.
Standing there looking back up the stairs stuck at this precipice he realized that he was already all the way down to the subway platform amidst strange machines, stranger advertisements, and an implacable breeze dancing garbage all through the dark emptiness just ahead. In that moment it seemed much more ludicrous to have come so far only to turn back now. He took a deep breath and stole a final glance at the clear blue sky before turning back to the cold subway platform. The next thing he saw was a bag coming down over his head. The next thing he felt was blunt force trauma.
He awoke several hours later with the bag still on his head sitting on a rickety wooden chair. He couldn't see anything, but felt like he was in the middle of a room. This couldn't be some store room or broom closet. It smelled of good liquor and lived-in cigars. There was something almost warm about this room. He thought he could even smell a fire. He was not alone in this room. He could feel eyes on him. He could hear the steady in-out breathing of two somebodies. Two large somebodies who ate well and stayed large as a necessity of business. One of which, he'd hazard a guess was more than a little experienced at coldcocking unsuspecting young fools unlucky enough to suddenly find themselves with a bag over their head. There was another somebody in the room. A somebody whose breathing was more labored. A somebody whose largeness had nothing to do with a necessity of business, but rather as a result of many comfortable twilight years. Terrence had a mean throbbing in his head as they awkwardly sat in silence and he wondered what was to become of him.
Not too many squirrels dumb enough to come into my subway. Usually, we find some rumbrave jackass like you skulkin around- we throw ya in front of the next train that comes along. But you my fuzzy-tailed little friend, you had something mighty interesting in your coat.
Terrence heard a snap after which the bag was immediately pulled off his head. Sitting before him behind an ornate and impressive desk was a large rat made mean by many years of struggle, skirmish, and sacrifice. He wore spectacles which rode down at the end of his snout and a three-piece suit, coat off, sleeves rolled up. He had clearly done well for himself. There was in fact a fire warming the spacious office. On his ornate impressive desk was the object Terrence had had in his pocket, still wrapped like some last minute present not yet under the tree. Big Julie took his time lighting a fresh cigar as he looked Terrence up and down.
So tell me, fuzzball. Where'd you get this? And what the hell are you doing down here?
Lionel gave it to me. Told me to come here and give it to you.
And who am I?
You're Big Julie. I mean, you are, right?
Big Julie let our a big hefty laugh which slid immediately into a fit of coughing. This oddly enough reminded him of his cigar and he took a few more puffs as his lungs calmed down and he caught his breath.
Lionel, yeah. Decent enough squirrel. Good little smuggler. So, what? Somethin more important came up? Why am I sitting here looking at his goddamn errand boy?
He's dead. Sir.
Dead? Lionel...dead?
Yes, sir.
Big Julie ordered his goons out and waited until the door was closed firmly behind them before saying another word.
What did Lionel tell you?
He just said to get this to you.
You could always count on him to finish the job. We grew up together. Right here in New York on 51st street. Used to always be runnin around, messin with tourists, playin marbles. Y'know, that kinda shit.
He taught me all about trains. Saved my life.
Yeah. That sounds about right. He still riding the rails from coast to coast?
He is. Was. Sir?
Yeah.
May I ask, what happened between the two of you?
You gotta make choices in this life, son. This his blood?
Yes, sir.
Lousy. I'm sorry, old friend.
Big Julie then carefully unwrapped the package keeping his eyes closed not wanting to see what lay waiting for him until he could face it completely. Finally, he looked down and immediately started weeping. The photo was taken many years ago. It showed a young trio of rodents smiling wide without a care in the world. It was Lionel, Julie, and one more Terrence could not recognize. She was a young beautiful opossum named Sarah. They both loved her dearly and though she never exactly picked either Julie or Lionel- the two of them always secretly believed she had chosen but would never speak of it to spare the other's feelings. The three of them remained the closest of friends throughout much of their childhood. But as Julie rose in the ranks of the rat underground, the danger to himself and his loved ones rose as well. It became more and more improper to be seen with creatures of another kind. Julie grew more and more distant and before too long, Lionel had come to the belief that he'd lost his friend forever.
After she died...that's when Lionel finally let me have it. Told me I'd lost sight of what was really important. Family, friends. That's when he left town. Found work here and there. Even with me. Hell, I thought this picture was long gone. Figures. Thank you, son. Thank you for this.
You're welcome, sir.
Big Julie poured a drink for Terrence and they shared stories about Lionel. Julie of course had many more to share, but it did not matter. The differences of age and species melted away as they reminisced about the squirrel who had so profoundly touched their lives and was now gone. After many tall glasses were filled and emptied again, Big Julie gave Terrence a personal escort back to Penn Station where he boarded a train, waved good-bye to the east coast, and began his long journey to the other. He thought about all that had happened in the last week. Everyone he had met and all the times he'd very nearly wound up flattened, devoured, or, shived. As the train bustled along taking him further and further away from the cold he thought about all the hope and promise of the new year. He couldn't help but wonder just what adventure life had in store for him next.
THE END
Thanks so much to everyone who's been with me on this wild ride of weekly writing assignments. It's been a blast but I'm very anxious to get back to my horribly neglected Netflix queue. I'm sure to post here again during 2014, but on a much more sporadic basis. For myself and of course Reginald Buford Brimley: Happy Fucking New Year!! Now go read something else! -JN












